tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43363724064629038252024-03-05T07:27:32.409-08:00MayknartMayknart - about mentoring, about teaching.
Some days, it all makes sense. Sometimes it doesn't. But always, I love it more than I can tell you.Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.comBlogger76125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-46482866714668910662014-09-20T20:17:00.001-07:002014-09-20T20:17:36.290-07:00New Space! New Sign! New Site! New Me!<br />
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<span style="font-size: large; text-align: center;">I've got a new space for teaching. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XAAx4ZlQdHsLDucG6I99KJH0dPVmDty18-ELRJ2OzjJqu07pd_M3-JknUNLBHoPSAEdHifeIRpNXuZNau1V_XRffB3FK1H_6TZzi__T6VCcnawt5XyP9C4J_qqZgWAu1o1QugmCSGS4/s1600/DSC_1466.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XAAx4ZlQdHsLDucG6I99KJH0dPVmDty18-ELRJ2OzjJqu07pd_M3-JknUNLBHoPSAEdHifeIRpNXuZNau1V_XRffB3FK1H_6TZzi__T6VCcnawt5XyP9C4J_qqZgWAu1o1QugmCSGS4/s1600/DSC_1466.JPG" height="250" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And now I have a new sign. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjem-dGqVogV8VOagKuildz2sADROc2tfvjBHkN_W3AuaJzBCRhqN88miJzPYIFWk5LH2bJ_WqvyB7sM7YorhQfGVV6h_QMZpJLBmOR4_p7f_HJqcZFwLJiMev3gXPujvrFEP1GhjrCTUE/s1600/DSC_1465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjem-dGqVogV8VOagKuildz2sADROc2tfvjBHkN_W3AuaJzBCRhqN88miJzPYIFWk5LH2bJ_WqvyB7sM7YorhQfGVV6h_QMZpJLBmOR4_p7f_HJqcZFwLJiMev3gXPujvrFEP1GhjrCTUE/s1600/DSC_1465.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It makes me smile each time I walk up to my "office." </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And, believe it or not . . . </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have a website </span><span style="font-size: large;">and </span><span style="font-size: large;">a facebook page, too!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yikes! What have I done?!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well, you might as well go ahead and <a href="http://www.mayknart.com/"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">visit my website </span></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">and <span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/MayKnart?ref=hl"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">like my facebook page</span></a>. </span></span></span></div>
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Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-78755349780613115622014-05-14T15:55:00.000-07:002014-05-14T15:55:48.688-07:00New Space!I've got a new space for teaching!<br />
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It all came about very suddenly.<br />
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And just as suddenly, it has become a happy success.<br />
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The space is small, but it is ours (mine & my students) to do with as we please. We can paint on the walls, or on the floors (or on the walls <i>and</i> floors).<br />
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It's a neat old building that has gone through many transformations.<br />
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I'm very happy there. And I think my students are, too.<br />
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I love having my own space.<br />
I love having my supplies all in one place.<br />
I love having a permanent display and critique wall.<br />
I love the old tile floor.<br />
I love many things about this new adventure.<br />
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But my favorite-of-all thing might be the big gate out front. To get into the building, you push open this big wrought iron gate, and follow the path up the ramp. But the gate . . . look closely . . . it isn't connected to anything.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi06cJK4v2MEt7OGmDPC4U2Svnrr925xcW153kpGSThM-B6Oh3kWBPzeM4notxWv5X-12_aF1O5YiT3UHaZTG-VOZ9kH3kz2nYh5HcvtpcGxwfP2M88LSWMu2OsesAigrd_UXYIVDG4_ZE/s1600/DSC_1255+(Small).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi06cJK4v2MEt7OGmDPC4U2Svnrr925xcW153kpGSThM-B6Oh3kWBPzeM4notxWv5X-12_aF1O5YiT3UHaZTG-VOZ9kH3kz2nYh5HcvtpcGxwfP2M88LSWMu2OsesAigrd_UXYIVDG4_ZE/s1600/DSC_1255+(Small).jpg" height="441" width="640" /></a></div>
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Easier to simply side-step the whole thing and just walk around. But I never do. I love pushing open that big old gate and walking happily into my new, all-our-own, funky space.</div>
Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-91197977156727079552014-03-05T16:45:00.002-08:002014-03-06T10:11:29.305-08:00Is SpongeBob an Accurate Measure of Success?Today in drawing class, talk turned to SpongeBob SquarePants. I was surprised when my students (age 9 - 15) unanimously agreed that SpongeBob was a loser.<br />
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What? Wait a minute. Really? I think the show is clever and witty. And SpongeBob himself is nothing if not lovable.<br />
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"I aspire to be like SpongeBob," I told my class. "He is honest, and sweet. He finds joy in every detail of life. He is fiercely loyal to his friends. And," I finished triumphantly, "He LOVES his job."<br />
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"But that's just it," they chorused. "He's a fry cook! A grown man <i>(ok, grown sponge)</i> who's been flipping burgers his whole life. He has no ambition. He's going nowhere!"<br />
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I'm certainly glad these young homeschoolers have great ambition. I am glad they are shooting high, pushing themselves further. But are they saying that success is only measured by our careers? That the joy SpongeBob feels is somehow less meaningful because he is nothing more than a fry cook?<br />
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I wonder. What <i>is</i> the correct measure of success.<br />
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In college, a teacher of mine asked seriously and thoughtfully, "What is success?" He was thinking of his own. Here was a well-known artist, with work in museums and collections around the world, and he wondered aloud how to measure his own success. He had recently completed a series of drawings using permanent marker on Styrofoam. <i>(Have you ever done this? The Styrofoam "melts.")</i> His dealer told him to hide those drawings, to never show them to anyone. "They will ruin your career," was her honest advice.<br />
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But a collector stopped by his studio later that day. Upon seeing the drawings leaning against the studio wall, he was instantly moved by them. For him, they struck a chord deep down (and if I remember the story correctly, he bought them all). Turns out, this man had cancer. These strange drawings, melting and warping the Styrofoam, resonated with him in a way that no one could have predicted.<br />
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Was this artist more successful for having artwork in famous museums, or is there more success in having made a drawing that was meaningful to only one man dying from cancer.<br />
<br />Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-79957289878064181912014-02-14T11:07:00.001-08:002014-02-14T11:07:50.090-08:00Valentines Day at LACHSAI had hated school. Beginning in 7th grade and lasting through high school, I hated everything about it (except the learning, which seemed there was much too little of). I spent my school days scowling, usually nursing a headache and a stomachache. I never wanted my kid to have to feel that way at school.<br />
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And so we homeschooled. Up until 13 years of age, my younger son never went to school. I loved our homeschooling life. <br />
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But then my kid said he wanted to go to high school. I doubted the wisdom of it, remembering my own struggles. But off he went. It was a rough start. Then on Valentines Day last year, he told me about what had happened at school that day.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">While everyone was in class, someone put a post-it note on every single locker in the school:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMW3qZJuYRZ4vN0NKt0375rxhHvtg486Xi84F_6aFP3FgZrv0wkvstm10PINinoMWWXKgNA4NB6yvzxN_X-C3bYXnJfLmQiq1sZiJV1HSW_CgbsZnqIYw3ecaMrC4sC_S9yA5r7OIrV_s/s1600/valentines+day+at+LACHSA+(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMW3qZJuYRZ4vN0NKt0375rxhHvtg486Xi84F_6aFP3FgZrv0wkvstm10PINinoMWWXKgNA4NB6yvzxN_X-C3bYXnJfLmQiq1sZiJV1HSW_CgbsZnqIYw3ecaMrC4sC_S9yA5r7OIrV_s/s1600/valentines+day+at+LACHSA+(3).jpg" height="318" width="640" /></a></div>
