Whirls & curls and whirls of curls

Last night, after being told that today would be a snowday, I had some strange need to sketch my hair. I really could have done without the trouble of drawing the face, to tell the whole truth, but there it is anyway. I just happened to have some really fun curls that were whirling around in all different directions, and it was kind of fun how they framed my face. If you notice, the waves on one side of my face match the waves on the other side. I never noticed before last night! I know some of you may not think that it looks like I had fun drawing my whirly curls, by the rather vacant expression I've drawn... but let me assure you that smiling continuously for upwards of an hour can be taxing on the cheek muscles. That's why I try my darndest to smile with my eyes. Although, I guess I wasn't trying too hard to do that this particular time.

(Too much) fun with Photoshop

During my first art history class as an undergrad, I remember my professor mentioning that the famous Italian Renaissance painter Raphael was "quite the looker" and pretty popular with the ladies of the 1500's. I'll admit, with only the above self portrait to serve as a testimony, I was a little doubtful that this could have possibly been the case. I mean, it's hard to imagine he would have made it much past the first date with hair like that.

Still, always one to seek scientific proof, I had to wonder whether a sort of twenty-first century makeover would level the playing field a bit. So, one night in my dorm room (and I'm sure I was putting off a paper on symbolism in Byzantine mosaics or something like that) I gave the guy a sweatshirt and some ghetto head-wear, and voilà! I turned him into college-Kristy's ideal, basketball-playing, dreamboat stud.

But upon unearthing this oldie from 2004, I decided that it still wasn't enough. I mean, what was cute in high school and college just doesn't fly anymore. So tonight, to perform the ultimate test of historical hunkability, I updated Raphael's look to cater to the mid-twenties, early-thirties, young professional crowd. And, you know what? I believe it now. That guy was attractive. To think, I was about to let the beret and pageboy look convince me otherwise. It's a darn good thing I'm commited to scientific testing and have a thirst for discovering the truth.

Just goes to show how very much a bad haircut and poor choices in accessorizing could potentially cost you your dating life.

Angst-ridden, dorm room art

Ah, nothing quite like unrequited college love to inspire some angsty plight worthy of art-creation. All of the pieces in this entry are hanging on my wall in my room right now. Okay, I lied. One of them fell down, but it will be hanging up someday when I find the ganas* to hang it back up again. I think this first two-part one was the very first of my anti-valentine art. So that places it in 2003... oooh, but it says I was 20 years old. So maybe we're talkin' 2002 here. Sweet.And this green one below just makes me feel sad to really look at it. All the heartbreak and misery sure did make for a fun little art project, though. At least it was good for something, right?


*Lest you think that ganas are hooks for wall fixtures, I will tell you that they are not. Gana in Spanish means "wish/desire/will." I adopted the word into my English vocabulary years ago because my brain keeps trying to structure sentences involving it... so I gave in. To have ganas means to feel like doing something. To find ganas... well, I just assume that it's something kinda like having them, only you don't start out with them to begin with.

And, speaking of, I have a whole LOT of ganas right now to go to bed, so that's what I'm going to do.

Some clarification

My mother called today and talked to me about this project of mine: "I hope you're not really as sad as it seems like you are in your Valentine's Day Blows cards. It's a little extreme, isn't it? People are going to think you're depressed." May I assure all of you that I usually am grinning from ear to ear as I make these cards. I find the concept that Valentine's Day "blows" to be really hilarious. Please know that I am not a bitter or sad person. I just think this is funny.

Valentine's Day Blows 2009

As the years pass, one thing's for sure. Valentine's Day continues to blow. And it's a darn good thing, too, because what would I do if it didn't all of a sudden? I look forward to it. I count on it. My hopes, since adjusting my expectations to a lower altitude, have not once been dashed. And, heck, it's funny. Happy day of chocolates and heart-shaped things to all of you.

Many hugs,

Kristy

Valentine's Day Blows: Years Past

For a little review, I have included all of the years of anti-valentines that I have concocted over the years, starting with 2003 and marching proudly forward to the present. Unfortunately, I could never market any of these unless I actually captured the images myself (instead of stealing them from the internet), or drew or painted my own scenes. Actually, I prefer the term "appropriating" to stealing; it's what the Dadaists and Pop artists used.

Valentine's Day Blows 2003
This was the one that started it all.
There is something funny about Dizzy Gilespie.

Valentine's Day Blows 2003 Part Deux.
But then I thought a kid playing trombone would "blow" more.
It's more likely to sound bad.
And the kid is more likely to not want to be playing it.

Valentine's Day Blows 2004

Really, what blows more than a hurricane?

Valentine's Day Blows 2005
This is the one that makes me the most proud.

Valentine's Day Blows 2006
Colds certainly blow. We pass germs out like valentines.
I felt pretty clever after I made this one, too.


Valentine's Day Blows 2007
This one is actually also one that makes me exceedingly proud.
We happened to have a huge snow storm that year,
so people weren't leaving flower bouquets on windshields.
They were finding windshields.


Valentine's Day Blows 2008
Quality dipped a lot this year.
This guy's face pretty much sums up my feelings
on the effort involved in this last card.

A former version of Kristy

Before this image erases itself completely through the destructive forces of intra-notebook page friction, I thought it a good idea to post it here. I made it four years ago when I first arrived in Madrid and was having an awfully hard time adjusting to the task of communicating in Spanish... I became nearly mute for awhile. Estoy tímida aquí. I am shy here. It was a lot better-looking (clearer, less-blurry lines and shapes, more white space) when I first drew it, of course. I wanted to save it because I've always thought it had a kind of arresting sadness. A little surprising, even. But maybe only because it's like making eye contact with a past self. A former version of Kristy.

Also note: Partially-drawn, black Old Navy flip-flop on my foot.