Author Archives: Jazmine

Art Review

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Fall 2004 – Konno

Vibrant colors, large in proportion, and having several scenes are just a few general things the two paintings I chose to review have in common. The first is Fall 2004 by Tomomi Konno. The medium Konno used was oil on wood.
The colors are bright and catchy first grabbing hold of the viewer, and then drawing them in with all of the different scenes going on. It is located in MacCollin taking up a large part of a wall near the sculpture room and design classroom. People walk by it several times a day, but if one of those times you were to just stop and stare at this massive painting for a little while, you would be able to take your eyes off of it.
There are so many different interpretations of what is happening here. An ever prevalent

Portion of Fall 2004

theme seems to be abstract symbols of humans, in a duo or individually. In one portion of the painting there seems to be a little person sitting on a ledge under a tree, looking like this individual could quite possibly fall right off the edge into what appears to be a sunrise (sunset?). It’s a kind of beautiful catastrophe, as if this artist was experiencing every single emotion while creating this large painting, lonely and not. To the far right of the painting is another depiction of a person, but this time with another human being, one sitting and one lying on a park bench under a light. These are just two of several scenes that appear.

Untitled – Sergeant & Bowitz

The other painting/sculpture I observed was an untitled piece, or so it appeared because I couldn’t find a tag for the life of me. It was done by an adjunct to Morningside College, Shannon Sargeant, and the Chairman of the Art department and Professor, John Bowitz.
I say it’s a painting and a sculpture because it appears to be paint on many wood panels that wrap around into an oval shape with an opening at one end so that the viewer can enter the piece and be surrounded by the paintings. It’s in a sense interactive.
Like Fall of 2004 this untitled piece also draws the audience in with it’s vibrant colors, and then at a close glance, by everything going on within the colors. Each panel is something different, and sometimes there are several different sections going on in a single panel. The panels contained many depictions of people, and some emotion. However, unlike Fall of 2004, this emotion more so comes from the words, phrases, and sentences that also appear on the panels.
The question of whether or not either of these have a deeper meaning than what than just

Portion of Untitled

paint or oil on wood pieces is debatable. Oscar Wild once said, “It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.” Meaning art is whatever the spectator makes of it. If the viewer can connect and relate to the art, then they can understand the art. What one piece means to one person, may not mean the same thing to another, or even how the artist originally meant it at all in the first place. But that’s just art.
I really enjoyed both pieces, and found myself getting lost in all that was going on in both. It made me think about my life, and I took my own go at guessing what the originators intentions were of both pieces, but one can never know for sure. The artist may not even know, it’s all relative.

A portion of writing on Untitled by Sergeant and Bowitz.

TextReview#2_(Hell’s Angels)

