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I need to write this shit down. I am going to describe my weekend in detail, because I can't make this shit up.
So over the weekend my friend Lauren came down to see me. I love when my friends come down to see me, but I didn't get to take any time off of work and did not alter my workout routine because it's important to me to be properly trained for the half marathon in March. So this is my Saturday:
I wake up at 8am and head to the gym, where I run a solid eight miles. Saturdays are my long run days. I get in my car (whose check engine light has been on for a while [but really how seriously can you take those stupid lights?!]), and don't even make it out of the parking lot before it dies. A fellow gym member helps me get my car nice and situated safely in a parking spot. For some reason my car always breaks down when Lauren is in town, so she's used to this. I call her repeatedly but she's passed out, dead to the world. Oh well, I think, I'm no stranger to the bus. So in my SCAD hoodie and short running shorts, drenched in sweat, I head to the bus stop. My route lets me out in a "questionable" part of town where crackheads are known to linger. Not expecting to take the bus, I am weaponless. Yes, I usually carry a knife and pepper spray on me, but not today. Naturally, as soon as I get off the bus, some crackhead across the street starts yelling lewd things at me. I know I look extremely attractive in my running shorts and smell really great, but I do not appreciate someone offering to "slap that ass" under any circumstances. I keep my head low and walk fast, thinking he'll fuck off if I just ignore him. He is literally chasing me at this point, and I can hear him getting closer behind me. In this moment I was not afraid, but instead I felt a hot feeling in my stomach and I run through my options. I see some debris on the ground, consider chucking it at him. My friend Tasz lives around the corner, I consider running over to his house, but I'm not sure he's there. I'm thinking, I may actually have to defend myself in a few moments. Ahead of me I see a few mechanics standing outside their garage, so I make it a point to walk in between them even though it's out of the way, just so some other people can witness what is happening to me. Then, a magical angel man pulls his car over and asks me if I'm okay. I said I was fine, just being harassed a little too much is all. He gives me a can of pepper spray and says to be safe. I wave the pepper spray in the direction of the crackhead, so he knows to back down. He continues yelling, but finally recedes. About a hundred feet away from my front door, Lauren calls me. It's not even noon yet.
So after a long, tiring, but fun weekend with Lauren, I finally have to deal with my car situation on Monday morning. So I wake up at 8am once again to call the highest rated garage on yelp.com, they can get me in that afternoon and suggest a towing company. I call the tow truck people and tell them to meet me at my car in forty-five minutes, then I call a cab to come pick me up. It's 8am and my brain doesn't really start working until 11, so I'm trying to quickly get everything I need put into my backpack and cab it to the gym. I figure I'm already up, may as well get a workout in before work. I arrive at my car and am surprised to find out that it actually will turn on, however sputtering and dying every few minutes, but it's enough to get it to the nearest garage and save me the $85 to tow it. I quickly google "car repair" on my phone and find the nearest Auto Zone. That's right, Auto Zone, which as I quickly discover is NOT a garage, but a car parts store. Of course. Like I said, my brain is not awake yet. My car can barely go 15mph and is dying at every light. So naturally a police man pulls me over, to which I have to hastily explain I'm just trying to get to Auto Zone before it dies again. He offers to "escort me," sure whatever. Of course I instantly realize my mistake upon getting to Auto Zone. Frustrated, I park my car (at a downward angle) and try to find the nearest garage. Fortunately there is one around the corner! But now I can't get my car to start due to, that's right, the incline. Frustrated, I get out of my car and have to PUSH IT MYSELF up the small hill onto flatter parking lot ground, and my car finally starts. So finally, after all that, I bring my car, sputtering and dying to Klingemann Auto Repair, who I really need to give mad props to because they took care of me in a timely, professional, and affordable manner. Thanks, guys, really.
Having settled that, I take a cab back to the gym for a much-deserved workout. I hit the showers and quickly realize in my haste to get all my shit together, I had forgotten my towel at home. Oh well, I think, there's no going back now, I have to be ready for work within the hour. So I unload my stupidly expensive shampoo and conditioner in the stall (I'm a hairstylist, shampoo is an investment), and once I'm done, I am trying to dry off like a dog, just shaking water off parts of my body best I can. It didn't work so great. I had to slither into my clothes, everything sticking to me. Possibly one of the grossest feelings in the world. My outfit is...okay. Not the best, but not bad for being thrown together at 8am.