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He told me, "It was dope." And I believed him.<br />
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I'm so glad my son gets to be a part of a place where this kind of thing can happen.<br />
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<br />Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-56468723396611401842014-01-09T12:34:00.003-08:002014-01-09T12:34:58.597-08:00How to Find Your Horizon, or Eye-Level<h3>
Horizon (finding your eye-level)</h3>
<b>Try this:</b><br />
1) sit up straight<br />
2) with your head level, look out at what's in front of you.<br />
3) pretend you are <i>shooting laser beams from your eyeballs</i>; make sure those laser beams are shooting parallel to the ground.<br />
4) wherever your eyeball laser beams hit, that is your eye level.<br />
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"Eye-level" is the exact same thing as "horizon."</h3>
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<b>Try this next time you're at the beach:</b><br />
1) stand facing the ocean<br />
2) look where the water meets the sky<br />
3) we all know that as the horizon, but now think of it as eye-level<br />
4) slowly lower yourself down to the sand, but keep your sights on that horizon<br />
5) notice how the horizon moves down with you<br />
6) lay down on the sand<br />
6) where's your horizon?<br />
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It's still right there, in front of your eyes.<br />
The horizon moves with the level of your eyes. An immovable horizon would require you to look up at the horizon, as you lowered your body to the sand.<br />
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No beach nearby? How about the desert? Here's the view of my drive home from Las Vegas last weekend:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPK3ixKnO-pwtBFub_xMkjmiRZ2OtXTlrcwkd2CZuqsKtg3CLKhCoyO97aX5gIP53lRTqw3DjFjdIaHwVdTJBgz7f48UwE-hh-XUl-39luL0zfARCQ98Hfu82eUdhK7LQJCrvsp3IAVBE/s1600/DSC_0922.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPK3ixKnO-pwtBFub_xMkjmiRZ2OtXTlrcwkd2CZuqsKtg3CLKhCoyO97aX5gIP53lRTqw3DjFjdIaHwVdTJBgz7f48UwE-hh-XUl-39luL0zfARCQ98Hfu82eUdhK7LQJCrvsp3IAVBE/s1600/DSC_0922.JPG" height="338" width="640" /></a><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">And there's the horizon, straight out in front of my laser-beam eyeballs. And look - the highway comes to a point on my horizon-eye-level. Notice how incredibly WIDE the highway looks at the bottom of the photo, and how incredibly QUICKLY it narrows to a point as it goes back in space. </span><b style="text-align: center;">This is a classic example of one-point perspective</b><span style="text-align: center;">. </span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">Here's another example:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuzrPT1fMuUVC_tzRux-0mIJlzfXVzMYLxS-SR9_Ds8pNUgyP6xSu4nYxoz4zTk-htof6HFd0v3hVOGr6X-Uu5OL6vNegd2PfHShVWAfNtWUlwi9lnGMvY7FzXagZT1SZgh4lvV5D20P8/s1600/DSC_0917.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuzrPT1fMuUVC_tzRux-0mIJlzfXVzMYLxS-SR9_Ds8pNUgyP6xSu4nYxoz4zTk-htof6HFd0v3hVOGr6X-Uu5OL6vNegd2PfHShVWAfNtWUlwi9lnGMvY7FzXagZT1SZgh4lvV5D20P8/s1600/DSC_0917.JPG" height="321" width="640" /></a></div>
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All the parallel lines are going back to the same ONE POINT on the horizon (hence the one-point perspective.) Even the lines of the truck. Check it out! Place a ruler over your screen and see where all those lines go: the truck, the road, even the brush at the edge of the road's shoulder. </div>
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Everything on this long ride through the desert is zooming towards the same itty-bitty spot on <b>my</b> horizon. Why "<b>my</b>" horizon? Because it's<b> my eye-level</b>. <i>Your</i> eye level (you being taller or shorter) is different than mine. </div>
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My horizon is mine. Your horizon is yours. <i>(Think about </i>that<i>, and I </i>dare<i> you not to get all philosophical.)</i> </div>
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And one more amazing thing about the desert views. . . <i><b>atmospheric perspective!</b></i> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvQ_GQGgIxnRSS3POIlkK-jSWgOEvl4XNAXU4gHOz6rA9W9SZkUcRdMVL5nZ7TpRx9jCGMRvBAR2BBszg4HUDnagbiIJ31EUEk3705l0bg1U92vdO6hqiX5A-Mlo60IPmUPxjPTPyAt0g/s1600/DSC_0905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvQ_GQGgIxnRSS3POIlkK-jSWgOEvl4XNAXU4gHOz6rA9W9SZkUcRdMVL5nZ7TpRx9jCGMRvBAR2BBszg4HUDnagbiIJ31EUEk3705l0bg1U92vdO6hqiX5A-Mlo60IPmUPxjPTPyAt0g/s1600/DSC_0905.JPG" height="283" width="640" /></a></div>
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The atmosphere creates the feeling of space.</div>
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More in a later post, about why horizon/eye-level is important, and about using both types of perspective to your advantage in any drawing (not just landscapes). For now, practice shooting laser beams from your eyeballs. </div>
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<br />Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-36637195846997120682013-12-12T10:45:00.001-08:002013-12-12T10:45:48.081-08:00The Secret of Art School Admissions<span id="yui_3_13_0_ym1_1_1386871507243_18966"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I'll tell you a secret: </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span id="yui_3_13_0_ym1_1_1386871507243_18963">It's not as difficult to get into a private art college as everyone likes to pretend.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br clear="none" /><span id="yui_3_13_0_ym1_1_1386871507243_18960"><span id="yui_3_13_0_ym1_1_1386871507243_18959">Getting in is relatively eas</span>y. <b>Staying in is what's hard. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br clear="none" /><span id="yui_3_13_0_ym1_1_1386871507243_18783">When I was an admissions counselor, 80% of the students who came in for advice <b>already had a portfolio that was acceptable</b> to be admitted. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />But I rarely told them that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />I would critique their work, pushing them to work harder to improve, and sending them off to rework their portfolios. Why? Because art schools want dedicated people. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />The student might go home after that admissions visit and decide it's too hard, or they aren't good enough, or they can't bear to have anyone look at and critique their work. Well, that's not the student we wanted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /><b>Art school itself is hard and stressful.</b> Students are pushed to their limits, physically, emotionally, creatively. Teaching technical skills is easy; teaching students to push through their barriers is not.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Art Schools want fearless students</b>, artists who are unafraid of their talents, and also <b>unafraid of their weaknesses</b>. Your portfolio doesn't need to be perfect, but it should be fearless. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /><b>Creating an atmosphere in admissions</b> that makes the school seem really hard to get into is helpful for weeding out the students who do not yet have the mindset for a demanding program. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br clear="none" /><span id="yui_3_13_0_ym1_1_1386871507243_18972"><b>Good schools want dedicated students</b> who will be successful after they graduate, and as alumni, will make their college look good. They want students who are ready to work hard and slog through the tough times, spending the entire 4 years (and 4 years' worth of tuition) at their school.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Work hard on your portfolio. The hardest you've ever worked before. It's good practice. It shows something about you as an artist. And last but not least, the stronger the portfolio, the more $$ offered in financial aid. </span><br />