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Where there is the combination of beer, drugs, and sex in the ‘60s in the state of California, there was sure to be a Hell’s Angel, or fifteen. In his first ever non-fiction book titled Hell’s Angels: The Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs, Hunter S. Thompson describes the gang from an inside perspective that no person had ever gone before.
Thompson spent a little over a year “riding, loafing, and plotting” with the Angels specifically the Oakland Chapter and their President, Sonny Barger, between 1964 and 1966. There were a lot of characters Thompson meant along the way as well: Tiny, Terry the Tramp, Mother Miles, Dirty Ed, Magoo, and Charger Charley the Child Molester to name a few, and their lifestyles were as wild as their nicknames.
The book spans a series of “runs” (trips the Angels would take for celebratory weekends to get away) that Thompson joined in on with the several hundred, if not sometimes thousands, of motorcyclists from all different chapters of the Hell’s Angels in California.
Thompson describes the Hell’s Angels as a brotherhood: one for all, and all for one. When one Angel has a “beef” with someone, all of the Angel’s have an issue with that person as well. What the President, in this case for the Oakland Chapter was Barger, says goes, and is believed to be truth by all other members. Nothing is their own, the Angels share everything. If one doesn’t have a place to stay, the others take turns putting him up in their homes for the time being. The same thing goes for food, booze, and even sometimes women.
Booze is always prevalent and drugs ranged from Pot to LSD. The Angels at one point in the book were looked at for possibly having business selling drugs, however, according to Thompson’s account, this wasn’t really the case. They were more into buying and using, and less into selling. There may have been some of that going on, but not much. And when the Angel’s decided to party, they partied hard. In the section of the book where Thompson describes the “run” to Bass Lake, Angels there were taking handfuls of pills they weren’t even sure of the names or the amount of milligrams being consumed. They did things to the extreme, and never held back.
Women were also seen as common trade. Thompson describes several accounts of rape, gangbangs, and general encounters the Angels had with women on a daily basis. The girls were sometimes as young as fifteen, and could be having sex with approximately 15 or 20 different men in one night. The accounts were repulsive and gut-wrenching, but not all necessarily true.
Actually, a main point Thompson drives throughout the entire book is the thought that maybe the Angels aren’t so different from the “average Joe” of those days and even nowadays. I think one of my favorite parts of the entire book is when Thompson defines “rape” :
But sex is only one aspect of rape’s broader definition. The word derives from the Latin rapere, “to take by force”; and according to Webster, the contemporary translation ranges from (1) “the crime of having sexual intercourse with a woman or girl forcibly and without her consent” to (2) “the act of seizing and carrying away by force” or (3) “to plunder or destroy, as in warfare.” So the Hell’s Angels, by several definitions, including their own, are working rapists… and in this downhill half of our twentieth century they are not so different from the rest of us as they sometimes seem. They are only more obvious. (249)
I know it’s long, but this particular passage is I think a large part of the main idea to this book. It really wrapped it up for me in a nutshell.
Thompson writes in a third person perspective from a lot of his first hand accounts, and rarely brings himself into the story. He also uses several news outlets circulating at the time such as Life, Time, and the New York Times. He takes quotes from poems, movies, books, and everyday people and places these at the beginning of each chapter to set some kind of tone.
I have a ton of admiration for Thompson for being able to live with these goes for as long as he did, even with having a family. He took a risk not many were willing to at the time, and it really paid off. This book was some of Thompson’s greatest work.
His accounts were raw, and I really like how he touched on not just the Angel’s involvement with the party scene (booze, drugs, and rape), but also their involvement with the political party scene with the controversy surrounding the Vietnam War at the time. He depicted the rise of this group of misfits rising to be public figures with somewhat respected opinions on issues that actually mattered. He weaved himself in and out of the story so fluidly that I had a difficult time trying to describe whether this book was written in third person or first person.
I would like to know more about his tactics. How did he recollect all of these events and quotes? Was his recording constantly recording? Hand constantly scrawling down notes? Did he ever get any photographs? How did he get in with them in the first place/How did he get so close? I think that some of this “Pre-Angel’s” would add a lot, or could possibly be another story in itself.
I did really like all of the technical talk about the bikes themselves. I understand how that could be important, but I honestly was in this book for the stories, not the technicalities of what makes a bike faster, flashier, etc.
Overall I would have to give the book a 4 out of 5 stars. I thought they Thompson remained pretty neutral about the whole experience, and gave great insight that people just couldn’t get anywhere else at the time. He was there to see the misfits at their lowest all the way through to their… “success”?

Personal Narrative_PartII_Opposite

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“Jazmine, I have a confession to make,” says G-Boy.
It’s roughly 2o’clock in the morning in Portland, Oregon. I’ve been trying to go to bed for the last hour and half, and he will not shut-up.
“If this is a ploy to get me to stay up later because you unfortunately can’t seem to fall asleep, it’s not working,” I groggily respond. I’m in a half comatose state.
“No, I’m serious!” he says.
“Okay, what?” I ask.
“I’m gay,” G-Boy confesses.
And it’s then he has my attention. I’m intrigued.
“Really?” I ask. Then I just start spouting off questions.
“How long have you felt this way?”
“Have you came out to your parents yet?
“How many other people have you told?”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
He was hesitant at first, but he answered all of them.
“Well I’ve always thought I was bisexual, but then I got to a point last year where I was just like… No, I don’t like girls,” he explained.
“I haven’t told my parents yet, but I want too. I don’t think they’ll be too surprised.”
“I’ve only told four or five people other than you.”
“And no, I currently do not have a boyfriend… But that’s an entirely other story in itself.”
Then he turned the questions on me.
“So really Jazmine, you had no idea I was gay?” he asked.
“To be quite honest, I guess I didn’t really care either way. It’s not something I generally the first thing I question when I become friends with someone,” I answered.
Then we got to talking about how weird it is that people who are bisexual or gay have to have a “coming out.” Why does there need to be a “special event” for people to say whether they’re into males or females. It makes zero sense to me, and after I explained that to him… It made zero sense to him either why he was making it such a big deal.
My sleep exhaustion started settling in, so obviously I started making jokes.
“Does this man I can start referring to you as ‘Gay-Boy’ from now on?” I asked.
“Only if it’s between us,” he replied through laughs, “Not everyone knows yet!”
We were laughing for at least another 45minutes until we cried, and the atmosphere changed a little bit.
“I don’t think I have ever laughed at myself this much,” G-Boy said after our long laughing fit.
“Well I’m glad I could help,” I said.
And that’s all I could say. It was 4o’clock in the morning at this point, and I was beyond tired. However, I couldn’t help but think how happy I was about how this entire situation unfolded.
I got him to laugh at himself for having put so much stock into “coming out.” It wasn’t that big of a deal. I felt like I had reminded him that all-in-all… He was still human. And there was nothing wrong with that.
That’s what makes me happiest. Helping others to laugh at themselves for taking things in life too seriously, and discovering themselves.

