Art School, Cool Fools

The best part of being an art student is getting away with anything. Nothing is of major consequence; you're not trying to sell your work or please a client to pay your rent. In fact, you're the one paying a school to nurture your creativity, foster your ideas. Often those ideas are strange, confusing... experiments [mistakes].

I wish I cared a bit less when I was in school. I was such a hard ass, very strict with my brain. I really didn't like the idea of making mistakes. If only I relaxed a bit, maybe I'd have come up with something as heartwrenchingly exciting as these stunners:

This is my favourite, elephant aaaaaaaarrmmmmm

I mean it. I think these are incredible. It's like jumping off the roof into a pool of garage sale. I'm getting itchy just looking at them. 

To be fair, the designers are fashion students at a top school in England. They need press and notoriety to get somewhere after grad. They probably don't have the laissez-faire attitude I'm imagining. 

Have you seen Art School Confidential? It's mandatory. That's all. 

I don't like to get into conversations about art with people who hate. There's always someone who says, my 5 year old could make this crap. And I think, but they didn't! If your 5 year old can somehow get a gallery show and sell their work successfully, that's when they'll get the seal of approval from the public. You need to join the capitalist club to be someone. It's kind of confusing (which is why I try to avoid talking about it altogether).  

But then there are those under appreciated, quiet artists who don't get the recognition they deserve. Don't worry, when I'm rich enough I'll buy their art and support those stars. Or just blog about them behind their backs.


(Student designs on the runway at the Royal College of Art Graduate Show June 2, 2011)

The 1960s: Now with less logic

This has been very 60s month. And while yes, I do feel like I'm getting all senior citizen-y (see: needlepoint), I'm actually referring to the visual research we've been doing at the studio. My eyes have only been grazing on all that is Mod, Parisian, and Optical Art.

I've been loving that era since I was in the womb. Honestly, I was born with my hair in a beehive. My tolerance for the wackiness of the 60s is pretty high. High as a hippy.

Sure, everything from the 60s is ridiculous in a way; Men's turtlenecks, paper dresses, and a love of polyester/plastic. While I've been scouring for inspiration and references, once in a while something truly ridiculous made its way to me. 

Such as this beautiful hat:

For those sunny summer days, when you don't need a real hat because your arm is willing to do the work for you.

And there's this lovely ensemble:

Next time, I'm not going to stop after three squares of chocolate. I'm going to eat the whole damn bar, and then put on this dress. 'Yes ma'am, I believe I do have a perfect figure. Well, one leg is more than enough for me.'

And these delightful sunglasses:

I know what you're thinking. But Lady Gaga was born in 1986, she didn't invent this style. It's all registered trademark of the 60s!

And I'd like one of these swim caps for my birthday, please (just in time for beach season):

Nobody will even try to pinch my butt or make fun of my cellulite, because it looks like I'm always watching. (Or sleeping, or meowing, or just... you know, sticking my tongue out).

Now this is a tricky picture:

I feel like.... it's breastnotizing me. But the lack of nipple is jarring.

There, I fixed it. It's a whole new you! You're welcome.

I feel so... alive. I've postmodernized pop art, and the adrenaline rush is unbelievable. I just can't stop.

And on that note, I'll leave you with the delightful game of Orgy:

Vintage Ad from Playboy