I GRADUATED !! Class of 2014

Yes I am a degree holder from SAIC

I have a Bachelor of Fine Arts from School of the Art Institute of Chicago, hats off to me!!!

March Madness / Midterm update

Hello Readers


Like every semester, life gets real hectic during this gust of spring (kinda..since it's still snowing here in Chicago!) and during Mid-terms

This is the second time I had to up and move last minute notice half way through my semester while taking a full load so I guess this time I was prepared. But getting strep throat and eye infection through a hex in my course work. I am still perservering.

I am posting a project I made in my Jewelry/ Metalmaking class called "Mae"
it is a montage of memory dedicated to my grandmother, and uses vintage photographs of my Grandmother Mae Halligan, myself (age 17) and the "Heart of Darkness" eye which is a nod to Joseph Conrad.


Mixed Media (cigar box, photos, copper)
8" x 8"
"MAE"

So, the clamp was still on during this photo but it turned out really nifty :)

this was my first time etching metal !

I am really loving expanding my art practices and enjoying my courses this Spring--

Bests,
Anna

Behance (Coming Soon !!!)

Okay, so my tumblr

http://www.agkevlar.tumblr.com/

is really decrepit. I am working on a Behance Art Portfolio/ Profile


my vision is to have this my tablet as a Digital Portfolio before I graduate.


Right now I am taking
Cartooning
Art History 1350-1700 (Renaissance ...yessss)
Metalmaking/ Jewelry
& Short Story w/ Tetlow

I am really having a great time this semester and will be posting more work the first week of April !

Bests,
Anna


* Thanks for Reading ! *


www.behance.net/annagmoore

Creative Writing pt 1

Tropic of Capricorn

A Winter Poem

Many Midwesterners know

not to go outdoors

without thick thermal underclothes

and working men employed outdoors

layer Carhartt jackets over their long johns

during the tropic of Capricorn.

Woven scarves cover up crimson cheeks

and an Eskimo kiss can burn.

The concrete fiercens and car engines moan,

we are left watching football while teakettles warm.

written, 2/1/2013


 Ethnography (continued)

Expanding a research paper that I completed last semester, I would like to apply Ethnography to the idea of language death and restoration. Specifically, in Chicago there is a contemporary movement to revive Native American tribal languages such as Ojibwa language. Last fall, I attended a screening of an independent film called, “We Still Live Here” about a woman who revived the Wampanoag language in Massachusetts after the language had died during colonialism and hadn’t been spoken in centuries. I find language revitalization fascinating. I believe it is an important issue to preserve diversity and culture.

METHODOLOGY

To further this topic, I am going to investigate how participants in Chicago are reviving tribal languages. There are three areas in Chicago that are settings for American Indian education: The American Indian Association, the American Indian Center, and the Newberry Research Library’s Center for Native Studies. I plan on visiting each location and detailing the efforts that are evolving to record the mostly oral languages and the resources available for other people who are interested in preserving old languages.

ETHICAL CONCERNS

The main ethical concern is investigating Native American languages without exploitation of the American Indian people. Due to extreme marginalization, the populations of Native Americans seem to be skeptical of becoming spectacles or exploited. 

No Longer in Use

By Anna Moore

I.

We did not use our brains, we used our posture.  

We seldom wore shoes or socks.

We did not use doors, we were imprisoned.

They did not use tongs to serve dinner rolls. Instead,

their unwashed, bare hands.

They even used prods and empty threats.

They created their own jargon. It sufficed.

II.

We will not try our luck.

Instead, we hide our mistrust.

There is no courtesy any longer.

And we all shy away from strategy.

III.

The soldiers did not use their guns.

The prisoners did not use their lamps.

IV.

We read magazines and called ourselves enlightened.

And the others around us never used their book of matches. 

(spring semester, 2011)

I guess winter days does provide a lot of good writing fodder. It's been a polar vortex heaven all season !!

 

 

Persona Poems : "Before you Wet the Ink"

Writing from a view point other than one's own .

• From the Battle of Leipzig, 1813
  
  
  October wind
  blocked by this uniform,
  a war’s apron, the patchwork
  and bandages are tearing away.
   I am following the brigandage
  battling into France
  and barricades falter away.
  Other soldier men
  backbones of campaigns
  become undone and their beckoning
  fades away. The
  end, the celebration bades
  a necessary exile.
  I am a battler.
  Who will never visit
  Elba island
  across the Mediterranean.
  Yet, I
  wave goodbye as I hear
  and break into
  a grin that spreads an arm’s length wide
  all because
  Napolean is sent away there.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

• Some A Time (1-5)

           H.C. Modaff

(First) I remember when paper calendars hung upon tacks that got pressed into plaster with pointer fingers and thumbs & when the months turned with a swoosh of paper noise (Second) on a cold St. Valentine’s Day,  my Betty Grabel and Catwoman warped into one took me to 

Niagara Falls, NY 

in her Subaru Outback the color of stew. When we checked in to the Seneca Hotel, concierges waved us on, housekeepers knocked on door like Stanley Roper and both of us declined the touristy tours & walked along worn trails in Hyde Park. (Third) In the mornings, I stared directly into her eyeglasses like the faces from the House of Wax did & (Fourth) on our trip back we saw a funeral procession go by waving American flags. And while we drove back home to Ann Arbor, Michigan with steaming cappuccinos in our cup holders she used a (Fifth) GPS signal on the dashboard. 

& As soon as I returned my mother still wearing her hair in curlers dug at  me asking, “Did you propose?”

Not yet, I replied as vulnerable as the barrel from that movie with Marilyn Monroe.

• Here's an example from 2009, when I wrote from a Classic Mustang's voice.

Before you Wet the Ink

Anna G. Moore

I wasn’t pedastled in

a one-car garage for 41 years

and turtle-waxed mirrored

weekly, to be weened from premium octane

and paralled against

spilled-hell, Maple-treed concrete

on Bratley Lane

while pretend

playboy woos an opaque minded minx,

who yesterweek left a wet trademark

on my unwelcoming cheek

 while

Smokescreen pointed me towards a double

I-almost-lost-my-tune-up feature

and branded me with a stereo-type speaker;

I won’t be pigeonholed

 by Mrs. O’Toole’s drivers-ed flunkee

turn

blank-check-heir;

could charade upon my bumpertails,

alter hand-me-down

to a red-light district,

and forget to turn off my own precinct

to recharge me with stenched

testosterone while making Grease-

lightning faces in my

own showroom; vrooms a pistachio-shell

even where Doughboy can’t reach

checker-pawn torpor red-ribbon

horsepower for a fantasy parade.

I’ll take driveway death,

become junkyard renegade,

before I’m willed to

a pimple-faced pubescent’s

masquerade.

I'm going to post my most recent Persona poems from Amy England's class later.