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Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-32567714663451814202013-12-07T10:55:00.002-08:002013-12-07T10:55:09.790-08:00Trash Heap Inspiration<span style="font-size: large;">I love to walk the empty hills and forgotten, half-finished roads of my Los Angeles neighborhood.</span> I can take my dog off leash, and it is peaceful.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3N0ugBezFooYBVyQ9nX7QIepMgHYarZyZNZSdAXyti8GaBDuc6Csrndqnw8bNl864uU4uSk_XKowQ_2zRf3fKJ1kOewXmf2_KqgGG29B6W-DIhagOoBkIafamBo2TXmO9Bo-lNwZ72YM/s1600/Ascot+hills+jan+2012+(4).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3N0ugBezFooYBVyQ9nX7QIepMgHYarZyZNZSdAXyti8GaBDuc6Csrndqnw8bNl864uU4uSk_XKowQ_2zRf3fKJ1kOewXmf2_KqgGG29B6W-DIhagOoBkIafamBo2TXmO9Bo-lNwZ72YM/s400/Ascot+hills+jan+2012+(4).JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The urban views are great, </span>(hmm, maybe a photo class field trip in the making)<span style="font-size: large;"> but what I most adore, is my beloved "Trash Heap." </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCqdvTCanpaewbaieymgwLQUvdCBV0JaBoInvkP3xRmXjFDI9fiOfl4dNNtqOpdU0w7m4N4_WbWbNAJsToP5ISA35J3wAuBjddBSgC6AsfW3_c8zkc3Bs8ahNkS-1gyys9DaGsLQFQP0c/s1600/trash+heap.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCqdvTCanpaewbaieymgwLQUvdCBV0JaBoInvkP3xRmXjFDI9fiOfl4dNNtqOpdU0w7m4N4_WbWbNAJsToP5ISA35J3wAuBjddBSgC6AsfW3_c8zkc3Bs8ahNkS-1gyys9DaGsLQFQP0c/s400/trash+heap.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A relatively quiet day at the Trash Heap. The city comes by regularly to haul it away. <br />
I can't help but be a little disappointed when I come across a recently emptied spot.</td></tr>
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Two places along the hillside roads have become common illegal dump sites for the most wonderful variety of things. I know I'm supposed to be outraged, but I'm enamored. From construction material to children's toys to love letters, I've found it all. <span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes I bring things home to use in the home or garden:</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQLmzC6eukVXO0DASC8C_XveIJ8h6dH42u9LNS2D1JyYlxai8xHxCsomeETX2jA2Msv39ov6OGaVKolaeXfGXiycx0h4GO15fMENOWLlSvAzjhv3OuUpofAWFeSOppvyjlA_kmO7_5hk/s1600/glass+blocks+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQLmzC6eukVXO0DASC8C_XveIJ8h6dH42u9LNS2D1JyYlxai8xHxCsomeETX2jA2Msv39ov6OGaVKolaeXfGXiycx0h4GO15fMENOWLlSvAzjhv3OuUpofAWFeSOppvyjlA_kmO7_5hk/s320/glass+blocks+(2).JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These glass blocks came home with me. They are now book ends.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8E8-JBrsjeW_PwvzDFs_N-o9mnvgKPfdNADKsQDZmvS-XY6j35dL-37IH4DfzoSV3d4JLRScgatSuh4rlbv1VneANRy8ib5Mmvrvq2Bd1o9xLGF9HAzFGXKYXpya09iP_t0Wa_DppBkQ/s1600/angel+in+the+fence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8E8-JBrsjeW_PwvzDFs_N-o9mnvgKPfdNADKsQDZmvS-XY6j35dL-37IH4DfzoSV3d4JLRScgatSuh4rlbv1VneANRy8ib5Mmvrvq2Bd1o9xLGF9HAzFGXKYXpya09iP_t0Wa_DppBkQ/s400/angel+in+the+fence.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I considered taking home this angel head, <br />
but when someone else created a "City of the Angels" art piece by tangling it in the fence, I left it there.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHd1xNOQZ1vJmivLfV8E-M0cwvZVn6GRSkCI5DpzaNz9vn2ur9xpsbis92m41KdpnUJxmerbo_m9MjRypol8iEP-UX2-3mnmFP9fq3vW6y___i_ywNYO1mjTBTkOQfkx6JILNuMDdkVrU/s1600/bamboo+fence+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHd1xNOQZ1vJmivLfV8E-M0cwvZVn6GRSkCI5DpzaNz9vn2ur9xpsbis92m41KdpnUJxmerbo_m9MjRypol8iEP-UX2-3mnmFP9fq3vW6y___i_ywNYO1mjTBTkOQfkx6JILNuMDdkVrU/s320/bamboo+fence+1.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And some bamboo came home to replace a broken gate.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I bring home inspiration for my artwork, too.</span> I'm currently working on a series of paintings based on papers found at the trash heap.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH_sDjnOXIHC6yxyBwiUBqaaBTBiZKZPRDTbYB9VJiEnNKkxMM4L_QlqAKNeRX7G9HrmhzQFaUH5rJDXP88KfvTvxNoD2XaOjSvhlX0RuqNG48u-nY02mIr3yYiSjYb3H0TRF6a4wbiSk/s1600/Wishes;+1+-+100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH_sDjnOXIHC6yxyBwiUBqaaBTBiZKZPRDTbYB9VJiEnNKkxMM4L_QlqAKNeRX7G9HrmhzQFaUH5rJDXP88KfvTvxNoD2XaOjSvhlX0RuqNG48u-nY02mIr3yYiSjYb3H0TRF6a4wbiSk/s400/Wishes;+1+-+100.jpg" width="310" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Wishes; 1 - 100" oil on wood panel</td></tr>
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This is from a child's first attempt at writing numbers 1 - 100. Dated on the back of the paper, saved since 1992, and now dumped at the trash heap. It seemed too special to pass by. A treasure map of sorts. See more of my artwork<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><a href="http://www.jeaniefrias.wix.com/artwork"> here.</a></span><br />
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Stay tuned for more Trash Heap Inspirations and Adventures..Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-3089188350119757552013-08-29T13:42:00.000-07:002013-08-29T13:45:11.590-07:00Getting Back in the Studio<div>
July and August are hectic months when I rarely get into my studio. </div>
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July is Summer of Art at Otis College of Art and Design. Long, intense hours of teaching. But it's my favorite teaching assignment and each year I find myself saying: "That was my best group of young artists, ever!" <br />
I say it every year. And every year I mean it!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmlDHPgI8vXX205jZR3M4peRcqikJ8mZXhcZvpI1lLFhkKM8qcgFL12co84qg4TgD5baEzF0lXk0sixKlCCTUIWGcgakcGPTJ5981NKyB8EAp0Fts8823_eB82D_iLs4r415ZdgwxHgzo/s1600/DSC_0142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmlDHPgI8vXX205jZR3M4peRcqikJ8mZXhcZvpI1lLFhkKM8qcgFL12co84qg4TgD5baEzF0lXk0sixKlCCTUIWGcgakcGPTJ5981NKyB8EAp0Fts8823_eB82D_iLs4r415ZdgwxHgzo/s400/DSC_0142.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summer of Art student work. Final project: "Object with Meaning"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEorbctAuO3Nyhm8lTvZvKWUYYNvOfe949-BoBhCr9puDMJsqe1uiVHl2YHrJm0RdEBZpP2RseotCNOI1AOOZF3yBQGmYWXvkjy8YAqElX1CMLmdcNzkMVbvEFZZ2PyLnQybQdfhZgDf8/s1600/DSC_0137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEorbctAuO3Nyhm8lTvZvKWUYYNvOfe949-BoBhCr9puDMJsqe1uiVHl2YHrJm0RdEBZpP2RseotCNOI1AOOZF3yBQGmYWXvkjy8YAqElX1CMLmdcNzkMVbvEFZZ2PyLnQybQdfhZgDf8/s320/DSC_0137.JPG" width="235" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summer of Art student work, final project</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwAflhShqZWDd1fUq5B9vvWaPcF07O7HtKgrpKOOnlJPt92YYj9H3OZ97wJqSMH-qE5cNIEMiUwljFpAGNudcsXtsSV92-a-qSUhspmFdxytPdsqXVXTHqU_W7Q_GT6ojfXroDpOG6-C8/s1600/DSC_0135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwAflhShqZWDd1fUq5B9vvWaPcF07O7HtKgrpKOOnlJPt92YYj9H3OZ97wJqSMH-qE5cNIEMiUwljFpAGNudcsXtsSV92-a-qSUhspmFdxytPdsqXVXTHqU_W7Q_GT6ojfXroDpOG6-C8/s320/DSC_0135.JPG" width="252" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summer of Art student work, final project</td></tr>
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<i>(To be honest, I haven't </i>always<i> said that. A few summers ago several students and parents pushed me to believe that I was DONE with teaching. But that's a 'nother story.)</i><br />
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And then, August is camping at the beach.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhuINmU_zFmPFQBFR7JQ4WjPpWmllblhLB0Rzq7BWVPiW6imFiegVnDTxGkFBGSUeN5IEKwMMJiNybyIAAykLjlUml6BPU6pp7002IpPcFCYDeEX-TuCu3i3YZyLHhDXo83-FfUFJyjg/s1600/el+cap+2011+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhuINmU_zFmPFQBFR7JQ4WjPpWmllblhLB0Rzq7BWVPiW6imFiegVnDTxGkFBGSUeN5IEKwMMJiNybyIAAykLjlUml6BPU6pp7002IpPcFCYDeEX-TuCu3i3YZyLHhDXo83-FfUFJyjg/s320/el+cap+2011+(3).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camping at the Beach - nothing better</td></tr>
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Summer of Art and camping are over now, and I'm back in my studio, relaxed and ready to work. </div>
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After a slow start earlier this week, the inspiration is now coming fast and furious. I'm finishing a series of paintings, and have plans for a new series. An unexpected installation piece is taking shape on my studio wall and on my work table there's a long list of thoughts and projects. Pretty cool.<br />
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They say you can't wait for inspiration, you just have to get in the studio and get to work. Put pen to paper, or brush to canvas, or camera to eye, and begin. Something will happen, that's the promise.<br />
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And then, there are those days when inspiration is everywhere. When it's easy and you can't turn it off if you wanted to. When, even in the bathroom, sitting, thinking of nothing . . . </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFhvERPsOGW9D9kIkcQMg4HgQuC39j0FFY5gU1wV20jrSwzYbrm_FJWqKvCyq13Bpl8aYDZFO3bmG0B_GazjRd1dFCLHkczMJd54vjMWHTzt-8OEJc4tQcjmvVgj7za3fgU32vfYGoJwg/s1600/DSC_0190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFhvERPsOGW9D9kIkcQMg4HgQuC39j0FFY5gU1wV20jrSwzYbrm_FJWqKvCyq13Bpl8aYDZFO3bmG0B_GazjRd1dFCLHkczMJd54vjMWHTzt-8OEJc4tQcjmvVgj7za3fgU32vfYGoJwg/s320/DSC_0190.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inspiration in a bath mat</td></tr>
