Sir Jar Eye.

I like doing that for the post titles. It makes me feel like I'm playing Mad Gab or watching The Electric Company.

Well, tomorrow is the OFFICIAL day of my surgery. And let me tell ya, I am so stoked to get this tooth taken out of my face..{literally, it has grown into my nose and they must take it out of my face.} I hope I have some sweet scars or something. And I hope someone brings me pudding. Or scrambled eggs. Or Popsicles. Or mashed potatoes. Something soft. I'm not too picky.

I'm just kidding. Please don't feel obligated to bring me food. Especially if you are one of my out-of-state followers that I have never met. {That food must not travel well through the great American Postal Service. You want Ben Gibbard and the whole band to deliver it on hand and foot? He's bringing Zooey? Why, then, if you insist!}

On a completely different topic...

Corn and I are in the process of de-cluttering our room. Of course, you have to make it more cluttered before it can get de-cluttered, which is a bit of a let down when you want instant room-cleaning gratification. {Mary Poppins, anyone?}

I bid thee hence. Pictures soon to come of the gaping hole in my face and a de-cluttered room!
Huzzah!

The San Francisco Chronicles: How do you do, Mister Warhol?

{Originally written on June 9th }

The San Francisco Museum of Modern Art {SFMOMA} was absolutely ridiculous yesterday. I mean, I'm used to being surrounded by art. I'm used to expressionism and impressionism, Monet, Manet, yadda yadda. But up until yesterday I have never felt that I was truly connected to art.

At the museum, it seemed as though each piece was made for me, that there was some minute detail in each painting and work that the artist put there just so I would notice. I've always loved art. It's what I live, what I breathe, what I want to accomplish some day. But never before have I yearned to be such a part of it than when I did yesterday. It was such an amazing feeling. And, as of now, Modern art is by far my favorite genre. It makes you think more than any other kind of art.

With non-abstract art, you can easily tell the storyline and the emotion that the artist was trying to portray. With modern art, it is up to the viewer to make the conclusions and there are no limits set. No rules, no boundaries, nada. With abstract art, you must put yourself in the shoes of the artist. You must ask yourself "What am I trying to portray?" "What is the emotion I am feeling as I am creating this?" "What message am I sending the viewer? What do I want them to get out of it?"

It is a difficult ans somewhat tedious process, but wholly worth it in the end. I love dissecting art!

I was all together, my emotions controlled, until I reached the only Warhol in the museum: His self portrait, 1967.

Rather simple, easily duplicatible, but for some reason, I fell apart inside. I think that all too often we think of art as something we can't achieve or something we would never be good at. But Warhol proved the opposite. His paintings were simple, screen-prints, some even by other people under his name. Yet it was still art. And it is still beautiful. Every human is capable of art. We just have to put forth a little bit of effort and most importantly remain open-minded to other people's opinions and let our imaginations go!

I felt like all of the problems of the world, all of the struggles that I had been going through recently, could be solved by me looking at this painting. Terribly cheesy, I know. But I felt such an amazing to this painting. I felt that if I missed some tiny detail in this painting, I would deeply regret it later. This was a once in a lifetime deal, and I might never get to experience a painting by Andy Warhol again in my life. I had a bond with this painting. I must have stared at it for ten minutes.

It was unlike any human bond I have ever experienced.

-Lexi.

{Other SFMOMA favorites to come later.}

Friday inspiro {in which I segway into another exciting San Francisco chronicles}

Sometimes, when it is Summer and you are focusing on improving your artistic skills by broadening your horizons, you come across certain things that seem to have endless inspiration to you at the time you find them.

These things can come in forms that one would not always expect in this day and age. One of the most obvious forms is music. Of course not all music can cause an eruption of inspirational matter. Very rarely any music that is blaring when you turn on the radio is. Real music--good music-- provides you with an increased sense of self and actually makes you feel. Music is another way to express one's emotion, and help others feel the exact way. The hunt for good music that actually has substance never ends in a world where we are constantly bombarded by the "Justin Bieber's" and the "Lady Gaga's" of our time. {No offense to those of you who actually like Lady Gaga and Justin Bieber. Honestly.} Good music actually has effort put into it. And an amazing music video to match isn't bad either. Musicians take a similar topic and add their own insight to how it is portrayed.

