I'm floating on a calm ocean... everything is calm on the ocean... and since I am on the ocean as we've already established, I am calm ...everything is very... calm... in a calming way (and you know how words don't seem like real words if you type or say them a lot? yeah) calm... calmy-calm-calm-calm.
And now I remember that I'm afraid of large bodies of water... and am less than calm.
DAMN.
I'm so tired I am actually looking forward to Monday's critique because I'm pretty sure it's going to be the only cathartic part of the week. There's too many things to do, very little time to do those things, and of course there's hardly time to redo things that should have been done right to begin with... and the temptation to curl up in a ball on the floor and drink tiny bottles of vodka while pretending I'm a two foot tall alcoholic is well... tempting. Seriously, that is a fun time right there, I recommend it to anyone who's ever secretly wanted to live in a cupboard.
But I digress.

Because The End is no longer near.
It is HERE.
Through the power of time-lapsed writing, second term of third year ended last Thursday and I'm overwhelmed and kinda numb... and a little sneezy.
Let's recap shall we?
This year productions class was even more important than it usually is, with all the mandatory exhibitions and the faculty watching each student and the work they produce very closely in preparation for thesis year. Pressure was felt.
This year I produced the following projects for Productions:

Selling Ideas: Camera Persona
Hybrid: There Are Still Things
Book: This Is Not Your Life
Final Exhibition: We All Fall From Trees
and bonus for Maximum Exposure gallery show: Abreaction

I exhibited There Are Still Things in an independent-from-school group show, and This Is Not Your Life at the Ryerson Gallery.
My grades were:
A-
A
A+
and not known currently A+

My final critique was interesting to say the least. I made another book. I arrived late to set up because I slept in like a fool and since it was a book I needed to hang my artist statement and "cover art" only. This lateness ensured that no one got to preview my work beforehand. Shrouded in mysterious mystery, I passed two copies around, and blathered nervously for a bit. I waited for my professors Katy and Weislaw, and consulting artist Sara, to speak.

Katy defered to Sara and I got nervous...er.
Sara: this is really brilliant, I'm not even half done and it's just...
Katy nodded, and with the nodding I could see glinting... she was CRYING.
Holy crap people. I was not prepared for that.
Weislaw asked me how I went about the project. I explained that I had essentially been working on it for a few years.
Weislaw: you would have to... How many pieces did you do and how much did you write? It's just so well edited that I get the impression that there's much more and you made it as tight as possible...
Me: There's definitely more to it, at least five more pieces and so much writing, I will sometimes write 1000 words and edit down to 200.
Weislaw: Yes... you know, I thought with your last book you had peaked, I thought "ok, she has done it and it is the best she can do" but now, if it is possible, you have outdone yourself.
Wieslaw is the king of the backhanded compliment, which I kinda love.
Me: um... thank you...
Weislaw: so you have professionals working for you?
Me: sorry?
Weislaw: I'm just kidding!
Me: oh. Haha!

I was so caught off guard by their reactions that I stood there like an abandoned marionette for what seemed like an eternity of praise. I don't know how to respond to praise; it causes me PHYSICAL PAIN. I squirm.

Finally Katy spoke: In reading this I'm just struck with the emotion... it's just...
Sara: it's really human.
Katy: exactly, even when you speak of these terrible things, you do so in such a way that I feel for these people, and I don't feel you're judging them, and I feel the love... and I worry for you. As I go along I'm just filled with this tension and dread. And exactly as you said, the fear of becoming something else...

And then I started tearing up, but did not cry.

Weislaw: So again, you have done it... and I have a feeling you will do very well... so everyone, the line for autographs start here, get them while you can.
Me wiggling in discomfort: Oh dear...
peers: giggle.
and then people hugged me. KINDNESS! PRAISE! FAITH IN ARTISTIC ABILITY! PINS! NEEDLES! STABBING PAIN!
And then Weislaw ran away with my book, giving it to the head of the school of image arts. Holy Pants.
Aneurysm!

And then I found the letter in my mailbox informing me my proposal for a show at the Ryerson Gallery next year has been approved. I will be exhibiting with two graduates.

I went home and dramatically threw myself facefirst onto my bed. And broke it. Because that is how my life works. My entire bed now rests on piles and piles of textbooks. Because that is how I work.
I slept 14 hours and through osmosis I now know all there is to know about art. That was the comalicious interlude before the next thing:

Thursday was the Ryerson Maximum Exposure show where I had one piece at Gallery 1313. I apparently won Best Third Year Photography or something. The prize? A sweet manfrotto tripod that for three years I haven't been able to afford.
I KNOW.
So that happened. And who the hell knows how or why... I know I certainly don't since I wasn't there at the time (to be fair, the show was split between two galleries, two clubs and one hotel.)

I only heard the news through facebook where dear Jen left me a message that said "congratulations on the manfrotto!"
I responded as intelligently as I could "wot?"
by which I meant "you are clearly drunk again and rambling on the wrong page, I promise to be your sober friend as soon as I'm qualified"
and then she called me a doof and explained about the prize and I knew it was true. The part about being a doof, I only believed the thing about the tripod when it was in my greedy mitts.

