vca interviews cat, cat helps at heide, everyone eats cake on brunswick street
So, I'm not going to the VCA. Interview went badly. It's okay, however, I'm neither surprised nor devastated. Monash is higher on my preferences.
I got in there and felt that even though they complimented my work, and even though I know that at least some of it is good, at least by school standards, that it was all passe and obvious and unskilled. I felt like my enthusiasm for the subject was meagre - like I couldn't express to them how much art means to me, like they'd heard it all before. And I also felt like I kept on repeating myself.
Well, regardless, it's an experience. Maybe I should go and do ten job interviews just so I've done it - maybe you stop feeling sick after a while, after you've answered the hard questions multiple times. Like performing. I'm much more confident about that now.
Julian wandered around the galleries while I was talking to the interviewers, and told me that he didn't want me to go there and that overall the standard of work was appalling apart from a few stand-out pieces. I don't think he values the theoretical side of fine art, he just looks at technical skill (or apparent technical skill.) I don't think I really trust his opinion - I don't know. He has such a commercial attitude towards fine art, it frustrates me - but then again, I didn't see the works. I think most of what he saw was in a video installation.
I've never really responded to any video art that I've been exposed to. It seems like an extremely difficult medium to work in. Especially, to work in, and not prop up with art-wank-garble. Maybe I need to see some more of it.
Uk.
*confused*
I really have NO idea what I'm talking about, sigh. I feel like a floundering child.
He wants me to be a commercial photographer. It's a possibility? We'll see. I'm going to be assisting them on weddings next year anyhow, so I'll be learning the right skills. Need to learn those people skills - still remember Julian getting ten self-consious fifteen year olds to dance on the tables up at Howqua...
Heide, tonight - the opening of Les Kossatz' retrospective, and of Fiona Abicare's installation in the project space. The highlight for me was hearing Mirka Mora speak - what a delicious old lady. I'm grinning at the memory. She forgot people's names - Important People in the audience who she was addressing, and started halfway through memories, and confused people with the lack of structure and made people grin to themselves like a secret. She was hilarious, and scandalous, and scatterbrained, and warm, and honest. Quelle femme!
And Mum's 50th - we had dinner on Brunswick street, shared nachos and lasagne and chicken parma, applerhubarbcrumble and cookiesandcreamcheesecake. Zoe danced. She's pretty amazing, my little sister. All quick spins and legs flying and little swivelly steps and arms everywhere. I want her to be a Swing Kid; I wish I'd been a swing kid. Mum shed a few tears remembering her last meal with her father, and Julian took many photos.
'Night, guys. I'm getting up some semblance of early to head over to Camberwell...
I got in there and felt that even though they complimented my work, and even though I know that at least some of it is good, at least by school standards, that it was all passe and obvious and unskilled. I felt like my enthusiasm for the subject was meagre - like I couldn't express to them how much art means to me, like they'd heard it all before. And I also felt like I kept on repeating myself.
Well, regardless, it's an experience. Maybe I should go and do ten job interviews just so I've done it - maybe you stop feeling sick after a while, after you've answered the hard questions multiple times. Like performing. I'm much more confident about that now.
Julian wandered around the galleries while I was talking to the interviewers, and told me that he didn't want me to go there and that overall the standard of work was appalling apart from a few stand-out pieces. I don't think he values the theoretical side of fine art, he just looks at technical skill (or apparent technical skill.) I don't think I really trust his opinion - I don't know. He has such a commercial attitude towards fine art, it frustrates me - but then again, I didn't see the works. I think most of what he saw was in a video installation.
I've never really responded to any video art that I've been exposed to. It seems like an extremely difficult medium to work in. Especially, to work in, and not prop up with art-wank-garble. Maybe I need to see some more of it.
Uk.
*confused*
I really have NO idea what I'm talking about, sigh. I feel like a floundering child.
He wants me to be a commercial photographer. It's a possibility? We'll see. I'm going to be assisting them on weddings next year anyhow, so I'll be learning the right skills. Need to learn those people skills - still remember Julian getting ten self-consious fifteen year olds to dance on the tables up at Howqua...
Heide, tonight - the opening of Les Kossatz' retrospective, and of Fiona Abicare's installation in the project space. The highlight for me was hearing Mirka Mora speak - what a delicious old lady. I'm grinning at the memory. She forgot people's names - Important People in the audience who she was addressing, and started halfway through memories, and confused people with the lack of structure and made people grin to themselves like a secret. She was hilarious, and scandalous, and scatterbrained, and warm, and honest. Quelle femme!
And Mum's 50th - we had dinner on Brunswick street, shared nachos and lasagne and chicken parma, applerhubarbcrumble and cookiesandcreamcheesecake. Zoe danced. She's pretty amazing, my little sister. All quick spins and legs flying and little swivelly steps and arms everywhere. I want her to be a Swing Kid; I wish I'd been a swing kid. Mum shed a few tears remembering her last meal with her father, and Julian took many photos.
'Night, guys. I'm getting up some semblance of early to head over to Camberwell...