GOOD IDEA/BAD IDEA

Sometimes my friends and I like to play a game we call "good idea/bad idea."


Good idea: making art in any form.

Bad idea: cutting my own hair.



The end.

weddings vs. funerals

Last night at the bar, we got onto the topic of weddings. I've always told my parents that if I ever am to tie the knot (which I most likely will not), I'd prefer to take the money they would have spent on my weddings and go elope in Vegas. For some reason, this notion was received as particularly strange by my friends.

But what did they find even more strange? When I mentioned that while I had no plans for a dream wedding, I do have a dream funeral. I'm not morbid or anything remotely close to that, I just think that having an epic funeral would be not only unprecedented, but totally rad.

At my funeral, I plan to request either an 80's or superhero theme... though I'm still open to suggestions. Canadian tuxedo, possibly? Just one rule: no black clothes allowed. Also, I will have put aside money in my will allowing for an open bar. Instead of telling endearing stories, people will be required to tell a tale relating to my ridiculousness. Here are some examples that may potentially surface:

1. That time I broke my face. Some people know how it really happened, many will never know. No matter which one of the stories you heard, when it comes down to it... it was pretty fuckin' funny.

2. That time I lost that bet and swam in my whites in the Spruce Meadows fountain (and the Palm Springs golf course pond... and the Sacramento Hilton pool... and pretty much every other body of water I came within range of).

3. That time I fell off my horse Oscar while half naked in my spike-covered Louboutin boots when dared to make a homemade episode of "equestrian jackass" on New Year's Eve.

4. That time while moonlighting as a ski racer when, while nightskiing, I ate it because I didn't see a mogul while I was trying to see how fast I could go. Or the time I skiied off that jump straight into a tree. Or that time I fell off the chairlift. Champ.

5. That time I insisted on climbing to the top of the Broadway Bridge in the middle of the night because it seemed like fun... and subsequently brought back every road sign I could carry on the way home. FYI: street signs make excellent apartment decorations.

6. That time I thought riding a dirtbike down the stairs was a great idea. Go big or go home? Not exactly. Quite a few bad decisions have almost been avoided until someone said, "Go big, or go home." Unfortunately, the idiot saying the aforementioned phrase is usually me. (Also see: that time I tried to ride a unicycle down the stairs. Also also see: that time I tried to rollerskate down the stairs.)

7. That time I decided I was going to act like a tourist and insisted on speaking in a British accent. (A bad accent, nonetheless.) Or that other time when I decided to speak only in haiku form.

8. That time I broke any (& potentially every?) rule I could. Or that time when I pulled the dumbest prank known to man... which I inevitably found ridiculously hilarious. So, basically, almost anything relating to my everyday life. (As I recently found my senior yearbook, I'll divulge a few high school examples: turning essays in on red paper for AP English, stringing offices, "borrowing" the hand of the Jesus statue during an impromptu game of frisbee-golf, kidnapping authorities, hallway soccer, changing clocks forward, stealing uniform violation forms, skipping all-school homeroom and all masses by hiding in the darkroom, renaming AP Gov to AP Skip and fulfilling aforementioned nickname, "earthquake drills," COEUR DE JESUS, Mr. Shoe costumes on Halloween, putting "berets" on bushes, dressing up our friend the Jesus statue, giving our friend the Jesus statue ridiculous signs to hold, getting in trouble for getting the Jesus statue on our team... etc... I'm talking to you, Forest Ridge pranksters-in-crime.)

Name of Student: Jackie Fleckenstein

Date & Time of Violation: Everyday

Teacher/Adult: Pretty much all of them / AKA: FUNSUCKERS

(Please indicate violation.)

Uniform: "WHAT UNIFORM?" -- "That's not specified in the handbook." "Like you've ever cracked the spine of the handbook, Fleckenstein."

Dean's Note: "Insubordinate. Look it up in the dictionary." "I know what it means. My picture is next to the definition."

(If you look closely, you will see that the bush pictured above has a face. That's why we gave him a "beret.")

ALSO:

8. That time when I said that really moronic thing. Which leaves a lot of room for those who may have not witnessed my actions, but have encountered me even once... as almost everything that comes out of my mouth is pretty stupid.

Anyway, by now you probably get the picture. But two more things: in addition to the above requirements, the songs played at my wake must be "Ding Dong the Witch is Dead" from the Wizard of Oz and "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" by Wham!. Finally, my tombstone will bear the following haiku, describing my life mantra:

Life is not about

winning or losing. It's just

about NOT LOSING!

(The exclamation point is necessary, as are the caps. I mean... as everyone knows, I HATE LOSING!)

