Senior Thesis Show: "Life of the Party"

"Life of the Party"

Papier Mâché

2015

Artist Statement:

     40 million adults in the United States are affected by anxiety disorders, making it the most prevalent mental illness. Social anxiety disorder is an anxiety disorder in which a person has an intense and unreasonable fear of social situations. Most of the time, the person is aware of the fact that their fear is unreasonable, yet is unable to overcome it.  
     This installation contextualizes social anxiety in the form of deflating balloons. The bright-colored, metallic balloons, commonly seen at parties or social events, are deflating to symbolize how draining these situations can be for people who suffer from social anxiety disorder.  When a person is enveloped in stress, it can be difficult for them to enjoy the fun and exciting setting that they are in.  Some balloons are decorated with phrases commonly said to these people by friends or family members who do not understand the intense and unavoidable distorted thoughts of this disorder.  This piece was created to bring awareness to the seriousness of this disorder that is commonly overlooked and misunderstood by people who are not affected.  

       Social anxiety affects so many people around the world, including myself. I started having panic attacks when I was in middle school and nobody understood what was going on with me. When I would be out having fun with my friends and suddenly flush, get nauseous, gag, and feel tingly all over, I had no idea what was wrong with me and why I couldn't function like a proper human. This wasn't happening to any of my friends; I felt like something was wrong with me. My family, friends, and teachers would always accuse me of faking sick because of all the stomach aches I'd get and tell me that I was being dramatic as I would have to leave every restaurant to dry heave in the parking lot. That's what it always was: "dramatic." So I began to internalize this feeling and belief that I'm just dramatic and that panic attacks were just dramatic. 

       I didn't find out the definition of what a panic attack was until my junior year of college, after having literally hundreds of them. When I found out that these terrible symptoms could be linked with anxiety, I decided to seek treatment. I tried my hardest, using a cognitive-behavioral therapy workbook and moving from prescription to prescription to find the right fit for me. It's been a long journey; however, I'm still not nearly over it. 

       For my senior year thesis art installation, I wanted to work with something that affected so many people and provide some psycho-education for others who may have felt alone, as I did for so many years. As aforementioned in the artist statement, I decorated brightly-colored, deflating balloons with things that friends and family members have said to me too many times: "Live a little!" "C'mon." "Don't be boring." and my all-time least favorite of them all, "You'll be fine." These things are so easy to say when going to restaurants and parties is not a difficult thing for you. It's easy to assume someone will be fine grabbing a quick slice of pizza at CPK when you've never had a panic attack because, when you're experiencing those extremely debilitating symptoms, you feel anything but fine.  

       Displaying this installation for my school was a very vulnerable, yet powerful, experience for me. I decided, however, that it was time to speak up about anxiety; there's nothing to hide about it. At the gallery opening, the response was incredible. I had people coming up to me left and right, thanking me for giving a voice to their issue and making them feel understood. I even had a complete stranger approach me in tears, telling me that she had always felt so misunderstood but my piece gave meaning to exactly what she is always feeling. These real emotional connections are what art is meant to be about. It's about giving an image to something that is not so easily explained. Some friends don't understand anxiety, but everyone understands that a balloon deflates. Making the connection between the two makes the symptoms more tangible and just a little bit more accessible to people who have friends and family who suffer from this horrific disorder. 

       To continue my work with promoting mental health awareness and betterment, I have enrolled in an art therapy graduate program. I am working towards my Master's degree in Marital and Family Therapy with a specialization in Art Therapy. Art is an incredibly useful tool in therapy sessions as it really aids in the process. Sometimes it's hard to talk about certain things but they are often revealed, unconsciously, through art. With one semester down, I've learned so many incredible tactics for how to use art in a therapy session. I can't wait to begin to see clients in the new year and hopefully help encourage them to improve the quality of their lives.

I discuss the process more in my post from June 8, check it out to learn more! 

I opened an Etsy shop!

When I was younger and decided that I wanted to live a life of creation, I thought that getting an art degree from college would guarantee me a spot in the Museum of Modern Art or at least a solo gallery exhibition at Bergamot Station in Santa Monica. However, I apparently have no concept of what the real world is actually like because, as I just graduated from a prestigious four year university with not only a degree in art but a minor in art history, I am still a wildly undiscovered artist. 

Shocking.

So I decided to put my artistic talents to good use. If someone isn't going to notice me, I might as well get noticed by preppy youngsters like myself who like Lilly Pulitzer and monograms. 