Personal Narrative-Alarming_Refined

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It’s the incessant needy “BEEEP,” or maybe it’s a song I once really liked, but have now grown a hatred towards. Some days it’s my roommate getting ready to go workout, a bad dream, some times I’m not even sure what it was… But it’s what wakes me up from my magnificent slumber that really irks me.
This particular morning I woke up to my first alarm, which was set to 6:45am. I had some homework I wanted to finish up before my class at 9:15am. I looked at my alarm, and then at the comfortable bed in which I lay.
The bed won. I went back to sleep until my snooze went off 7minutes later at 6:52am. I hit the snooze again and dozed off back to sleep. I woke up somewhere around 7am to my second alarm. I decided to set an entirely new alarm for 7:25am. I fell back to sleep.
I woke up to this third set alarm, and began my homework.
I was in my bed typing away, really getting into my writing when my roommate walked in to the room. She had gotten up early to workout, and had just gotten out of the shower. She had 8am class.
“What time is it?” she asked.
I looked to the clock in the upper right hand corner of my laptop.
“7:53,” I answered.
She rushed around to change, apply some make-up, and had barely enough time to add some finishing touches to her hair.
I continued with my writing until about 8:30am. I figured it was about time I start to get ready for class. I walk out of my room into the hallway where I see another one of my apartment-mate’s door is open. I peer inside to see her sitting on her futon.
“What time is it?” she asks.
“8:30,” I reply.
“What time do you have class?” she asks.
“9:15,” I respond.
I think she just wanted to know what my plans were for that morning, I don’t think she had class until 10:30am or so… But she did say something about having to study for a test and finishing up a paper.
I figure I have 40ish minutes to get ready, and that’s if I want to be in class “almost” on time.
I’m never on time.
I know that seems disrespectful, and trust me, I try, but I just feel like I never have enough time. I’m always trying to finish something up, putting some perfecting finishing touches on a paper, or my hair.
I got to class at 9:16am, improvement from the past couple of times that I’ve actually been 5minutes late or more.
We talk about what seems like a bunch of random things, but they all pertain to our class in someway. My thoughts start to drift off. I begin making a mental list of things I need to accomplish later in the day, then for the rest of this week.
I look at the clock on my computer screen, it’s 9:58am. We still have 22minutes.
I join back in on the conversation.
I start stressing even more.
We’re talking about two stories we’ve recently had due, neither of which I’ve turned in quite yet. I felt like I haven’t had enough time to spend on them. That I haven’t put together enough information for them to be complete.
Time.
It’s 10:20am, I pack up my things and leave the class.
I need to hang up some posters I made. I told the people I would have them hung up last week.
I won’t be going into work today. Not after that class.
I’m stressed out. And there doesn’t seem to be enough hours in the day to accomplish all the things I want to accomplish.

Time is my enemy, but I want… No, I need more of it.