And that's it. It's over and I'm left to my own bored devices. Random art and impulsive this-is-totally-a-good-idea haircutting ensue.
I'm so unsure with how to deal with the events of this year. It seems like so much has happened so quickly and I've had little time to digest. I have lumps of important happenings dissolving slowly in my stummy and this might take a while.
In the meantime, I hope you've enjoyed this overlong update!

What's new with you?

During finals time, or the end of days as I like to call it, it's hard to find anything but homework, class and stress to fill ones time and brain. So work has become a little bit of a thought-oasis. Making coffee, serving coffee, and spilling coffee on myself have become very therapeutic. Well maybe not so much the scalding, that's more accidental and painful, but still, the pain does distract me from the headache that has been festering in my noggin since the middle of February. And at work, the customers serve as further distractions.

I love my regulars (and am documenting this photographically) but sometimes new blood can be very exciting… especially when new blood is an actor I love. The Actor has begun to frequent the cafe, which has put me into a state of tizzy.

He came in on Thursday and ordered a coffee... I recognized him immediately but calmly took his cash, trying not to tremble and said goodbye. And as soon as he left I turned to Reiko and said "Oh my god, that was an actor I love!"
Because I am nothing if not discreet about my affections. To which Reiko replied, "does he have bit of an accent?" because I am also nothing if not predictable.
"No... but he is Russian."
"Aha... "
"Shut up Reiko..."

Saturday he comes in again and says "hi... can I get a double long americano..."
"with soy" I finish.
"wow... you have a good memory" he says quietly smiling.
"it's a gift" I say over my shoulder while prepping the espresso.
I give the Actor his drink, the girl next in line orders a specialty coffee…
“I didn’t know you had Blue Mountain… I love Blue Mountain…” he says
"You should have it next time for sure" I say smiling, thinking I’m too much like a salesperson, which is a nice cover for the truth that I’m a giddy fool who wants him to come back.
He begins to tell me about loving the coffee and why and I'm just staring at him nodding dreamily until he realizes he's holding up the line and says he'll come back for it soon.
I say "have a great day" by which I mean "awwwyeah"
Once he is out the door I quickly turn to Lisa and say "LEMON SQUARE! LEMON SQUARE! LEMON SQUARE!" which is code for "I find this gentleman attractive and wish to make a claim on him under the waga-rules of "dibsies""
And Lisa looks at me like a crazy thing that just crazied all over her shoes and
says "First, I like how you said that so franticly, second: him? whyyyy?" .
The why emphasized in the way she always emphasizes the “why” when I like wildly unexpected or inappropriate men; disbelief with notes of concern sometimes punctuated by falling into the display case in shock. I explain the whole actor-I-think-is-cute thing and she intensifies her look of "oh Julia, you so crazy!" until I dither that I'm not a demented stalker person.
Which I totally am.
In fact I am just a few dolls-made-of-my-own-hair away from a padded room. But at least I’m still not obsessing about my final!


Damn.

I write this as I pick bits of legging from my torn up left knee...

It all began down at the Lakeshore where I had spent two hours this afternoon photographing the lake. There were many lovely things to see, the sky, the water, the birds.... through my lens I was all
tralalala... pretty water... pretty stones... pretty swan... pretty large swan... pretty large swan advancing on me slowly...
I lowered my camera...
And there it was, rising from the water like T2000, step by giant webbed-step.
My feathery doom.
It was massive. I was already ten feet from the shore, but seeing its look of determination I began to step back, and it kept coming... the backs of my knees hit the picnic table bench, it kept coming... I got up on the picnic table, it reached the seat of the table...
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
His beady eyes did not blink.
Swans can break a grown man's arm echoed in my head.
I searched frantically around for quick escape... finding none that wouldn't leave me open to arial attack i looked back...
Dozens more beady eyes were staring back at me.
The geese had sensed a rumble and joined in behind the swan. This was getting all kinds of stupid.
I began to babble:
"um, look, I don't know what you want, I'm not here to mess with your territory, wait... is this about the bird flu project last year? Look, that wasn't personal, it was a metaphor, I swear! ... um, wow, you're really getting into my personal space here, I'm going to stay on the top of the table and you... you just stay down there, ok? nice birdy... oh god, I'm going to die."
the swan made a menacing swan sound that translated into:
"you will give me food or you will perish."
I put down my camera, reached deep into my bag to find the cranberry scone I forgot I saved for lunch. I broke a piece off and threw it to the swan, I have terrible aim and the geese got it.
The swan made no sound, just stared... It had warned me...
I broke another piece off and gave it to the swan, he ate it...
And then he wanted more.
He began to climb the table...
I fell backwards off the table.
And before my avifauna foe could descend upon me, rough me up and steal the rest of scone, out of nowhere came a chocolate labrador; flying through the air like girls' BFF, it slammed into the giant swan, throwing it far from me.
The geese scattered.
I got up and brushed myself off as casually as I could for someone who nearly had her ass kicked by a bird. I thanked the universe (and the chocolab) for not giving me another traumatic "I was bitten by a _____ [insert hilariously inappropriate animal here]" story.

And so how am I bleeding?
Well so shaken was I by my near Hitchcockian dust up that in my attempt to beat a hasty retreat, I slipped down a bridge, and split my knee open.
I know, I wanted the swan to be responsible too, but the truth is I'm an epic spaz.