I opened an Etsy shop! 

My shop is full of monogram goodness and is expanding (slowly) as I think up cool new ideas and take the time to create them. I recently made my first sale - a graduation cap. Each item is entirely personalized to the way that the customer wants it so I got to collaborate with a this sweet girl about how to create the perfect cap for her graduation. I think it is a great way to learn business skills and free-lance collaboration through something that I am really interested in.

I am officially a business bitch. 

Check me out. 

https://www.etsy.com/shop/MaurasMonograms

I create graduation caps for $40!

Monogram plaques (that come in all different shapes and sizes) are only $35!

Watercolor pieces are only $20!

And personalized sorority paddles are $40! 

Graduation from Loyola Marymount University!

In the words of an idol of mine, Dora the Explorer, "Lo hicimos! We did it! Yay!" 

On May 9, 2015, I proudly strutted my graduated stuff across the stage at Loyola Marymount University. I shook the hand of President Burcham himself as he handed me my
(empty) diploma (folder). It was awesome. I was pretty stoked about the entire thing but it's really hard to tell because I look pretty unimpressed on the photo that the jumbotron captured of me.

On the walk from the gym where we gathered to Sunken Gardens where the graduation was held, I called dibs on sitting next to two of my favorite art people - Steph and Jojo.  I got so lucky with the fact that we got to choose where we sat at graduation so I didn't get stuck next to shit heads and I got to sit next to the art homies. We had a whole, kick ass row, making it very easy to not pay attention to any of the serious trash that was going on and have one last college hoorah with my friends.

I am so beyond #blessed to have met the people that I did throughout my experience at LMU. On one of my first days at school, some random guy in the DRN 4th floor lounge loudly yelled at me "Fuck Don Bosco!" That was the moment that I found my first best friend at college who became my best friend in the world and my flawless boyfriend, Cole. He has been by my side every single day for the entire 4 years of my college experience - helping me, challenging me, and (mostly) pushing my frickin buttons. (Mostly the off button on my computer because of the inconvenience game). He is the reason for so much of the happiness in my life and I know we both ended up at LMU for a reason. I honestly don't know if I would've survived the four years without him. 

The art department is full of people that are near and dear to my heart. On the left, my graphic design friends, are the first people that I met in my major department. They were there as I failed all of my graphics classes and needed to entirely change my future plans, they were there when I was drunk off my ass in an alley in desperate need of some gelato in Italy, and they were there when I was trying to figure out what the fuck the difference between all the Buddha paintings is. They are the best kind of people and a guaranteed fun time. We are Kappa Pi, til we die. And I would not have it any other way. On the right is part of my senior thesis class. There were eight uniquely talented and hilariously fun people in that class. They were the ones that I found after I had to change from graphics to something that I would be better at - fine arts. We drank wine with our priest professor and met up in the studio to cry about (and not really work on) our thesis projects in the wee hours of the morning. The chemistry that we had as a group was apparently unheard of for a senior thesis class and, because of this, we made a killer show. Because of them, I have one of my fondest memories. They were all apart of the proudest accomplishment of my college career and life thus far - the senior thesis show. 

I am honored to have shared the last two years of my college experience living with these wonderful ladies - the OG roommates. After having some far from ideal living situations, it was nice to have such amazing, drama-free ladies to live with. I never had to dread coming home to them and will miss the "roommates" chant every time we see each other in public. I don't know how I'm going to function without Gaby, specifically, teaching me how to be an adult and coming into my room, drunk, at 3am to wake me up and tell me things that I do not care about. She is a gem who keeps me sane and living with her for three years has been a blessing. 

Most importantly and above all, I am grateful for everything that my family has done for me. My parents made my dreams possible. I am too beyond fortunate that they allowed me to come all the way to Los Angeles to attend the college of my dreams. They are full of constant love and support. I don't know what I would've done without my mother responding to my 3 am stress texts about how I'm dropping out of school and ending my life in a calm cool and collected manner, letting me know that the hard times will pass. My father is still convinced that I don't know where the library is but I'd like to wave my 3.51 GPA in his face to let him know that I didn't need a library to bring home honors. That's "whats haaaapppeninnnn, dude." I could never thank them enough for all that they have provided me with but, mostly, the money for food so that I never had to try ramen. 