I had spent too much on cab fair already, so I decided to bus it to work. After figuring out what route I needed to take, I calculate I have juuuuuust enough time for breakfast at Taco Cabana. I inhaled my food, thinking if I throw this up it would be almost whole. But I dash out the door and walk hastily to...the wrong fucking bus stop. THE HELL?! I realize my mistake instantly, the stop I need to be at is just down the street, and if I book it, well, I just might make it! But no. It was like a scene from a terribly scripted romantic comedy. I was running, arms flailing, just as the bus pulled away. Frustrated, I call my boyfriend and yell at him for no reason. This proves to solve nothing at all, so I call the cab company for the third time that day (not even noon yet). I was at a weird intersection, apparently, because after fifteen frustrating minutes, the cab has not arrived. I call again, they said they sent a cab but "couldn't find the address" (HELLO, GOOGLE MAPS, COME ON), so they send another cab. Twenty minutes pass. I am getting dangerously close to being late to work. I call the cab company again, and once again they admit their driver could not find my location so they send another cab. I mean come on, how hard is it to find "across the street from the YMCA"?!
So the cab FINALLY shows up, I am only slightly late to work, and a coworker was nice enough to give me a ride home after work. So this weekend my faith in humanity was tested, and it came out positive. Between the man who helped me move my car, the guy who gave me pepper spray, the amazing mechanics of Klingemann, Lauren carting me around, my coworker giving me a ride, hell, even my boyfriend for letting me yell at him and being understanding enough to not hold it against me, all these acts of kindness far outweigh the shit storm that tried to ruin my weekend.
You know what the real kicker is, though? I left my fucking expensive ass shampoo at the gym.
I started these pieces last year and reworked them incorporating techniques I have developed in the past year as a result of these pieces. What started out as an experiment has developed a concrete process that I utilize with every piece, now. All as a result of experimentation. I've even standardized my post-painting process; photographing them and posting them on my blog. As per usual, mad props to my buddy Josh Verduzco" for the help with the photography. We swap photos for haircuts. Never underestimate the power of bartering your skills!
Moving Forward
Negative
I have other old pieces that are photographed better, now available to view on my Flickr site, but these were the only ones I reworked. Moving Forward is now available for purchase at the Austin Art Garage, located on South Lamar. I'm pretty excited, it's a really rad, lowbrow gallery.
On that note, my other photographer buddy Evan Prince recently took a few photos of me, The Fox, and Shirley.
The Fox behind me, and my other mode of transportation even further behind me (the Focus is a road warrior. Ten more years!)
Me and Shirley. She's a beast.
Just me, thinking about my bikes.
You can see more on his tumblr. He makes me look good.
And since we're going balls-deep with the images here, I'll go ahead and toss in some recent graphic design freelance I just completed:
Any excuse to use neon is a good one.
I hope I crashed your computer with all that overwhelming amount of amazing content I just dumped on you. Ya welcome, internet.
I've had this feeling brewing inside of me for a while. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I have not been quite myself since my father's diagnosis, and I knew that, but I wasn't really sure why.
My father is doing well, by the way, he is undergoing chemotherapy and just had his eighth treatment. Aside from all the crappy side effects, he is in great spirits, and my family continues to be of great support to him. My father has always been my pillar of strength, but right now we have to be strong for him. It is a strange thing, to suddenly realize your parents are mortals, and that one day, as much as we don't want to accept it, we will have to experience their departure. I know it's morbid, and not a good way to think in times like these, but in private, sometimes, it's all I can think about. "What the fuck will I do when he's gone?" I am positive that that day is nowhere near today, and that he has many days ahead that are bright and wonderful. He will live to see my children born, to watch them grow up, and to be a grandpa again. I am sure of it. He is kicking cancer's ass.