I don't think that's too much to ask for.

After all... I've been to a lot of great weddings and parties, but a great funeral?

Top that.

Roshambo

Why is Roshambo the decision-making game for so many instances? It takes almost no skill. Beat me at hopscotch, foursquare, or pogs and I might take your winning seriously.

names, planes... & astronauts

Have you ever noticed how sometimes people with the same names share similar characteristics?

Up until quite recently, I believed I was not named after a specific person... though quite often people ask me if I was named after Jackie O. Just a few weeks ago, I found out Jackie O = Jacqueline Lee.

My name is Jacqueline Lee.

However, I don't feel like I'm really a Jacqueline. It sounds so formal and proper, and I'm neither formal nor proper; I quite prefer Jackie. Even the horse show announcers call me Jackie, though my name appears on all lists as Jacqueline. (Also, nothing is more awkward than a first day in class when a teacher calls out "Jacques Fleckens" because my full name is much too long to fit onto a roll sheet.)

I don't know any other Jackies. I know a Jaclyn, a Jacqueline (who insists on being called Jack-clean... imagine that, but say it with a French accent), and a Jacque. Where are all the Jackies of the world? And what is our stereotype?

In other news, I would like to learn how to fly a plane. Mostly because it would make me feel more comfortable while flying commercially. Though I fly all the time, it is something I absolutely ABHORE. Not that if I learned how to fly I'd be able to do anything in the event of inevitable disaster, but it'd make me feel better nonetheless.

I once flew with someone who announced, while the flight attendants were giving their safety demonstration about life floats, that, "There is no such thing as a water landing. It's called a plane crash."

He's probably correct, but I'd still like to think that during such an episode, I could take over the plane and land it in a way that the pilot did during the landing on the Hudson river. I couldn't, but I'd still like to believe it.

In other OTHER news, lately I've been wishing that I'd trained to become an astronaut. I'd really like to go to Saturn. I'm obsessed with space, as nerdy as that may sound, and I think it'd be pretty cool to look at the Earth like we look at the moon. I think I visit the NASA website more than any other website in my queue. But I don't think I can still become an astronaut at 25 if the only thing I know how to do is sit on a horse, find obscure answers to crossword puzzles and fingerpaint. Or can I?

If not, can I at least become a pilot for the Blue Angels?

the problem with ellipses.

Proof in point:

el·lipse

a plane curve such that the sums of the distances of each point in its periphery from two fixed points, the foci, are equal. It is a conic section formed by the intersection of a right circular cone by a plane that cuts the axis and the surface of the cone. Typical equation: ( x 2 / a 2 ) + ( y 2 / b 2 ) = 1. If a = b the ellipse is a circle.

el·lip·sis

1.

Grammar .

a.

the omission from a sentence or other construction ofone or more words that would complete or clarify construction, as the omission of who are, while I am, or while we are from I like to interview people sitting down.

b.

the omission of one or more items from a construction in order to avoid repeating the identical or equivalent items that are in a preceding or following construction, as the omission of been to Paris from the second clause of I've been to Paris, but they haven't.

2.

Printing . a mark or marks as ——, …, or * * *, to indicate an omission or suppression of letters or words.

Can someone please explain to me why the plural of both ellipse and ellipsis is ellipses?

I refuse to think of my ironic use of the ... ellipsis as a cyclical ellipse.

the perils of printmaking!

Let me just start by saying that I absolutely love making prints. That being said, it is one of the most tedious, labor-intensive art forms I have ever dabbled in.

I took up printmaking over the summer in a class at my school because:

a) it was taught by a professer I particularly like, and

b) because everyone I'd spoken to who had tried it told me I'd really like it.

I really, REALLY fell in love with it. In a lot of ways, it reminded me of my old photography days in the darkroom; the act of putting my paper over a plate and running it through the printing press strongly reminded me of how much I loved putting my photo paper into developer and never quite knowing how it'd turn out. I probably never knew how either would turn out because I'm incredibly impatient and refuse to make test prints of my photos or my plates, but I choose to ignore that fact.

I'm currently working on an altered book which I'm drawing, painting and printing directly into. Unlike other altered books that I've made (and by other, I mean the one I made for drawing class), the pressure to make perfect images while working on these pages seems intense. While I've always been a messy "artist" and never cared about it as I've always been able to cover my mistakes or ultimately add them into my final image, this is a feeling I'm quite unfamiliar with.