I believe when I first started working as a waitress/barista (that is not a real word, we just adopted it because it's easier) at ze little independent cafe, that I compiled a brief list of my favourite customers. Much has changed since then; for one: I know most of them by name if not by regular order, two: many of those favourites have changed, and three: I have interesting interactions with them beyond "what can i get for you?" and "have a great day!". For instance, some of them came to my shows (and were subsequently not poisoned... with decaf. I'm not a monster.) Anyway, I have grown very fond of many of them, one, a man who I dubbed in September "Ken" short for "Kendoll" because he is incredibly handsome with blonde hair, blue eyes and a smile so bright there should be a "ting!" sound effect when he opens his mouth. I don't like him because he's ridiculously handsome, but because he is startlingly friendly, funny and sweet. Meaning: Perfect. Since September I've learned his real name, and we've gotten chatty... and so when he recently injured his hand and wouldn't reveal to us how (probably snow related), i decided to come up with a list for him, it was as follows:

awesome explanations for an injured hand

- fighting the forces of evil
- aliens, just aliens
- world's first bionic hand
- old (thumb)war injury
- the first rule of fight club is you don't talk about fight club
- as an avid beekeeping hobbiest, you felt the sharp sting of miscommunication
- hand run over as result of saving a cute puppy... a doodle of some kind.
- goblin curse
- sabotaged by rival sock-puppeteer


explanation for a list of awesome explanations for an injured hand

-profound boredom.


The following Saturday I gave it to him. Today we had this exchange (note the lameness of my side):

Ken: So Julia, you wrote that list for me? I thought the other girls did, I didn't know it was just you!
Me: it was yes, er... I like to write in my spare time...
Ken: It was really, really great. Hilarious. And the thing is, I've been using them, I think I owe you royalties...
Me: 25 cents a pop!
Ken: I think I owe you like, fifteen dollars by now.
Me: fantastic! that's what they're for.
Ken: I really have been too, and people don't know what to make of it, because I say them with a straight face...
Me: that is just how they're meant to be said!
Ken: haha, and I especially like fighting the forces of evil, I use that one a lot... people start wondering if I'm a superhero in my spare time... and what was the other one... the sock puppet one, definitely.
Me: That makes me happy!
Ken: So you should write... be a writer...
*dies a little*
Me: Mayyyybe... Well I'm kinda working on a couple of books. Text is involved...
Ken: Oh yeah? very cool, I want to see your work.

and SWOON.

After he left, I headed to the kitchen to spill to baker Jen who finds my crushes amusing.


Me: So he loves me now because I am hilarious.
Jen: *bemused* Ok... which one is the ken doll again?
Me: the one who was just at the counter...
Jen: Oh! that guy... He's really like... perfect.
Me: I know... a little too perfect. He's probably a serial killer.
Jen: I don't know, I think he's too handsome to be a serial killer.
Me: Have you seen American Psycho, Christian Bale is hot. And a serial killer.
Jen: *look*
Me: ok, ok, in reality, people said Ted Bundy was good looking.
Jen: I don't think he's a serial killer.
Me: Me neither, I'm just saying, men that good looking aren't supposed to be that sweet and awesome, it's against nature. People that good looking do not need to cultivate those social skills to survive. And so right or wrong, my mind leaps to serial killer.
Jen: Your mind seems to leap to serial killer a lot.
Me: I know... I figure at this point, statistically, I've been right at least once.
Jen: So are you going to make a move?
Me: That was a move!
Jen: A weird list of weird ways to injure your hand is a move?
Me: For me it is a move. My moves are legendary.
Jen: Like asking those two guys to model nude for you on a bear skin rug?
Me: It was just one guy on a bear skin rug. The other guy would be nude but for a strategically placed stuffed goose.
Jen: Seriously, you get weirder and weirder every day.
Me: So you keep saying. We're shooting here next friday by the way.
Jen: Legendary.



Just another snowy weekend at the cafe.



*disclaimer: it won't be a nude shoot. The boys and I were just kidding. Mostly.

Today was the critique for our third year Book project (I feel my bookness...)
my crit, for this is not your life, was around 10 this morning.
The reviews are in and I will give you the short version (not that it lasted long):

From my profs:

Katy

"creepy... it's very disturbing... and so well done. I know I had concerns about the printing, and the sizes and we talked about it, but... I see now it's fine. It turned out beautifully."

"these images just work, so so well, and you know how much I love the idea. I just... *smiling silence*"

Weislaw


"I find this equally incredibly enchanting and repulsive... you know I mean that in a good way!"

"And you see, this is how you do digital, because it is not a gimmick, it is simply done because this would be very very hard, if not impossible, to do in the dark room with analog. Here it is not that it is all about how, how is the means to an end"

"It's truly amazing and I wish I had thought of it..."

"this is one of the best works we've seen all year."

and Dude in class:

"I didn't get it at first and I just said out loud, 'dude, what a creepy ass kid'"

YAYS!

And in between all those quotes were questions as to why I did the series, how I did the series and just how creepy I am and why... the usual.
and if any of you want to know why i did the series, how I did the series and just how creepy I am and why, I will write more about it in future. Since I am printing this book in a fine art limited edition, I don't feel entirely right submitting it all here. There are seven of fifteen pieces up,





and I may create a preview of the book if anyone is interested.

