Official End of the M.A Communication Design Course

Final Show 2011 MA Communication Design Flyer

This is the last MA Communication Design end of year show for the course with the 4 separate pathways, as the facebook group, hysterically informs me.

I’d quite like to go. I like to attend these things for all the schmoozing and art nonsense.

I especially love the art nonsense. I’m counting on all those exciting, exciting information design graphs. Statistics presented on a A0 poster make me so hot.

Then there’s always some arabic font thing + some other font thing for the deaf or the visually impaired. One per year.

HAH!

I just checked the design section and I was spot on! Every year without fail! Someone should do a project on the amount of design students doing the same project year in and year out.

I’ve never understood how the design for the event flyer (that blue tiny thing above) gets picked. It’s pretty horrible.

Well, actually I do know. Our end of year flyer was equally indifferent. The problem is everyone is so busy that no one can be bothered to do it and its impossible to please all 4 pathways. Designers want it to be designed, the illustrators need too much censoring (too many drawings of penises) the typographers want letter-press and who knows what the photographers want.

A more diplomatic kind of flyer would be a white gridded poster – split into equal compartments of exactly the number of students there are on the course, allowing room for time address & dates. Then each student fills a single compartment manually telling people to come to the show or maybe some drawing. Then the flyer should be rescanned and submitted

No cutting and photoshopping of a crop of their final work. It has to be all painstakingly hand-written or drawn.

The illustration for the year looks very yummy.

Carl Partridge - www.carlpartridge.co.uk

This one below sounds interesting.

“My overall desire with my project is to make the desirable accessible with an A4 printer.

Another important factor for me when counterfeiting these exclusive objects is to retain their functionality so for example the above net of a Leica M3 camera functions as a pinhole camera accepting 35mm film.”

I have a weakness for things you can print and make.

Matthew Nicholson - www.mattmakesstuff.co.uk

Kanitta Meechubot

Martha Zmpounou

Friends and Family Day

i.e P.T.A day

I woke up early on Friday morning after the private view to drag myself off to the gulag (Savoy Tailors Guild) tired, hung over and with a mouth of cotton wool. That night I had a vivid dream where Anna & I were manning the Mall reception desk/shop. There are people crowding around like rush hour on the tube. Someone comes running up to me and says excitedly

“Oh my god your prints are just selling out! There are so many people!! Its amazing.”

I woke up bemused, thinking or hoping it was real.

It was not.

I am so pathetic.

Even my sub-conscious isn’t subtle. Pathetic.

As friends and family surged around everywhere, I vaguely remembering having a brilliant epiphany about my work that was crystal clear, made perfect sense and I suddenly knew exactly where it would go with absolute clarity. Within 5 minutes the timely arrival of more wine destroyed this brief, sparkling vision of the future and now I can’t remember any of it.

Mark my second cousin’s husband slightly criticized the show in his mild, cheddary sort of way, but I am willing to absolve him completely since he was emotionally blackmailed into buying one of my prints. My mother said I ought to have given it away but he works in the BBC and I sit on a couch blogging. It’s only fair game.

I was hardly expecting any to sell frankly but Uhr also coerced his dad into buying a print. God bless that Slovenian and his dad. Mark really set the ball rolling so I shall forgive every slight.

It was a really relaxed day compared to the hectic tension of the Private View. I had no family to babysit fortunately but Charis and Kardo kept disappearing, skulking around corners and then walked so slowly with their long English umbrellas to the Chandos I lost them again. Two days later I got a belated voice message from both Kardo & Charis begging for directions.

The college being as highly organized as it is, forgot to order drinks for the PTA day which the tutors only realized after getting hammered the evening before. They had to run around in the morning looking for a wholesaler but were forced to buy from various corner shops instead and drag them to the gallery in Foz’s granny trolley bag type thing.

The ex showed up for friends and family day late. I had invited one of the ex’s exs and she was nice enough to show up on time. The ex called me up cranky and irritable saying there were errands to do etc. 3 o clock became 4 o clock which in turn become 5.

I had humbly requested if it was on the way could I get some sleeves or large plastic bags to put my remaining prints in? Perhaps this made it later, perhaps it was my fault. It was well past 5 o clock when the ex finally showed up. The gallery shut an hour early so the show was missed but met us in the pub where the ex’s ex, Kardo & Charis (both looking very mafioso and Italian which is odd since one is an Iraqi, the other a Greek), Foz (with his granny stroller), Fernanda (in her best ‘good-girl’ outfit), Dan & Ruth and I were continuing the afternoons boozing.

For the past few weeks all my posts have ended with

“….and then we all went to the pub.”

It is both a sign of poor writing on my part and an indication that we are creatures of habits, us illustrators. (See how I generalize with such confidence? It’s so MA darling).

I finally had a long semi drunken conversation with Dan and his lady Ruth and it was highly entertaining. It was about time after 2 years but at least on this occasion there was no yelling with regards to my DIY incompetence.

Ruth explains that she too would prefer it if the drawing/photography would start and stop 9-5. It’s the lack of attention she explains. I still can’t understand the problem though. If you’re sitting in the same room, sitting on the same couch, watching TV, doing exactly the same thing (i.e nothing) whats wrong with maybe doodling in a sketch book or working or just fiddling with something (anything).

I can’t just sit there and watch TV. Drawing relaxes me. What makes it any different for whatever relaxes someone else i.e cooking, doing your nails, reading?

I don’t know, it doesn’t matter anyway I suppose. I suspect that this sort of relationship problem will never go away (for me at least) unless I date my clone (I’m such a narcissist but we’d probably kill each other).

Owen’s very large Irish catholic family were there with his heavily pregnant house mate. As I’m sure anyone can predict, they hated my work. That made me more happy than I can tell you (they are clearly my target audience) but being a shameless coward I avoided a lynching by staying well out of sight.

I hid behind the table while this lady stood for nearly 5 minutes staring at this one particular drawing.

It is the most brilliant picture and a piece of amazing good luck.

Mexican just ready to board her grandpapa's Yatch on the south coast of France dahling. I love the little 'toilets' sign just above her head especially since she seems to avoid them at all costs

Mark mocking my lovely amazing brilliant fantastic super amazing work.

I said amazing twice but its only because I'm an MA artist now that I'm now allowed to be so full of it.

Show Set Up – Day 1

I had a really rotten weekend. I wasted all Saturday by having a massive hangover, which as light weight drinker is an unusual and unpleasant thing. Sunday I spent quarreling and sulking in Angel park while drinking a small pink zinfandel straight out of the bottle like an old wino.

Monday was the big show set up day. Vans had to be loaded and unloaded and worst of all, a 6:00am wake up to be at college by 7:30 sharp. I got into bed by 8 in the evening on the Sunday but watched too much Gordon Ramsay while drooling all over my duvet, thus sleeping later than I ought to. Had horrible shifting dreams all night and woke up at 5:45am to the lovely early morning bird song and warblings of large vans and speeding cars on Brixton Hill.

I immediately fired off a cranky and irate text message and promptly felt better.

We arrived at Catton Street only to be shunted off to Mall within 10 minutes by Dan. We loafed around at the Mall for half and hour waiting to unload the vans.

Unloading the vans was difficult for a weakling like me, especially the massive walls that we needed to erect later that morning.

Everyone was dressed in their skankiest, grubbiest clothes. Onnalin was wearing shorts, torn tights and a bunch of holes held together by a T-shirt that discreetly covered her bra.

There was a very pretty, skinny, blond girl that I noticed (of course) who was wearing the whitest cleanest, most beautiful, little frock, over a lovely pair of leggings paired cute matching ballet shoes. At the pub later that day, naturally we tore her apart, and her (allegedly) fake tan. Fernanda and Amalia angrily insisted it wasn’t a real tan. I couldn’t tell.

Camille lifting heavy boards.

Simeon & Adam waiting for Camille to finish unloading all the vans while I stand around taking silly pictures.

In addition to Mike & Simeon Siamese, another aspect of the freak show that are the illustrators:

Ring master Adam

Gary with a strange symbiotic growth sprouting from his shoulder.

Ed 'Gang-bang' Allen the strong man.

Madame Bruna, Mistress Georgina & Holy Marrow: The Fortune Teller, The Prophesier and the Circus soothsayer.

Onnalin & Martyn proudly show off their combined non-existent muscles.

Gary's Shorts

Gary's Shorts. Its art

Onnalin & Fernanda: The troupe's witches

Witches. Onnalin's outfit of a thousand holes.

We started setting up some of the walls without having a clue how to do it. Foz like any good, right-brained illustrator was as clueless as his students. Dan mocked us as we begged him for help. Most of the time was spent just watching people screw in bolts while you waited around holding a big board and yawning.

Alex’s portfolio was lying around like a ghost while he was nowhere to be seen. Fernanda says to me

“Oh my god is that Alex’s? Lets go through it no?”

No, I say and she is immediately annoyed that I dare contradict her royal princessness. The photographers are playing a truly excellent selection of Bob Marley which makes me feel like I’m at a hippie picnic.

Foz dashes around in a sweaty blur, putting up frames with Gary as cool as ever, in tow pacing behind him. Roderick and Dave were helping various other people.

Simeon giving me evils.

Setting up the show in chaos.

 

The sequence says it all really. The last one is where we seem to be 1 foot shorter than we planned. Nice.

 

Amalia's very manly bright pink tool kit.

They made her eyes disappear.

By 4pm I had mostly finished for that day and then we were just waiting around (moral support I guess) for the burly, sweaty men (very sexy) who were doing all the heavy lifting and drilling.

The last one looks like Dave is about to drill Gary's behind.

Mike: Is that leveled?

Me: Are we done yet? I'm hungry

Georgina: In a pin nightmare

At about 5 o clock Geoff came running by reporting we needed to leave since there was a group of oldies who had a life drawing class. The aged were gritting their dentures in rage such an imposition, but Foz had managed to throw a wonderful strop with the gallery manager insisting that if he doesn’t let us stay till 9 there won’t be a show by Thursday.

The designers were furious,

“Why are the illustrators getting to stay??”

Someone asked me, extremely annoyed. Because we’re so special that’s why ha ha hah! Stupid designers and their Indesign skills and their great job prospects.

Rumor had it that the shy life model was sobbing in the ladies at the humiliation of having to strip down in front of men younger and more virile than 80.

We weren’t allowed either to drill or talk loudly in case the shock from the noise gave all the elderly sudden strokes. Apparently you need pin drop silence to be able to draw, I don’t know why, life drawing isn’t exactly brain surgery. I’d love to have taken them to Roderick’s life drawing, 3 movies running, one really weird one with loud beeping noises in a loop. They’d all have had group convulsions I’m sure.

Foz had instructed Anna to make sure Georgina stays calm and doesn’t panic. Anna doesn’t quite manage to succeed so Georgina has a mental meltdown over pinning up her prints. Distraught, she begs Gary

“Help me, please can you help me?”.

“Ooooooh help you??”

Gary replies gleefully and then does a little dance. Georgina is not amused in the slightest.

More Circus acts getting bored: Edamma : The 4 legged, 4 armed bearded lady.

More Circus acts getting bored: Edamma : The 4 legged, 4 armed bearded lady.

Amalia Woman of rubber: India, latex & silicone

At 9 o clock we finally and thankfully head of to the pub. We are all hungry enough to eat our own arms.

After the tutors leave Fernanda, Ed, Martyn, Mike and I get into a furious impassioned debate about what constitutes ‘MAness’. According to Fer & Ed being even slightly indecisive dismisses you off the ‘MAness’ list. You must also be very committed to the group.

I contest that this is highly contestable. Being decisive is great but not all important (I believe) neither is group devotion. Ed and Fernanda start prepping for a war over the space on Day 2. They have planned a devious coup to oust out either Athier or Lisa (or both) from the space. As per their list neither are ‘MAness’ worthy.

Obviously I am looking forward to tomorrow. It’s bound to be highly entertaining.

Martyn doesn’t feel like heading back to his beloved Bedford so he stays over on the Ikea folding bed in my living room where we both eat Rustlers and tomatoes for a late dinner.

I stay up till 3 reprinting double page spreads in my portfolio because Foz made me. The older ones had a 1cm margin where the prints overlapped. Damn. I had hoped it wasn’t that noticeable but Foz was adamant they would annoy him (and we can’t have that.)

It would be a breeze reprinting if I could master the knack of making the stupid Epsom reject my posh thick printing paper less.

Printers are so bloody temperamental.

Doomsday Arrives

That says it all, doesn't it?

Doomsday came and went with a surprising amount of calm.

However when I say that perhaps I only speak for myself.

The tension in the studio over Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday morning was phenomenal. Even though we had only recently cleaned the studio until it gleamed like a new pin it was once again an absolute tip. There was not a single empty patch of floor or table. I’ve completely forgotten what colour either are.

Alex's work plus paint in the top right floor corner

This is the clean version of the studio

Ed was muttering and swearing under his breath constantly like some old codger. Georgina looked constantly distressed. Martyn, Simeon and Anna was framing like mad. Martyn and Simeon would suddenly stop right in the middle of frantic work, make some tea and lounge around for 10 minutes in the comfy chairs and then resume insanity.

Lisa kept wandering around looking helpless. She asked me if I finished early could I finish her frames with her.

No. Sorry.

I won’t help even if I do finish early, I’d much rather go to the pub. She didn’t like that and whined a little about how we’ve all been framing and stuff for weeks already. Yes we have, and you could have too.

Tuesday I was coolly and calmly bubble wrapping (I’m so cool what can I say) but it felt like I was in a giant hive or ant nest. Everyone was crawling all over each other and generally getting under foot.

A coke reference I believe

The college really needs to address this space issue. It’s physically nearly impossible to do anything except bump into people and have a running commentary of apologies ready

“Oops so sorry, haha oh sorry! Sorry again. Opps! Again, sorry. Excuse me! May I jump over your work? Opps! sorry pardon me!…”

and so on.

The bastard drank 2 of my cans

Tiphane’s stuff was by far the most annoying being at one point spread out over nearly 3 tables.

Martyn and I were packing the front of our frames with large sheets of cardboard on Tuesday so they are less likely to smash in the van move on Monday. I had managed to scrounge 3 pieces when Martyn came in and started eyeing Adam’s and Ed’s artwork rather longingly. We both restrained ourselves from tearing stuff out from everywhere and decided to get some boxes from the college shop instead.

Georgina's lovely mess

Sardhna and Geoff were standing outside while all the first years were painting boards, I stood there looking out hopefully for a large box I could nick. Sardhna stopping talking and looked at me expectantly.

So I ask her, since she’s looking at me, if there happens to be any cardboard going waste lying around. Sardhna gets antsy immediately.

How dare this student interrupt her (even though I didn’t) and actually oh mah gawd oh mah gawd ask her highness a question. I mean what cheek really! Students asking questions while you’re standing around looking at them? This is really not on I say.

Tutors ought to be approached from a distance while humbly bowing and kow-towing. I should have also knocked my head on the ground 3 times before I asked her any question.

Must be the ‘punjabi begum’ etiquette thing. (I don’t know if shes a punju but ‘Sardhna’ sure sounds like one)

Studio

Very hygienic top of the fridge and tea maker

Even more hygienic sink. So nice

Anyway she got all testy and said

“This is a really bad time. You shouldn’t really be asking me that. And no we don’t have any cardboard. Why don’t you try Sainsburys.”

Instead of saying all that crap all she needed was 4 words. 4 polite words. Which would have saved her what? I don’t know, wow, 30 seconds (not wasting time and all that) instead of telling me off for nothing.

“Sorry I don’t know.”

Would have sufficed perfectly well. If I (or anyone else) had dared to ask any further questions all she has to do is reduce the number of words subsequently.

For example:

“Sorry I don’t know.”

(4 words)

If I then ask

“but what about if…”

she should simply reply

“I don’t know”

(3 words)

“but maybe there’s a….”

“Don’t know”

(2 words)

“Do you know if…”

“Know” or “No”

(1 word)

What a bad tempered cow. You could argue that this is a stress thing but this isn’t inclusive to stressful times.

She also acts as if the entire 1st floor computer room is exclusive to her digital media class. No one else should talk while she uses it. I’m sorry the college doesn’t fund you your own room but I really don’t give a shit.

There that’s my vent done for the day. I feel so much better now I must say.

Just the corridor

Back to Doomsday:

According to whispered reports spoken in hushed tones, there was someone who forgot one of their finals at home and only realized half an hour before the deadline was due.

A few last-minute tears in our group and some cranky sniping over bubble wrap (of all things) and then we were done. Quite an anticlimax.

The most professionally double wrapped bubble wrap

Martyn, Adam, Ed and I sat on the stairs leading to the 3rd floor discussing how we bored were now that we had nothing to do. Then had a brief argument over war films for some reason. Onnalin and Fernanda finished a batch of their interviews and ordered me and Martyn and me in to do our time.

Interviews were really fun actually. It’s the whole power trip thing. I was rather nervous when I walked in, as if I was being interviewed.

The room was very ‘interview-ish’, blinds down, dark blue carpet, light blue computer chairs, projector, abstract art on the walls, oval board-room type table, Foz in a suit. Very formal and professional. Amalia said he looked like he was in a costume. To be fair, it was a drastic change from Monday and Tuesday.

On Monday he was wearing the tattiest bright orange T-shirt for painting, worn out sandals and Bermuda shorts with 2 hand prints in white paint on the seat. Every time he turned around it looked as though he was being molested by the invisible man.

In my mind I was expecting all the interviewees work to be stunning and/or that we would have to ask loads of questions like in a crit. But all we did was listen to them while Gay & Foz occasionally asked the really testicle crunching questions like:

“What do you think people think when they look at your work?”

or

“What if I were to tell you your work looks quite boring, would you care?”

or

“What is you want to change about illustration with your work?”

or

“This is an interview obviously. Is there any reason you didn’t bring a portfolio?”

I know. Amazing right?

One of the guys looked as though he had just smoked 5 joints before he came in (I fucking hate pot-heads). Another was an amateur stand up comedian. He had the clammiest, icy cold hands. It was like I was holding the hand of the undead.

I mention I feel sad that the course is coming to a close so swiftly and Foz tells me not to be daft. (what a comfort he is)

I stood in the empty studio after we were done, viewing the colossal wreckage and debris everywhere. There was this sense of eerie calm, what I imagine is left behind when a tornado had just swept through.

Martyn destroys the sense of peace by texting me saying they are all in the Crown having a massive ‘bitch’ (I wonder who was on the menu). I complain about the Crown being a tiny shit hole and am yelled at.

Half the class had starting drinking by 3pm or earlier and were pretty plastered already. Martyn informs me helpfully that he’ll protect me if the ex comes in to beat me. I respond by saying the ex can beat him up too (but he would probably enjoy it). Adam had a girl with him, the first time I’ve ever seen him being all soft and cuddly-wuddly fuzzy-wuzzy with a female. Aw cho chweet.

Onnalin and Fernanda were ricocheting off the ceiling but decided this wasn’t quite energetic enough. So Fernanda shoves a pill down Onnalin’s mouth and in approximately 2 minutes both are bouncing up and down, rocking back and forth, talking and laughing hysterically.

It’s very strange when you’re relatively sober and attempting to have a conversation with someone completely fucked out of their brain.

Both individuals eyes start glazing over (well their eyes were already glazed but you mimic them as a response). You have to remain very calm. Say things very slowly. Keep sentences very simple. Generally agree with everything they say. No negative things. Nod a lot. It doesn’t matter what questions they ask you, you’re not expected to answer anyway.

Some 30 minutes later they suddenly crash down and drag themselves off somewhere else looking dazed. Maybe to the Duracell bunny graveyard. Who knows.

Mike and one of the cute guys from the interviews was there. Whats-his-name would leave for the loo and Mike would turn to Foz with bambi eyes and beg him to tell him if his friend got in. Foz deflected all interrogation like a pro.

Simieon and Athier measuring

The ex and I decided we would only stick around for one drink. Just one more. Ok just another. Last one.

We eventually left at 11 and had to make sure Martyn didn’t go all the way to Camden instead of Kings Cross.

Pictures courtesy of Martyn (The Voice of Bedford)

Our Last Crit

Simeon & Mike the resident siamese.

I type this post as I return from the pub following our very last crit. Whiskey and pre-joint tension fueling me on.

It has been a momentous day. A day on which I finally discovered religion.

“Hah!” you say as I hear you scoff my sudden new found faith in the Zoroastrian gods, but it is no lie.

I have finally found Ahura-Muzda. Zarathustra be praised!

Sleep deprived and clumsy from last nights marathon Indesign editing session into the early hours of the morning, I split an entire cup of mocha on a studio table. A very large, very hot mug.

This in itself would be nothing had our studio tables not been filled with every body’s work made with sweat, blood and tears.

Simeon’s work that was near by unfortunately…merged with this as yet unsampled mocha.

Before my eyes flashed hideous images of my ruining Simeon’s entire body of work over a whole year, at the very eleventh hour! That’s 12 months, 365 days 52 weeks!! OH MY GOD!!!

Foz, should he read this, and I have a bad feeling that he just might, will perhaps strangle me next week for such wretched stupidity. (Or worse, fail me)

Thank god Simeon’s work was largely waterproof. I plan on going to the Agyari regularly now.

Ed ‘Gang-Bang’ Allan and Adam ‘United’ Brickles came to the rescue and we salvaged and repaired like mad.

Simeon was very kind, very polite and seemed to be forgiving, but I know from experience that he will not forget this.

I have often bitched about my legendary nemesis who left coffee stains on one of my drawings. This event took place nearly 8 years ago on a drawing I now couldn’t give a shit about, but neither my hatred nor anger towards her have been disseminated in the slightest.

In an ironic twist of fate I have now become a ‘Zasha’. (That evil woman I hate her.)

The rest of the day and crit was slightly tainted by both a sickening nausea and horrible guilt. Even Alex’s crit which I was looking forward to (purely because I’m a such mean sadistic bitch who loves gossip) was ruined.

To add insult to injury Simeon later asked me

“You didn’t do it on purpose…did you?”

Ouch.

Sigh. It was a difficult day all in all.

Foz swore, promised faithfully, that no matter what we would be done and dusted by 5 o clock, he said confidently.

If I had any business sense at all I’d have laid a 10 pound bet on it. Sadly I am entirely left brain impaired, a superb reason why I chose to do illustration instead of, oh I don’t know, accounting.

Our crit mostly covered the same ground we hashed out last week (frames, whats in the show whats out, what works, what doesn’t, various arrangements and layouts etc) which was all slightly tedious and repetitive.

Occasionally Foz and Gary would contradict themselves by saying:

“Well what you put up in your show is entirely your decision, we wont make up your mind for you.”

followed by

“Yeah that one’s rubbish it cant go in.”

followed by

“The show is entirely your shout. You need to do what you feel works for you. I can honestly tell you that you’d really regret it later when you’re putting your feet up, and your show was for me and Gary and what we had said and wasn’t what you really wanted….”

followed by

“….if you put that in it would be the wrong decision, it’s your shout….. but basically, you’re wrong (p s- we’re marking you).”

Gossip was flying around like crazy last week when Georgina finally put to use the stethoscope she bought for a fiver and overheard Foz telling Alex

“…it is my right to decide if you go in the show, and at this point, unless you work flat out next week, its a 99.9% chance that you’re not going to be in the show….”

That 0.1% was finally confirmed today in a horrific 10 minutes when Alex plonked this 4 spray painted MDF boards on the table followed by a chilling dead silence that can never bode too well for any artist.

What you want to hear and what you dream of hearing is

“Ooooooooooooooh!!” followed by “Waaaoooow!”

and then lots of sycophantic compliments.

Foz ends the day with a little speech about the end of our MA year and how it’s been a good laugh, prompting a selection of girls to burst into tears immediately. This was an apt closing note.

The first time I ever met Foz he made someone cry and on our very last crit he made people cry. So we come full circle.
I must admit I shall miss his charming ruthlessness.

(Foz if you are reading this, it is a blatant cue for you to comment, see what a shameless comment whore I am? Shocking really.)

We then all trundled off gratefully to the pub with Martyn’s ex tutor (also Foz’s ex flat mate) who was restrained enough not to tell us all the juicy tidbits about living with Foz. (Damn that Ed and his tact).

Athier joins us in the pub briefly. Well done Athier, you actually made it through an entire crit.

Uhr confided in me as we sat around drinking and chain-smoking, that my latest drawing made him feel like throwing up. He confessed didn’t want to tell me earlier because he knew it would make me too happy (and it does, it really does.).

Bruna told me I actually put her off having kids. If I’ve achieved anything at all these past 2 years, it’s that.

And now I’m left here, no more crits, no more M.A., no job, no dinner, typing away on the only thing that remains – This useless blog.

That’s it from me. Adieu and Goodnight to you all.

7

Our last crit tomorrow. *boo hoo sob wah wail cry cry sniff sniff snerk I’m so sad*

I don wannnna leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeavve waaaaaaah boo hoo the real world SUCKS!

7 days and counting.

Shit!!

I have so many things to do!

I finished the purple drawing. Need to layout my book in two separate formats for tomorrow.

After 3 days of burning heat it is now freezing cold. Climate change does worry me a bit.

I need to print 3, A3′s on my own paper of the Tea Party maybe Purple and Pool.

I told the 6th floor print technician ages ago that his print paper was rubbish not realizing he ran the entire print unit. He said he was quite hurt by that. I hastily tried to retract my statement but I couldn’t.

Sadly it is true. His paper quality isn’t very good. I want heavy weight large prints and less than 200 just doesn’t cut it. (I say as I pretend to be Sir Alan Sugar)

I praise the Voice of Bedford for leaving such excellent comments.
I shame the Voice of Leo for harassing and intimidating people who leave comments by insulting them.

 

10

10 days left for ‘Hand In’ and counting.

Second Last Crit Of My Entire Life. Ever! (Melodrama? Me? Never)

Foz is clearly an optimist when it comes to time. We were split into groups of 4-5 and spread out over the day.

My group was supposed to start at 3:15 pm. I was worried that my long, hot and sweaty walk down chancery lane, to search for an elusive Ryman’s that stocked an even more elusive out of date printer cartridge, would make me late.

I wasn’t (phew) but our crit was by about 2 hours.

By 9 pm we still hadn’t finished doing Lisa and the security guard threw us out after a grumbling scolding. (‘Finished doing Lisa’ sounds a bit wrong’)

Perhaps the beer I trotted out to buy mid-crit helped the time fly.

I had a dreadful feeling as I stood at the checkout that I would be ID-ed. Beer usually gets you ID-ed. I imagine it must seem like a juvenile, chugging sort-of drink or perhaps it was because a scruffy looking girl was buying 8 cans of Stella.

On cue she asked me for ID. In my mind horrible visions of not being able to buy the beer floated up in front of me and even more hideous visions of having to call Anna or worse Foz!! And be humiliated by having ask them to come to Sainsbury’s and pick me up from the checkout with their beer.

Luckily she let it go. Fuck me.

During the crit, again right on cue, Athier left early.

As he shut the door behind him Foz said to everyone (but aimed at me in particular)

“Just so you all know Athier told me he had a really bad bike accident earlier this day so he had to leave early…

…I thought I’d just tell you before it’s all over your blog tomorrow.”

(That was quite funny.)

Unfortunately I wasn’t sympathetic yesterday, and I’m still not sympathetic today.

What a fucking bitch you might say (Yes it is true. I am a horrible bitch.)

But firstly: Adam got hit by a car and he wasn’t fucking slacking off.

Secondly and much more importantly: This fucking-off early isn’t anything novel, in fact my griping about it is a constant feature on this stupid blog.

