Pants are good

Don't you think? I used to think pants were bad. I don't know why. But there's nothing like a really good pair of jeans. I bought some nice ones at Savers yesterday for $7.99 which was a good price. I am wearing them right now at Uni, using the free wireless internet BECAUSE WE STILL DON'T HAVE IT AT HOME.

It's not the worst thing in the world though, as my friend Cheralyn pointed out yesterday. It's actually not. I can think more about things and read more and talk more and wear pants more. I think pants are actually sexier than skirts when you think about it.

Desperate measures

I have been without the internet at home for four days, and counting. I am feeling isolated, irritable and generally out of touch with reality (a slight exaggeration) but it's just not a fun time. In a way it doesn't make sense to feel like that. Only 22%* of the world have internet access anyway, I haven't had it my whole life, and it's not actually something 3D and tangible that I can physically miss. Except that it is, or something.

Most of the time, I am the internets number one fan. I use it to look up pictures of the Brady Bunch, to falsely click 'attending' to miscellaneous parties on Facebook, and to Google 'Bardot' song lyrics. When I'm not doing those things, of course, I write here or post stupid pictures on my Tumblr account. As you can see, all these things are of substance. I can see why people love the internet so much. Or maybe they don't love the internet. Even I think maybe I love the internet because it offers a feeling of connection and belonging while one is simultaneously alone.

A very attractive prospect, however not totally satisfying. The internet is sort of like Andy Warhol's idea when he said he wished he could watch every party he was invited to from a monitor in his bedroom. It sounds fantastic, but it's compromising reality or something. Anyway I am infinitely frustrated with Telstra and their inability to do something REAL and connect us to the internet again. As I spend hours listening to the 'on hold' music I think about things like this. I need a life. And Wi-Fi.

* Probably not a correct statistic.

15 MINUTES

Ah Andy Warhol. Someone who helped me when I was 15 and clueless about life. Now that I am older and studying Fine Art I feel like Andy Warhol is sort of unmentionable or something. I really genuinely would say that Warhol is my favourite artist. I said that once to a lecturer and got a weird look. I think there's a stigma or something with Warhol because he really is what I would classify as a 'mainstream artist'. But I don't see anything wrong with that, I even think he would have liked the idea.

So at the moment I'm helping my Aunty write VCE Art education books. I have to write essays like I was a Year 12 student so naturally I'm writing about my favourite, Andy Warhol. I am fascinated by his childhood and early life. I got out all my Warhol books and got slightly distracted looking at pictures instead of writing. Oh man is he amazing. He's just so cultivated or something. He took the mundanity of his life, of everyone's life, and made art about it, with it.

WRONG NUMBERS

Wrong numbers are cool. I always wonder about the 'wrong number people' I speak to. It will be so great in the future when all phones are video phones and you actually see the person and their house and life and everything. People would be more careful about wrong numbers then I think. It would be so evasive and awkward. Maybe I'll purposely ring wrong numbers so I can have a brief look at people and their lives. I love catching weird snippets of peoples existences. I think that's why I like reality TV so much.

Anyway I've been working at the gallery today. I got to wear my new poncho which was fun. The artwork in the background is by Melbourne based artist Ahmarnya Price.

Purposeless item #1

I like doilies. I just think they are so funny and weird. Someone has gone to a significant amount of effort to crochet this THING that sits under some insignificant item for absolutely no reason other than the user is under the impression that the doily contributes to some sort of pleasurable aesthetic in their home. And they sit there for like 50 years. Doilies never get moved. People don't rearrange their doilies.

They are stuck in a weird time warp where they remain untouched and purposeless, then sometimes, when a little old lady dies, they are yanked by a son-in-law from the spot they have occupied all their life and donated to Savers and then I buy them and they sit on the floor in my room and I spray paint them and sew them together and wave them around and write about them on my blog.

Worried about

These are some current scans from my sketchbook. I am playing with scissors, paper, spray paint, stickers, text, etc. I am currently making a work to put in a group exhibition coming up in August, the details of which I will post here soon.

