The Reach (WIP)

One of the first things I learned when I started performing was that unless your parents were somehow coming to every show you did, no one in your audience actually wanted to see you succeed. The reason we incorporate dangerous things into our acts, the whole basis behind dumb stunts for money, the sharper or more on fire your props are- the more the audience is hoping you'll fuck up, just for them.

I like to motivate myself before I go on by deciding not to give them the satisfaction.

Another piece for my class show, although it's drawing from the emotional black hole that has reared its ugly head yet again. I used to incorporate a lot of garroting wire into my work back in high school, this is another iteration of that.

I'm pretty unhappy with how this is looking, and it's a struggle to get art to work at all right now for me. Suggestions appreciated, particularly for a background.

Fuck yer audience rough

This is another in the dual performative self/personal self series. It's really just roughed out at the moment, but the character is holding a mask that'll have a cheesy grin on it, and the right bicep will have a tattoo that reads "Fuck yer audience". My housemate Michael sparked the idea for the concept this time, all thanks to their artistic genius.

I have a loooong, much-meditated on bit of writing to accompany this one to the effect of what I as a performer REALLY think of all those beautiful people I weasel money out of, but it's still taking shape and will probably hit articulation sometime when the art is finished.

Still struggling with the eyes, although they're not as bad as the soulless pits my camera makes them out to be in the shot.

Holding this facial expression so I could use it as a reference with the mirror was hilarious. I didn't even know cheek muscles could cramp.

I can't do this any more

I love circus. Dear god, do I love circus. I eat it, I breathe it, I live it, I.... herd a mercenary band of flaky performers (myself included), deal with clients, book gigs, drive us all, arrange the music, then put on make-up and tease money out of recalcitrant audiences. Usually in one night.

I love circus.

But some days I feel like I can't do it anymore.

(I did this piece a week ago, during a seriously performance heavy weekend when I was also handling the bureaucracy for the circus group I run on campus. The original text over the head was a thought bubble reading "i can't do this anymore". Life quieted down on that front for about a week, but it just recently picked up, and I found myself hitting that same place again as I'm suddenly staring down an unorganized performance in Ranier tomorrow night, an unconfirmed show on Saturday, and three new clients as of yesterday.)

I got my grubby hands on the copy stand at school today, and replaced the piece from yesterday with the copy I took today. O glee!