So I sort of feel like it's dangerous to even admit to thinking this - but, well... I got told time and time again by basically everybody I know that has graduated before me (so basically all of my peers and a frightening amount of people my brain still classes as children) that final year is the suckiest, lamest, shittiest, most horrific time of your life, EVER. Like, I was setting myself up for damage control against suicide tendencies and a year-long sense of impending doom. No doubt, there have been doomy parts: I have indeed found myself crying in front of tutors (this was as much tactical as it was genuine panic and frustration - art tutors go into autopilot when confronted with human emotion), and there have been moments where I've had to extract myself from my housemates because THEY'RE GOING TO TELL ME IT'S ALL GOING TO BE OKAY and IT CLEARLY FUCKING ISN'T...... but well, actually, I think they had a point all along and it probably will all be fine, y'know? Higher education is actually one big funny hilarious joke anyway! My art tutor, the head of our course and a man who probably earns like alotta dough to tell budding artists about the vitality of art and the 'operacy of making' and 'exploration of materials'....well, his favourite band is COLDPLAY, and he EMPLOYS OTHER PEOPLE to make his art for him. He looks at you like you've just asked to purchase his firstborn off him if you so much as say hello (this really really is not an exaggeration, ask anybody on my course to impersonate his 'reaction to greetings face'), and I doubt that he'd be able to describe in detail one piece of work I've ever made. I'm sure if he was pressed to do this, he'd blame this on my inadequacy as an artist. I have paid approximately £11,000 over the past four years for the privilege of receiving this guidance. Total LOLZ!
But basically, I have arrived at the conclusion that the only way to fight against this BIG HEAP OF SMELLY BULLSHIT- which is exactly what it is, and no tutor is going to convince me otherwise this late in the game - is to enjoy making stupid shit and find a way of contextualizing it as my art. This is likely to be the last time in my life that I receive a loan to make art. Somehow, my loan this year has stretched to financing global gallivanting to see awesome bands and meet some amazing people. So yeah, that's another lie: final year isn't all poverty and living on beans. I went to the Bahamas! I'm going to Paris next week! (Student Loans Company do appear to have gone a bit gung-ho and potentially overpaid me...I understand my position is probably somewhat unique) This week, I've mainly been making a giant pair of papier mache hands and discussing my rap collab with my housemate whilst rolling around in a giant bag of beans that we're fashioning into fairy bums, whilst occasionally stopping to drink wine/paint our mural/watch Saturday Night Telly/have an impromptu living room wrestling tournament with some fellow artists/make burgers/play an 11-strong full-blown Articulate TOURNAMENT that WILL descend into mayhem. I literally cannot think of a more idyllic life. It's sort of ridiculous actually. And if you wanna ask me to contextualize: Matthew Stone: 'Optimism As Cultural Rebellion', Rirkit Tiravanija and his orgy-filled Apartment (obvz my version is probably a bit tamer), Andrew WK and his whole philosophy on Everything ('party hard'?? duh go watch his lectures). Like, I've thought it alllll through. It's totally art! It's failsafe!
I suppose it might not prove to be totally failsafe - I mean, I might ACTUALLY FAIL, but I think I probably won't and if I don't I'll probably have another lovely party about it or something and if I do fail it's because my tutors are obviously massive chumps so I WIN AGAIN! HAHA! FINAL YEAR RULES!
Maybe you wanna keep it classy and formal, and I would definitely welcome that notion with open arms. Everybody envies Leopold Stokowsky commanding that badass orchestra, shaking hands with Mickey Mouse (BORING), and when he has a little chat with that string thing. 'Ho ho ho, don't be shy!' Crack out yer dickiebow and tailcoat and party like it's 1940.
This mean motherfucker. I think I'll be pretty disappointed if nobody takes this opportunity to be the original badass Disney bruiser since....well, Walt. Cape, hat, sneer and MASSIVE BEARD absolute necessities.
There are like a billion awesome naked fairies that make the seasons change and do stuff in awesome ways. It's so easy to be a naked fairy. Though I will say that I am going to spend at least a portion of the evening as the icy winter fairy, so don't do that because that would be like, super embarrassing. FOR YOU.