Ok, so all this goodness, it may go to my head, so it is your job to remind me that I am just a spazzy, sickly, weirdo who just last week knocked over a tray of scones in front of a customer she has a crush on because the night before she saw a comedy show at a place called the vapour room and not knowing that it was a pot bar and never having smoked pot, got a terrible contact high. And surprise of all surprises, the spaz is even spazzier when high. That's right, can't be all artsy and mysterious when so very, very silly.

I am growing a spine.
It feels nice to have something propping up all the squishy bits.
I've honestly been so much better at sticking up for myself that I'm a little amazed at it. AND I haven't been waking up with a clenched jaw every morning as usual. More like every other morning... progress!
While on the subject of things with spines I've just completed my first book. It's very exciting.
This Is Not Your Life, 15 selected pieces from the continuing series in a 12x12, 40 page book with an embossed black linen hardcover. It's being printed by Pikto, their books are amazing(ly expensive, this one being $174.00), the quality will be excellent and if all goes well I will have something I can be very proud of.
So far both my productions profs and the director of Gallery 44 have seen the series and they all have said they love it. Katy & Sara said they are very excited to see it done, while Michalak said he really got it, and likened my aesthetic of discomfort, the blend of surrealistic and naturalistic creepiness and emotion to the work of Polanski, Lynch and the Brother's Quay. And while they are all filmmakers, he's totally spot on. They are huge influences.
In other news, it's time to submit to my school's arts publication again, here's hoping for another year of being published! Wish me luck.
There are two exhibitions coming up; one, Maximum Exposure - the year end show for image arts students, I have to submit two series and see which one they choose, and two; the mini show I will be having at work at some point. I believe I have the perfect work in mind for this venue, so perfect it would be a real exhibit. (I photographically catalouged the book that keeps track of our hours at the cafe.) The two series will be submitted soon. I hope you like them!
In the meantime, I'm going to write a (soon to be) massive(ly late) essay.
much

It's over, the receptions are a thing of the past. They both went very well. Here is a raw account of it, I've come down with a very bad cold and my pounding head won't allow me to write properly, so I hope you enjoy this huge journal anyway:



The Ryerson show was packed tightly, I broke out into hives before arriving and was on the verge of a cold and so when I walked in my prof Katy said "heyy... are you getting sick?"
to which I responded "yes... and I broke out into hives, which bodes well for the future!"
"Oh you! stop! ha."
My neurosis is funny, I know.
I walked in and tried to find my work which wound up in the left corner two feet from the floor (these things keep me humble and only serves to fuel the bitter artsy rage that sustains me) there I found three of my pieces from This Is Not Your Life which I printed 5x5 on watercolour, matted and framed to 10x10.
the three were (and immediately you will notice that I reuse my own titles)
Drowning on Dryland
Julia vs. The Big Bad Pony
and the third was a yet un-posted image called Had a Great Fall
And by those pieces I found my former history prof David Harris
"Hello... you're Julia Martin, yes?" he said quietly
"yes, hi"
"these are wonderful... truly wonderful..."

And it went on from there, and while I felt sick now and then, people kept coming up and saying kind things. I sold a piece (Drowning), and talked to some people I haven't really spoken to over the past three years and I felt somewhat warmed up for Saturday.



I worked most of saturday, went home, washed the coffee off of me, got dressed and waited with my sister Gabby for my friend Kiki to arrive. She did, and then everyone waited for me to stop being a neurotic mess and decide which of my hundred grey sweaters I wanted to wear on top of my black dress. I went for a dark grey and packed a light grey one in with the wine I was bringing.

We got to the gallery and I was roped into cheese arrangement because this is apparently my thing. If you are a waitress, never tell people you are a waitress.
I then realized...
"hey guys" to my sister and friend "um, did you have a look at the work?"
that was a no. so I shooed them away.
And then people started to show up.
One of the first being a regular customer of mine. Then four out of five of my co-workers, another customer, and one crazy lady.
Ah yes, the requisite crazy lady.
the crazy lady who managed to corner all four of us photographers to tell us how amazing we are. or whatever.
for your amusement, a transcription (this is verbatim, I have an audiographic memory)
"Are... Are you the artist? Did you do this?"
"Yes, that would be me"
"Wow... just WOW... these pictures... they're so clear..."
"Thank you so much"
"I mean... they're so CLEAR... I mean, I don't know what they mean, but these things... like this [points to tape] made in mexico, I don't know what it is, but I'm THERE... I'm THERE."
"erm..."
"They are wonderful, I haven't even looked at the rest of them but wow. So clear, how did you even do that?!"
"er..."
"Wow..." starts to take my hand.
"What's your name?"
"[redacted], what is your name?"
"Julia"
"It's so nice to meet you Julia... You're going to be amazing..."


AND LATER

"You, Your work... it's so REAL..."
"thank you..."
"So HONEST... his work... is he here behind me?"
"um, right behind you..."
moving away
"I feel like I'm being manipulated... his work is manipulating but yours is so HONEST... it's AMAZING... I don't even know... What do they mean?"
"um..."
Kiki: Julia, are there more of those cake things?
Me: More of what?
Kiki: We need to talk to you about the cookies, are there more?

