Oh the irony of ironies. I find now that my greatest joy of artistic expression is to take another's piece of art and to draw upon it. Hypocrite that I am, There really isn't any form of expression that I currently enjoy more. I have begun to take old paintings (prints only is my rule...it would be a true shame to ruin someones original), and draw ironic scenes over top. I don't know precisely what it is about my generation that seems to so greatly appreciate the ironic...art, fashion, music, literature...maybe these pieces are my tongue in cheek way of pointing out how we are continually corrupting the natural beauty of God's creation with commercialization and cheap thrills. Maybe our joy in irony is simply the recognition that their truly is nothing new under the sun, and so we simply strive to find new ways of looking at the old. All I know for sure is that I get a kick out of the ironic. I mean really, there is nothing cool about an old man's cardigan sweater....but seriously, old cardigan's are awesome!
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
I created my own super hero in third grade. He had his own back story; a dapper young orphan boy with the secret identity of LIGHTNING BOY!(...soon to become Lightning Man--a much more heroic name). My mom even sewed me a costume (under strict design guidelines). After I drew my first draft of my hero, I showed him to one of my friends, who promptly pulled the paper from my hands and said, "Nice, all you need now is this" and carelessly wrote a crooked, jagged "L" on his chest. He took no care to consider how the contours of Lightning Man's muscular physique might affect the way the "L" lay on his chest. He did not consider how the pressure with which he pressed the pencil down upon the paper might make a line much darker then the that seen throughout the rest of the composition. He didn't ask, "Will this "L" match the likeness of the rest of the hero's attire?" No. Instead he made a line that could hardly pass for an "L" even by the standards of a preschooler. Most people would respond by erasing the dastardly line and shading over the mark. My response was to furiously pull my offender's hair. I am sure I almost scalped the poor guy. It took me a few moments to realize fire was shooting from my eyeballs, and that I had gone all Hulk on the poor kid before I sheepishly apologized.