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. 

Baby's First Night in Vegas!

At the ripe age of 22, I finally took my birthright trip to Las Vegas - a rite of passage for young people everywhere. Conveniently, I only live a few hours drive away and had my entire trip planned for me by someone else so all I had to do was pay $160 and pack my bags. We hopped in the car and headed from LA to LV and 4 hours of a lot of desert later, we arrived on the strip, not nearly as ready to party as we were to nap. HOWEVER, it was time to party so we suited up in our Monday best and hit the strip. 

We started the evening at PBR where the bow came off and I began to dance in cages. "When in Vegas," they say... "Tits out for Alfa Lloyd," as Jordan would say. The women of Delta Zeta were ready to fuckin go. After some drinks and a plate of potato skins, we were on the way to get our groove on. 

We were greeted by the shiny, fancy, expensive looking lobby of The Cosmopolitan. I already knew I was interested. This was what really sealed the deal for me after Steph described Vegas as "Disneyland for adults." Wasn't sure that Vegas was going to be for me but, let me frickin tell you, VIP treatment in any situation is DEFINITELY for me. Shoutout to JusCollege - you rock my world for this hook up. 

All 38 sorority girls walked into Marquee in style to be greeted by several women dancing for us in lingerie, ready to pour us drinks and be slaves to us for all hours of the night. As I am allergic to fun, however, I was pretty stoked about the unlimited juice that was provided by these sexy women. Jordan, not being allergic to fun, ran into the club declaring that she was ready to fight someone if we did not have more than 3 bottles. Jordan, later, (although we had unlimited bottles) found joy in pretending she was parts of other parties and drinking their alcohol. This is why she is bae. 

Amidst the dance floor, we were surrounded by some kind of old people corporate party. It was like fucking Brian's birthday or something so they all decided to rage. Raging the hardest of them all was an 80 year old Asian woman in a turtle neck. She was getting down with her bad, old self on the dance floor. It was incredible. What was even more incredible was when Jordan spotted her, she went up and danced with her!  I tried to capture the moment but grandma caught on and covered herself. Sad moment. 

The night was a lot of fun with a lot of friends. I got my dance on and enjoyed the confinement of our private table where creepy men could barely even look at me. That is something that I'm interested in - avoiding human interaction. After Jordan began to get violent with her light up stick and beating some random woman to get the fuck out of our private table, we decided it was best to leave. Also because we were hungry. (Mostly because we were hungry). On our walk back to the hotel we were greeted by a lot of interesting people. One guy approached us and said "hey, you ladies like to party?" I bluntly responded, "no. we hate parties." Jordan, even more bluntly, responded, "NO. WE ARE MORMONS. WE'RE HERE WITH OUR CHURCH. HOW DARE YOU?!" It was a truly magical moment.

We got back to the Paris Hotel and decided to gamble all of our money away on the slots because Jordan, REGARDLESS OF THE FACT THAT SHE GREW UP IN LAS VEGAS, had never gambled before. Which, as an excessive gambler, I found extremely offensive. I came out with a good ol' 7 cents and decided to call it a night. We grabbed some snacks and headed to the room. The room in which Jordan and I were sharing a bed. A bed in which she told me earlier in the night that "if she rolled over and found a bowl of pasta under her pillow, she was gunna be pissed." A BED IN WHICH SHE PROCEEDED TO MAKE IT CONFETTI COOL RANCH DORITOS IN! Ahh, life is an amazing thing, my friends. And Vegas is an amazing place. Night one was a success. 

Delta Sigma Phi Gets Chartered!

My boyfriend, a dashingly handsome member of the Delta Sigma Phi fraternity, recently had the honor of getting his chapter chartered on our campus. Apparently, according to him, this is all sorts of a big deal so there was a huge function on the Queen Mary. Such a big deal that I had to miss my own formal (on a smaller, more pathetic yacht #peasants) to attend it. As a bitter little brat of a girlfriend, I promised myself for months that I would not buy a new dress. But, as the spoiled princess I am, the day before formal I ran out to get a new dress. I found out (the day before because boys will be boys) that this was a black tie affair and, being a 21 year old who is not dating a rich, famous sugar daddy, I have really no idea what that entails. I was told, though, not to wear "a tight hoochie dress." Because I guess I own a lot of those because I'm a dirty harlot. K, ANYWAY. I thought maybe I needed to wear a black dress so I went to H&M to buy one. I didn't buy new shoes though! So I guess that's a positive!

Upon arriving at the Queen Mary, I decided that this function was definitely way too adult. I do not adult well. As my boyfriend and his fraternity brothers that I am friends with all abandoned me to do some weird ritual things that I'm not allowed to take part in, I had to mingle with some ladies. Want to know what I don't like? Mingling. Talking to strangers. Pretending to be social when I am the most starving, which I was. I was promised steak so I did not eat beforehand but LET ME TELL YOU, I should have eaten beforehand. But eventually we were allowed in to the ballroom where we were subjected to terribly boring speeches by old men about their beach house and parties back in the day. What a time to be alive.

Anyway, after the old people were good and done, they were kicked out so that the real party could start. As we all filed back into hotel rooms on the Queen Mary to get wasted, the old people made their way out so that the dancing could begin. However, it seems that everyone had the same idea as us because when we finally went back to the ballroom, there was a solid 4 people in there. Alas, drunk Cole decided to take it to the dance floor and bust a move. Classic. As he shook his booty to songs that I'm positive that he's never heard before, I stepped aside and took videos to later show to his roommates so that we could collectively make fun of him. Cole's dance moves are the equivalent to a dad at a barbecue. It is adorable. 

It was a great night of lookin good and being with the best guy in the venue as always. I frickin love that little nerd. Congrats on being a dad - a founding father of my favorite fraternity.