Actually, that's not entirely true. While I never felt the pressure to get the "perfect" print while working in the darkroom, the anxiety I got when developing my own film was quite similar to what I feel while working on this book. I remember the first (and only!) time I ruined a role of film by developing in a not-fully-dark room. This may sound melodramatic (and I am), but I felt COMPLETE and UTTER devastation. After all, one can make an infinite amount of prints from a perfectly developed set of negatives... but a roll with a giant white stripe down the middle? Not a chance.

Don't get me wrong-- I've made plenty of slips while working on my print plates, which may seem the same as over/underexposing a film strip. However, I've always been able to rework my plates in the same way that I can rework my paintings. (Except when I'm working in watercolor. That shit is unforgiving.)

Still, working in this book gives me an incredibly uneasy feeling of trepidation. It's a beautiful old Russian fashion book that I picked up at Powell's for probably $2, but to me it's irreplaceable. Aside from the fact that I probably could never find another copy, I've already spent countless hours pouring over my collection of fashion magazines and cutting and pasting base images into the book to work with. One slip of my hand while printing a plate, painting a word or reworking an image in pastel could potentially turn this awesome project into an epic tragedy.

Once again, I realize I'm melodramatic. But please, just work with me here.

Part of my anxiety comes from:

a) the fact that though I've always done art in some form, I'd never taken drawing seriously until about 2 years ago, and

b) even when I started taking it seriously, I've never liked sketching. I hate drawing in pencil, and avoid it if at all possible. So usually when I start a project, it's not only my first, but my final image... and the margin for error (though as I said, I openly incorporate my "mistakes") is quite slim.

Nonetheless, I seem to have what I think of as incredible "beginner's luck." When I start most of my projects, I have no idea where I'm going-- yet they all seem to turn into pieces that look like I planned every step of the way. If you know me, you know this is never the case; in reality I tend to be very touch-and-go, mixing media and experimenting in every way imaginable. I've never been a "planner" by any stretch of the imagination in any sector of my life, and the art I make is not an exception. While I enjoy working hard on a variety of things and learning about almost any subject, I am an expert procrastinator and love to work under pressure-- be it competition or deadline.

When I ride my horse, I love to compete against the best people, in the biggest shows, for the most money, in front of a large crowd. I live off of that adrenaline, and I've worked incredibly hard to be successful in my riding just to be able to get into those situations. A few years ago, I had the best experience of my life when I walked under a giant clocktower in front of 50,000 people in the pouring rain and jumped 6'1" to finish 4th in a high-jump competition behind 3 former Olympians in one of the biggest international competitions in the world. So... trust me, when I say I thrive under pressure-- I'm not joking around.

But back to printmaking.

As I was introduced to this art form at a design school rather than an art school, we used water-based inks in place of oil-based inks because we didn't have the proper equipment for the latter. Water-based ink (in my limited experience) works great for relief prints using linoleum and wood. However, I always wished to get more from my copper etchings, and recently I had my first experience working in oil ink as I wanted to use watercolors over the top of an edition of prints, a feat not possible when using water-based ink. I had NO idea how much a different creature oil ink was as opposed to water ink, and my prints turned out... okay at best. Also, this happened:

While it's a fairly (okay, inevitable) occurrence for my hands to be stained by paints, inks, charcoals and pastels, I'd never experienced anything like trying to get this type of printmaking ink off my hands. As I couldn't use chemicals to clean my plate, I had to use oil (corn? vegetable? I don't quite remember-- oops) and it left my hands in a strange state for roughly 2 weeks, despite the amount of times that I attempted to scrub them clean.

I don't mind being dirty. I've ridden horses and worked in barns off and off for 14 years; half of my clothes are stained with some kind of art media or covered in dog/horse hair. I mean, I shower and do laundry regularly, but I'm not particularly obsessed with other people's opinions about the state of my wardrobe. Still, what seems to happen when I'm making prints is unparalleled. Am I that much of a disaster? Or am I now supposed to apply my work ethic to attempting to staying clean?

Whatever. The point of this extensive diatribe was simply to say this:

Though I love it, printmaking is not only a lot of work, but can be quite stressful.

Maybe I should just take up ping-pong.

"nice to meet you"

Why do people say "nice to meet you" before I've even said anything? I'm an asshole. It probably isn't.

studio time.

Clean studio space, aka HOME:

Some raw images from my latest altered book:

BFF/best studio partner EVER:

thought for the day:

Who did lemons piss off to become the bad example of everything in life?

insomnia.

Whenever I've taken classes previously, my favorite phrase has always been, "I'll sleep when I'm dead."

Now that I'm no longer in school, I regret ever saying that.