Then there's my diva sister, Fiona, who was always the first to jump at the chance to tell me when I was being dramatic or when I needed to change my profile picture because it wasn't cool enough for college. I'll never forget her first piece of college advice that she gave to me at my freshman orientation - she told me that I had to eat the bun on my hamburger because, if I didn't, I wouldn't make any friends. It was tough, but I learned how to eat buns on my meat and I would've never made this step to adulthood if it wasn't for her pushing me and threatening me with a lack of friends. She has been my best friend and motivator since day one of my life. She is my ride or die. Womb to tomb. Squad goals. I am lucky to have had her by my side throughout this crazy experience. 

 

So that was that, we fucking did it. 

I mean, I graduated with honors from an amazing university... but like, it's whatever.

OOTD: BEST DRESSED.

I bitched.

I moaned.

I fucking NAILED IT. 

On April 20, 2015, as the Parliamentarian of Delta Zeta took the stage to announce the best dressed award I squirmed in my seat. Before chapter, everyone had been quite loud about how flawless I was looking. I had just gotten a brand new ombré and had done my make up to match my outfit. I was wearing a brand new neon pink and white skirt with a shiny, J Crew blouse, neon pink beads with diamonds on my necklace, and new pointed-toe heels that I had literally gone to buy that morning to secure my spot as best dressed. Let me tell you, it was worth it. She looked around the room, holding the sash and tiara high for all to gawk at, and announced "the best dressed award goes to Maura Oates."

I screamed.

Everyone around me screamed.

It was a Christmas miracle! 

I ran to the stage to accept the award that has always been rightfully mine. I took the sash and tiara out of her hands and put it on before even returning to my seat. Everyone was cheering for me, knowing how badly I have always wanted this. "Give us a twirl!" the president of my sorority shouted from the stage. I gave a twirl with the fattest smile on my face and responded "I'm never giving this back" while holding on tight to my tiara. Everyone laughed, as if I was joking, but I would've worn that plastic piece of trash every day of my life if I could. 

Senior Thesis: Process

It all started with an idea.

I wanted to create a thesis around something that had been very personal and close to me throughout college. I though long and hard about what that could be - Culture? Family? Going to college far away? An interest? A club? I thought constantly, day and night, trying to come up with something that would not only be meaningful to me but meaningful to others who saw it. I wanted it to be close to home while being broad enough that others could understand it and be affected by it. 

I settled on social anxiety. 

In my art history classes, I love learning about conceptual pieces - pieces that are based around an idea. I love learning about pieces that explain an idea to people visually. I am a visual learner, so I love art that can teach me about something I don't understand through something that I do understand.

So I chose balloons.

Balloons, commonly seen at parties or social gatherings of a lot of people, are something that everyone understands. When filled with helium, they float; however, after they have been floating for a couple days, they begin to deflate and fall. Eventually, they fall to the floor, empty.

This was my metaphor.

People who suffer from social anxiety are the balloons at social gatherings. The level of deflation symbolizes how draining these events can be for people that suffer from this crippling anxiety. As someone who struggles with the irrational fear of social events, I know how draining it is to be in large groups of people, even long before I arrive. People who don't understand think I'm being stupid and dramatic and, while I know that most of the time I am, I cannot stop it. There is something different in my brain that makes me anxious in the face of social situations and there is nothing that I can do about it. The balloons are covered in phrases that are commonly said to people with anxiety by others who do not feel the same way. So I made this piece to translate this anxiety to people who don't understand using common items that they could understand. 

To those who suffer, it is comforting. For those who do not, it is educational.  

The original idea was to create each balloon out of clay so, when fired, they would demonstrate the fragility of anxiety disorders. I figured out a system of how to make plaster casts of a balloon and was later going to fill them each with clay and fire them. WRONG. Wanna know something funny? Balloons float. Plaster is thick. Plaster leaks. Plaster SUCKS. 

So after several long hours in the studio and an entirely ruined floor (thanks, plaster) I gave up. I decided to seek the guidance of a ceramics professor.

Well, too many weeks deep into the semester, the ceramics professor told me that I couldn't do that, essentially, because there was not enough room in the kiln for the volume of my project. COOL. 

It was on a bad day as well. One of those days when absolutely nothing was going my way. At the time I was 6 days off my anti-depressants which was making me real unpleasant and incredible amount of uneasy. I was off them because I had found out that they were newly $800 so that was not making things easier. It was the day before my painting was due for painting class. It was the day I was supposed to drive all the way to my dream grad school to sit in on a class and try to be pleasant enough to make them want to accept me. It was a day when A LOT was going on. Too many assignments and too many life things to find out the news - "you need to start your thesis from scratch." As if I hadn't already spent hours of my life and weeks of my semester and plenty of my dollars on this project - it was all in the trash. 