Night and Day

When I went on my recent 'family vacation' to Sydney, I had a really great time. It was a 'roadtrip', so we drove from Melbourne to Sydney, then Sydney to Byron Bay, then back through all of the time warped country towns like Tamworth and Tenterfield. Anyway so one day when we were driving we stopped in a country town and Dad took it upon himself to purchase some travelling music - the King crooner himself, Frank Sinatra.

The lousy $3 CDs did their rounds through the disc stacker and I will admit to enjoying it. We drove to get gelati one night in Byron Bay, and wound down all of the windows of the car and turned up Frank Sinatra as loud as it would go, then we just drove around and around laughing like madmen and watching all of the fake hippies with bare feet and Iphones stare at us. My favourite song is Sweet Loraine. You should download it illegally off Limewire, it's what Frank would have wanted.

Blue

Red is a great colour. It embodies so many inexplicable emotions and I am particularly attracted to it because of its diversity. Red is passion and power, but for me it's also lipstick, primary school, it's picnics, it's that night when I put cellophane over my lights, it's my friend Georgie, my hair, Christmas eve at Nanna's house, it's that movie I watched that time when I turned on the TV really late when I couldn't sleep. Red is all consuming.

This sounds weird, but I think people with (naturally) red hair have some sort of affinity or connection with each other. It doesn't need to be acknowledged verbally or even if it did I wouldn't know quite how to say it, but there's a sensitivity or mutual understanding between people with red hair. Only 1% - 2% of the human population are redheads so we're all pretty closely connected if you ask me. I even think red is my favourite colour.

Coco

Inspired by the film Lolita, today I did what many women have done before me. I bought a Chanel lipstick. It wasn't the luxurious and exclusive experience I had imagined, but it was okay. Now I'm just sitting at home, wearing it for no apparent reason reveling in my success of being able to buy Chanel with my own money which is ridiculous considering it was only $50 and I could have done it a long time ago.

I just really like buying things, I mean I really do. What is so satisfying about exchanging money for goods? It is one of the many great mysteries of life. So anyway now all I need is hair like Sue Lyon circa 1962 which is never going to happen so I'm just going to focus my energy on answering the questions on Millionaire Hot Seat tonight.

Reality bites

This is the scarf I am knitting. It is red, and is slowly, very slowly growing. I first learnt how to knit when I was very young with my Nanna. When I was little I started knitting a scarf for myself but lost interest, dropping stitches frequently between watching Hey Arnold or listening to my B*witched CD on my discman or something. I then decided I wanted it to be a barbie scarf because it had more than halved in size and basically because I couldn't be bothered finishing it or admitting that I didn't have the patience to do it.

So what I'm saying is that knitting kind of pisses me off, but I like the idea of it. It's romantic, apparently therapeutic and 'crafty', ooh. There are many things in this world, like knitting, which let me down in actuality. Things like porridge, boyfriends, AM radio, spray paint and ah, painting my room pink. I'm desperate to enjoy them, to involve them intimately in my life but I find myself somehow unable to live out my fantasy relationship with them. I still persist, though, despite my ability to recognize the vast differences between reality and fabricated reality. I don't know why.

Out of my head

Here I am once again typing to the vast cyber world about my innermost thoughts and The Brady Bunch. I feel like this shiny new blog will bring with it shiny new ideas and inspirations, hopefully those which are more mature.

My name is Minna Gilligan, a 19 year old Art School student struggling with the questions at some stage or another all of us creative, sensitive and painfully perceptive types ask ourselves, like the meaning of our existence and how old Shirley Temple is.

Asking why is scary but in the midst of the internet and other weird things that exist in the world like Miley Cyrus we must press on, questioning until our hearts grow tired and our heads become heavy from watching Wife Swap.

Sometimes, Art helps me to answer the questions I am plagued with. Therefore this new blog is going to be more about my drawings, outfits, paintings, and of course the things I find compelling such as Madonna, Op Shopping and obscure Pop Culture references.

I believe in keeping your eyes open always, and having faith.