You better start swimmin’ (or you’ll sink like a stone).
It feels like Florida is going through the five stages of grief.
1. Denial: "There's no leak, you guys!"
2. Anger: State-wide call for BP's head on a platter. (This stage is still in effect.)
3. Bargaining: ...with God in hopes that BP can pull a solution out of its posterior.
4. Depression: No tourism. No fishing. Oily sand. Affected wildlife.
5. Acceptance: TBA.
There's nothing I can say that hasn't been said a hundred times by other people, but the heartsickness is indescribable. What about the birds and fish? What about the men who died? How can BP not care? I love animals so much, and watching birds try to clean themselves of oil upsets me like nothing else. (Today, I helped a little turtle cross the street, because we should try to assist the critters whose habitats we've invaded.)
I've been wanting to share some of my prints, so my hatred for BP and love for printmaking are combined into one emotionally-confused post.
This is the drypoint. I was excited by how well (IMO) it turned out, especially since I'd never tried printmaking before. A drypoint is simply etching into a plate (plastic, in this case).
Both of these are copper etches. Process: file the plate's edges, cover the back in plastic, coat the front in hard ground, heat the ground until it's a thin, wax-like layer, and then draw into it with a round-tipped tool. When that's all done, soak the plate in an acid bath for about half an hour. I got really creative with the cathedral, because we learned how to make Xerox transfers using lacquer thinner and how to use rice paper in Chine-collé.
The only difficult part is getting the ink off after class. If you're careful and use gloves like smart people, then your hands escape unscathed, but if you're like me and consider gloves a nuisance, then you must wash carefully. The first week I came home after using black and red inks; I washed, but it only faded the inks into a dull wine color, and mom freaked out because I "looked like an abused woman".
Lastly, the following occurred over our Memorial Day break:
Old shed!
New shed!
Dad is busy changing out sheds, since the old one is obviously falling apart. He's pretty darn happy, which is a nice change from his usual uphill battle against anything that involves sheets of instructions. (If you think it's easy putting that shed together, then think again!)
P.S. Last week, I noticed a huge club sign on campus: "God is thinking about you even if your not thinking about him," and I wanted to cry, because it's a university and yet the difference between "your" and "you're" remains an arcane mystery.
P.P.S. Seriously, BP. Just... augh.
1. Denial: "There's no leak, you guys!"
2. Anger: State-wide call for BP's head on a platter. (This stage is still in effect.)
3. Bargaining: ...with God in hopes that BP can pull a solution out of its posterior.
4. Depression: No tourism. No fishing. Oily sand. Affected wildlife.
5. Acceptance: TBA.
There's nothing I can say that hasn't been said a hundred times by other people, but the heartsickness is indescribable. What about the birds and fish? What about the men who died? How can BP not care? I love animals so much, and watching birds try to clean themselves of oil upsets me like nothing else. (Today, I helped a little turtle cross the street, because we should try to assist the critters whose habitats we've invaded.)
I've been wanting to share some of my prints, so my hatred for BP and love for printmaking are combined into one emotionally-confused post.
This is the drypoint. I was excited by how well (IMO) it turned out, especially since I'd never tried printmaking before. A drypoint is simply etching into a plate (plastic, in this case).
Both of these are copper etches. Process: file the plate's edges, cover the back in plastic, coat the front in hard ground, heat the ground until it's a thin, wax-like layer, and then draw into it with a round-tipped tool. When that's all done, soak the plate in an acid bath for about half an hour. I got really creative with the cathedral, because we learned how to make Xerox transfers using lacquer thinner and how to use rice paper in Chine-collé.
The only difficult part is getting the ink off after class. If you're careful and use gloves like smart people, then your hands escape unscathed, but if you're like me and consider gloves a nuisance, then you must wash carefully. The first week I came home after using black and red inks; I washed, but it only faded the inks into a dull wine color, and mom freaked out because I "looked like an abused woman".
Lastly, the following occurred over our Memorial Day break:
Old shed!
New shed!
Dad is busy changing out sheds, since the old one is obviously falling apart. He's pretty darn happy, which is a nice change from his usual uphill battle against anything that involves sheets of instructions. (If you think it's easy putting that shed together, then think again!)
P.S. Last week, I noticed a huge club sign on campus: "God is thinking about you even if your not thinking about him," and I wanted to cry, because it's a university and yet the difference between "your" and "you're" remains an arcane mystery.
P.P.S. Seriously, BP. Just... augh.