That’s us! Yay and stuff!
These guys were awesome, huge amounts of thanks to them for doing it for free.
Artist Jeff Desom has reframed every scene in Hitchcock’s Rear Window (1954), turning the movie into a single three-minute shot. Read more here.
I don’t mean to impress you or anything, but my dock is a rainbow.
Alan Moore. I peed.
(Source: somekindofbecca)
I’ve started fantasizing about working in a bookshop.
The thought of having time to spare, time to think and read and complete menial tasks for income while doing so. Bliss. I’ll make enough to live in a shitty little flat (but it’ll be my shitty little flat) and I won’t need to infiltrate a clique to find work or ever have to suffer my own flailing inadequacy ever again. I can have hobbies. Hobbies that don’t have to look good on a CV or take up less than 3 hours a week (I did the maths after I knitted my way to disaster) and I’ll get good at my hobbies because I can dedicate time and thought to them.
Lx is not for me. Sound holds my interest, but is still terrifying. Stage management I can do with relative ease, but the thought of doing it all the time fills me with dread and apathy. So, art department? That one area I have no training in whatsoever? I don’t feel ready for employment at all. I’m embarrassed of my ignorance and afraid of wasting any more time.
I know I need to fail. Make mistakes to learn. Get employed and do a shit job before I know how to do it better. It’s just the entire mentality I’m surrounded by is that of one strike and you’re out. I don’t know how to fail when the stakes are my future.
Scanning our faces. Standard.
FUTUREPLANS = fucked from every direction.
Quiet times in the cave
- In the bath listening to my neighbor upstairs singing on the toilet.
- Allowing myself to read visual art blogs again because it’s “research” for “projects”.
- Being invited into the nook of my man’s shoulder.
- Mount Bedmore.
