Art Camp

Mom signed me up for a great camp at California Collage of Art (CCA) these next two weeks, two hour course in Computer Art followed by a two hour course in Drawing From Life-Costumed Models.

Right now in Comp. Art we're doing a still photo movie (like a slideshow that tells a story). Erm, OK, that's not what I was signed up for. My teacher, Katina, doesn't even know how to use a tablet for Photoshop, the two things I signed up to learn about.

Errrrmmmmmm.......

Drawing From Life looks like more fun, but the teacher rambles a bit and doesn't explain his assignments well. I want to practice my sketching, but he's having us do contour drawing, which is (basically) drawing the line right the first time. Teaching this doesn't make any sense to me, because with any picture you start with a sketch and then go over your lines. You don't need to practice immedeate perfection because that's not what you're shooting for.

The kids there are nice, but I feel threatened that they might be better than I am at the style that I do, because that's my comfort zone, the one Field I know I'll always be better in. Those people on Deviant Art, all the people I say 'Wow, that's AMAZING!!!! I could NEVER be that good' deserve it, and (at least I think so from experience) want and need to hear that from another (i think) decent-good artist. And if I ever meet them, we'll chat about art and talk about Photoshop shortcuts, horror stories of computer crashes ruining all our hard work, and techniques.

But these soon-to-be-high schoolers, these kids who are taking these courses because they've done everything else, they don't critique. Oh, no they don't. They are not allowed to comment on my field. Commenting on my slideshow, I could care less!! I don't worry about that, it's not My Field, just like Cubism isn't My Field. But you flame my work, what I care about, the only thing I wasn't teased about by Kia and her gang only because it didn't have any flaws that they could find, You Will Die. I don't like that feeling, that small, nervous, violence, the blabbing about nothing, the interrupting, and the distraction that goes with it. I loath that feeling!

And I really don't want to tell Mom about all this because she'll be disappointed and then I'll feel guilty and say that "I really didn't mean all that, I was just kinda tired" and she'll say OK and I'll spend two hours of the night wincing about how I posted all this. Sigh.