But I've had this feeling, underneath all these waves and waves of optimism. I could not define this feeling of dread that did not wash over me so much as it brewed deep down inside of me, far below the calm surface waters of my soul. I'd been thinking a lot about my legacy, versus his. My father moved from Alabama to Oklahoma to build his own life, to start his own family and create an empire that has supported us, up until this very day.
Our family then:
This was before my brother came along and ruined everything (just kidding Clint I love you!!!!!).
Our family now:
I can't believe the most recent picture of us all together was two years ago, but anyway...
My dad created a life that put all three of us through college. Something to be admired. This is why I gave Dad my Stole of Appreciation after graduation:
Not to downplay the significant role my mother played during school, as she made my life much, much easier by covering cost of rent, books, supplies, etc.
I guess with all this stewing inside me, I finally had a word to put to this feeling that had been developing for months: disappointment. I've been disappointed in myself and the state of my life, because if, god forbid, something ever does happen to my father or mother, I want to have accomplished so much more than I have before they pass on. I really want nothing more than to make them proud. I graduated college two years ago (TWO YEARS AGO?!?!), and still have not landed a job in my field. Although, I can offset some of this blame to our really crappy economy, which is a very real thing and has affected everyone I know that I went to school with. In fact, I really don't know many people that I graduated with who have landed jobs in their field, and a lot of them still live at home with their parents (ain't no shame in it). But nonetheless, it has affected me in a very real, very personal way. It's made me question my talent, my worth. Some days, it was hard to even get out of bed, wondering, what is the point? The point of a lot of days were to just muddle through to get to the next one, and spend as little money as possible. College taught me a thing or two about survival on a tight budget, and I can always manage, but I am tired of just managing. I am 27 years old and I'm ready to thrive.
So I've done the only thing I know to do, which is to apply, apply, apply. Write cover letters like it's my job and send my resume out to anyone that will listen. The thing is, even though I have a fancy art school degree from a fancy art school, my degree is kind of bullshit (sorry SCAD) because they did not teach us any computer programs. The only reason I know Photoshop as well as I do is because I taught myself. So, I am having to teach myself other programs in high demand, like Illustrator and In Design. I am on the upswing, now, but I was having a little bit of a quarter-life meltdown for a few weeks there. I really do try as hard as I can to stay positive, because I believe attitude is everything, but it is very hard for something like this to not shake a person.
This year has been a rough one, I won't lie. Moving to a new city, my father's diagnosis, plus that bike wreck I still deal with physically (my shoulder has not been the same since), and the job market on the fritz...it hasn't been easy. But I always have my family to support me, they are a great resource to me for sure. My father getting diagnosed was like putting glasses on, it made me that more acutely aware of all the imperfections in my own life. The new city high has long since worn off, and now I'm just trying to figure out how I can start building my own empire.
Full resolution available here.
There is a huge difference between just writing about yourself, and writing about the things you believe in, the things you make, and the things that represent you. I'd like to think this blog is more the latter than the former. I've seen blogs that may as well be diaries, and while I see no problem with that, I do not want that for this. Obviously this is a place that is about me, Erin Baird, that is inherit in the definition of a "blog." But I like to keep the overly personal stuff off-the-site. You won't see me talking about my current flings, emotional problems, or how I feel on one particular day. Instead I'd like to make great verbal brushstrokes, one at a time, that is painting a picture bigger than myself.
This blog started off as a senior project for me to post my progress on my art projects, hence the name, but I feel as though over time it has maintained its name - there's definitely some art in here - while expanding on its own definition of what exactly the art of Erin Baird is. It is my philosophies, my processes, my beliefs, my family, my bikes, and of course, my art. Whatever it is that is inside of me that has this need to be constantly creating, I believe that is the best part of me, and I am trying to capture that part of me on this site. I am putting my best self forward, right here, on The Art of Erin Baird.
Last week was Austin Fashioin Week here in Austin, and so since I do work in the beauty industry, I'm going to throw in my measly two cents.
