I didn't really ask this question. I had wondered about it before, I learned the answer on accident, and then someone else asked the question and I go to answer it.
Jack-o-lanterns were brought to America by Irish immigrants, but the story of how they came to be in Ireland has more guesswork involved and lots of loosely connected pieces. The term jack-o-lantern originally referred to a night watchman in a town ("jack of the lantern"). Jack-o-lantern was also a less common name for ignis fatuus out on the bogs, probably because they were thought to resemble a lost watchman. Before pumpkin lanterns were used, little boys would carve faces into turnips and illuminate them to scare people.
A more thorough explanation of the word jack-o-lantern comes from the legend of Stingy Jack. It is said that Jack attempted to trick the devil to win a bet, but was himself tricked. He was consequently cursed to roam the moors with a lantern at night for all eternity.
My guess would be that all of these facts and stories had a role in creating what we now refer to as jack-o-lanterns. When you think about it, hollowing out and carving a pumpkin to make a lantern that will only last for a few days before decaying is a little odd. But hey, we've got all sorts of strange traditions.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Autumnal Playlist
Ever since I discovered that I could make playlists on iTunes, I have experimented with many different ways to categorize my music. I've grouped them by mood, weather, favorites of genres and artists, and many other means. Now it's time to group them by season. Thus far my fall playlist has over 100 songs and is still growing, so I'll just give you the 20 most autumnal songs from the current list.
- Dance Of The Charming Young Maiden (Alberto Ginastera)
- Epping Forest (Anne Roos)
- Never Grow Old (The Cranberries)
- The Crane Wife 3 (The Decemberists)
- In My Native Land, Op 43, No 3 (Edvard Grieg)
- World On Fire (The Glaciers)
- Premier Gymnopedie (Erik Satie)
- Cheap Day Return (Jethro Tull)
- Wond'ring Aloud (Jethro Tull)
- One Brown Mouse (Jethro Tull)
- Broadford Bazaar (Jethro Tull)
- Fire At Midnight (Jethro Tull)
- Home (Jethro Tull)
- She Moves Through The Fair/Wind That Shakes The Barley (Kilrush)
- I Talk To The Wind (King Crimson)
- The Battle Of Evermore (Led Zeppelin)
- Legend of a Mind (The Moody Blues)
- Pyramid Song (Radiohead)
- Scarborough Fair/Canticle (Simon & Garfunkel)
- We're Going To Be Friends (The White Stripes)
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Stop Putting Science in My Art
I've discovered that landscape design may not be the best fit for me. I mean, I love coming up with landscaping ideas, and I love implementing them, but I'm getting fed up with site plans. Given that that's most of what I would be doing as a landscape designer, it might me time to find something else.
The problem with site plans is that they remove what I love most about art. I love the adrenaline rush of spilling my ideas onto paper, or canvas, wire, soapstone, linoleum - whatever medium I'm using. I love taking mistakes and redirecting my work around them. I love getting messy and cleaning up. I love interpreting reality however I want, whether it's realistic, abstract, or something in the middle. I love communicating ideas and emotions, personalities of people and places, things that can't be said just with words.
With a site plan, I'm thrilled while drawing haphazard sketches, but once I approach the tracing paper that joy is replaced by grim determination. My materials are limited to a few different colors and weights of paper, thin black pens, and reasonable, tame shades of markers and colored pencils. Mistakes mean starting over or having a flaw that nags you every time you glimpse it. There is no room for mess; smudges are detestable, and every line has its proper place. The only freedom of interpretation I have is choosing/coming up with the best shape for this bush or that tree or determining how realistic I want my shadows to be. I must communicate the plants and features in the landscape as succinctly and obviously as possible. It's true that different landscapes express different emotions and ideas and whatnot, but that doesn't easily translate to a site plan.
Reusing the same shapes over and over again isn't art. Getting better results by tracing others' symbols than by creating your own isn't art. Marking where to put this plant or that lamp isn't art. These designs are more like a mechanic's blueprint than an artist's landscape. I can't stand to cold, scientific, restricting sense of it all.
So what now? I'm not abandoning Landscape Horticulture and Design. At least not yet. This week I meet with my advisor to take care of scheduling, and I will be taking classes assuming that I will remain in LAHD. I'll probably take an art class both as relaxation and to prepare for the possibility of switching. The following week I have a mid-semester meeting with my professor for the landscape architecture class that set all of this off, and I'll be voicing my concerns to him. Maybe I just haven't given site plans enough time, or maybe he has suggestions for learning to view them differently. It's possible that I will be switching majors to fine arts, adding it as a second major, or considering an art master's. At some point I'll talk to a fine arts advisor about whether or not that would be feasible, what sort of careers are available to art students, how likely it is that I can find and get one of those jobs, and other things like that.
However, each of the three aforementioned possibilities (switching majors, dual degree, and a master's in art) have their fair share of problems. If I switched majors after this year, I could still graduate two years from now with problem at all. Unfortunately, I'd need to leave the College of Ag and the HLA department, and they're sort of my home away from home. I see my friends there more consistently than I see anyone else, and I'd hate to leave them even if I'm just crossing Marsteller Street. There's a sense of family on the ag campus and in the hort buildings that you can't find anywhere else at Purdue (except for my church).