Or, to summarize that tedious paragraph, good music and musicians are completely their own. No duplicates. Also, good music has substance and can also be really weird.

As you, my dear readers, may know, I like to share good music {or what I think is} only this blog. I think that amazing artists should not be kept in the dark, and they should be heard. Becuase isn't that what every musician wants? Exposure?

Here are a few of my most recent favorites that show how two groups of very talented musicians handle the same topic in their own way. Both are beautiful and sources of endless inspiration to me, yet they have different ways of emoting. Please remain open minded to these songs, and try to pick out the similarities.


Headlights always have an element of something somewhat grotesque in their music videos, yet they always manage to pull it off in a manner that makes it so eerily beautiful. This song is a sad song. Yet a good one nonetheless. And all of the art in this video is absolutely spectacular.

The next is a personal favorite.




Directed and costumed by none other than my favorite Canadian-American artist Marcel Dzama!! It's a weird one, sure. But it is handled in that manner that makes it a very beautiful art form. When watching this video, think of all the work that went into it. Every costume, every ounce of choreography. And try to determine a storyline too. I want to hear your opinions and what you think!



These two examples have shown different ways an artist handles the topic of death. The first, rather morosely. You felt sad when you heard the combination of the lyrics and the storyline of the video. Yet with the Department of Eagles video, you didn't really feel that gloom that was portrayed in the first video. Perhaps it was the upbeat tempo and overall cheeriness of the song. It was just happy! And people were dying!

I apologize if I freaked anyone out while ranting in this post. It simply fascinates me how we are all different, and how we all interpret things differently. The human mind is a very complex and beautiful thing.

{This post was almost a foreword for my next post. So, if it doesn't make sense, you need to read this post first.}

I would love to hear your opinions. They are always welcome on this blog!
-Lexi

The San Francisco Chronicles: Hands, Feet, Public Transportation..

{written on June 7th, 2010}

We stayed the night in Elko, Nevada. I have never seen more casinos in the most random of places in my life. Car dealership? Bam. Casino attached. {just in case you feel like you need to spend MORE money when purchasing a vehicle.} Hotels? Casino attached. Grocery stores? Casino attached! {seriously.} I wonder if people in Elko have an addiction to gambling.....

{written on June 8th, 2010, after we made it into San Francisco and were heading into the city for a day of tourist-y sightseeing! Hooplah!}

I'm on a bus!!! A public bus!! I feel like such a local-yokel using public transportation! Gah!
{this portion of the notebook continues with me doing brief bios' of all the passengers.}

1. Frantic Asian family consisting of slender woman ,a fussy young child in a stroller, and an older yet only slightly taller man. The husband, who looks oddly older than the woman, seems oblivious to the entire situation as the child causes a scene. The woman, who is trying to tend to the child, is also trying to look at the bus schedule to see where they need to be. The husband still remains oblivious.
2. Bus driver. Amazing hands. I mean, seriously. His hands, weathered and the color of brown leather, tell a story. The veins, the folds, the cracks, the wrinkles--- all tell of the hard work that he has put forth for nearly all of his life. The struggles and the trials show beneath the exterior of these hands. The ring on his left hand show his dedication to his family. The driving gloves, now in his lap, show his dedication to his job. He came back and talked to us, told us where we needed to be and places to avoid and how to get back home later tonight. Those hands also gestured kindness as he talked to us.

I want to draw those hands.

{At this point, I got preoccupied or bored or something. Those were the only two bus bios I did.}

-Lexi

The San Francisco Chronicles: Thoughts written while in Reno.

{Originally written on June 7th, 2010, during the car ride up to San Fran.}

While I entered the In-n-Out Burger for the first time in my sweet teen life, I pondered about people in general. I mean, for some odd reason I thought that people would act or be different when I was finally out of my safe, plastic, ultra-conservative Utah bubble. I feel foolish now for thinking that, of course.