So I drank.

And then I came up with a much cheaper and easier solution - papier-mâché.

For a solid three months, I entirely took over the living room of my house to make a gross mess of glue and stolen newspapers. 

 After the paper was all properly mâchéd, I would gesso the balloon. After that, each would get sprayed in silver (until I ran out... then they'd get sprayed in another color. Silver was the goal though.) 

 After they were sprayed with silver, I would cut out tape and mark off shapes or letters on each balloon and spray them again with a fun, vibrant color. 

I probably (definitely) lost a ton of years off my life spray painting in my backyard. 

 I was constantly covered in spray paint and freaking out over my deadline. 

Times were tough and time was tight.

But I finished on time! I even had a few days to spare! So as soon as we got access to the gallery, I put my piece in immediately. I got the perfect spot - exactly where I wanted. 

As originally planned, I spread the balloons all over the floor so that people would be able to walk through the project. However, I felt pretty 'meh' about the arrangement and really bummed about the giant white wall behind my piece. I wished that I had created a painting or something to go on it. But I was done... or so I thought... 

Of course I wasn't done! But of course my teacher did not tell me until the day before my thesis gallery opening at 2 pm. Yes, 2pm doesn't seem so bad, but its pretty bad when you have to babysit at 5pm and wont get back until 11pm and have to go to Home Depot to get materials and learn how to install a ton of shit and basically live a friggin nightmare. 

So my teacher agreed that the wall was too empty - we decided that it would be best to hang cascading balloons down the wall. This is an idea that I had had many times but couldn't figure out how to get it to work while I was too stressed about creating the pieces to begin with. I couldn't hang anything if there was nothing to hang, you feel me? 

But I went to Home Depot and got some dowels and clear fishing wire and hung each balloon by creating a small hole in the back. 

I created a wall of cascading balloons based on how much air had "deflated" out of them. I  kept a few on the ground to make the piece feel as if it was coming out into space. It was a piece that you could walk through and be apart of. 

In the end, after a very long, stressful night, my piece was ready to be shown. The gallery opened and there was an incredibly positive response. I felt beyond proud of how my piece came out. Similarly, I was proud of all of my classmates. Everyone created such outstanding, unique projects that were individually and collectively astounding. I, to this day, feel honored to have been able to work with this group of people and get their feedback and support throughout this stressful process. We were all on the same level, freaking out, so it felt incredible to be able to share this journey with funny, intelligent, and crazy people. "Reflect," our Senior Thesis show in the Thomas P Kelly Student Art Gallery, was a perfect reflection of my final semester as a senior at Loyola Marymount University and I doubt I will ever stop being proud of the piece and friends that I made along the way.  

Night Two in Vegas!

Regardless of the fact that I didn't drink on night one in Vegas, waking up was a struggle and a half. Apparently that's what happens when you stay out until 3 in the morning, dancing until you can't feel your legs anymore. But after several naps, it was time to get our butts up and do it all over again. I put on my "hot pants," what everyone referred to my shorts as, and a velvet, long-sleeve crop top with some booties. My favorite part was the wine shade lipstick. I made me look like I could murder someone which is the aesthetic that I most enjoy. 

As I entered the bathroom where my friends were getting ready, I asked if I looked fat. I don't think that fat is something that my body can physically produce so why I could ask such a stupid question is beyond me. Jordan, pretty disgusted with me, responded by yelling that I looked like an infant. She corrected herself, "but a sexy infant!" I mean, I guess that's what I'm going for at this point in my life. the sexy infant look. I felt pretty good about it though so, after an obvious bad-bitch, hallway mirror pic, we loaded the taxi and headed to Chippendales. 

What's a ladies trip to Vegas without some male strippers? To be honest, I wouldn't know because I've only been once and that one time, we went to Chippendales. Let me tell you, it was quite the show. I made sure to sit next to Steph who was just as uncomfortable about the whole situation as I was and we basically grabbed each other for dear life every time someone began to take their clothes off. We also grabbed each other for dear life when the preppy stripper came out because obviously that is the dream and we needed to keep ourselves grounded. 

