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...I'm sleep-deprived, yet I've survived to hang around and learn this schtick... And I'll complete my version of that parody someday.
What is a cliche? Specifically, what is a chiche in art?
I mean, one would normally think that a cliche is overused and worn out symbolism used to project a well-known emotional response, that the general idea has been copied over and over until it has lost its zest.
How can that possibly be?
It is nearly 100% impossible to reproduce a piece of art exactly, so it cannot be a real cliche if it hasn't been copied.
It is 100% impossible to completely reproduce the emotion of an artist towards a work, plus the fact that no two reactions to a piece of art can ever be the same, either. Therefore, cliche is a matter of opinion and perspective. Only if one has witnessed enough works to personally believe that an idea can be cliche can they then say that the work is cliche, but only to their own perspective.
If one still wishes to go further on this subject, then it might be theorized that all art is cliche through the process of its creation. It is a visual work that commands an emotional response from the viewer, and since nearly all art (or what people believe is art) has followed this philosophical process, all art is cliche.
...Damn, I think too much in Fundamentals class. But I got to argue and debate artistic philosophy with one of my instructors. Booyah.
And I made $700 in fake money today! Whee! If I had been selling and the money had been real, I could afford Christmas presents and bus tickets this year!
I need to get back into my Black Angel groove. Must work on character development surveys, must work on character sketches, must write the bloody story. Unfortunately, my muse is not in charge of organizing my weekend, much to his *ahem* disappointment. That task is left to my art instructors, the Techies from Hell (c), Baby Zak, and Tom Jackson. Yes, Tom Jackson. Has anyone here seen the Huron Carol concert before? Any good?
Y'know what's not fair? On my quest for a long black overcoat (I've almost given up on finding a decent trench my size and length), I have found three possibilities.
- At Bootlegger, there is a gorgeous black wool coat that comes down to mid-calf. Only problem is that its sleeves are too short.
- At Cotton Ginny, there's a great black light sweater duster, long enough to almost brush my ankles. Only problem is that they don't have it in a size small just in case it stretches and sags.
- At Leather Mixx, there's the most beautiful black lambskin leather duster I have ever seen. I have drooled near it. Only problem is that it costs nearly as much as my first sememster college tuition.
Why can such a simple quest be so goddamn frustrating? It didn't help that one of the guys on the bus this morning had a full leather industrial trenchcoat. I'll bet he wore it just to mock me.
Didn't get to call James tonight. Phooey. *pouts* Other than that, my mood has brightened substantially. Perhaps it's the calm insanity that appears when your subconcious realizes that the end is near and sends the brain cells in charge of panic and fear of failure to Tahiti for safekeeping. Don't wanna overwork the poor dears, don'tcha know.
Oh, and I got an AIM account. Problem is, I can only access it on one of the comptupers at school, so the only times I'll be available to chat will be around noon and after four on weekdays. Weekends are unpredictable. Pop in to say 'hi' or 'boogabooga' or something. I'm lonely.
I love this song. I walked home from the bus stop through the park in the total darkness of Fort McMurray at six o'clock, singing to it and pseudo-dancing. Happiness ensued.
Today was a good day.
What is a cliche? Specifically, what is a chiche in art?
I mean, one would normally think that a cliche is overused and worn out symbolism used to project a well-known emotional response, that the general idea has been copied over and over until it has lost its zest.
How can that possibly be?
It is nearly 100% impossible to reproduce a piece of art exactly, so it cannot be a real cliche if it hasn't been copied.
It is 100% impossible to completely reproduce the emotion of an artist towards a work, plus the fact that no two reactions to a piece of art can ever be the same, either. Therefore, cliche is a matter of opinion and perspective. Only if one has witnessed enough works to personally believe that an idea can be cliche can they then say that the work is cliche, but only to their own perspective.
If one still wishes to go further on this subject, then it might be theorized that all art is cliche through the process of its creation. It is a visual work that commands an emotional response from the viewer, and since nearly all art (or what people believe is art) has followed this philosophical process, all art is cliche.
...Damn, I think too much in Fundamentals class. But I got to argue and debate artistic philosophy with one of my instructors. Booyah.
And I made $700 in fake money today! Whee! If I had been selling and the money had been real, I could afford Christmas presents and bus tickets this year!
I need to get back into my Black Angel groove. Must work on character development surveys, must work on character sketches, must write the bloody story. Unfortunately, my muse is not in charge of organizing my weekend, much to his *ahem* disappointment. That task is left to my art instructors, the Techies from Hell (c), Baby Zak, and Tom Jackson. Yes, Tom Jackson. Has anyone here seen the Huron Carol concert before? Any good?
Y'know what's not fair? On my quest for a long black overcoat (I've almost given up on finding a decent trench my size and length), I have found three possibilities.
- At Bootlegger, there is a gorgeous black wool coat that comes down to mid-calf. Only problem is that its sleeves are too short.
- At Cotton Ginny, there's a great black light sweater duster, long enough to almost brush my ankles. Only problem is that they don't have it in a size small just in case it stretches and sags.
- At Leather Mixx, there's the most beautiful black lambskin leather duster I have ever seen. I have drooled near it. Only problem is that it costs nearly as much as my first sememster college tuition.
Why can such a simple quest be so goddamn frustrating? It didn't help that one of the guys on the bus this morning had a full leather industrial trenchcoat. I'll bet he wore it just to mock me.
Didn't get to call James tonight. Phooey. *pouts* Other than that, my mood has brightened substantially. Perhaps it's the calm insanity that appears when your subconcious realizes that the end is near and sends the brain cells in charge of panic and fear of failure to Tahiti for safekeeping. Don't wanna overwork the poor dears, don'tcha know.
Oh, and I got an AIM account. Problem is, I can only access it on one of the comptupers at school, so the only times I'll be available to chat will be around noon and after four on weekdays. Weekends are unpredictable. Pop in to say 'hi' or 'boogabooga' or something. I'm lonely.
I love this song. I walked home from the bus stop through the park in the total darkness of Fort McMurray at six o'clock, singing to it and pseudo-dancing. Happiness ensued.
Today was a good day.
