media arts class

anonymous asked:

you're on meds?

Yeah. I take some for my anxiety/stress and depression. ;v; It’s been a lot better after a couple increases in dosage. And if some of you have been following me for the past 5-7 months or so I’m sure some of you have had to witness my struggles… But I’m very happy that I’ve been eating again, and I’ve been feeling like myself the past couple months. Also, the classes I’m taking this semester are a lot better! My drawing and media arts classes are my favorites! :D


Five untitled works by John Chamberlain (from top):

  • brown paper, brown resin, pennies; approximately 7 inches in diameter; sold at auction for $18,750.
  • painted aluminum foil; approximately 12 inches in diameter; sold at auction for $40,000.
  • urethane foam, cord; approximately 6 inches in diameter; sold at auction for $11,875.
  • brown paper, dark brown resin; approximately 6 inches in diameter; sold at auction for $26,250.
  • silver foil, brown paper; approximately 6 inches in diameter; sold at auction for $25,000.

I’ve posted before about my struggle to reconcile the money spent on what are, to me (I’m something of a philistine, admittedly), questionable works of art (see here and here, for example). I’m conflicted in the same way about these pieces.

On the one hand, I respect a lot of John Chamberlain’s work and have posted some of his pieces before (see here, here, here, and here). And in looking over the body of his work I can kinda see the relevance of these works, the continuity of his aesthetic carried through by them.

But on the other hand my philistine brain looks at them and sees five wadded up pieces of garbage that might have been found as-is in a skip at a building site. And when I think about what could be done for the poor with the $121,875 that was paid for them it troubles me. A lot.

The problem as I see it is this: there are millions of Americans (not to mention billions across the globe) for whom finding $20 in a jeans pocket is a serious windfall, and there are a few thousand Americans (and others) who think nothing of dropping a thousand or two thousand times that amount on a six-inch piece of wadded up garbage. I just can’t get my mind around that.

I mean, art in all its forms is very important indeed, central to what makes us human, but when so many are struggling just to find food is it moral to participate in the thriving market for artworks like these? I’m not smart enough to answer my own question, but I can’t help but feel that we as a culture need to conduct a serious review of our priorities and carry out a major overhaul of how wealth is distributed in first-world society, so that everyone gets fed and housed and educated and seen by a doctor before money gets spent on luxury bits of trash like these.

End of sermon.

trippedinawellandfellintohell  asked:

I love editing as well. I'm in a media arts career and tech class at my school and all I do for half the day is story board, film, and edit. Because of that class I want to go into the film industry

I wish you the best of luck, and the best of constant improvement. It’s a tough industry from what I’ve heard.


Aka I-despise-you-and-now-we’re-stuck-in-an-elevator-together Bellarke AU.

I wrote to this prompt (“Put two people who hate each other in an elevator for 12 hours. What happens?”) a while back and realized that with a few tweaks, it could totally work for Bellarke. The original version is here.

So here it is! Featuring punkrock!bellamy and artTA!clarke. It’s got some slightly OOC moments, but most AUs do right? Hope you enjoy!


“Hold the door!”

Clarke slipped into the elevator just as the doors slid closed, huffing a sigh and muttering a quiet “thanks” over the monotone electronic voice informing her that they were in fact “going up.” She was already late for her weekly meeting with the other teaching assistants for Professor Kane’s Art and Media class, but there was nothing to do about it now. All she could do was stare at the dial above the door, its arm swinging in an aggravatingly slow arch from floor one to two.

“Come on, come on,” she hissed under her breath. The art department was on level six and Clarke was never late. She hated being late.

Keep reading

this poem strikes again because honestly i’m in love with it (and it’s in love with me, and it’s like a goddamn tragedy? LOL), and i’m probably going to make more graphics surrounding it ‘cuz pretty words, pretty imagery ~

also, merthur! c: