© laurie mayer photography(aside from the taxidermy animal, that one's mine)
This time in America has been a lot of things. I'm so excited to be going back, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit sad summer is ending.
Friday, August 28, 2009
6 days left.
© laurie mayer photography(aside from the taxidermy animal, that one's mine)
This time in America has been a lot of things. I'm so excited to be going back, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit sad summer is ending.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
I was Lonely, so I made a Friend
she's very similar to my last figure.
except she's about half the size, and is healthier.
I haven't left my house once, in the past 7 days.
From here I've only got 7 more days til I'm back in London.
except she's about half the size, and is healthier.I haven't left my house once, in the past 7 days.
From here I've only got 7 more days til I'm back in London.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
I've been graded!
I got my grades from Otis College of Art and Design today!
Black and White photography (main focus) - A !!!
Life drawing - B+!
(which is extremely surprising, I was expecting much lower)
As always, everything is uploaded on to my flickr.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/clara_conning
this is new too:
(It looks better when it's bigger. and also in person...)
Life drawing - B+!
(which is extremely surprising, I was expecting much lower)
As always, everything is uploaded on to my flickr.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/clara_conning
this is new too:
(It looks better when it's bigger. and also in person...)Saturday, August 8, 2009
From January to May
Drunken nights that are hard to remember, days with one that are hard to forget.
Canadian Spirit and cheap wine stains on my dresses.
Home made studios and running away to the west.
Walking in the snow, then staggering through the mud.
Avoiding rain and waiting for the sun.
Every scream and despondent sigh.
Every mistake and unearthed lie.
Mysterious bruises and cigarette burns.
Valuable lessons gone unlearned.
A stolen trip to Cambridge and a used ticket to Leeds.
A sawed off lock of hair and a runaway key.
Every laugh, every tear.
Every minute spent at "home" for the past 4 years.
I've kept them all as souvenirs.
Home made studios and running away to the west.
Walking in the snow, then staggering through the mud.
Avoiding rain and waiting for the sun.
Every scream and despondent sigh.
Every mistake and unearthed lie.
Mysterious bruises and cigarette burns.
Valuable lessons gone unlearned.
A stolen trip to Cambridge and a used ticket to Leeds.
A sawed off lock of hair and a runaway key.
Every laugh, every tear.
Every minute spent at "home" for the past 4 years.
I've kept them all as souvenirs.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea
New York City.
Day 1
There's a constant roar. Constantly running and humming as it flows around me. Stuck between layers of steal and cement, I have to remind myself I'm above ground. I try not to get swept away by this roaring sea, but I have yet to feel steady on the ground. Helicopters above me. Cars all around me. Subway below me. Everything shakes. I don't feel stable so I don't stop moving. Nothing does. Nobody does.
Steam billows up from the streets and into the air. It comes from underground. As I walk down to the depths of florescence and metal, everyone's holding their heads and covering their ears. Why are you covering your ears? all I hear is a faint scream in the distance. It gets louder and louder and I feel a slight sense of panic as a sudden rush of air whips past and the subway screams louder than any machine should. The scream dies out, a spark pops and flies, and the train finally comes to a stop. Every clank. Every bang. I can feel it. I want to get out. I want to cover my ears. I don't like it down here, but I get in, it heads back to the hotel.
From my balcony I can see into a hundred peoples' windows. Some of them are lit. One room in the middle of the building on the right has a couple with a little black cat inside. They're on their bed, teasing the cat with a string. One room is only lit by the blue flickering light of a television, and I can see a lone silhouette watching it. In the left building, a window close to the top looks like a little girl's room. There's a grand looking doll house with a white roof and a little pink bed. The light is on, but I haven't seen the little girl that lives there. Just below that is a room with an upright piano. It's open, ready to be played with at least 3 books of music waiting to be read. Maybe if I wait, I'll see someone play it. Maybe I'll be able to hear it over this constant roar.
Day 3
Different lit up at night. Never see the same person twice. The children's rooms are dark now, the nightwalkers' are lit. People are sitting on their balcony above and across from me are, smoking more than I am. I haven't seen anyone play that piano.
Day 5 (last day)
Every day that I've been here, I've walked around as if I know exactly what I'm doing. Where I'm going. As if I know what's around each corner, and then every corner I turn I'm proved wrong. I know nothing about this city and it knows nothing about me. Every person I see, I recognize but they don't recognize me. I haven't once felt alone here, but I've never been so aware of being on my own.