Profile-FineFrustration_Refined

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Charles BassCharles Bass is like a carefully wrapped present at a 12yr olds’ birthday party. The present that sticks out from all the rest because it’s in a box the size of a refrigerator. The 12yr old obviously saves it for last, but the entire time is just wondering in the back of their head… “What could this large box possibly contain inside of it?” The 12yr old reaches this gift. She peels back the wrapping paper. She opens the box. She FINDS… Another carefully wrapped box.
This is the life of Charles Bass.
Setting up a meeting time to interview Bass was a task within itself. The 20yr old college student is a busy one this semester with a full load of credits, participating in clubs, and having a leadership role in several of the said clubs.
I got the interview however, and after sitting down with Bass to peel back the first essential layers, I realized he wasn’t going to make this easy.
I was the curious 12yr old child, and Bass was an intriguing box I was going to have to work at to get to his core.
He has shorter brown hair, a kept beard that extends to his neck, black framed glasses, and can typically be seen wearing a turtle neck or sweater, especially this time of year. Bass has a “hipster-esque” style, that can lead anyone to be curious to know what is inside this carefully wrapped and visually intriguing human sized box that stands out among his fellow undergraduate classmates.
I liken Bass to this box, but that’s a little misleading. He’s actually not that large at all. Bass is about average height and has a thin frame with little to no muscle mass. He refuses to work out, but still manages somehow to stay rather thin.
However, this is just what a person perceives by looking at him. This is where the curiosity first roots, and from here only builds.
“I don’t like this postmodern attitude that what I broadcast, or even what I assert, is the absolute of my being,” says Bass when asked how he would “like” others to view him. “While I accept the right of someone to assert their identity in this way, I think that it’s limiting to pigeonhole myself in the same way it’s limiting for us to pigeonhole other people. I can learn things from the way other people view me and no matter what they project on to me, it has nothing to do with who I really am.”
Bass responds to my questions with vague generalities that only lead me to more questions. People are so curious to know his thoughts on issues, and to know what is in his core that makes him tick.
“I’m not some special person with a special mission. My goal is the same as the goal of any other randomly selected person. If I’m alright and you’re alright and everyone else I meet is alright, then I guess I’ve done a pretty good job,” says Bass.
If I haven’t already mentioned, Bass is beyond any intelligence I have ever come across. He knows people want to know more about him and the way he thinks, but it’s as if he wants the people questioning him to learn more about themselves at the same time they’re trying to learn more about him. Every word, sentence, dialogue that comes from Bass’s mouth is a carefully coded message made to make a person think more interpersonally. This makes some people uncomfortable.
“Without insulting me, he makes me feel stupid. I understand he’s trying to solely inform me and make me think, but it’s like I don’t know anything about anything after he’s done talking,” says Jacki Peters, a student that had Bass in an Honors class.
“I don’t know what I’m doing. If it looks like I know what I’m doing, it’s a clever façade,” says Bass in his “About” section on Facebook. “I’m going to school to get a degree. If I once knew why I was doing this, I’ve now forgotten. But I’m going to school for free, so I suppose I might as well keep at it. It’s something to do. I did some stuff at one point and it was pretty swell, but now I’m out of that phase. Now I mostly just think about doing stuff. It isn’t exactly as swell, but it’s a lot less work.”
Bass is a triple major in Studio Art, Philosophy, and Relgion, and still graduating in four years from Morningside College. He is also looking into studying abroad in Japan in the Fall of 2013. All of this, like he said, for free. His father, Patrick Bass is a professor at the college, young Bass receiving certain benefits because of this.
When asked what he values, Bass answered, “I value whatever lets us discover value, as cryptic as that is. I value Liberty, and Autonomy, and Truth, and Compassion, and Equality; I value my fellow human beings. I will do whatever I can to uphold other people and help them to discover and synthesize ethical truth.”
After receiving his four year undergraduate degrees from Morningside College, Bass plans on attending graduate school. He hasn’t decided on a particular one just yet, but says “preferably one on either coast of the U.S.” and that has a strong painting curriculum. Bass wants to become a painting professor, but he doesn’t want to just teach the art of painting… No, no. Of course not. Bass wants to be able to also teach “painting theory,” what goes on behind the action of actually painting.
Foreseen long term goals for Bass, “If I can, I would like to find the truth, teach the truth, and through the truth change the world. I don’t have a backup plan.”
What is at the core of Charles Bass’s carefully wrapped package? A heart, that cares so immensely for his fellow human beings that everything he does seems to be– in a way to better everyone else around him. All the while growing himself.

