I hate it when people fling about the word "arty", especially in reference to me. Arty reminds me of the kind of people who spend their Saturday afternoons in theatre studios, wearing their vintage jewelry or black goatees, or else the most basic clothes but with a sneer. Don't get me wrong. I know and love people in that category. And I wanted to be one of those too, once upon some long ago time. I wanted to be the kind of person who had alternative plans for weekends, involving exhibition viewings and literature conventions. One year of art school later though, and I realise that loving art and literature does not make me one of Them. Appreciating philosophy doesn't cut me off from the world that doesn't know who Kant is. I'd rather watch the Devil Wears Prada again than sit through another roundabout play my mind is able to and therefore supposed to appreciate.
Maybe my mind has grown simple and plebian. It's okay.
What's happened is I know sufficiently enough about myself now to stop trying out lifestyles for size. I know, for example, that I like fashion but not the fashion industry that is swelling with pride in smalltown Singapore this minute. Neither do I like the growing "indie" culture with its so-called flea markets and homemade originals that all look the same. Liking something doesn't mean I have to subscribe to everything in its category.
So there. I paint in class and draw out of class, but please don't call me a free spirit or that 4-letter word beginning with A. It is enough to inspire murder. You can call me mainstream and commercial and a follower of pop culture, that's alright by me. It's only the common truth nobody wants to own up to anyway.
What am I doing in art school then? Having fun and getting opportunities. Loosen up. I couldn't pass Chemistry, that's all.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
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julie
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9/10/2006 07:53:00 PM
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