If I do a double major, I would need an extra year to graduate, and I'd be taking at least 18 credit hours every semester. I would no longer have a scholarship for the final year, and if Josh were at a different college for grad school that would mean yet another year of separation.
Getting an M.F.A in studio arts seems like my best option, but it still has a few drawbacks. First, I don't know what my chances are at getting in if I don't have a B.A. in art. Taking lots of art electives in addition to the requirements for an art and design minor would help, but I'll need to talk to a fine arts advisor to get more information on that matter. Second, I don't know how easy it is for art grad students to be T.A.'s or what I would get paid for it. It would definitely be a lot less than I would get paid for working as a full-time landscape designer. Once again, I'd need to do some research to see whether or not that's a realistic concern. Third, if I were to get a job in landscape design after all, would people be less willing to hire me because they might have to pay me more as a person with a graduate degree? This is another fear that may not be founded in reality, so I'll be bringing it up to my hort advisor when I meet with him next week.
And then there's always the possibility that I will learn to love site planning for what it is rather than disliking it for what it isn't. That would be convenient. I'm not giving up on it yet. And whether I pursue a career in landscape design or not, I can assure that I will be gardening for as long as I am able.
I apologize for my lengthy and angsty rant, but I just thought I'd get it out there. Putting this all in writing has helped me see what my best option is and how to go about planning my course of action.
The problem with site plans is that they remove what I love most about art. I love the adrenaline rush of spilling my ideas onto paper, or canvas, wire, soapstone, linoleum - whatever medium I'm using. I love taking mistakes and redirecting my work around them. I love getting messy and cleaning up. I love interpreting reality however I want, whether it's realistic, abstract, or something in the middle. I love communicating ideas and emotions, personalities of people and places, things that can't be said just with words.
With a site plan, I'm thrilled while drawing haphazard sketches, but once I approach the tracing paper that joy is replaced by grim determination. My materials are limited to a few different colors and weights of paper, thin black pens, and reasonable, tame shades of markers and colored pencils. Mistakes mean starting over or having a flaw that nags you every time you glimpse it. There is no room for mess; smudges are detestable, and every line has its proper place. The only freedom of interpretation I have is choosing/coming up with the best shape for this bush or that tree or determining how realistic I want my shadows to be. I must communicate the plants and features in the landscape as succinctly and obviously as possible. It's true that different landscapes express different emotions and ideas and whatnot, but that doesn't easily translate to a site plan.
Reusing the same shapes over and over again isn't art. Getting better results by tracing others' symbols than by creating your own isn't art. Marking where to put this plant or that lamp isn't art. These designs are more like a mechanic's blueprint than an artist's landscape. I can't stand to cold, scientific, restricting sense of it all.
So what now? I'm not abandoning Landscape Horticulture and Design. At least not yet. This week I meet with my advisor to take care of scheduling, and I will be taking classes assuming that I will remain in LAHD. I'll probably take an art class both as relaxation and to prepare for the possibility of switching. The following week I have a mid-semester meeting with my professor for the landscape architecture class that set all of this off, and I'll be voicing my concerns to him. Maybe I just haven't given site plans enough time, or maybe he has suggestions for learning to view them differently. It's possible that I will be switching majors to fine arts, adding it as a second major, or considering an art master's. At some point I'll talk to a fine arts advisor about whether or not that would be feasible, what sort of careers are available to art students, how likely it is that I can find and get one of those jobs, and other things like that.
However, each of the three aforementioned possibilities (switching majors, dual degree, and a master's in art) have their fair share of problems. If I switched majors after this year, I could still graduate two years from now with problem at all. Unfortunately, I'd need to leave the College of Ag and the HLA department, and they're sort of my home away from home. I see my friends there more consistently than I see anyone else, and I'd hate to leave them even if I'm just crossing Marsteller Street. There's a sense of family on the ag campus and in the hort buildings that you can't find anywhere else at Purdue (except for my church).
If I do a double major, I would need an extra year to graduate, and I'd be taking at least 18 credit hours every semester. I would no longer have a scholarship for the final year, and if Josh were at a different college for grad school that would mean yet another year of separation.
Getting an M.F.A in studio arts seems like my best option, but it still has a few drawbacks. First, I don't know what my chances are at getting in if I don't have a B.A. in art. Taking lots of art electives in addition to the requirements for an art and design minor would help, but I'll need to talk to a fine arts advisor to get more information on that matter. Second, I don't know how easy it is for art grad students to be T.A.'s or what I would get paid for it. It would definitely be a lot less than I would get paid for working as a full-time landscape designer. Once again, I'd need to do some research to see whether or not that's a realistic concern. Third, if I were to get a job in landscape design after all, would people be less willing to hire me because they might have to pay me more as a person with a graduate degree? This is another fear that may not be founded in reality, so I'll be bringing it up to my hort advisor when I meet with him next week.
And then there's always the possibility that I will learn to love site planning for what it is rather than disliking it for what it isn't. That would be convenient. I'm not giving up on it yet. And whether I pursue a career in landscape design or not, I can assure that I will be gardening for as long as I am able.
I apologize for my lengthy and angsty rant, but I just thought I'd get it out there. Putting this all in writing has helped me see what my best option is and how to go about planning my course of action.
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