I’ve seen these for a ton of other situations, but never one for history of art, so I thought I’d start one myself. :)
1. You go to art museums for fun.
2. Your the only person who’s skin crawls when you see a Thomas Kinkade painting. Your skin crawls even more when your friends say “his art is so amazing!”
3. When you mention Leonardo DaVinci, your non-art history friends say, “oh the DaVinci code?!” and you just sigh and walk away.
4. You look at nudes as a part of your degree, unlike your male housemates.
5. You know the meaning of words like ‘chiarascuro’, ‘trompe de l’oeil, and ‘sfumato’.
6. You know the difference between performance art and a crazy homeless person.
7. You’ve got an opinion on Damien Hirst and you are prepared at any moment to launch into a 20 minute debate about it.
8. You plan most of your holidays around what art museums the place has got.
9. You don’t actually have that many artists for friends.
10. To make up for it, you have made up friendships with a ton of Dead, White, European Males.
11. You’ve used the word ‘painterly’ to mean about ten thousand different things.
12. You know you’re an old history of art student when you remember being taught with the aid of a slide machine.
13. Well if “that’s so easy, I could have done it” WHY DIDN’T YOU?
14. Peggy Guggenheim, Alfred H Barr, Leo Castelli, and Charles Satchi are personal heroes.
15. You’ve become a pro at memorizing birth and death dates. And it’s starting to creep your non-art history friends out.
Amen to this, even though I’m not an art history student :’)
My first thought was this could be a scene from the novel Swamplandia!So pretty..
(Source: youknowyoureafloridianwhen)
I sense a theme here…
Odd vintage stuff I found while cleaning out my “new” classroom
Canyonlands is my next national park, if I get my way
I <3 these posters by Tyler Nordgren
http://bulldog2.redlands.edu/fac/tyler_nordgren/Gallery/NationalParks/Parks.html
I finished this book a little while ago. Russell Banks is a sublime writer, masterful at creating a sense of place and atmosphere. The story is a fictionalized account of the struggles of a sexual predator who is forced by county code to live in a crude camp under a causeway in a made-up city called Calusa, but we all know it as Miami. Banks loosely based his story on the actual camp that existed under one of the causeways crossing the Intracoastal Waterway in So. FL. The 22 year old “predator” known only in the book as The Kid is actually an internet porn-addicted virgin who attempted to meet a 14 year old for a date and ends up netted in a sting operation. So he is, after two years of incarceration, dealing with nine years of living either under the causeway with police raids and hurricanes destroying the camp, or living deep in the Everglades with no way to recharge his ankle monitoring bracelet (I was waiting for him to chop off the bracelet and disappear into the swamp). The novel has a little too much repetition, and the fourth part left me wanting a more substantial resolution. But I appreciated the idea that it is unwise to paint things in black and white because there are always many shades of gray in a story.
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/09/books/review/lost-memory-of-skin-by-russell-banks-book-review.html