I've been doing hair for almost eight years now, and I've tried a plethora of hair product in my day. My official opinion is this: Pureology has the best shampoo line and Kevin Murphy has the best product line. I like Pureology's product line as well, but their shampoos and conditioners cannot be beat. They are vegan friendly, highly concentrated so you don't have to use much, and are sulphate-free. For those with processed hair, your color will barely fade and your hair will shine. I can tell such a huge difference if I use another brand. My hair is what you might call "chemically dependent" and I tell people all the time I would not be able to have my hair color AND length if it weren't for Pureology.
I generally use the Pureology Hydrate shampoo and conditioner, but recently I switched to Super Smooth because I was getting tired of the smell of mint. The Super Smooth is very rosy smelling, without smelling like a grandma.
I have wavy hair, so when I get out of the shower I mix the Pureology Shine Max Serum with the Real Curl Cream and let it air dry. Once dry I apply the Texture Twist to the ends for some slight separation and definition.
I also really like the Kevin Murphy Hair Resort to bring out the texture of my hair as well.
As far as fashion goes, I generally stay away from this topic because I find fashion to be a very personal expression and while I understand the art of having "collections," since I am not a designer and merely a wearer of clothes, I find it kind of dumb to talk about what I like to wear. But we just had fashion week after all, so here goes nothing.
My personal philosophy on fashion has changed a little bit in the past few years. For a long time my aim in fashion was to be ridiculous. If it made me laugh, I'd wear it. I have a few pretty good examples of that:
Yes, that is a Micky Mouse onesie bathing suit with shorts that I wore on stage during a John Wayne's Bitches show (oh did I ever mention the punk band I was in last year?).
I bring the party.
How could we pass up three matching square dancing dresses we found at the thrift store?
Speaking of, I've also always had an affinity for thrift stores, consignment shops, and antique stores:
Like this red dress favorite of mine I whip out in the winter.
Literally everything but the beer is from a thrift store. Dress, purse, belt, and necklace.
And my favorite fur shawl. Could be fake, I'm not sure?
photo credit: Evan Prince (duh)
That is a (fake) fur coat that my grandmother gifted me.
There's only like one week in Texas I can wear it in the winter, so it is much cherished when I get to finally use it.
And I love to wear accessories that are gaudy, gold, and generally described as "too much":
While I still employ a lot of these attitudes still, my fashion philosophy has become much more practical as I've grown older. It seems like anymore I'm wearing costumes: I have my work clothes, my running clothes, swimming clothes, biking clothes, etc. Everything has a purpose. Since I am often biking to my destination, I usually have to combine my "relax and hangout with friends" clothes with my "biking to get somewhere" clothes. I have a few rules for biking clothes in the summer in ATX:
1. Shoes should be stringless and able to slip in and out of clips easily.
2. Bright and/or neon colors are to be used as often as possible.
3. Shorts should be short. Really short. Legs need to be uninhibited and able to breathe and move easily.
4. Purses/bags/whatever can NOT get in the way. They must be big enough to hold all the necessary items but small enough to be toted around easily. In other words, fanny packs are preferred. Hands-free is always better.
5. Aviator shades are too big/too heavy. Smaller shades are better. Just as long as I don't have to push my sunglasses back up onto the bridge of my nose, they are fine, but eyewear is of course key during the day.
A few solid examples:
That purse is okay because it stays behind me, but any bigger is pushing it.
Slip-ons, check. Dash of neon, check. Shorty-short shorts? Check. Fanny pack? Check, check, check. Ready to ride.
I am wearing these shoes to bike in lately:
No strings, leather so they'll last forever, comfortable and they breathe so easy. I was afraid my feet would be soaking wet in sweat after a ride but they are so light and nice. Best purchase.
I feel like this is a really good opportunity to plug the new Levi's Commuter Jeans, but I don't have anything to say about them since I have not personally tried on a pair.
So with all that being said, I'd like to conclude with this: I think fashion is a very personal thing. Some people have the money and the leisure time to dress up more often and I think that's great. I consider clothes to be a more utilitarian device, and fashion somewhat of a luxury. Obviously as an artist I appreciate good design, but I appreciate it even more when it combines function and form. Whether you are aiming to inspire, show off, amuse, or just do your job, I say let your fashion speak for itself. Just be yourself, and everything else will fall in line.
