some dibujos of some drawings...

So, I'd had an idea for an art project percolating in my mind for about a month, but my problem is I'm always afraid that if I actually DO the art project it will turn out way less awesome than it was in my head. So what ends up happening is I think about art all the time, and I get awesome ideas for art pieces that I want to do, and I give myself a nice pat on the back because I am so creative and artsy, and then I never actually DO the art project... But I got really excited about this project in my head, so excited that I decided to risk it and actually attempt to make it, even though I'm sure it will evolve and change as it gets made (i.e. I will realize I'm not half as talented as I wish I was and will adjust my expectations accordingly). But anyway, the first step for me when making a Big-Ass Painting (and this is going to be a Big-Ass Painting) is sketching out the basic components of my piece... So glass of wine in hand (okay *bottle* of wine in hand-- that way if my end results end up sucking I'll be so trolleyed I won't care), I decided to spend the evening sketching... and here is the first stage of my project, nothing fancy just some charcoal sketches of what I'm going to incorporate into the painting.

An open letter...

Dear World,

I have an amazing sense of humor (if I do say so myself). I am smart, and funny, and independent, and self-sufficient, and I can usually take things with a grain of salt. I am excellent at 'laughing it off' and finding the humor in whatever ridiculous situation I find myself in (and I seem to find myself in an excess of ridiculous situations). In fact, I often get myself into trouble (or at least into yet more awkward situations) for laughing at times others would deem inappropriate. I like this about myself- I like that I'm the girl that can laugh, that can make other people laugh, that has no problem laughing at herself.

But sometimes I'm sad, and I don't have the energy to temper that sadness with laughter. Sometimes, what I need is to cry on my way home, in public, and not have people judge me for it. Sometimes, what I need is to be disappointed and not have someone try to snap me out of it. Sometimes, I need to be upset and not have anyone think less of me for it.

I guess what I'm saying is that too often, the World makes us choose: are we going to be the upper or the downer, the one that makes everyone laugh or the one that brings everyone down; are we going to be happy or sad? And I guess what I'm asking is to not be forced to choose. Can't we just feel what we feel and not be labeled for it? We are obsessed with labels and categorizations- it makes us feel like we understand, like we are in control. But sometimes we don't understand, and we're not in control; sometimes it's not either/or; sometimes things fall into the space between. I am the girl who laughs and the girl who cries; please, World, don't make me choose.

Un peu d'art...

Well I was trying to figure out how to organize my blog and make it all coherent and pretty with a separate section devoted to my artwork, but evidently blogger.com isn't fancy enough for that... or (and this is a very real possibility) I'm just too technologically inept to figure out how to do it. Either way, for now I'll just post a couple of my paintings here... These are both pieces I actually did while still back in Boston, but I haven't gotten around to photographing the ones (okay, ONE) I've done here yet... Apologies for the less-than-stellar picture quality (you can't really get a sense of the detail), but I'm still waiting to start making the big bucks so I can buy a fancy camera ;).

Every time I enter a UK bank...

...I die a little on the inside. No but seriously, i do; I think by now I've probably had a good 6 months taken off my life by the tragically inept UK banking system. Not that the American banking system is flawless; au contraire, mes amis: I have in fact spent hours on the phone (using my precious international minutes) with my American bank, trying to get them to unlock the secret to transferring money between countries, to no avail (turns out there IS no secret- it simply can't be done. Thanks, TD Banknorth!). But the thing about my American bank is that it's hit-or-miss; sometimes I get hung up on by rude managers who don't know what the eff they're talking about, but SOMETIMES they are lovely and do lovely things for me like drawing up complicated visa letters without complaining. With my UK bank, however, I *always* know what to expect: lovely, polite ineptitude. They are NEVER rude, and would probably rather die than hang up on me, but dear GOD no one knows what is going on with my account. Today I made my third attempt in setting up a direct debit to pay my rent. Third time's the charm, right? WRONG. Basically, the first time had failed because I had filled out my OWN direct debit form, not the special bank form; the second time had failed because (unbeknownst to me, maybe because I never open my mail) evidently the signature on my direct debit form (the *special bank* form, thank you very much) didn't match the signature they had on file for my account. [Sidenote: when I went in to correct this, it turns out what they consider 'not matching' means there was a tiiiiiny little loop missing from one of my J's. REALLY??] So, when I had corrected this massive signature discrepancy, I assumed we were all set, right? WRONG. The lovely, polite bankeress informed me that she was putting some notes on my account requesting that the direct debit be re-authorized to begin in December, but she couldn't guarantee anything. AKA, good luck with this but you're probably going to have to come back in December with another, brand-new BANK-APPROVED form in order for your direct debit to ACTUALLY work.

Then it was on to the deposit side of things; I had (finally) received my security deposit check from my apartment in Boston and was excited to (finally) have some money to deposit into my UK account (because in case you were wondering, I still haven't received my funding... *sparklessss*!), but uh-oh! The check is an *American* check, which means it's in *American* dollars. Well, good thing they're a bank, right? I mean, surely they have the capabilities RIGHT THERE to convert dollars into pounds according to the current exchange rate, right?? WRONG. (Clearly, I was wrong about a LOT of things today. How unusual and disconcerting.) Turns out, it's actually going to take 4 to 6 business weeks (What the hell does that mean? Do the weekends not count as part of the week??) to process the check, convert it into pounds, and get the money into my account. (I would've offered to do the conversion myself, in my head, right then and there, but good old Martin the HSBC Teller didn't look like the type that would've found this amusing.)

Well, whew. Good thing I didn't have anything else to do today, like research for the 4,000-word advocacy case study that's looming over my head, or reading for tomorrow's debate in which apparently I'm representing UNICEF (I thought the military loved them some acronyms but they've got NOTHING on the NGO sector...). And the *truly* exciting thing is, I get to go back to my bank tomorrow to try and MANUALLY transfer my rent money since clearly direct debit is proving to be a wee bit too tricky for my university-educated self. Good thing drinking before 5 pm is acceptable here, because my bank closes at 4:30 and from now on I'm making sure I have a few alcoholic beverages in me before setting foot in that place. :)