Thirdly and lastly: It’s too fucking convenient just as he comes back from holiday. (Yes that’s right, holiday)

During my crit (I got more than 10 mins for a change, unnecessary but quite nice I must say) I was discussing my blog and the book I’m making on it as part of my assessment.

Athier suddenly decided he wanted the details. This worried me for a minute, considering all the bitching about him I’ve done on here, and I was rather hesitant about giving him the URL.

But then I realized I was being a twit for the following reasons:

1. This blog is hardly a secret
2. My opinions (if you were to ask me for them, god help you) are hardly a secret
3. I think he should read it and quit fucking off early (although it’s a bit late now)
4. An irate comment from Athier would be quite amusing (if he bothered to leave one)
5. But lastly I’m certain he’s far too self-absorbed to even bother to read any of this. If he can’t be arsed to stay through a crit he certainly isn’t going to bother wading through half the tripe on this blog.

During my small crit presentation I realized that all the measurements I’d previously made of my work, where I assumed I could only fit in 4 landscapes in a grid, were entirely bogus. Apparently I can now fit in 6 comfortably.

I knew I failed maths so many times in school for good reason.

What was remarkable about the crit was that although we only had 4 hours of it to sit through, Foz sat through nearly 12 hours of it!!! 12 hours of talking and talking!!

What was funny was that we went off to the pub to finish Lisa’s crit and then sat there for another 2 hours drinking and he was still really chatty. Amazing.

We chose the darkest, dingiest, most cramped corner and passed around her A3 frames over our drinks. Then Foz’s laptop wouldn’t turn on.

I got the feeling that he was mildly relieved about that but you know, that’s probably just me projecting.

Update: I had a horrible recurring nightmare about Foz and Georgina all night after the little pub crit. They were doing or saying something really unpleasant to me and I woke up feeling tired and miserable.

Hanging Crit Sequel

Yesterday we had a little meeting on how much space we get in the show determined by last weeks hanging crit.

On one hand Foz said he dreaded this time of year because people tend to get paranoid and start reading into things too much (for example if someone gets more space in the show and someone else gets less.)

Unfortunately when he was later backed into an uncomfortable corner by an angry and overly emotional student he said quite frankly

“Well you’ve only got 2 meters instead of 3 because I don’t think you have enough work to put in the show”

So…..what shall I say? I feel paranoid already

Onnalin and Georgina accuse me of taking pleasure in other peoples misery.

I find this unfair in the extreme (partially true but still unfair). I do not consider getting stroppy about having 2 meters of space in the show as opposed to 3, reasonable grounds for ‘misery’.

Cancer is misery or perhaps losing someone you love (like a dog) but amateur dramatic were designed to be mocked. Of course this includes me missing my flight and burning down the kitchen. I was highly melodramatic at the time but in retrospect it was hugely funny, therefore logically I do not see why others should be spared.

I reminded Gerogina and Onnalin that many crits ago we (especially us 3+ Foz) all sort of made someone cry. Georgina looked absolutely aghast with horror,

“We made her cry?? No no! What are you saying??!! No I didn’t oh my god!!”

Now that was funny.

2

Someone told me this really funny story ages ago and I was thinking of it today and couldn’t stop laughing.

She was a bit drunk, walked into the men’s loo by accident, for some reason thought the urinal was a fancy wash basin, then naturally assumed (as you do) that the mothballs must be a fancy new soap and then tried to wash her hands.

Onnalin just told me this story about Foz I completely forgot:

A Japanese girl right in our first group project, had made this brochure thing on the movie ‘Catch me if you can’ and Foz said to her

“Frankly, that’s a really shite concept.”

Completely baffled. She turns to him and asks,

“So sorry, but please…what does ‘shite’ mean?”

For once one he didn’t know what to say.

He then asked the class if they all found this Greek guys work to be mediocre.

The Greek guy was fuming. He left the class and had a massive hissy fit followed by loads of abuse leveled at Foz.

“How dare he say that to me I can’t believe it oh my god I’m never speaking to him again never going to his class who does he think he is blah blah blah”

What a diva

It’s too bad Foz never gets to see all the ‘behind the scenes’ tantrum throwing.