There’s death, taxes, and Photoshop class. Once a week, the latter raises its ugly head. I am then accountable for the work that I have yet to do. Shirking my work isn’t like me. Remember, I previously said that I pride myself on being a responsible individual. (Being responsible is as difficult as being irresponsible.)
No, I confess – I had not read Chapter Eight of our text before going to class. I was going to do this yesterday afternoon. I instead went for a horseback ride with Pete. He rode Siggi and ponied Hrimmi, and I rode Signy and ponied Raudi. We all had a wonderful time. I had previously (with Pete) gone over the previous two chapters (responsible). But I had not gone over the most recent chapter (irresponsible). So I hadn’t a clue as to what we were doing in class, or why we were doing it.
The exercise involved the use of layers. This brought to mind a line from T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland – “Layers come, and Layers go, thinking of Michelangelo.”
I now kind of understand the more straightforward stuff – painting, and putting in text – but layers – this may be beyond my comprehension.
No matter. A program like Photoshop is only as good as the brains behind it. Ya gotta have a good imagination in order to create riveting work. This is something that I do not lack. I can always see the possibilities inherent to a supposedly boring class exercise.
For example – last night class began later, ended early, and there was a long break in between. In the meantime, we were to take the image of nail polish bottles and do something with them. I decided, this time, rather than get all bent out of shape, to just go with the program, and if need be, pretend like I knew what was going on. With Photoshop, unlike T.S. Eliot’s work, you cannot fake it. For there it is, the work. You become suspect when everyone else has little ants marching around but you do not.
We moved a red bottle from one layer to the next, but why we did this, I did not know. I figured that I was just a lowly employee, and as such, ought not ask questions. We also painted a white bottle red, which also made no sense to me. After all, we’d just moved a red bottle.
All the while I was thinking hard about gender and beauty. I could smell the sickeningly sweet smell of acetone. It’s amazing what we woman do to ourselves in the name of beauty. All those chemicals – no wonder there is such a high incidence of breast cancer. And they test these chemicals on animals – and they don’t fare well either.
I got to thinking that I could have a little fun with this graphic – maybe find a dead white rabbit, and have it sniffing the nail polish. And I could write underneath
“Research shows. . . .”
But no, my level of expertise is such that I can’t yet do these kinds of things. So I instead “wrote” Cup on the cup, and Toxin I, and Toxin II on the bottles. Maybe in this instance, simple was better. Pete, at least got the idea.
I decided as I was writing this, that I’m going to finish out the semester because there’s always the likelihood that my technical abilities will someday complement my creative abilities. But for this to happen, I’m going to have to nail down Photoshop.
Next: 52. 2/21/13: February 21, 2013