Kiki and I then run to deal with the cookie emergency. Or KOOKY emergency.

And that is how Kiki saved me from the Crazy Lady. She is now my official bodyguard, code name: cookie.
Other people were awesome and very responsive. I was really impressed with some of the questions asked and alright with those who asked what each piece meant. Is it bad that I answer these questions when I'm asked about my work? It probably isn't very artsy and mysterious of me. I should probably respond with "What do YOU think it is? What does it mean to YOU?" and I do care, but my immediate response in my head is to want to tell you what it is and means because really, it's not a secret. I may be vague but I'm not trying to hide anything from viewers. I think my candor is what made people hug me.

I wish I hadn't have been so tired the whole evening. Even though I asked a month in advance, I didn't get the day off work and so the pain in my back and my growing flu made me spacey and on the verge of irritation. And at one point I tripped and fell into a chair. Better than the floor but hopefully no one noticed. (oh they did, I cannot fool myself)
I sold There Are Still Things 01, the hair.
My fifth co-worker, Reiko, came which was awesome, as well as two more regular customers. People are in for some free coffee.
After the show the four of us, plus my peeps, and half a dozen of our classmates went out drinking. which is a very sensible thing for a girl to do when she has to work early the next morning.
All in all, a great experience, I'm really impressed with how smoothly it went. I hope to visit the gallery again tomorrow to see it all without a crowd and to take some photos.

So my first real show(s), it will be on for the next three weeks, if you are in Toronto, check them out!
much

SECOND SHOW!!!! SMALLER SHOW!!!!! TONIGHT!!!!!!
Have already sold two pieces.
Still nervous.
May hurl.
That is all.

The end is nigh, the shows approach. Yes, "shows" plural. There's Parallax, the group of four show at the Queen East gallery, as well as the third year photography show at the Ryerson Gallery on Spadina. And let me just check my schedule... what... what?! THEY OVERLAP! Sweet baby jebus. They overlap. The openings are two days apart. Why? WHY?!
Because the universe fancies itself a comedian, that's why.
Parallax will include my series There Are Still Things (formerly known as Traces)
and the other will showcase This Is Not Your Life. It's all fantastically exciting except it's making me both sleepy and nauseous.
And I don't know what to wear.
I want to wear this: [link] so I can sip dry martinis and say things like "this is grand!" but let's be realistic, I can't afford that kind of style and I'm incapable of sipping.
So I will probably wear this [link] to the Ryerson show and I still have no idea what I'm going to wear to the Parallax exhibit. Suggestions would be good.
All of this is really to put off worrying about the shows themselves, and the nausea that brings. I've been feeling on the verge of violent spewing for some time now, that feeling is of course only interspersed with actual spewing. I must be Zen about this, I must breathe and focus on finishing my book and writing my major term paper. Breathing... breathing... hiccuping... breathing...
Breathing is not so different than hyperventilating. I can do this.

And so ends another year. On the whole it was an excellent 12 months and so I can only hope 2008 will bring much the same. I think it will, after all 8 is my favourite number.
It's been a while since I've blogged properly, I will try to make it as painless as possible.
Christmas was very nice, the key to that is to aim really low, say... for no tears, fights, calls to 911 or zombie apocalypses, and you will have yourself a merry little Christmas!

I'm hoping that the end of the year will also mean the end of my string of bad luck/clutzyness. Just seven hours before midnight I managed to break my beloved ipod, bob. Do not ask me how, just know that it was very stupid. My dad says bob was my security blanket, and given that I took him with me everywhere and even slept with him, I think he's probably right. I went immediately online to buy a new one. A new bob. May this bob not meet the same fate as the previous bob.

In other news, my next project is the continuation of my head on different bodies series which doesn't have a name even though it really needs a name because "my head on different bodies series" is a very awkward title. The project is to be put in a book and printed. It's all very new and exciting, especially since the book is what I feel might be my future medium of choice. As much as I like this gallery stuff, I love the idea of an intimate object, one that engages one on one with the viewer, and is democratic in price and availability to the public.

Speaking of the show, it approaches so quickly now. I'm off in fifteen minutes to pick up my share of the postcards and to preview our catalogue. I'm sure the panic will soon set in. I can only hope that someone, anyone, buys something so that I will recoup my losses, and though I need the money, it's not what's important in the end. What's important is: free wine at the reception. er... I mean... I'm in a show!

I promise to be less boring next time, I'll tell you about how I got exceedingly drunk at a company christmas party. How is less obvious than you would think!

Merry excellent excuse to get together with family, eat, give and receive pressies and have fun! I hope you're all having a wonderful holiday.
Much love

julia

the resolution is this: do not be afraid. do not be afraid to have fun.
I've started early.