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. . . a ragged, dirty bath mat catches your attention.<br />
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Nothing else to do, but go back in the studio, and be thankful for inspiration, no matter what the source.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6k-K0_RDXISq_SqvQlZOZFkHa10LvMGalO9JRSdo2nRDZpAjcgV5bT785Q2qRh2HtLdj5_EJy-Zr_X2eBhuiWaHhLX5j1FZ9xtLZN3tNjmkafQsA92gYqlHO_mqxw8beqMy1932_-fNM/s1600/DSC_0191.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6k-K0_RDXISq_SqvQlZOZFkHa10LvMGalO9JRSdo2nRDZpAjcgV5bT785Q2qRh2HtLdj5_EJy-Zr_X2eBhuiWaHhLX5j1FZ9xtLZN3tNjmkafQsA92gYqlHO_mqxw8beqMy1932_-fNM/s320/DSC_0191.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angry Frilly Fish Puppet</td></tr>
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Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-37903169277462550712013-08-22T14:01:00.000-07:002013-08-22T15:17:32.442-07:00I'm Not Looking for Friends (Part II)<i>I've been in writing groups, critique groups, and volunteer organizations. I join these groups to do work, not to make friends. I have something to offer; the group has something to offer me. I'm not looking for someone new to chat with; I don't want to help anyone solve their problems; I'm not interested in their issues. Be my friend, or don't be my friend - it makes little difference to me. <a href="http://www.mayknart.blogspot.com/2013/07/im-not-looking-for-friends.html"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">(From the Part I post)</span></a></i><br />
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A few months ago, I joined a critique group through the <span style="color: #3d85c6;"><a href="http://www.laaa.org/">Los Angeles Art Association and Gallery 825</a>.</span> Critique is work that I love. Difficult, fulfilling work. This new group was a rough start for me. Not because the critique was difficult, but because other people seem so much more interested than I in sitting around and making friends. Why do I get so impatient with that? I just want to show up and get down to the critique (or writing, or whatever!)<br />
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But sometimes friends just happen.<br />
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At a gallery opening, I found myself standing next to Jane from my critique group. Empty plastic wine glasses in hand, we had nothing else to do but chat. A gallery opening can be its own type of work: standing around, pretending to be cool, while desperately checking out anyone who is giving the slightest glimpse to your artwork on the wall - exhausting. But I tried my best, and Jane and I talked. <br />
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Then, a few weeks later, she asked if she could take my picture.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMvK-aAUqExkXRxJZk4DNB3RcgQ0nFQ5rc9maBnihp8zlrUk31T5AWP7uQR9A7Fg8-ktRG4pmIUCKc-h6bzLnk0WYmXawiuCeDXdLP8jY6JL02gH3wxgQIMXQIDY1LUolbXfzHNnqrG1M/s1600/Donkey+and+Me+in+Ds+room+3+(by+Jane+Szabo).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMvK-aAUqExkXRxJZk4DNB3RcgQ0nFQ5rc9maBnihp8zlrUk31T5AWP7uQR9A7Fg8-ktRG4pmIUCKc-h6bzLnk0WYmXawiuCeDXdLP8jY6JL02gH3wxgQIMXQIDY1LUolbXfzHNnqrG1M/s320/Donkey+and+Me+in+Ds+room+3+(by+Jane+Szabo).jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLZWQfsDytO0tcpsDSquotdai-ETlg9iwWPTzS5txjdN40Po9rQy4X4rorQieeziUQefEx_l17F8PDWw3dzjRmm1DSkXdxMG5IMPZpCR7c1m4ZXt395dX4Uwdlrre3o8cIQom4WXWqvNc/s1600/Portrait+by+Jane+Szabo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLZWQfsDytO0tcpsDSquotdai-ETlg9iwWPTzS5txjdN40Po9rQy4X4rorQieeziUQefEx_l17F8PDWw3dzjRmm1DSkXdxMG5IMPZpCR7c1m4ZXt395dX4Uwdlrre3o8cIQom4WXWqvNc/s320/Portrait+by+Jane+Szabo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
And darn it all, I made a friend in spite of myself.<br />
Jane's good, huh? Check out more of Jane Szabo's photography at her website <a href="http://www.janeszabophotography.com/">www.janeszabophotography.com </a>Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-11523319324869946652013-08-17T21:13:00.000-07:002013-08-17T21:13:18.687-07:00Homeschoolers taking pictures at Union StationSo, I led a photo walking tour in downtown Los Angeles with a bunch of homeschoolers. First stop was Union Station.<br />
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We introduced ourselves, then I said, "Go take some pictures."<br />
(Ok, I said more than that. But not really.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYL-sUzzLKwXgYuOVcGcocGQTdmKuCTytDU80JCn0HceScAqRPwVbONvId3WDHE8FxmduBnq0loQJj95Jv594qeYTaPayXPUCPOTPnL64Mh73HdnesUqFZizfi6_1IVfo7X7ViZ2dUMPQ/s1600/ella+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYL-sUzzLKwXgYuOVcGcocGQTdmKuCTytDU80JCn0HceScAqRPwVbONvId3WDHE8FxmduBnq0loQJj95Jv594qeYTaPayXPUCPOTPnL64Mh73HdnesUqFZizfi6_1IVfo7X7ViZ2dUMPQ/s320/ella+1.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
And they did. (Go take pictures, I mean.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Ry5BdBrwLGoAWGnI4gYiekfodxv1nTU7WyVnM1J6sHAMMa_bxD7pjZxzO9n2aAjYn-xjNSjG8RxGt1ukZqTsXihLP5rSHeR8nMlQs3-QOldA5jawTmyGOswrg4sJ5fXZTIOs3YiG9Qg/s1600/sierra+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Ry5BdBrwLGoAWGnI4gYiekfodxv1nTU7WyVnM1J6sHAMMa_bxD7pjZxzO9n2aAjYn-xjNSjG8RxGt1ukZqTsXihLP5rSHeR8nMlQs3-QOldA5jawTmyGOswrg4sJ5fXZTIOs3YiG9Qg/s320/sierra+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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After a while, we regrouped and looked at some of their shots.<br />
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We huddled around our cameras.<br />
We "oohed," we "aahed.<br />
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We discussed.<br />
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We held a mini-critique right in the middle of a train station.<br />
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Then I said, "Go take more pictures."<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYkR2Y0MoB6rBlbs-sinnQ_SqwcpYGOH68hFVLQ_r347TLBK6MuXKTrcRgUU3XyNdj_q80BwbTaHbyKDdGBnW3XMU9sxzAtG-Dj_nBllyay0cHPVbd2qXyqrQoepmPHJlLE0hx0XrlKw8/s1600/ella+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYkR2Y0MoB6rBlbs-sinnQ_SqwcpYGOH68hFVLQ_r347TLBK6MuXKTrcRgUU3XyNdj_q80BwbTaHbyKDdGBnW3XMU9sxzAtG-Dj_nBllyay0cHPVbd2qXyqrQoepmPHJlLE0hx0XrlKw8/s320/ella+2.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
And they did . . . .<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgu02lSIZ1Od6-3c6w8KGQfM8GYR6kRo6IC7C_Gu2qudS7P4BWXL-uHg-N25a01wpKu_B1CS3KiVh1PvsZ-qUm0QGkAoMHS7U9-8_3TGPk8frYG61jGueZ9M8kqhkJoBItDhFgQbhu2vI/s1600/zoe.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgu02lSIZ1Od6-3c6w8KGQfM8GYR6kRo6IC7C_Gu2qudS7P4BWXL-uHg-N25a01wpKu_B1CS3KiVh1PvsZ-qUm0QGkAoMHS7U9-8_3TGPk8frYG61jGueZ9M8kqhkJoBItDhFgQbhu2vI/s320/zoe.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsdxYqqFxHBjnBQKCuplBdAenbqRETJlINK5Zw-66mzw5EXScYPdP7-E8By68n3IDdFZt2OzcrgqkQSxG3-G1mIqzijmQQinzNYTYhlKXRfReR7OJHcO2x8klZgj9Wg3NSJ1RcragvHhM/s1600/Sierra+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsdxYqqFxHBjnBQKCuplBdAenbqRETJlINK5Zw-66mzw5EXScYPdP7-E8By68n3IDdFZt2OzcrgqkQSxG3-G1mIqzijmQQinzNYTYhlKXRfReR7OJHcO2x8klZgj9Wg3NSJ1RcragvHhM/s320/Sierra+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-unZuuMgM3mYrt15_oHL4pUpi-eeOtvdTCqUUMYJmkozobDb_dDJeXTHUIN39JTq1cH2OBcNQ3h-OA1CQS5xWYFaIGIsGs0ez_x-PWd4uirdh2Zf4IJ3PsHtltjtqqNTxUnM1-VG_4Gk/s1600/zoe+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-unZuuMgM3mYrt15_oHL4pUpi-eeOtvdTCqUUMYJmkozobDb_dDJeXTHUIN39JTq1cH2OBcNQ3h-OA1CQS5xWYFaIGIsGs0ez_x-PWd4uirdh2Zf4IJ3PsHtltjtqqNTxUnM1-VG_4Gk/s320/zoe+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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And just like always . . .<br />
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. . . they amazed me.Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-9551955108851873112013-07-17T16:32:00.001-07:002013-08-29T13:48:25.749-07:00I'm Not Looking For Friends (Part I)I've been in writing groups, critique groups, and volunteer organizations. I join these groups to do work, not to make friends. I have something to offer; the group has something to offer me. I'm not looking for someone new to chat with; I don't want to help anyone solve their problems; I'm not interested in their issues. Be my friend, or don't be my friend - it makes little difference to me.<br />
<br />
I joined a writing group. I wanted to spend time writing. I love to write. And I recognize it as work. Writing is good, hard, fulfilling work. Writing Group: Is it 7 p.m. on a Wednesday night? Well then, shut up, and commence to write. But Wait! What happened? <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimpTsDE5lR9ye60RPYU8XyYaTBmy0WU-XHEsSgSbjnmr4n1oe1SJzDQ87oWqBd-o9h4II6RIPcdfQI8doJtSuMIR2YFO84q-XurI6qnKv2KDjvzZVD48RQHh0bp4BG1AdQS9IbeA9I67k/s1600/LA+BAMFs+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimpTsDE5lR9ye60RPYU8XyYaTBmy0WU-XHEsSgSbjnmr4n1oe1SJzDQ87oWqBd-o9h4II6RIPcdfQI8doJtSuMIR2YFO84q-XurI6qnKv2KDjvzZVD48RQHh0bp4BG1AdQS9IbeA9I67k/s320/LA+BAMFs+(2).jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I said I wasn't looking for friends.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Through the work of weekly writing, I formed deeper friendships than ever would have been possible from chatting around a cup of
