Histoire D'art, but I'm still convinced that's wrong.

Since this is a journal I feel like its only right for me to start out by telling you the reader, the lined page, pen and ink, the curious neighbor, a little about how I'm feeling before we start. I feel a bit like a butterfly today... yes, I think thats right... a butterfly.

this week is probably not going to be that interesting (to you as my loving audience) because things are just getting started and I finally got my new (exciting, beautiful, majestic, full of wonders yet to be imagined) sketch book with the intention of journaling as we study, as amazing epiphanies about art come to me (which of course is regularly) as I sketch and as I work through the fact that i have very few paramount thoughts about art history at the moment. However, I do feel as though this will be the personal journal that ends up next to all of the DaVinci sketches because we can all already see how substantial my thoughts really are.
On to art history-
I am excited (such a boring word, excited) about our study the beginnings of photography, for one. Many hours in my childhood were spent flipping through photographs of distant exotic lands, and more over exotic people that were taken by the woman who caught and convinced my parents to help them direct a medical mission in Africa twelve years ago. A woman who by my standards has been everywhere and done everything, and more importantly taken a pictures of everything and everyone she encountered (as a hobby even). And as my parents sat for hours and planned and I sat and looked through the faces of Tibetians and the children of Nicaragua and tour guides of Mozambique
along with the pictures in the plethora (seemingly endless plethora even) of National Geographic magazines in our house (almost assuredly dating back to the beginning of the last century) and here in lies the reason that my emotional center, sometimes called the heart, becomes so full of joy everytime I see an old photo. Im not exaggerating for exaggerations sake either, this is really how it makes me feel, and I really remember it being so distant and magical and I really do thank the people who actually knew how to take a photograph without the life-support of photoshop in each photos imminent future.
The recent obsession with photography and the instant gratification I feel as an artist when I can so easily create with modern technology is matched (even if it has lately overshadowed) by my appreciation for the realistic (photo-like) pieces and brilliant use of chiaroscuro of artists like Caravaggio. My satisfaction in photography often comes when I can relay, often by sheer luck, my conceptual ideas I would much rather convey in a painting but fall, sadly inadequate. I feel moved by Impressionists and later influential painters like Turner, with his powerful use of color and beautiful brush strokes but I am convicted by Rembrandt.

Also to be noted would be my new found appreciation (for the difficult process) of classical greek and figure sculptures. I created my first (what i would call) real sculpture this past semester. (one of the desires of my heart) I lied when I before (another blog) said that I've never crossed anything off of my list of life-goals before the tambourine, because though my sculpture was lacking and time crunched, it was real, and viable and sufficient enough to allow me to die happy if that were the case... although i would be equally as satisfied if I got to live and perfect my skills. I'm just saying.