artist

Narcissa

doodles, the thoughts of a kat

There was a period of time when I never drew myself. I didn’t allow others to draw me, and I took very few pictures of myself too. Some might assume this had to do with some sort of confidence or body image issue. How cliche do you think I am?

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The theme of a current project of mine (My first live action film! Eek!) is disconnect and indirectness. Ok, that IS pretty cliche for an artist. Anyway, I’ve made it so because of the nature of art itself. Bear with me now: art is often an analogy of some kind. If one were to be literal with one’s art, one wouldn’t call it art. One would call it whatever the hell it is—a table, a house, a hammer. Now, this statement breaks down slightly when we begin to define art apart from its contemplative qualities. I do happen to believe that art does include design, in many cases. This is why I mentioned that “art is OFTEN an analogy”.

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Aaaaaanyway, because art— at least my art— is often an analogy, actually depicting myself has long since been a strange way to communicate anything of value. But lately, I’ve come to a new realization: who in tarnation cares?

I used to draw cats, monsters, dolls, and other things to represent me in scenes. And now I use me to represent other things in scenes that I draw. So, here are some of those!

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Drama

doodles, the thoughts of a kat

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It’s a tricky game, being a part of society. On one hand, something inside one yearns for community and a sense of membership. There’s an undeniable need to be a part of something greater than myself. On the other hand, a herd of humans can easily infect one with some dangerous afflictions. And unfortunately, I’m terrible at games.

The surreptitious influence of my little pod of primates has had many results, including me thinking that my work is good only if it’s like by a large amount of people. Thankfully, before this notion affected what I made, I caught onto the infiltration and resolved to create from my point of view, instead of that of the masses.

If one person can be touched or inspired by what I make, I’d have satisfied my role in the game.

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Hotel California #1

doodles, the thoughts of a kat, Uncategorized

“On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air”

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This song has been a mystical fairy in my life ever since I can remember. It wasn’t until just after college that I began to truly appreciate the lyrics.

Was it the haze of being bed-ridden that made me begin this series? Perhaps the fascination I have with this new app? And why did I blog #3 first? Who knows? Here’s the first one and all of my novice attempts at painting with Art Studio on my iPhone with my finger.

not yet

doodles, the thoughts of a kat, Uncategorized

while i was living in korea during 2007-2009, i visited my parents’ house in anaheim once, to gather some old stuff to bring back to seoul with me.  during my hunt through old boxes containing my kitchenware and overpriced decor that i impulsively purchased from the MOMA store while i was in art school, i came across even older boxes–remains of my childhood.  slightly eerie and touching at the same time, i must admit.  don’t worry, i’m not going to drench this post in gooey words of nostalgia and all-too-early sentiments about time and memories… not yet, anyway.

no, these boxes were like a cemetery of experiences.  i tend to like cemeteries.  they’re places of openness and honesty.  they offer closure and commencement.

anyway, in one of my cemetery boxes, i found an old book i had written when i was 6.  it was a comic book about a king–a funny king who made all of his subjects laugh.  i had created a small library card type of system for the front cover so that people can borrow it.  however i never finished it and, alas, nobody was to ever behold the delightful antics of this stout monarch.

as an artist, i find it easy to do this: begin an inspired project and then never finish it.  i’ve tried to start small projects so that i don’t grow weary of working on it.  i’ve tried to keep myself accountable by telling everyone about a project (btw, don’t do that).  i’ve also tried to take on projects whose subjects are so grand and lofty that it should force me to finish it… otherwise it’d be a disservice to society, right?  oh, ignorance, how i seem to love thee.

yet it seems there is no pattern to which kind of project i will eventually quit on.  it seems that it’s not the project that is the issue, but it is myself.  it’s been said to death, so i need not add another word to the discussion of fear and accomplishments.  all i know is that there’s a box in my parents’ house with an unfinished book written by a once courageous little girl, who now often sits before a computer screen or sketchbook, imagining all of the ways the present piece could end.

not ready

not ready