coffee. There's no denying that despite my best efforts, that writing group - those four people - became my friends.<br />
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I'm in a new critique group. Critique is work that I love. Difficult, fulfilling work. And again, here I am, not looking for friends . . . <i><a href="http://ww.mayknart.blogspot.com/2013/08/im-not-looking-for-friends-part-ii.html">(to be continued).</a></i>Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-25221177992624194422013-06-09T21:21:00.005-07:002013-06-09T21:25:15.769-07:00Sometimes I Get SadSometimes I get sad and lost.<br />
Sometimes I can't remember what I'm doing, or why I'm doing it. <br />
Sometimes I just feel sorry for myself.<br />
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But then, I get to go back to work. And I remember how I get to spend my Saturdays surrounded by young people doing amazing things. Then I remember how I have a job that knocks my socks off, gives me goose bumps, makes me suck in my breath . . . <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAukxKCE8ib00Y_1LnB2U_00sZRkLCVPra94PmV39AgUfntw3vs5KXiSoM7_0xlKuYoMOmsrJU0sA5k32ImsadRWAR7ObmLWnX10pf6jUna2D2shrOn_QblP0kCGMqugp4XfGH4RsNNKo/s1600/DSC_2461+(small).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAukxKCE8ib00Y_1LnB2U_00sZRkLCVPra94PmV39AgUfntw3vs5KXiSoM7_0xlKuYoMOmsrJU0sA5k32ImsadRWAR7ObmLWnX10pf6jUna2D2shrOn_QblP0kCGMqugp4XfGH4RsNNKo/s320/DSC_2461+(small).jpg" width="291" /></a></div>
. . . and still allows me the time to go in my studio to do my own art work. . .<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnmAEvDTz-YkUx57l74iHH3KwlImTRMP2CG6wJE35p9kjTEDthf5MYI9hG9Ypx1S1P5500Tc4tnw7rlb1v-SMIgbXkJKGxdYZnFfUZSUZd7E-Z4Py_CI-QrdXXjIrpnCKGMS04aqJZ6fk/s1600/Expectations+Part+6+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnmAEvDTz-YkUx57l74iHH3KwlImTRMP2CG6wJE35p9kjTEDthf5MYI9hG9Ypx1S1P5500Tc4tnw7rlb1v-SMIgbXkJKGxdYZnFfUZSUZd7E-Z4Py_CI-QrdXXjIrpnCKGMS04aqJZ6fk/s320/Expectations+Part+6+-+Copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
. . . then come home to a dog sleeping with his little pillow . . . <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0SCbZhQKoQDnwwdffF6EUFIOnkw5xTnPLTVHLP4sudsgNr3RhTWSMsbWrnKe-LBOafzEcPElXd4vD4vG247q_mAhZBq6lNGh2-WhtkQHLpaicELCUi2bnjyzqrRGGsOzQ_v3e-M1n3gM/s1600/DSC_2733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0SCbZhQKoQDnwwdffF6EUFIOnkw5xTnPLTVHLP4sudsgNr3RhTWSMsbWrnKe-LBOafzEcPElXd4vD4vG247q_mAhZBq6lNGh2-WhtkQHLpaicELCUi2bnjyzqrRGGsOzQ_v3e-M1n3gM/s320/DSC_2733.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Sometimes I can't remember why I was ever feeling sorry for myself.<br />
<br />Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-57278791390825169252013-06-09T21:16:00.000-07:002013-06-09T21:16:14.825-07:00L.A. ArtCardA long while back, I came across<span style="color: #3d85c6;"> </span><a href="http://la-artist.com/"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">LA-artist.com .</span> </a>This guy will send you a blank postcard. Your job is to create a work of art on the card and mail it back. Fun idea and I wanted to participate. Then I sort of forgot. Today I got an email announcing the first ever ArtCard Book. <span style="color: #3d85c6;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cez2IdELFQ4&feature=youtube_gdata_player">Check it out</a>. </span>Did you see my piece? Try again, don't blink this time. <i>(Hint - there's fruit.) </i>Anyone can <span style="color: #3d85c6;"><a href="http://la-artist.com/participate/">participate</a> <span style="color: black;">in this project.</span></span> Go ahead. It's fun. And just think how cool it is for the mail carrier on this guy's route!Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-24574391051097925092013-05-23T14:38:00.000-07:002013-05-23T14:39:56.633-07:00Digital? Bah! Humbug!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Yesterday was the last day of my photography class at<span style="color: #3d85c6;"> <a href="http://www.urbanhomeschoolers.com/" target="_blank">UrbanHomeschoolers (UHS)</a>.</span> And we did what any good photography class should do . . . we played with balloons!</div>
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In this class of homeschoolers, I didn't get as much
technical information across as I had originally planned for. Today, if you asked
my students about aperture, depth of field, shutter speed, or light meters -
they probably wouldn't know much more than when we started months ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But ask them to share their photos and
discuss their work - watch out!!</div>
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They used digital cameras, cell phones, tablets - anything
that takes a picture. If you know me, I'm not a willing participant
of the digital world.<span style="color: #3d85c6;"> <a href="http://mayknart.blogspot.com/2012/08/living-without-cell-phone.html">I don't own a cell phone.</a></span> I'm not a fan of the digital
camera. I still do most of my shooting with film. My opinion of the digital world
runs more towards Bah, humbug. And Harrumph! I'm not on Facebook. Perhaps you've even heard a Look-How-Digital-has-Ruined-Everything rant from me.</div>
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But this group of kids, using only digital technology, produced
work that awed and inspired me. They had an incredible eye for composition. There
was a flare for the dramatic, and just as often, a sophisticated subtlety that
pleased me to my core.</div>
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How did they do that? With such ease and confidence?</div>
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Ok. They're homeschoolers. A big part of homeschooling is
about following the child's interests; it's about exploring; it's about going
forward with confidence even if your path is not along the accepted norm. As
homeschoolers, it seems they could do nothing less than step out into the world
(or neighborhood, in this case) and bring back something amazing for me to see.</div>
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But they also showed me that there just might be something
to all this digital mumbo-jumbo I have come to hate. They showed me that the
abundance of images they've been surrounded by in their short lives has helped
them create an understanding and a sophisticated dialogue that I do not think
would have been possible "back in my day." And the ease of the
digital camera (or cell phone, or tablet) allowed an instant leap forward,
where content could rule.</div>
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With each <span style="color: #3d85c6;"><a href="http://www.mayknart.blogspot.com/p/upcoming-classes-with-jeanie.html">new session of classes</a>,</span> I'm full of plans, brimming with information and technique I'm eager to share, full of goals about
what I want to teach and where I want each student to be at the end of my
class. I teach a lot of different classes in a lot of different places to wide
range of ages, abilities, and learning styles. But always, ALWAYS, my students
surprise me by teaching <i>me</i> something new. I never needed to be convinced about the great advantages of
homeschooling. But I did need a big shove in the direction of appreciating the
digital world.</div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><a href="http://www.urbanhomeschoolers.com/#!__los-angeles-resource-center"><i>(My next photo class at UHS begins June 10.)</i></a></span></div>
Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-16760146487299729512012-10-09T14:32:00.000-07:002012-10-09T17:36:10.485-07:00Down By the River<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vNT9V_28FmF9k40vqyhRLjhx54s4pr-P0fQea5v5R5Wk2JoKnMQ7lvZAIGwh99qjNO4Mb5vem0ZKySfEYdJlwV-mRb8Y1WijyI3w0fVwoZT-weQGnvEgT0Jx7Wd_DsKnydGiXACGia4/s1600/donkey+at+the+river.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vNT9V_28FmF9k40vqyhRLjhx54s4pr-P0fQea5v5R5Wk2JoKnMQ7lvZAIGwh99qjNO4Mb5vem0ZKySfEYdJlwV-mRb8Y1WijyI3w0fVwoZT-weQGnvEgT0Jx7Wd_DsKnydGiXACGia4/s320/donkey+at+the+river.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Today, <span style="color: #3d85c6;"><a href="http://www.mayknart.blogspot.com/2011/11/pet-post.html" target="_blank">Donkey</a></span> and I went down to the river. The Los Angeles River.<br />
<br />
I've lived in the Los Angeles area all my life.<br />
<br />
