This morning
corrvin sent me a link to a Threads article wherein a woman had made itty bitty dolls of herself representing her annual self from birth on. It's a visual autobiography. The link was given with one of those *squee* type comments, but I was completely appalled. (Corr, don't take it personal-like, I'm not complaining about you. And I know you liked it for the sewing.)
WTF. It's a self-aggrandizing depiction of a woman no one would care about unless they knew her personally. She's not Thomas Jefferson or Hillary Clinton or LeBron James or Taylor Swift. There's really no reason this woman should have an autobiography. At least not while a single person bitches about how idiotic blogs and Twitter are because they talk about things no one cares about.
The fact that this project took the woman person-years of time to complete astounds me--- not that the amount of effort wasn't demonstrative, but that anyone would bother.
It's ugly.
I can spend 3 years of my life hand-dyeing macaroni pieces for a collage recreating my cat's best vomited upchucks, but it's not going to be worthwhile.
I know it's supposed to be art made from craft. But it's not elegant like a piece of handmade furniture. It's not useful like a dress or blanket.
All autobiographies are self-aggrandizing, inherently. But if I were to write one, there would be people asking who did I think I am? And that's how I feel about this.
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WTF. It's a self-aggrandizing depiction of a woman no one would care about unless they knew her personally. She's not Thomas Jefferson or Hillary Clinton or LeBron James or Taylor Swift. There's really no reason this woman should have an autobiography. At least not while a single person bitches about how idiotic blogs and Twitter are because they talk about things no one cares about.
The fact that this project took the woman person-years of time to complete astounds me--- not that the amount of effort wasn't demonstrative, but that anyone would bother.
It's ugly.
I can spend 3 years of my life hand-dyeing macaroni pieces for a collage recreating my cat's best vomited upchucks, but it's not going to be worthwhile.
I know it's supposed to be art made from craft. But it's not elegant like a piece of handmade furniture. It's not useful like a dress or blanket.
All autobiographies are self-aggrandizing, inherently. But if I were to write one, there would be people asking who did I think I am? And that's how I feel about this.