However, since I suffer from incessant insomnia, I thought I'd share a passage from one of my favorite book, "Anyone for Insomnia?" by Richard Armour. (Book titles: quotes or underlined? Who decides the MLA standards anyway?)

I digress.

"But insomnia can't be all bad. At least the insomniac is in distinguished company. In The Book of Lists, compiled by the Wallace family, there is a list of twenty famous insomniacs. As I read the list and the comments about them, I felt better. Either in spite of insomnia or perhaps because of insomnia, many have achieved greatness. Let me mention a few of the renowned insomniacs.

There was Napoleon Bonaparte, who learned to get along on three or four hours of sleep each night. How he learned this, we are not told. Did he have a tutor? Did he go to a school for insomniacs? Did he have a driving urge that shot him out of his bed after those few hours? And did he sleep better when he went from bus busy life of conquest to his quiet life on Elba?

Most people sleep more poorly during their tensed-up drive for success than after retirement. But maybe Napoleon slept less than ever during his second and final exile on the island of St. Helena. He may have been kept awake by remembering how he left Elba and was defeated by Wellington at Waterloo. 'Able was I ere I saw Elba,' he kept saying over and over, or forward and backward, especially when he noticed it was a palindrome and was exactly the same either way."

Love it.

So... I guess I'll sleep when I'm dead.

new hobbies

I recently deactivated my Facebook. Partly because it's become borderline creepy, and partly because there are pictures on there from my early college days when Facebook was only for college students (which I think is how it should have stayed). Nowadays, "I'm not on Facebook" is the new "I don't own a TV."

Not checking my Facebook 200 times per day has left me with a lot of free time, and I've been considering some new hobbies... I'm currently contemplating:

1. Knitting a Snuggie for my dog.

2. Underwater basketweaving and/or glassblowing.

3. Creating a pâper-maché replica of Mt. Rushmore.

4. Taking up speaking solely in haiku form (perhaps using a British accent). I've done this previously, but I'm tempted to bring it back.

5. Training for the hopscotch world championships.

Perhaps I'll memorize the dictionary as well.

After all, if I did memorize the dictionary, I could probably complete my life goal of finishing a New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle.

And that would be awesome.

Das ist verrückt!: a post about Europe

Over Thanksgiving, my family and I traveled to Paris to spend a few days in the beautiful city. Being the renegade that I am, I planned my own solo side trip to city of Köln, to complete part of a project for my advanced drawing class as well as to see the museum of one of my all-time favorite artists, Käthe Kollwitz. Thus, I present an overview of the trip in pictures:

The first night in Paris, I got up at 5am to roam around the city (as is usual for me) when no one else was out. This picture was taken from the footbridge looking toward Notre Dame.

Next I visited the deserted Louvre, and this is one of my favorite pictures of my morning stroll.

Later in the day, I caught a picture from one of my favorite points on the footbridge over the Seine.

That evening, I met a charming Frenchman who took me to an American bookstore frequented by the likes of Kerouac and Hemingway in their heyday. I was in heaven! I especially loved their form of organization:

While I personally loved the chaos, I could feel my alphabetized bookshelves back home in the states cringing.

Over the weekend, I took the train to Köln. Upon my arrival at the Hauptbanhof, I was greeted with one of the most breathtaking churches I'd ever seen. Prior to seeing this church, my favorite was the Frauenkirche in Munich which I visited a few years back, pictured below.

The view from the Frauenkirche in Munich (I'll get to the Kölner Dom in a minute):

Those churches kind of make "majestic" Notre Dame look a little pathetic, no?

My first order of business after arriving in Köln was to make my way to the Käthe Kollwitz museum.

Some Käthe prints with matching sculpture in the foreground.

This is my personal favorite picture from Europe... my reflection in a print Käthe made for her self portrait.

View of the Christmas Market from atop the 510 stairs reaching the peak of the Kölner Dom (at one point, it was the tallest building in the world.)

Another view from the top of the Kölner Dom.

The next morning, at my usual time of 5am, I took out to explore one of Köln's bridges.

AMAZING view from the far side of the Deutzerbrücke, looking back to the Kölner Dom.

My pack of animals, acquired from the Christmas market, made appearances in many of my photos.

Later in the morning, I stopped by the Christmas market to get some traditional glühwein, which I was told not to leave Köln without trying.

View from the train station as it snowed nonstop on my way back to Paris.

The altered book I created for my advanced drawing final, made from a German copy of The Wizard of Oz.

The second piece for my advanced drawing final.

Here are some prints I made for different parts within the final. Copper etching printed with oil ink and colored with watercolor & inktense pencils:

Such a great trip. Wish I'd never left...