I was an adult before I realized that there was such a thing as the Los Angeles River. And it took several more years to realize that all those "washes" running through the neighborhoods of my childhood are actually creeks and brooks feeding into the river.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhccPRBuUE-wWJtyrj2fYNqyE7gpOtce_GYkXKuIdswAUNALImAVjJVwiAgqBpV3l9h2Ag5pKozUOjoCBgaj8jswGKTdGIoNimkILzdEZ9magEwQvbHytPQVokgPRIB_6aPwAzfP7zc2VI/s1600/close+up+no+city.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhccPRBuUE-wWJtyrj2fYNqyE7gpOtce_GYkXKuIdswAUNALImAVjJVwiAgqBpV3l9h2Ag5pKozUOjoCBgaj8jswGKTdGIoNimkILzdEZ9magEwQvbHytPQVokgPRIB_6aPwAzfP7zc2VI/s320/close+up+no+city.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
There are parts of the river, within a few miles of my home, that are truly lovely.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilgKbUKPE-ZpX_2riVW93pzMwawp9k2Nu1e7c5V_sFtymNTnpjQ3-5D2pjMbsHDZ3jzv2cT_bxy1jR1l6SPU6X1LaRGRWVW0nQ5zh8Zcr_Te78Ugku84BjN3k6GWtwCmAfIjlO90LTueA/s1600/heron+close+up.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilgKbUKPE-ZpX_2riVW93pzMwawp9k2Nu1e7c5V_sFtymNTnpjQ3-5D2pjMbsHDZ3jzv2cT_bxy1jR1l6SPU6X1LaRGRWVW0nQ5zh8Zcr_Te78Ugku84BjN3k6GWtwCmAfIjlO90LTueA/s320/heron+close+up.JPG" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMM8VOuOlz0we17Ba4FCMZn7ZOZjWdrhHBun5HGbQmPVFBNfzLeNxvVua7Ys6208Sh3yqQ_AltaoY_sQPzyexEdsPoFJWuTiFR9VlqfMBc3TdAgP_HCbNLYuAas6JnjbtzkJsbiDA45bo/s1600/close+up+flowers.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMM8VOuOlz0we17Ba4FCMZn7ZOZjWdrhHBun5HGbQmPVFBNfzLeNxvVua7Ys6208Sh3yqQ_AltaoY_sQPzyexEdsPoFJWuTiFR9VlqfMBc3TdAgP_HCbNLYuAas6JnjbtzkJsbiDA45bo/s320/close+up+flowers.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I even met a man fishing. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnASsy5cwY5BfnF1sVgjE8RYcDQSUHx5MzYZro8Y4MbyAlxO8Rdz-WOkxityLpJTxs_IsWCWok0DzUKLc3Tc3kWfKX0BKQwfUQfA3I96gEmLvf6cTpav0c0syYW_IIAUKODvSuBaUTzrQ/s1600/man+fishing.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnASsy5cwY5BfnF1sVgjE8RYcDQSUHx5MzYZro8Y4MbyAlxO8Rdz-WOkxityLpJTxs_IsWCWok0DzUKLc3Tc3kWfKX0BKQwfUQfA3I96gEmLvf6cTpav0c0syYW_IIAUKODvSuBaUTzrQ/s320/man+fishing.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrU4KugMdCn3HpVNCeSDSUlg1IeySx0IaoTyMK3tIxOoQERU0LHxIX88m8pzZos-lG-MW2b17yzEI5YVvZ8jFn5wHW72gJf-44sYTkNI6kZuCTLV0BEHCYw8VzG0PfbBwV-7j5dEF1QLI/s1600/man+fishing+and+smiling.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrU4KugMdCn3HpVNCeSDSUlg1IeySx0IaoTyMK3tIxOoQERU0LHxIX88m8pzZos-lG-MW2b17yzEI5YVvZ8jFn5wHW72gJf-44sYTkNI6kZuCTLV0BEHCYw8VzG0PfbBwV-7j5dEF1QLI/s320/man+fishing+and+smiling.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
They say the carp caught here are remarkably clean. He confirmed that they're good eating. They're going on the bar-b-q, he said.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBtsqYzIsX3oaSzlRmk8OOyxdHdUpmqlp3AiJEPjUais3uBFsg7we6TOhtX1qj6E7_Y7yNw7qqVov0Bzy3Gmejr0tDU_L7FCMvJNW_jb2cURPUoBHUEmM1C3Z2JmqdPHVvfTMYAEsr8WA/s1600/river+with+city.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBtsqYzIsX3oaSzlRmk8OOyxdHdUpmqlp3AiJEPjUais3uBFsg7we6TOhtX1qj6E7_Y7yNw7qqVov0Bzy3Gmejr0tDU_L7FCMvJNW_jb2cURPUoBHUEmM1C3Z2JmqdPHVvfTMYAEsr8WA/s320/river+with+city.JPG" width="213" /></a> <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The river is fast becoming one of my new favorite places. And, as always with Los Angeles, the city is never far behind. Which is OK by me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
At the end of October, I'll be spending a day with a group of homeschoolers, down at the river, making art. <br />
<br />
<br />
Info about the river (past, present, future) can be found at<br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><a href="http://folar.org/" target="_blank">Friends of the Los Angeles River</a>.</span><br />
<br />Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-81718695974624096532012-10-08T08:30:00.000-07:002012-10-08T12:39:26.004-07:00Overheard<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Woman to companion, as they exited the Museum of Contemporary Art (<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><a href="http://moca.org/" target="_blank">MOCA</a>)</span> in downtown Los Angeles: <i>"It's exhausting, all of this art, isn't it?" </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">My weary head nodded in<i> </i>agreement as I headed home.</span>Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-66520516478251381142012-09-28T19:35:00.001-07:002013-03-22T17:14:20.693-07:00The How of ItArt college for the fine artist is all about the <i>why</i> of it - theory and critique. It's all about figuring out <i>why</i> you are making art.<br />
<br />
In art college, very little is directed to the <i>how</i>
of it. No one taught me how to prepare a canvas or organize a palette
of colors. No one showed me how Rembrandt or Rubens painted. <br />
<br />
Now, it's time to learn the how.<br />
<br />
I'm
taking a painting class that is the
exact opposite of the painting classes I had in college. This one is
all technique and no content. No one cares <i>why</i> I'm painting; they
only care <i>how</i>. A hard mental switch, and a slow process of painting.
But I'm happy. (See the finished painting<a href="http://www.mayknart.blogspot.com/p/recent-artwork.html"> <span style="color: #3d85c6;">here)</span></a><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9b_9_mzqWCCji8G36OzMz4mg9RxuI9PxWGOrW2TwEe-hB3yZuCVGpCeANGK0oFCc2riHryLulo2r0rJ6M5FHP3C0yRekbqNlqw9Njlc-ObMDJihJaS_jahBt_fVTNdgyQYReWxTJzuPI/s1600/DSC_1169.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9b_9_mzqWCCji8G36OzMz4mg9RxuI9PxWGOrW2TwEe-hB3yZuCVGpCeANGK0oFCc2riHryLulo2r0rJ6M5FHP3C0yRekbqNlqw9Njlc-ObMDJihJaS_jahBt_fVTNdgyQYReWxTJzuPI/s400/DSC_1169.JPG" width="315" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The underdrawing on my carefully prepared wooden panel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-63693919624213297732012-09-05T17:23:00.000-07:002012-09-05T17:25:08.349-07:00Parents, Friends, Grown-ups<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcldMqzwoQu-YbBacoLX_AES0JPT2-VwRxIhDbGV9nMPC8kaI17a2gkKCySH3_ZUu4SdodKOAhWswkG4N2He5X82G6H1NeuZX8VPKnDKyCT0hYxFbbzo__2CVZhVQrcopbDJX8oBLW3Y0/s1600/00069410.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcldMqzwoQu-YbBacoLX_AES0JPT2-VwRxIhDbGV9nMPC8kaI17a2gkKCySH3_ZUu4SdodKOAhWswkG4N2He5X82G6H1NeuZX8VPKnDKyCT0hYxFbbzo__2CVZhVQrcopbDJX8oBLW3Y0/s400/00069410.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drawing "class" at Otis<br />
Found in the photo archives of the Los Angeles Public Library</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Many parents, friends, and otherwise grown-ups have said, "I want to take <a href="http://www.mayknart.blogspot.com/p/upcoming-classes-with-jeanie.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">a class with you</span></a>." <br />
<br />
Was that you? Maybe you were caught up in the excitement and only half-kidding, but I do have a class or two for you:<br />
<br />
This Saturday, September 8, begins my next 10-week sessions at Otis. These are observational drawing classes,<span style="color: #3d85c6;"> </span><a href="http://www.otis.edu/ce,course.php?crs=73&dsc=28&sem=33" target="_blank"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">beginning</span></a> and <a href="http://www.otis.edu/ce,course.php?crs=378&dsc=28&sem=33" target="_blank"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">advanced</span></a>, taught on the campus of <a href="http://www.otis.edu/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">Otis College of Art and Design </span></a>in the Westchester neighborhood of Los Angeles (near LAX). Open to students of all ages, (high school and up) these classes are billed as "Portfolio Development" for people working towards art college admissions. But people take my class for a variety of reasons. For some, it's their very first drawing class ever; sometimes older students are looking to change careers to the art/design field; I've had others who for years have taken art classes in their spare time, with no intention of attending art school; and still others who are putting the finishing touches on their admissions portfolio, working up the courage and the mind-set for art college.<br />
<br />
It doesn't matter to me what your reason for taking my class; I'm just glad you'll be there. And if you grown-ups are worried about it, I guarantee you won't be the oldest student I've taught.Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-33857478613941134502012-08-23T10:57:00.000-07:002012-08-23T10:57:16.420-07:00Living Without a Cell Phone
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
My teenage student opens her eyes wide. I have just told her
that I don't have a cell phone. She stammers. "But . . . but . . . but . .
." She can't understand. "What if you need to talk to your mom?"