What could be more adorable than a little dancing mushroom hailing from the Orient? Though again I will warn you, my housemate is coming as the little mushroom (his name is Hop Low), and my housemate is very little and dyspraxic and basically you will never be Hop Low in her company, because I have a feeling that she may actually be Hop Low.
There are so many frickin' flowers in this segment of the film. Hell, come as the big white one if you're feeling all superior. OOH JUST GOT THE SUBTEXT THERE. Walt, you scamp! Jeeeeesus.
Check out the tail on this saucy lady kipper. Another housemate has dibs on this and she is super sexy AND fishy so tread/swim carefully.
Lol Deviantart <3 basically I'm really bored now and have like a million other party things to do like buy hay bales, arrange fairy lights, cajole the cute boy I saw at the skate ramp to lend me his rollerblades (SO COOL) for my costume, finish a massive wall mural, make party snacks and chips and dips and eggs and steaks, but whatever: be a faun, a cherub, Iris the rainbow goddess, ZEUS THE KING OF GODS (!!!), that other dude with the lightning, A DANCING HIPPO, an ostrich ballerina (also gonna dress as that so be careful), a saucy fez/cape-wearing alligator sex pest.... YAWN THIS SHOULD BE THE EASIEST COSTUME PARTY EVER!
So, it would appear that I have reached what is commonly known as Crunch Time with this whole uni business. In 3 months time I shall be free, FREE AS A BIRD, and I will have at least a few blissful weeks of Summer, where my slovenly lazy lifestyle will be completely justified, EARNED even. For once. Maybe. Of course this all depends on my capability of doing the thing, the stuff, the work, which lately I’ve had my doubts about.
Final year has seemed like a series of mini-epiphanies followed by bouts of LIFE-ENDING PANIC, punctuated by long, aimless periods of idling away time staring into space. The long, aimless bits mostly. This week I pretty much convinced myself that I have ADHD and went about trying desperately to get hold of some Ritalin or Adderall or SOMETHING to stop me getting distracted by everything from going shopping (particularly bad form of procrastination due to no money) to staring at the washing machine wondering how many rotations it does per second if it’s going at like 1400 rpm (23.3 reoccurring, which I obviously had to work out without a calculator because then that would make it easy and take less time and WE DON’T WANT THAT!). And then I wondered how can something rotate THAT MANY TIMES in a SECOND if it takes me 2 HOURS TO EAT BREAKFAST. None of this has been vastly conducive to me getting my dissertation wrote as I’m sure you can imagine. And that 12,000-word baby is to be handed in in less than 3 weeks. How did we arrive here, man?!
Other manifestations of my reluctance have included throwing a million dinner parties, drinking all the alcohol I can find in my kitchen until six in the morning, frequent ‘self-abuse’ (oversharing? NAHH), potentially developing an overactive thyroid and needing to eat approximately every 10 minutes, reading Rookie Mag religiously (Tavi is MY GURL), meditation (joined a meditation group lol, still waiting for it to really take effect?), watching videos of Beyonce for ‘inspiration’ (I’m okay for that to continue)…. The list is endless. It’s awful. Also keep getting distracted by thinking about how mind-bogglingly AMAAAAZING this Summer is definitely going to be – festivals, sunshine (I hope?), week-long periods of inebriation (which will all be afforded via me potentially selling my body to science, more on that another time…), and other exciting brilliant things potentially including having a JOB that will let me do FUN THINGS for LEGIT REASONS. We’ll see how all of that unfolds I guess.
But really – really really, I gotta face the facts and accept my main achille’s heel of procrastination – motherfunkin pissyshittin FACEBOOK. So tonight my friends, I shall be deactivating my account for as long as I can stand it to be done for. I mean it. Really really. So you’ll have to hit me up on email or on my phone, which I’m not very good at answering (not a lifestyle choice so much as general ineptitude). Y’all who might need my number should have it. Actually no that’s not true nobody knows my number apparently. OH WELL. Let’s see how my social life hilariously crumbles away. But yeah, I’m hoping it means I’ll blog a bit more because well, shit – how else am I gonna procrastinate?
More illustrations by Dina Kelberman because she pretty much articulates my tardy brain way better than I will ever be able to because I am too tardy. Dammit!