After the show, I spent the best $10 of my life - sitting on the lap of a Chippendale's stripper for a photo. My mother didn't quite approve and my boyfriend approved so much less, but I'm an strong independent woman of a very pale color and I thought it was a fucking blast and a half.  After sharing with my boyfriend how much fun I had at the show he, upset, told me "what happens in Vegas is supposed to stay in Vegas." Well, shit. 

Chippendales was just the pregame. After the show we made our way to the Bellagio for more VIP service at Hyde. We rolled up in style with half naked women with glow sticks and big DZ letters cheering for us. I could definitely get used to this. Also the free juice - I, again, was definitely interested in the free juice. 

Our bottle wench (that's probably a rude thing to call her...) kept asking me if I wanted a drink and, after rejecting her several times, I finally asked "is it weird if I just ask for cranberry juice?" She happily poured me a vodka free glass and I told her my sob story about how I'm allergic to alcohol and she told me that she is too! A Christmas miracle! As we were now bonded as best friends, she continued to refill my cranberry juice every time I was low. It was honestly the dream. 

Jordan and I tried to take a photo of us looking flawless in the club when some girl decided to walk right in front of our photo. This is my real life reaction - try to deny the fact that I have the strongest side eye game. I mean, maybe I'm a bitch, but don't fucking walk in front of my photo when I'm looking this good? Rude. 

Amidst the dancing and drinking (unlimited juice), I looked out the window and saw that the Bellagio Fountains were on. I was in awe - low key, I used to YouTube them and watch how beautiful they were. To be able to see them from the inside of an amazing club while being fawned over with VIP service was the actual dream. I was freaking out. 

Then, the best part of the evening happened. The fucking ceiling started to rain money. I flipped. Apparently it isn't classy to take the money but, when the ceiling starts raining hundreds of dollars, who gives a fuck about being classy? Not this chick. I was so proud of myself when I caught two dollars. However, when it started to rain money again, I wasn't as cool, calm, or collected. I began to pick the money off the floor. I saw two more dollars by the foot of a large, very intimidating man, but two dollars is two dollars so I looked him dead in the eye and said "are you gunna take that...?" We both looked at the dollars lying on his shoe then looked back in each others eyes. Then, shamelessly, I bent down and took the two dollars and ran. I can't decide if it's one of my proudest moments or most embarrassing but I came out strong with a solid eight dollars. But here's where I get bad... The ceiling began to rain one last time and, as I was sober, small, and agile, I fucking dove for that shit. I was diving on the floor, scooping up dollar bills. They're all mine! The drunk girls tried to pick them up but they weren't as coordinated as me. I got all of the money. Jordan came up behind me and said "Maura, I just did something really Jewish... I just dove on the floor for a dollar bill." As I began to turn around, she saw that I easily had $40 in singles in my hands. I think I did a Jewish thing as well, my friend. But people were going nuts. These three girls at the table next to ours got a frickin kick out of me and asked to take my money hungry picture for their snapchat. High on cash fumes, I agreed, flaunting my money for the whole damn world to see. This is what pride feels like. 

The ceiling later rained glitter as we danced the night away. Steph got a flawlessly timed photo of her being fabulous in the club that I was very jealous of. Clearly, mine is not as flawless but a girl can dream. After another long night, it was time to head back and snack our faces off. Jordan and I were two of the last in the club so we headed home by ourselves, obviously stopping (as per always) at the slots (because she wouldn't let me play the table games). 

Remember that $40 that I got from the money-raining ceiling? Bye. Immediately. All of it. I figured, since it wasn't really my money, I might as well fucking loose it all. God, I love gambling. My mom always says - "I have one alcoholic and one with a gambling problem." Yep, that would be my sister and I, respectively. Every mother's dream. That picture of me on the right, being the happiest human that every existed, is a photo of me holding my voucher for $1.07. That 7 cents was the only profit I made throughout the whole trip which apparently "doesn't count" because I lost about $400. Jerks.

We made our way home and, when I woke up, all of my roommates had already went home. Which like wtf because I was AGAIN the only one who didn't drink and I was the only one who could not physically be bothered to wake up in the morning.  As I went to check out, disheveled and pretty ready to die, at 10 am, the hotel was playing fucking Party Rock Anthem. Do you want to know what no one in Vegas wants to hear at 10 am? Probably Party Rock Anthem. It was a rough one and a long drive home to my precious bed. But damn, it was fucking worth it. 

You win, Vegas. You win.