Upon ordering my food and soaking in the tacky, late-nineties decor, I came across a group of hipster-looking teens. To my complete and utter surprise, they looked exactly like, well, Utah hipsters! Apparently, both Utah and Nevada hipsters wear overpriced Vans and Never Shout Never T-shirts. They both wear too-tight pants and sport knock-off neon Ray Bans.

This discovery got me thinking: Do all hipsters dress like all other hipsters? Perhaps I underestimated them. Perhaps the have formed an underground systematic hipster force that must follow specific hipster guidelines in order to be as "cool" and hipster-y as possible! Think about it. A network transporting word-of-mouth trends to posers nationwide! Like lightning!!

Never mind.
I honestly don't think that hipsters could come up with something that clever. Ever.

-Lexi

Watercolor #2 {Beck Hansen}

I know you were all expecting the rather exciting San Francisco chronicles, but before I get into all that rot, I must present to you my second attempt at water coloring!

I'm relatively pleased with it. I mean, it looks better in real life, and my scanner is wonky, but yeah. You win some, you lose some. Am I right?

The San Francisco Chronicles: Foreword

Dearest readers:

I have returned from the lengthy and amazing journey to San Francisco.

During this trip I brought along my favorite inspiro notebook, Reginald {made by the ever-fantastic Teresius} where I wrote many future blog posts, doodled many future blog posts, and thought about but was too busy to write future blog posts too. I have well-documented my journey and over the next few days {perhaps weeks} I will post my adventures in a series called 'The San Francisco Chronicles'.

NOTE: The posts that will follow will be re-typed in the rawest form, without editing or condensing in order to preserve the sense of perspective used when they were written.

Or in other words, brace yourselves.

-Lexi

San Francisco.

I don't normally name posts the actual title of the song of the day. I, for myself, find it a bit cliche and predictable. But, in this case, it was only too applicable to resist!

AND THE TUNE IS SO INFECTIOUS!

Tomorrow I am leaving for a week long vacation in San Fran. Cisco. {I was trying to be cool just then.} {Which reminds me what Chuck told me once: never explain things. It defeats the purpose and makes the remark less funny...}

I will be participating in many things, including the partaking of pastries in Chinatown, photographing numerous blurry photos with my crap-o camera, and of course participating in every touristy thing I possibly can.

Art galleries, here I come.

Fisherman's wharf? Of course!

And don't make me get into Haight and Ashbury!!

Anyways, I am stoked. I will be cultured. And if I am not cultured, I will blame 9/11.

{here is the lovely song that this post was named after, just in case you wanted to listen to it. Even though I doubt that the fourteen followers I have even read this and/or listen to the songs that I so meticulously choose for this blog. That was supposed to be a guilt trip.}



By the way, who else wants to join the The sketchbook project with me?

-Lexi

I am an awkward mess that happens to be in love with Adrien Brody.

Hello, hello, Chitlin's.

I have done it, by George! I have graduated into HIGH SCHOOL. I have officially moved from the top of the social food chain straight to the depths of bitterness and despair. I am no longer a fresh freshman. I am a squashy sophomore. I will be taunted relentlessly.

I will be squashed. Mored. Squashmored, to be exact.

Oddly, I feel no emotion. I feel no remorse, no sadness. I feel as if I am just here. A void. A hole in the wall. Minuscule, yet slightly noticeable when you actually are looking for it. Which, ironically, is the exact opposite of the state I thought I would be in. {i.e: lying on floor in bedroom eating goldfish crackers and bawling my eyes out while wailing the lyrics to every possible Killers' and/or Josh Groban song I own. Wailing.}

Perhaps it hasn't sunk in yet.

Glenn Beck, Jeff Beck, Beck Hansen.

Today, dear kiddies, was a swell day. And by swell, I mean that it can't be described by any number of outdated words.

~Fin~