Personal Narrative-Alarming

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It’s the incessant needy “BEEEP,” or maybe it’s a song I once really liked, but have now grown a hatred towards. Some days it’s my roommate getting ready to go workout, a bad dream, some times I’m not even sure what it was… But it’s what wakes me up from my magnificent slumber that really irks me.
I set three alarms a night because I’m afraid I’ll sleep through all of them. I end up hitting snooze anywhere from 3 to 10 times a morning. I’ve set alarms for 6:45am, me and my wishful thinking. I’ll then proceed to hit the snooze until 7:45am, maybe even 8am.
It sets the tone to my day.
Every thing being timed.
Be on time. Don’t be late. Allow enough time for this or that.
Time. Time. Time.
I never feel like I have enough to accomplish the things I want to in a day. I end up spreading myself thin, wanting to do so much, and then not allowing myself to do any of those things to the best of my ability. I allow enough “time” to just get each thing done, but it’s never enough.
I want to surpass expectations and be better than “good enough.”
Time is my enemy, but I want more of it.

ProfileProgress_FineFrustration

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Charles Bass is like a carefully wrapped present at a 12yr olds’ birthday party. The present that sticks out from all the rest because it’s in a box the size of a refrigerator. The 12yr old obviously saves it for last, but the entire time is just wondering in the back of their head… “What could this large box possibly contain inside of it?” The 12yr old reaches this gift. She peals back the wrapping paper. She opens the box. She FINDS… Another carefully wrapped box.
This is the life of Charles Bass.
Setting up a meeting time to interview Bass was a task within itself. The 20yr old college student is a busy one this semester with a full load of credits, participating in clubs, and having a leadership role in several of the said clubs.
I got the interview however, and after sitting down with Bass to peal back the first essential layers, I realized he wasn’t going to make this easy.
He has shorter brown hair, a kept beard that extends to his neck, black framed glasses, and can typically be seen wearing a turtle neck or sweater, especially this time of year. Bass has a “hipster-esque” style, that can lead anyone to be curious to know what is inside this carefully wrapped refrigerator sized box that stands out among his fellow undergraduate classmates.
I liken Bass to this box, but that’s a little misleading. He’s actually not that large at all. Bass is about average height and has a thin frame with little to no muscle mass. He refuses to work out, but still manages somehow to stay that thin.
However, this is just what a person perceives by looking at him. This is where the curiosity first roots, and from here only builds.
“I don’t like this postmodern attitude that what I broadcast, or even what I assert, is the absolute of my being,” says Bass when asked how he would “like” others to view him. “While I accept the right of someone to assert their identity in this way, I think that it’s limiting to pigeonhole myself in the same way it’s limiting for us to pigeonhole other people. I can learn things from the way other people view me and no matter what they project on to me, it has nothing to do with who I really am.”
Bass responds to my questions with vague generalities that only lead me to more questions. People are so curious to know his thoughts on issues, and to know what is in his core that makes him tick.
“I’m not some special person with a special mission. My goal is the same as the goal of any other randomly selected person. If I’m alright and you’re alright and everyone else I meet is alright, then I guess I’ve done a pretty good job,” says Bass.
If I haven’t already mentioned, Bass is beyond any intelligence I have ever come across. He knows people want to know more about him and the way he thinks, but he doesn’t make it easy.
“I don’t know what I’m doing. If it looks like I know what I’m doing, it’s a clever façade,” says Bass in his “About” section on Facebook. “I’m going to school to get a degree. If I once knew why I was doing this, I’ve now forgotten. But I’m going to school for free, so I suppose I might as well keep at it. It’s something to do.
I did some stuff at one point and it was pretty swell, but now I’m out of that phase. Now I mostly just think about doing stuff. It isn’t exactly as swell, but it’s a lot less work.”
In the same way you’re trying to figure him out, he’s trying to help you figure yourself out, and where you stand on the issues… Not just himself.
“Come and talk to me. I’m serious about that. I’d welcome the intrusion. At any given point of any given day, I’m probably pretty bored and could use some conversation,” says Bass.
If questions aren’t worded just right, you’ll find him going off in a completely different direction than you intended.