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I am touched. What if I need to talk to my mom? She implies
that her mom is important to her. What would she do if she couldn't talk to her
mom? Call her for advice? Hear her voice when she's sad, or unsure, or afraid
of the choices she needs to make? I want to say, "My mom is dead." But
that's not the point. I could say, "I will talk to her later," or
"I like to get letters."</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Out of the frying pan into the fire. Take the bull by the
horns. My mother, during a particularly bad time in my life, wrote me a letter
full of these types of sayings. I loved her for it. There were no cell phones,
and I was half a world away. She was as helpless as I in the situation. A
letter arriving on a cold cloudy morning, with her familiar script on the white
envelope. I held it cradled in my hands and read the address - me, in a foreign
country. I soaked in the return address - her, in a familiar and warm and sunny
place. My bedroom window faced a neighbor's pasture, then trees on rolling
hills. All I saw was cold snow falling and a smoky room from endlessly lit
cigarettes.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Somewhere, in a cardboard box in my closet, or maybe under
my bed, I have my letters from my mom stored away. Somewhere, I have her advice
tucked away safe. I can talk to her later. Yes, that's what I can say. That's
what I can do.</div>
Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-84232431993389070312012-07-22T20:31:00.002-07:002012-07-31T22:08:06.461-07:00So Worth It<div style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRz5A-WbmL12A4jZJjv62U7RAQsyuKvcZB6q8yxOJRC9bVSgFFWDSYKL6IYF942hISw83JiJCqGinVygsh48zpLCTdrwZ_Wtup6ACfQXPCTuPPsRdlKpmMLD4M272os8wkZ9wd-VZYbMw/s1600/student+work+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRz5A-WbmL12A4jZJjv62U7RAQsyuKvcZB6q8yxOJRC9bVSgFFWDSYKL6IYF942hISw83JiJCqGinVygsh48zpLCTdrwZ_Wtup6ACfQXPCTuPPsRdlKpmMLD4M272os8wkZ9wd-VZYbMw/s320/student+work+2.JPG" width="217" /></a></div>
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July is pretty crazy for me. I work almost every day of the week, on my feet for 7 hours, commuting at least an hour each way, no air conditioning in my car. (Last Thursday it took 2 hours to get home!) I arrive home with just enough energy to eat dinner (provided by my son - YAY son!) and then fall asleep before my head hits the pillow. The other night, my dreams were about being exhausted. </div>
<br />
Sunday is my recooperating day, and boy do I need it. Though by late Sunday afternoon I always start thinking about my classes again. <br />
<br />
<em>But it isn't with dread of the coming Monday. It's with eager anticipation.</em> <br />
<br /></div>
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I actually start looking forward to it all again. I forget the commute, the tired feet, the exhausted brain. </div>
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Instead, I remember the thrill I get when a beginning student pulls together a drawing like this . . . </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbR0EOrOpZJF_DgxPhSs6NrAPnHaqPUja02WYKaZHBHn36yGA-Ep7J7rLzQmWRWwv-9X5KtIQytd_uqfJV81KrSCp6vZnR7OAkWN16qhwZ-c-aG0IYXnoKzHBsVoS6fiSxMibtTcmtUnE/s1600/student+work+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbR0EOrOpZJF_DgxPhSs6NrAPnHaqPUja02WYKaZHBHn36yGA-Ep7J7rLzQmWRWwv-9X5KtIQytd_uqfJV81KrSCp6vZnR7OAkWN16qhwZ-c-aG0IYXnoKzHBsVoS6fiSxMibtTcmtUnE/s320/student+work+1.JPG" width="229" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
. . . and I remember the look on that student's face when she realizes that she can do something that she didn't even know was in her.<br />
<br />
And I can't wait for tomorrow when I get to see her finished drawing (see up there on the top right?) even though I already gave her an 'A' and there's no reason to go that extra mile except that now she knows that it's worth it.<br />
<br />
So worth it.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRz5A-WbmL12A4jZJjv62U7RAQsyuKvcZB6q8yxOJRC9bVSgFFWDSYKL6IYF942hISw83JiJCqGinVygsh48zpLCTdrwZ_Wtup6ACfQXPCTuPPsRdlKpmMLD4M272os8wkZ9wd-VZYbMw/s1600/student+work+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div>
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<br />
<br />Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-64280177571617970402012-06-26T12:34:00.000-07:002012-06-26T12:40:06.772-07:00Fun Objects, Amazing StudentsBack to another session of Observational Drawing at Otis College of Art and Design. I find myself saying it every new session: "These are my best students, EVER." And I'm saying it again!<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcV84mmGxBLwZBbKb8cERG5Z-MnwCM-vQz9h7Z1AaIg8_E5VXYQCo6hRy-gewkZswSOOlhFQ7w_aJBgULqJ3f-yRYP0eICI0mD1otrkXBGd1QE7BhPOM50PqauGfKTcjspcolwlnIToo/s1600/DSC_0483.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcV84mmGxBLwZBbKb8cERG5Z-MnwCM-vQz9h7Z1AaIg8_E5VXYQCo6hRy-gewkZswSOOlhFQ7w_aJBgULqJ3f-yRYP0eICI0mD1otrkXBGd1QE7BhPOM50PqauGfKTcjspcolwlnIToo/s320/DSC_0483.JPG" width="247" /></a></div>
Besides the floating pear (it's not finished) this is a rather AMAZING drawing to be coming out of a beginning drawing student. Give it a cast shadow and that pear will settle right down.<br />
<br />
<br />
And this . . . <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi70yyVZhOWRPPQNkrnLwWJe5dfqjNU0TVTCMKJjGXWGi9MGnPVP7ABS9zyQvCZigHbf3chiekAN_dPFH6law4OyD_uLavtdw95eVFDE5q1WX4ITadLSvqudy21eSDZ4_1-hDRgySuOI0o/s1600/DSC_0490.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi70yyVZhOWRPPQNkrnLwWJe5dfqjNU0TVTCMKJjGXWGi9MGnPVP7ABS9zyQvCZigHbf3chiekAN_dPFH6law4OyD_uLavtdw95eVFDE5q1WX4ITadLSvqudy21eSDZ4_1-hDRgySuOI0o/s320/DSC_0490.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
She even missed a day of class and still got right down to work to produce this drawing (above). Confidence, willingness, committment . . . look what we get!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjypav_V8ijBFk1Wnk5Pm_6vtbX_zjZtsGLPHsz0aZ5sCINXmUs88uJR-4M7Q1xdYBn_tbtF4QvZjgPwnotH8QOFeCMVcrvhXM_easEnWS7S3qTxKO6wejB4FUh6Al5I_hnkE2Ny7OPYtw/s1600/DSC_0480.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjypav_V8ijBFk1Wnk5Pm_6vtbX_zjZtsGLPHsz0aZ5sCINXmUs88uJR-4M7Q1xdYBn_tbtF4QvZjgPwnotH8QOFeCMVcrvhXM_easEnWS7S3qTxKO6wejB4FUh6Al5I_hnkE2Ny7OPYtw/s320/DSC_0480.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
And a close up of this one . . . just makes me smile. Besides being a nice use of the charcoal, doesn't it look like that pig is so enjoying a scratch under the chin?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg52mueYmdzMPreGiyjO1wCZzsjC59898OLbvw7DKxhwNArpj2x0BPQXg6ZvGyDMi3Ko1_2S5_KiRipi4oIZzV0tzSQ1ri403byIzeUFZqaNDm6XmpFZQ_V0TftJ9dQp-r6_zeRbgf74o8/s1600/drawing+and+comp+room.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg52mueYmdzMPreGiyjO1wCZzsjC59898OLbvw7DKxhwNArpj2x0BPQXg6ZvGyDMi3Ko1_2S5_KiRipi4oIZzV0tzSQ1ri403byIzeUFZqaNDm6XmpFZQ_V0TftJ9dQp-r6_zeRbgf74o8/s320/drawing+and+comp+room.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
We are so lucky to have use of this room at Otis College. Such a treat to spend my Saturdays in a room filled with fun objects and fantastic students.Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-1242083013732882192012-06-14T10:58:00.000-07:002012-06-15T10:03:04.519-07:00How to Clean a Bone<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAA33omThRFTngJoVrMI3VDxP4UidA1gxEaGme4YtpLIRrmqkPOBNJ3YRYRxAWLXxPxy9ZoXJc-d65VgymNDj6CrMynPb9XamQKzpsJBt_lFel-BYa3a0C5JTWAiWAs9n07m4rwPOkINI/s1600/clean+bone+found.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAA33omThRFTngJoVrMI3VDxP4UidA1gxEaGme4YtpLIRrmqkPOBNJ3YRYRxAWLXxPxy9ZoXJc-d65VgymNDj6CrMynPb9XamQKzpsJBt_lFel-BYa3a0C5JTWAiWAs9n07m4rwPOkINI/s320/clean+bone+found.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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If you happen to find a bone . . . first - OFFER IT TO ME.<br />
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But let's pretend you want to keep your bone. It probably needs a bit of cleaning. Most people think they should boil or bleach it. STOP. Both of those methods are bad for your bone. Here's all you need to do:<br />
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1. Remove as much remaining animal matter as possible.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfZ4Jz54NtFelqaAjC4RtMGRvlCSA2IQsaJvOlMu4_iAGikC7Ax7qNQYiVHYSeOfjed0p5CmmR4Cu4BzBVvDcFu5eRaAgeFGXxlCkpNm4KLVqK0mKIHbFxhgemNkRLWHLYAYLeo8xZrag/s1600/clean+a+bone+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfZ4Jz54NtFelqaAjC4RtMGRvlCSA2IQsaJvOlMu4_iAGikC7Ax7qNQYiVHYSeOfjed0p5CmmR4Cu4BzBVvDcFu5eRaAgeFGXxlCkpNm4KLVqK0mKIHbFxhgemNkRLWHLYAYLeo8xZrag/s320/clean+a+bone+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This little bone is pretty clean, but still needs a bit of work.</td></tr>