I've stayed transfixed by the windows across from me. Even now at 4:40 am, I can see people up and awake. Down below there's still a steady stream of cars and pedestrians for them to intimidate. It never stops. This city's still moving. Still roaring.
On the top floor of the building on the left, 3 windows in a row are lit by the violent flashes of tv light. I almost expect the flashes to be in sync. A few floors down there are 2 rooms, completely lit up. No curtains to hide them, but no body to hide. They're completely empty. Directly across from me, I can see a man walking in his room. I watch him pace from his room to the hall to his room then back to the hall. There's a window in the hall and he stops to look through it. His head is pointed right at me, but a cast shadow over his face makes it impossible to know where his eyes are looking. I wonder if he can see me. He turns to his right and disappears for a few seconds. 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 and now I see him from the next window over. Back to his bedroom. He stands over the bed, seemingly reluctant to get in, but eventually he sits down. The light goes out. It's time to go.
5:56 am now, and a reckless taxi is speeding through, taking me to the airport. "Look at that sun! It's as red as the blood in my veins" the driver exclaims, as the sun only just pokes through the cage that the buildings locked us in. Moving onto the freeway, the whirling engines are whipping through my window, making it impossible to make out what the driver said next. I can hear him, but I haven't seen him. I never see the face that drives me home.
Day 1
There's a constant roar. Constantly running and humming as it flows around me. Stuck between layers of steal and cement, I have to remind myself I'm above ground. I try not to get swept away by this roaring sea, but I have yet to feel steady on the ground. Helicopters above me. Cars all around me. Subway below me. Everything shakes. I don't feel stable so I don't stop moving. Nothing does. Nobody does.
Steam billows up from the streets and into the air. It comes from underground. As I walk down to the depths of florescence and metal, everyone's holding their heads and covering their ears. Why are you covering your ears? all I hear is a faint scream in the distance. It gets louder and louder and I feel a slight sense of panic as a sudden rush of air whips past and the subway screams louder than any machine should. The scream dies out, a spark pops and flies, and the train finally comes to a stop. Every clank. Every bang. I can feel it. I want to get out. I want to cover my ears. I don't like it down here, but I get in, it heads back to the hotel.
From my balcony I can see into a hundred peoples' windows. Some of them are lit. One room in the middle of the building on the right has a couple with a little black cat inside. They're on their bed, teasing the cat with a string. One room is only lit by the blue flickering light of a television, and I can see a lone silhouette watching it. In the left building, a window close to the top looks like a little girl's room. There's a grand looking doll house with a white roof and a little pink bed. The light is on, but I haven't seen the little girl that lives there. Just below that is a room with an upright piano. It's open, ready to be played with at least 3 books of music waiting to be read. Maybe if I wait, I'll see someone play it. Maybe I'll be able to hear it over this constant roar.
Day 3
Different lit up at night. Never see the same person twice. The children's rooms are dark now, the nightwalkers' are lit. People are sitting on their balcony above and across from me are, smoking more than I am. I haven't seen anyone play that piano.
Day 5 (last day)
Every day that I've been here, I've walked around as if I know exactly what I'm doing. Where I'm going. As if I know what's around each corner, and then every corner I turn I'm proved wrong. I know nothing about this city and it knows nothing about me. Every person I see, I recognize but they don't recognize me. I haven't once felt alone here, but I've never been so aware of being on my own.
I've stayed transfixed by the windows across from me. Even now at 4:40 am, I can see people up and awake. Down below there's still a steady stream of cars and pedestrians for them to intimidate. It never stops. This city's still moving. Still roaring.
On the top floor of the building on the left, 3 windows in a row are lit by the violent flashes of tv light. I almost expect the flashes to be in sync. A few floors down there are 2 rooms, completely lit up. No curtains to hide them, but no body to hide. They're completely empty. Directly across from me, I can see a man walking in his room. I watch him pace from his room to the hall to his room then back to the hall. There's a window in the hall and he stops to look through it. His head is pointed right at me, but a cast shadow over his face makes it impossible to know where his eyes are looking. I wonder if he can see me. He turns to his right and disappears for a few seconds. 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 and now I see him from the next window over. Back to his bedroom. He stands over the bed, seemingly reluctant to get in, but eventually he sits down. The light goes out. It's time to go.
5:56 am now, and a reckless taxi is speeding through, taking me to the airport. "Look at that sun! It's as red as the blood in my veins" the driver exclaims, as the sun only just pokes through the cage that the buildings locked us in. Moving onto the freeway, the whirling engines are whipping through my window, making it impossible to make out what the driver said next. I can hear him, but I haven't seen him. I never see the face that drives me home.
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