Election Day Rant-Chew On This

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I exercised my “right” to vote this year, and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it. I voted early, so all that Election Day really meant to me was a day free from the restraint of a classroom.

Obama, Romney… Who else was running in the election this year? Not many people can answer that question. I couldn’t even answer that question before I looked it up. Democrat, Republican… Are we still in a democracy when we’re basically only given two options?
Although the candidates “pose” and promise so many actions they will take if elected, do they really have the power to follow through? We have Congress and the House… Is the President really just a figurehead?
What is a lie, and how can you tell when the President and other government officials are telling the truth?

That’s all a lot to take in, I realize. This is the exact reason why I have remained “ignorant” about the entire topic for so long.

Profile-RealRough

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 Charles Bass
“Who is that?”
“Oh, that’s him! I see him all the time in the library.”
“He’s really smart isn’t he?”
The three most common answers I get when asking people about the visually and intellectually interesting Charles Bass.
He has shorter brown hair, a kept beard that extends to his neck, black framed glasses, and can typically be seen wearing a turtle neck or sweater, especially this time of year. Bass has a “hipster-esque” style.
“I’m an 80 year old man stuck in a 20 year olds body,” says Bass.
Not too mention, he’s also stuck in a 20 year olds generation. A generation where Apple products rule the technology scene, Bass will choose a PC over a Mac any day, and a phone that claims to be “indestructible” over a smart phone that claims over 100,000 apps. He takes notes on a yellow legal pad in cursive, and reads… for fun. Books like Apocalypse Culture, which he claims is a “gross” and “messed up” book that changed the way he looked at a lot of things in life, and many “classics” that have been long forgotten by other people of Bass’s generation.
Bass values quality.

Scary Story

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Dear Reader,
I was asked to write a “scary story.” Some instance in my life when I’ve been afraid for my life… or something along those lines. Given this idea, I began to think of all my near death experiences. I was once dragged under water by a faulty rigged tube in Lake View, IA. I have stepped on rusty nails, accidently cut by knives, stepped on hot coals, severely sprained my wrist… Okay those may not all be near death events, but at the time they felt like it. Right now, I just have a hard time comprehending those to be scary. Then there was the time I had to be taken to the hospital for alcohol poisoning, in which case I never really got the opportunity to be “scared.” I was incoherent, people! Did I have anxiety about having to talk to my parents, my coach, and my teammates about what had happened… Yes, but even then I wouldn’t say I was necessarily scared.
What instills a fear in me the most, I think is the idea of losing someone close to me. The first time I had ever gone to a funeral was in the second grade, it was my grandfather on my dad’s side of the family. I wasn’t sad at all at first, I didn’t even cry. That was until I went to the wake.
I saw my grandpa lying in his casket, motionless. He looked peaceful, like he had just dozed off into another famous nap of his. I often came home to him asleep on our couch after school sometimes, so this wasn’t anything new to me.
As I looked around I saw other children my age and younger running around, coloring, playing with blocks, etc. Basically anything to keep an average child distracted. Then, I remember looking to the parents and all other “grown-ups.” They were crying. Why wasn’t I?
People began approaching the casket and paying their respects. I figured this was something I should do as well, although none of the other children were doing it. I asked one of my aunts to go with me.
I walked up to the casket.
Not a tear was shed.
I stared at his face.
Still nothing.
I put the picture that I colored for him in the casket.
Why wasn’t I crying?
Then I grabbed my grandfather’s hand, like I used to do when we would visit him at his house. Why was he so cold? I jolted backward, and that’s when the tears started.
I asked my aunt what it meant to be dead? I asked her to explain what grandpa was going through, and why we were all there?
It was in this moment I realized what “death” really meant.
As a second grader, this was the scariest thing in the entire world.
I ran away from the casket and hid in a back room. I came to terms with what was going on, and I think that it was at this point I chose to grow up a little. I started questioning everything I had ever heard about death.
Was there a really a star added to the sky every time someone died?
Would my grandfather be reborn as something or someone else?
Was there a heaven and hell? Which one opened up there doors for my grandfather?
I questioned my faith, something I don’t think many second graders ever do, or should ever face at a young age, but I did it.
I began exploring the ideas of there not being a “God,” and that maybe things just happened… No rhyme or reason.
Not knowing, the future being so unsure… That’s what scares me.