Customer Reviews

A Woman Who...

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2 star:		(1)
1 star:		(1)

 

 

I thoroughly enjoyed this little book! It was done in the spirit of good humor and creative possibilities--and revealed, in clever line drawings and in new ways, what "a woman who" might look like in several (often humorously) imagined situations. I think it makes a wonderful gift--I was much impressed at the uniqueness and artistic value of the sketches, given--and perhaps owing to--the constraints under which the artist placed herself.

I got this book for my birthday. I am an art student in California and a friend who knows I am interested in women's studies got it for me. all I could say was......ummmmmmm, okaaaaaaaaaay..... this book illustrates the concept that artists should know how to edit themselves. not everything you draw or write or sculpt should necessarily be published.... i really didn't find the drawings that interesting or funny. I mean, I flipped through it, and they were a little interesting but after that, I tossed the book aside and haven't picked it up since, unlike most of my favorite art books which never leave my bed table. This collection is probably better kept to the artist's personal collection rather than published for larger consumption. I thought it was kind of a waste.

By the way, I am selling my copy, so if anyone is interested in purchasing my copy please email me at ras106@pitt.edu. thanks!

Not since Dan Eldon's "The Journey is the Destination" has a book of art so profoundly affected me. Rebecca Miller's simple yet brilliant concept of drawing without looking has brought a new joy to my life. Her accidental discovery is a perfect solution for anyone who's self-critical about their ability to draw. Just look up at the ceiling. The result is nearly always hysterical and eerily insightful.

For months I pored over her hilarious drawings (e.g. "A woman who loves to suffer," one wobbly arm raised Evita-style) before I finally tried it myself. My collection of odd news stories (Man Shoots Lawnmower), and overheard conversations ("You KNOW I can't drink out of a blue glass ...) now has accompanying blind drawings. At coffee shops, I pull out paper, pens and prompts for friends. At work, our Blind Drawing Club illustrates office antics (Katie giving blood in the Bloodmobile). Shrieking laughter always follows. Thank you, thank you Ms. Miller for the fateful day you taped your eyes shut. And for letting the rest of us in on it.

I did not purchase this book, thankful for this in retrospect. But when a friend asked my opinion of it in a bookstore, like all books pertaining to art, I expected to see something that at least had some quality and evidence of artistic talent, even if I necessarily wouldn't have admired the content and style, or to be blown away by someone's artistic gift. I gasped, not in pleasure. Children draw better than this. This little book is a chronicle of the ugly...ugly, awkward drawings done with eyes taped shut, repulsive sketches of the artist's visions of her inner mind, some vulgar in content, unsettling in a non-throught provoking way like coming across a dead rodent's carcass on a New York curb. These pictures resemble doodles that might be found inside of an institution. Aside from that, it is an acute exercise in boredom. While the personal practice of blind drawing may be arguably entertaining, one can't help but feel that there are more riches to be found by drawing with eyes open--what pleases us, what we choose to capture, or even what we wished that we had the ability to capture, is far more revealing in the voyage of self-discovery. My overall impression at the end of this horrid little escapade was to say to the "artist," find thee some Prozac and, woman, have you no shame?