Monday Night Pots

My sweet mother, who also happens to be a talented potter, has asked a favor of me.
Was I currently stressed about my upcoming economics test? Why, yes. But when the woman who has dedicated 22 years of favors to you asks for a favor, you give her a favor.

My mama has been making pottery for quite some time now, and I've learned not to call her on Monday nights because that's when she's in the studio. She decided to start selling her beautiful pottery (about time) and needed to create her business: starting with a logo and a business card!

I took her requests, taking her pieces into consideration, and whipped up what I could. And she loved it!
So here's to introducing... Monday Night Pots!

How Do You Find a Needle in a Haystack?

I take a deep breath. 

That was a bad idea. I feel like I just inhaled a tablespoon of dirt and I start to cough uncontrollably. 

My eyes are closed. I try to open them for a moment but I flutter them shut when something sharply pokes my retina. 

My feet are flat on the ground, weight evenly distributed between my legs for balance. I take another deep breath. Shit! Why do I keep doing that.
I slowly raise my hands up with my arms perfectly parallel to the ground. I begin to move them outward in a circular motion. I kind of feel like I'm doing breaststroke. But instead of water, I'm in a giant haystack. How did I end up here? No time for questions, need to find that needle. I start to move faster and inch my way through the stack. It's itchy. I hate it. But I must persist because this was the prompt I was given. I search high and low, far and wide.

My motivation is dropping as quickly as this rash is developing all over my body. So itchy. So tired. Ow! I look down but I can’t see through the thickness of the hay. I smile because I realize that I finally found the needle, but I frown because it’s stabbing through my pinky toe. 

It was uncomfortable, but I completed my task. All you need to find a needle in a haystack is a little perseverance and a lot of anti-itch cream. Ok now someone help me out of here, please!

Look At All Those Chickens

A girl in my class asked me if I owned chickens... this moment really made me think about what kind of vibe I've been giving off to my fellow art-mates.

These prints were actually inspired by my mama (mother goose, mommy duck, mama hen, what's the diff?), and the fact that I mindlessly create a variety of birds in my art. It's weird; I'm working on it.

Side note: Hand-printing 54 sunflowers burns approximately 250 calories.

Dog Print

I'm back... with more art!
Contrary to common millennial female behavior, I actually am not obsessed with dogs. However, I do like some of them, and my favorite is my dog, Shine! (it's a family name, don't ask..)
Anyway, she happens to be photogenic enough for my own enjoyment and other (Snapchat) needs. I chose to use her for my latest print project-- based off of a photo I had taken of her (shown below.) Enjoy!

(5 layer linoleum reductive print)

Wrestling Persona

Hurricane Irma has given me cabin fever so I have decided to share what I've been doing this semester. I'm taking a relief printmaking class for the first time and didn't realize what I had been missing all my life. Besides sculpture, it's been one of my favorite classes already and I really enjoy the process of linoleum printing. 

Anyway, here is my women's wrestling persona (2 layer print):


Weighing in at an aggressive 114 pounds, Spicy Hollapeño is a fiery red-head who is super enjoyable to be around-- when you’re on her good side. She decided to turn to wrestling after her therapist first suggested ways to tame her hot temper. Now, fighting is the only way Spicy Hollapeño can cool down once she’s heated up. Common causes of her fiery rage include: when someone insults the Yeezus album, when people chew too loudly, when a teacher gives her less than an A on an assignment, or when she asks for no sour cream on her meal and it still comes with sour cream. So be extra careful, or you could be one of the victims she takes down with her signature move, The Carrot Topper. But if you’re ready for a sizzling brawl, just give her a #holla. #srirachacha

10 Weeks in NYC

I had the pleasure of working in NYC this summer as a content production intern at mcgarrybowen. I learned a lot about working, advertising, and living life in the real world. But who am I kidding- I'm here to keep you entertained. So here is a list of things I learned after 10 weeks in NYC, completely unrelated to my internship.

Manhattan is the actual entire island, not just the small area on the map that says "Manhattan."

You will never be deprived of falafel in NYC.

The more anxious you are in the backseat of a cab, the more likely your driver is to hit a pedestrian. (I actually created this correlation myself, but based off my stats [2 hits] I'd say it's pretty accurate.)

Not all of NYC looks like Times Square... who knew!

Kroger does not exist here & it's ok to get emotional when spending over $45 on groceries.

The more anxious you are about being in contact with a rat at the subway, the more likely a rat with the girth of a large eggplant will scurry over your feet. (Again, a correlation I invented, but can attest for...)

Walking around alone doesn't make you a creep, just a girl with a fitbit trying to reach her step goal!

If you are out for the day and need to pee more than you've ever had to pee before, chances are you won't find a bathroom.

Sometimes nothing solves your problems like a good frozen margarita.

You're literally never the weirdest person on the streets, no matter what you are doing/wearing/or holding. (And if you are... you probably wouldn't be reading my blog.)

Riding a bike, in fact, is not like riding a bike. (As in it didn't come back to me...like riding a bike.. ha.)

Scott Disick exists! I saw him! In Greenwich!

Bottomless brunch is the concept we didn't know we needed.

Money... money is a good thing to have.

JK, I Actually Attended Another Yacht Party

I'm running full speed down the west side highway in NYC. (Yes, my full speed might be your slow jog but a girl's gotta work out somehow.) A man on the side of the path reached out to grab my attention and stop me mid-run. Typically, I would never stop my run for just anyone because odds are in NYC they're asking me for money (do I not look like a poor college student?!) but this time it felt promising.

I could tell this kid was about my age. He was short, dark, and handsome (can't have it all these days) and wearing some kind of army uniform. After he greeted me I discovered he was foreign because, well, he had an accent and didn't speak English too well. He attempted to tell me about this party they were having on their boat that night, and invited me to come. (I only say attempted because it was more pointing and hand motioning than actual words.) Turns out the Italian Navy was just chillin' in NYC for a few days and brought their fancy-ass ship with some really impressive gold foiling on it.
I took the invitation and told him I would consider coming. "One more thing he told me," and he pointed to the fine print on the invitation. "Attire: Formal," it read. Or something like that.
I smiled and gestured toward the size large t-shirt I was wearing and said, "so I can't wear this?" He looked at me like I was a freak. I thought it was funny. Let's blame it on the language barrier.
So I folded the invitation, put it in my pocket, and ran off. Guess who just got invited to party on a super fancy ship? Meee! Um, yeah, I was there. Oh.. Ya. *keeps running*

So flash forward, my roommate and I show up to the pier, ready to party. We are escorted onto the boat, and are surrounded by beautiful Italian men. We looked pretty cute (I mean, we were formal.. I put on lipstick for this shit) so all the boys obviously wanted to talk to us. We had some funny conversations, and most of the guys spoke English pretty well. We drank some wine at the bar and ate some pretty dank pasta.

All in all, we had a great time, and it was even more fun knowing that I was actually invited and didn't have to worry about being kicked out the entire time (see previous story from my first Yacht party).