As I wrote last time I was setting up to have a show with this most recent project, it was going to be at the Ryerson gallery but I couldn't get people together in time, so sad. I'm still going to be a part of the class group show so it's not so bad. THEN someone in my program emailed me and asked me to be the fourth in his four-person show at a Queen St.* gallery in January... that's not even school affiliated or lame or anything!
It is ON people. I am very excited. There is much work to do, first, would be having my prints and knowing they are good. Still waiting on that (oh, just got three, they are fine). Then comes the framing. That won't be hard, mats are largely unnecessary when it comes to this project, there is already enough white space. Then I have to choose five pieces. I've chosen six. We'll see how that turns out... Then there are the postcards to design, which I was volunteered into doing. I also came up with our title, because I was the only one to suggest a word.
You know what people? I SHOULD NOT LET PEOPLE KNOW I WRITE. Or speak. Or design. Or... ANYTHING. Actually, the three people wouldn't even know that so what was up with the pointing?! Oh I know, in reality it's not that I'm spectacular, I'm just easy.
Wait... that sounds... oh nevermind.
Anyway, excitement doesn't cover it, though the dreadful case of anemia would seem to suggest that I am something more like lethargic and depressed, it is just an illusion... an illusion based in severe deficiency, in reality things are going very well. I bought some liquid-y stuff meant for vegetarians, hopefully it will kick in shortly because my god, staring at the wall is fun and all, but I have no time for it!
I have many assignments to complete and none I really want to do at this point. I have show on the brain. For the three week run, we're pricing our work in the $300-500 area since apparently people in the area think nothing of spending that much, and hopefully given the time, and all my regular customers I will force to attend, I will sell something. So that's why Traces is crazy expensive, sorry! I believe strongly in democratic art, but I also believe strongly in breaking even and living on my own one day...
on a giant bunny farm.
as I've said before, giant bunnies are expensive.

I hope you all had a wonderful Halloween. Mine was fantastic, I was dressed as a "nudist on strike" (meaning I wore clothes because I was too busy to figure out a real costume). The night was spent at my brain twin's potluck party. We played a rousing and seemingly endless game of "I Never." What a way to better get to know your friends and acquaintences... a way to know more than you ever wanted to know... things you can't ever un-know.
After leaving, Jen and I walked in the freezing cold and rain trying to hail a cab, all the while drunkenly singing the chorus of The Monster Mash in an attempt to avoid vomiting, I had to do the deep "He did the the Monnnster Mash" parts while she did the high pitched "He did the Mash!" bits. And for next game of "I Never" I can still say "I've never gotten sick from drinking".
I'm now going to completely skip over the part where I got home, walked into a door and bled everywhere. I am nothing if not Holiday Appropriate! You should see what I do for Easter. It's very involved.

Anyway, it was the last night of fun before some serious buckling down. Not that I haven't been buckled, I have, but we're talking major hard work here. No fun. All work. No play. None.

I'm starting a series, a very important series both personally and in academic/professional terms. It's different and very important to me. I expect this ten piece (not including the additional pieces later on in the year) project will cost 1400+ to produce. That would be 90 a print, and 40 per frame plus other expenses. Half my bursary. I have had moments of breathe-in-paper-bag panic, but then remember I have a job, so it's not the end of the world *knocks wooden headboard*. I also plan to exhibit the work in a show, for which I have until Nov. 9 to propose for next year.

Which is why I'm about to become a very dull girl indeed.

The hazards of getting up at six-thirty in the morning for work might include having no idea what to wear and being too tired to think that a button-down cardigan and jeans might be too hot given that the air conditioner is on the fritz again, and maybe the long white dress-tank and a lacy black bra might be even more ill-advised. In my defense, in the pre-dawn light, I couldn't see my bra.
My happy little bubble of oblivion was broken at twelve while I was running lunch orders back to the kitchen when the endearingly grouchy cook Jen says:
I can totally see your bra through your shirt!
and that might have explained some things about the morning.

Also a risk of working so much is running to class after work and for the first twenty minutes participating in discussions and being a very good student in the front row... until after that twenty minute mark when the cold of the lecture hall sets in and I start to feel very... very... sleeepy... and then my eyes roll back and my mouth slackens and zzzzzzzzzzzzz. Seriously. I constantly fall asleep in class, and I can't help it at all. I really am that tired. My prof has never called me out on it, probably because for those twenty minutes I really show I care, but my god, if I were him I would be annoyed! He's really very interesting and I like the course. I think I might have to have a serious dose of caffeine before leaving work, even though I've been banned from having caffeine while at work (don't ask, but yes, being forbidden from having coffee when you work at a cafe is as funny as it sounds) there is no rule stating I can't have any on my way out.

I think I will now take this journaling opportunity to finally tell you about my fun filled birthday weekend:

On the Friday I stopped by the shop to pick up tarts for Thanksgiving, and my co-workers gave me a hilarious card and hugs, and customers who were there (including one I have a massive crush on) wished me a happy birthday. it was all very lovely.

Most of Saturday was spent in bed doing absolutely nothing but listening to the rain.
And it was spectacular.
I did go to brunch with my dad which was quite nice. After which I did nothing some more. Again.
Then I met up with Kate for a trip to Whole Foods. My brain twin and I are brain twins for many reasons, one of which is that we both love the safe predictability of grocery stores. Whole Foods, being the Mecca of grocery stores, was the perfect pick for birthday fun as well as thanksgiving potluck dinner supply shopping. We were so distracted by the many wonderful things there it was nearly overwhelming; I didn't go for the organic vanilla chai lotion, but that didn't stop me from getting it. Together we also managed to be the spazziest spazzes that ever did spaz: me, knocking over squash and Kate spilling lotion on her shirt... and me trying to dab at the lotion with a green peace pamphlet that bled ink into the stain as we laughed at just how ridiculously Lucy & Ethel we tend to be until a clerk came up and asked us if we needed help, yes... but not the kind they could give us at Whole Foods.