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2. Place the bone in water; leave it in a warm spot.<br />
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<em>Beware of two things: a.) It can get smelly, so you don't want it on top of your refrigerator. b.) It can get smelly, so if you leave it outside some other animal may decide it's a tasty treat.</em><br />
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3. Replace with fresh water often. Keep changing the water until it stays clear.<br />
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<em>Beware of one thing: sometimes teeth fall out during this process so be careful when you dump that water. Teeth are the best part and you don't want to lose them.</em><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgABAt-EMgTAc-MVqcYh5K68obWXkz6-7gXTppub0hJ8qDViqGuuaL01CtCOGTDgZn08GwuEYpg745A25UNbeY2mLtLet79RXJ-HKfgoscljX9aKMiRhbKMtScOHh5XIrpQiCRLNcZDxF8/s1600/clean+a+bone+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgABAt-EMgTAc-MVqcYh5K68obWXkz6-7gXTppub0hJ8qDViqGuuaL01CtCOGTDgZn08GwuEYpg745A25UNbeY2mLtLet79RXJ-HKfgoscljX9aKMiRhbKMtScOHh5XIrpQiCRLNcZDxF8/s320/clean+a+bone+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is my student's super cool dog skull. It's just about ready.</td></tr>
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4. When the water stays clear, it's time to submerge it in hydrogen peroxide. (Bleach will make your bone brittle.) Leave it in the hydrogen peroxide until it's the desired whiteness. <br />
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5. Now it should be clean and white, and ready for anything. Even some gold leaf.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzYhKkX0YZHI0t7bV9GIVVGuuK4UkFKrb4gY3DGdPxuaiqo14-KkfwfPQRjgpD6Z5NdmOHmX58sGtOsWaBQ9x7xtLDTJwMPi6acB90ta663r_or1U-IB_4GvmslWZdnDxPz3LPJ1tFVbE/s1600/corpus+delicti+cat+skull.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzYhKkX0YZHI0t7bV9GIVVGuuK4UkFKrb4gY3DGdPxuaiqo14-KkfwfPQRjgpD6Z5NdmOHmX58sGtOsWaBQ9x7xtLDTJwMPi6acB90ta663r_or1U-IB_4GvmslWZdnDxPz3LPJ1tFVbE/s320/corpus+delicti+cat+skull.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/70745033/animal-bone-gold-leaf-in-ceramic-box-cat" target="_blank"><span style="color: #0b5394;">"Corpus Delicti, Cat Skull"</span></a></td></tr>
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<br />Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-35796972013737375712012-06-08T15:11:00.002-07:002012-06-08T15:12:35.165-07:00That's a Chair<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXkkC4VXvX90KcGBVOJHFL1XcA0ibSi63Gb5DFAxV6cO25airUeFd1F1-A5c8eKQzoreq5MNd3fu_I6GZzzdLlIyk4kz8YKSWavKzag6VgzRUU5o6ga7SYTw7Yv11KbMH9lgS8RELXKV4/s1600/DSC00177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXkkC4VXvX90KcGBVOJHFL1XcA0ibSi63Gb5DFAxV6cO25airUeFd1F1-A5c8eKQzoreq5MNd3fu_I6GZzzdLlIyk4kz8YKSWavKzag6VgzRUU5o6ga7SYTw7Yv11KbMH9lgS8RELXKV4/s320/DSC00177.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">books saved from a library purge</td></tr>
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I recently finished reading <em>To the Lighthouse</em> by Virginia Woolf. It was my third attempt over several years. I love her writing, but at the same time, finishing any book by this writer is a struggle for me. Her sentences tend to flow around me and I get caught up in the sound of it, falling in love with the rhythm and the words. By the end of a sentence, I'm often left in a daze, with no idea what's going on. <br />
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But I knew exactly what was going on when Lily Briscoe, an artist in the story, says this:<br />
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"One wanted. . . to be on a level with ordinary experience, to feel simply that's a chair, that's a table, and yet at the same time, it's a miracle, it's an ecstasy."<br />
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Yes. I understood that. That's it. That's what I want my students to feel. But I think that I won't assign <em>To the Lighthouse</em> for their summer reading.<br />
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<a href="http://www.otis.edu/continuing_education/summer_of_art/index.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Otis Summer of Art</span></a> classes begin Monday, July 9.Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-28833225097492500552012-05-15T09:12:00.000-07:002012-05-15T09:15:38.921-07:00How I Spent Mother's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEFy9397yfsn7Os9sfybVth0hQ5IDNZOr_XncgvVrTCB4QlqsuzAXtSGcRcNr5xeQZLi1DqecNsJKk8vl-fHFkRMFFZqjfpZqwE7Rvj5xJkK4rVNWAAnSk9YrVb00mVRH2yc1dUBsFKaY/s1600/Shrinky+Dinks+Fruit+cropped+SMALL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEFy9397yfsn7Os9sfybVth0hQ5IDNZOr_XncgvVrTCB4QlqsuzAXtSGcRcNr5xeQZLi1DqecNsJKk8vl-fHFkRMFFZqjfpZqwE7Rvj5xJkK4rVNWAAnSk9YrVb00mVRH2yc1dUBsFKaY/s320/Shrinky+Dinks+Fruit+cropped+SMALL.jpg" width="229" /></a><strong>Here's how I spent my Mother's Day . . . </strong><br />
. . . drawing tiny fruit. Each piece of fruit is 1-1/2 inches square. The entire sheet is just under 8-1/2" x 11". Later I will cut, heat, and <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/MayKnart?section_id=7886939" target="_blank"><span style="color: #0b5394;">shrink them down to about 5/8" each</span></a><span style="color: #0b5394;">.</span><br />
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Believe it or not, spending hours drawing tiny fruit makes me pretty happy.<br />
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<strong>The only thing that made it even better . . .</strong> <br />
. . . taking a long break to lay in the hammock in the back yard while my guys bar-b-cued ribs and bacon-wrapped corn on the cob.<br />
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As I lay in the hammock, listening to the birds and the conversation, I noticed how unusually quiet it was in our little section of northeast L.A. - no baseball games at the park, no cars racing down Eastern Ave., not even a police helicopter circling overhead. Everyone, it seems, was at home quietly celebrating their mom.Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4336372406462903825.post-3767953214629243492012-04-12T14:16:00.001-07:002012-04-13T09:47:33.635-07:00Too Focused on ResultsWhen we are tense, nothing much good happens. When we are too focused on the result, the result actually suffers. When our expectations of ourselves are too close to the surface, they get in the way of fulfilling the very expectations that we know we are capable of and most need to meet.<br />
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Last week in life drawing class, we did quick ink wash drawings. Poses were three minutes only. In that short amount of time, we tried to get to the essence of the pose, with as few lines as possible getting movement, mass, and elegance. There wasn't enough time to worry about whether that swipe of ink was the perfect outline. <br />
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In this exercise, if you're tense, nothing much good happens. If you're too focused on the result, you'll never have the faith to leap ahead, jump right in, before time is up.<br />
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And to make things even better, we worked on scraps of paper, envelopes, pages torn from discarded books. This artwork was starting out as trash, so what worries could we possibly have? <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5rdyFviSBB5amaXjWSGVbqyvLUOm3lOx-yYcQl7F2LK1erfRN9Rksd7nBY2TZq4ffEH1WSatVVynni7TUhAI1pBGrVU-zGg9_yqGqGc-fJMvsJMqW5FbOa5n8uU7vKTUq5kw7AT-GvZM/s1600/DSC00126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5rdyFviSBB5amaXjWSGVbqyvLUOm3lOx-yYcQl7F2LK1erfRN9Rksd7nBY2TZq4ffEH1WSatVVynni7TUhAI1pBGrVU-zGg9_yqGqGc-fJMvsJMqW5FbOa5n8uU7vKTUq5kw7AT-GvZM/s320/DSC00126.JPG" width="201" /></a></div>After an hour or so of those ink wash drawings, we settled into a longer pose. I had dropped my expectations and no longer seemed to care about the perfect figure drawing.<br />
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And now, finally, I'm starting to get some results. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXECXw2Ee3iKgBeO6eM2dMIXSIyFcn7KjSjsJ1tCkGV_18_M1bIq8hnGRNSH9cgWyzpiOQ-NMcR_v3HoO7GK9MZ5WPil1mJhmSrybl1Y861cta7N3Oq9eaxv5RYZKtBHGgiHoiuiymRbY/s1600/DSC00129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXECXw2Ee3iKgBeO6eM2dMIXSIyFcn7KjSjsJ1tCkGV_18_M1bIq8hnGRNSH9cgWyzpiOQ-NMcR_v3HoO7GK9MZ5WPil1mJhmSrybl1Y861cta7N3Oq9eaxv5RYZKtBHGgiHoiuiymRbY/s320/DSC00129.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Jeanie Friashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15726501907136725264noreply@blogger.com4