Dear cellulose Frankenstein,
Here I am writing the second page a couple of days later.. crazy how this self-reflecting non-new year resolution is turning out to be somewhat consistent.
Well, what do I write now?
Uhm..
Maybe I could start by telling you my day.. Nothing special or different from any other day happened today. Same day every day on repeat to the point that I lose track of time. Actually, what day is today? If I didn't have classes, I wouldn't be able to recall it without checking my agenda.
My day started like every morning at 8 when I had to leave my beloved bed for uni. What I study is pretty useless, to be honest, but I didn't have a choice.
My major is art, and I'm currently in my final year. My academy of fine arts is the oldest and most important in my country, but I don't think this will make it any special or good. I've seen it all here.. lecturers stealing ideas from students' assignments for their museum's exhibitions, lecturers stealing the artefact directly or the poetry that accompanies the art piece, with the promise of correcting it, etc. I could go on forever if you want, but I think it's part of those countless unspoken truths that every academic field takes great pains to bury in the whispers of powerless students.
As a student myself, I've always tried to do the bare minimum to get good grades. I'm not really interested in this course. Actually, I really enjoy art, but one thing is putting your feelings and emotions into a concrete and relatable piece; another is just doing the assignment to get high marks and not disappoint your parents.
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Am I a disappointment for thinking and doing like this?
Well, since my parents enrolled me at this uni against my will, who cares?
They're making me hate art for this.. my only and true passion since I was a child. What a shame..
As a kid, I used to draw funny monsters to portray my inner demons with colourful, unconventional shapes. Growing up, I retained the non-figurative style driven by emotion, until my art teacher in high school got somehow obsessed with my drawings, and so I drifted towards a highly detailed and realistic style just to please her and get good grades.
I don't really like realistic drawings. What's in it for the artist to give? I mean, you're literally destroying your creativity by spending endless hours to emulate a camera which will do a much better job in a fraction of a second. Besides, photography was actually invented a long time ago. If you don't believe me, go to the National Gallery in London to see Canaletto's works and tell me if this is not obviously coloured up from an obscure camera too realistic sketch.
What's the point? Am I thinking like Plato?
But this is not art, I'd rather call it 'the presumption of being able to emulate the intricacy and proportions only a camera can do, pretending to have emotional depth'. I have no idea what meaning this kind of art holds; go ask those photocopy artists.
In my opinion, art should have a meaning, like any human action. I'm not saying that the meaning must be evident and obvious to all, but at least the artist must have an intent and reason behind such an act; if not, what's the difference between a child's drawing and Picasso's pieces? It can't be only the monetary value.
Also, by saying this, I'm not implying that humans are fully rational beings. Sometimes masterpieces are driven by some internal unconscious movement that, once put in shape, makes perfect sense, like it was brought together by rational, vertical thinking.
Maybe there are different categories of art pieces, artists, techniques.. I'm no one to theorise things, it's just a small reflection on the world I currently find myself in.
In the end, I didn't say anything about my day.. great. Well, nothing relevant happened: I had class, went home, worked on some assignments, had dinner, and now I'm writing on this cellulose jam at 2 a.m. That's it.
Bye, my recycled monster,
Vera
