art history

This last semester I took the best course ever invented. Art History. We journeyed through Europe (and America a bit), from the Renaissance to the mid twentieth century. Insert heart eyes here.

Art has always been a passive love of mine (thank you ma mère for forcing us to go to museums, sincerely). However, I never had anything more than a superficial fondness, no actual understanding.

Presently, I feel like a walking journal, periodical, encyclopedia, if i may be so bold. Compiled inside my head are technical terms, artist, and common feelings/ideas of each era. Along with contemporary historical events, and connections between art and history that I never could have imagined before this class.

I feel additionally thankful for my professor. Being at a community college (particularly in Stockton) it would be easy to assume the education to be negligible and the staff equally insignificant. However, to my own surprise, there are very intelligent people working at Delta College. I have no experience at a university, but I still imagine Dr. Barrows to be the absolute best art history professor anyone could hope for. anywhere. ever. period. She has her quirks, and by that I mean she is a total dork. But in the best possible way. Her dry humor keeps the students engaged, or at least this student.

So i guess consider this a PSA of sorts: If you want to continue regarding me in a positive and slightly adorable manner, do not ask me about art. anywhere. ever. period. Unless of course you want the know-it-all Brooklyn to come out and show off her knowledge of colore and disegno, or the ideals of the Baroque era, or a lengthy comparison of Neoclassicism and Romanticism.

I am also not as knowledgeable as I’d like to believe, so do not take what I say as any sort of firm fact. Except, if you would like to talk about Caravaggio’s first Inspiration of Saint Matthew (c. 1602). In reference to that specific painting, I consider myself an expert. Insert cool-guy sunglasses emoji here.

P.S. Now I feel I absolutely must return to Paris, for when I went I was not suitably educated at that point in my life, in order to fully appreciate all the art I was so fortunate to have experienced. Darn, how drab that I have to go back.

bare with me while i whine

I have been writing exactly nothing in months & months. I’m disappointed in myself, but not necessarily enough to do anything about it. I feel like I have writers block, but I also feel that I am much to young to be out of inspiration. However, I am; my motivation is running low as well.

In nine months I will be moving away, out in the world all by my lonesome. I have no portfolio of work, or platform to show. Although I now have nearly two years of college under my belt, I do not feel any more intelligent. Less, maybe.

I find myself daydreaming of far away places (don’t we all) but I continue to lay in bed and do nothing to get myself there [wherever I’m dreaming of]. I read and I read; I write down all the words I would like to incorporate into my daily vocabulary and writings. I barely even bother to look up the meanings of said words, let alone use them.

I complain and complain of my idleness, but we still see that I am currently writing of my lack of writing….

complain complain complain.