Then we went back to my place, dropped off groceries and met up with my sister boobooGabby who brought me a sandwich and fries from Peterborough. You likely don't know where that is, well it's where she lives, and it is small and hours away and has one good thing about it: That Sandwich. BoobooGabby is a wonderful sister...
Kate also approved. Especially since before we left Whole Foods I promised her sweet potato fries. Karmic.
We went to the tavern for drinks and to hug drunkenly. Kate and I then tried walking to the theatre to see Resident Evil, we brain twins also share a love of Milla Jovovich and will see anything she's in, but then it started raining really hard and we were stuck. Plan B. Heroes marathon and impromptu slumber party!

Sunday I started cooking for Jen's Thanksgiving potluck. I made squash stuffed with rice, mushrooms, tofu, bread and thyme which sat on a bed of roasted veggies, sweet potatoes, red potatoes, carrots and onions, also bringing pumpkin tarts from work. I am capable of cooking, I just choose not to most of the time. The night was awesome, Jen will use any excuse to do domestic things while wearing her frilly mod apron, and quite the excuse it was. We got well and properly drinken.

Monday: Birthday actual was not really counted as my birthday since I still had a lot to do to prepare for Tuesday's big double critique. I did take a break later that night for a quick concert at the Drake, which was fun despite the fact that Reiko didn't show up in time and I was left to give men the wrong number. REIKO!!! Anyway, the music was good, and I needed the time to think of an artist statement. You know me, so much trouble with the words. And to conclude it now, I have my marks back for my Selling Ideas critique that Tuesday.
A-.
We are off to a good start.

The speech was Friday as you all know, it's taken this long for the little hole I bit in my lip to start healing and for my cuticles to stop bleeding. In other words: I was nervous.

A 350-people-staring-at-me-from-their-$9,000-tables-
in-the-grand-ballroom-of-a-very-opulent-country-club kind of nervous.

The very nice foundation man, who guided me through the whole event really wanted to put me at ease, telling me just how kind the crowd would be, and how much they had done for the foundation so far and that they honestly cared and were sincerely interested in hearing how their bursaries affect graduates of the program. And while I felt out of place surrounded by a sea of men in tuxedos and women in gowns as servers weaved in and out of the crowd with champagne, I could tell they were just as he said, kind people... and so I didn't pass out right there.

I went up after a brief introduction and gave my 1369 word speech which I had written the night before and the morning of because that's just how I roll, taking a breath and on the exhale speaking... and speaking until it was finally over.
and then silence...
and clapping.

I left the stage and my foundation man hugged me tightly and said I was awesome.
I went to sit down and as the night went on people came up to me and hugged me/shook my hand intensely/told me I am an inspiration/eyes wet said I touched their hearts.
And then a man came up to me, took my hand and said "I have never wanted to cry so much but at the same time jump for joy..."
and that man was the president of the massive corporation I won't name here.
Oh my god.
I made rich people cry.

I have until 5pm tomorrow to write a speech for the fundraiser. After I found out I would be the only person besides the MC and special celebrity guest speaking, I haven't been able to write a word. Well, a word of the speech, these are words right here, obviously written by me given the undercurrent of spaz in every paragraph.

So I have until 5 to write some words. Or several hundred words.
Actually I have until 2pm so my shrink can go over those words and edit them down to a semi-coherent babble as any good shrink would, while I breathe into a large paper bag, or Whole Foods sack... She will also have to show me what different forks are for as there is a six course meal before I speak. It will be all kinds of Pretty Woman, my doctor will be the kindly uppercrust hotel guy to my hooker with a heart of gold.
Then I'll go shopping in Yorkville and when the sales lady tells me they don't have my size... I will return later with my bursary cheque and show her just what kind of commission she missed out on. Prada sells gum right?

This is stressful, I had two critiques this week and essay proposals and I'm just slowly going insane. As evidenced Tuesday when in the middle of the second critique of the day my prof was advising another classmate how to improve his cool gory work, and suggested a spritz of watered down ketchup, uttering the unforgettable advice "really try to capture the goo!" and I lost it people. Beside me, my brain twin Kate also lost it, but I had more trouble finding it. Head in hands, wiping away tears of laughter... it was worse than the pigeon cam incident in last year's history lecture. And it just got worse later when braintwin, deadbird and I went out for candy and came back. I used Kate's licorice rope to form a noose around my yellow gummy bear's neck. Swinging it back and forth... a more elaborate installment of Gummy Bear Death Theatre. Then Jen forced me to have some of her disgusting Nibs to keep her from eating them all. I have no idea how and why she is so addicted. As my tongue burned from the sugar and red dye number 4 it was my time to go up, and once that was done we were out of there faster than you could say punchdrunk.

And there you have it, I'm already prone to stress induced bouts of hysteria and morbid all-candy re-enactments of the French Revolution (gummy heads were taken off later and put on toothpick pikes), this does not bode well for any kind of ritzy affair. So what I need now is a monkey, or two, I have the typewriter. I could just go take a bath, and let the fantastic mr. pants and his assistant, senor shorts, do all the thinking. Sounds like a plan right? But I do still have to talk. The monkeys don't do that... yet.
God. I think I might be sick...
Senor Shorts? Hold mommy's hair back...

23 today
having a weekend chock full of awesome.
In fact it's too much fun to write about it in detail right now, but the stories and a few pictures will come soon.
Best. Birthday. Ever.

I'm about to get all Felicity on your asses as I describe my current state through a letter to Sall-er... Jen. When I got home there was suddenly more to worry about but I will discuss that below:


JEN I may go out of my mind, please calm me somehow!
So Michalak said he liked my digital proofs better than the 4x5! Even though they make no sense in the idea and there's no real theme tying them together and I don't have enough images... BETTER! In fact he would like to see two sets, two different takes on the project. I'm going to die... DIE.
He said: "these are so nice square... you work so beautifully in square, like it's effortless, these other images, you can see the work that went into them... I want it to look effortless..."
I said: "I wanted to try something different, I do squares a lot and..."
and he replied: "You do it well, why would you change?! Third year is not the time to change..."

FUCK. And hell. And all the other expletives that would apply here.
He also said I was "brainy" and should stop thinking so much and just shoot like I did with those digital shots. I can't turn off my brain Jen, unless I'm watching tv, but rarely does "oh god Jack Coleman is hot" make for a good shooting mentality. Unless I were shooting Jack Coleman.
Why did I show him the drafts? Why does he want to torture me? Why does Starbucks charge for their wireless? And WHY IS IT SO COLD IN HERE. I just sneezed so violently I managed to bite my tongue and the hand that was covering my mouth.
I hate my life and my photoshop finger is sore.
So do you think I should I make up a new storyline for the other images (julia martin fine art portraiture? Condo living? Waking up and going back to bed?)? Should I just ignore him even though I agree that the digital shots are ok and all? Should I buy some fine leather boots to ease my pain? Should I hang myself immediately and avoid the cost and trouble and sheer insanity? (don't vote for that last one just because you're set to inherit my Matt & Nat bags, really weigh the pros and cons.)
In short: Help.
Also he remarked on your bum, but that is unimportant.

-Julia

Home:

So I got a message from the bursary people and they are having a fundraiser next Friday and they told my dad they would like me to speak, they feel I'm an "ideal" little speech maker. They gave me three thousand last year and left a message with my sister on Tuesday right after they received my express-posted application telling her that I should expect a cheque soon. (I write really long-winded applications, I also sent in my portfolio)
I'm pretty sure I can't say no. So I'm wracking my brain thinking of what to say and I've come up with this:
"Dear people with money, I'd like to begin by saying I have no money. In the past I have done many expensive things with your money I wouldn't have been able to do without your money. In closing please give money to the people who give me money.
Thank you. (For your money)"
I might have to flesh that out a little, throw in a joke or something, maybe an amusing camp related anecdote, but I think it carries the message of desperation well.

I like to start off each entry with a whine. In keeping with that tradition: My head hurts so much right now. I wish I could describe the pain in some way that would do it justice... let's just say that some kind of tiny cranium-loving creature has taken up spelunking in my noodle. The same creature responsible for my tonsillitis last year.

It's the first week of school. It's all very exciting, but probably explains the brain agony without having to introduce the theory of a small thrill-seeking rodents. Not nearly as funny to imagine though. Anyway, I will summarize my first week in two words: terrifying/exhilarating.
Productions will be very interesting this year, we have two mandatory shows, one at the school's gallery at 80 Spadina and the other during the Max Ex year end exhibit, both in addition to four major projects. It's going to get all kinds of expensive. Which is why I'm writing essays begging for bursary money and working at least 25 hours a week. That makes for class everyday and work on weekends (there is some overlap).

There have been a few changes with my schedule, courses dropped or swapped either from full classes or calendar errors, but so far everything seems to have worked out for the best. (famous last words). Since tomorrow's Productions class has been canceled, I'm going to take the rare opportunity to sleep in and do very little all day. (and by little I mean write proposals, collage some drafts, read assigned material and do my laundry... since I began working my definition of "busy" has been adjusted to mean something more like pandemonium. I'll have to thank my boss for that.)

Given that work and school consumes my life it's only fitting that my hobbies now include sleeping at reasonable hours, planning projects months in advance, finding different ways to part my hair, obsessively checking my credit card statement, thinking of new and creative drinks to make, critically analyzing everything and everyone (I can't turn it off) and organizing my sweater collection by colour (tricky since they are all grey). Despite the overload, I am making a real effort to work a social life into my schedule (might have to skip the creative hair-parting this week), in fact in the past seven days I have gone out more than the last four months combined. Go me. I feel good. Less covered in debris and moss from that giant rock I was under. Cuter boys above ground too, unless you're into mole people. Which you may be, I won't judge you for it, I have a thing for old men with accents - glass houses and such...


Coming soon: eight interesting facts. I'm still struggling with that one.


xoxo