As a girl who’s struggled with memorization and has slight hearing issues, I am not sure how I landed a barista job, but I did.
Posts published in “The Doodling Duck”
The Doodling Duck is an Opinion culture column written and created by Pooja Rajadurai to discuss art as it relates to pop culture, trends, and students.
I got my eyebrows done for the first time in over a month when I went home for the long weekend.
My recent visit to the Whitney Museum of American Art included a tour of the Edward Hopper exhibition, a showing of a painter whom we might be faintly familiar with, but who has truly shaped the landscape of American art in irrefutable ways.
I found myself questioning a lot of things over break. It’s quite easy for me to get distracted and hyper-fixate and re-realize how big the world is.
Sometimes certain sentences from books I’ve read stay in my head. Randomly, they’ll come back to me. Like how when I add sugar to my lukewarm coffee, I’ll think about how Danny Conroy from Dutch House would have rather spent his time explaining to the woman who claimed his mother was still alive that her sugar would have melted faster if she had added it while her tea was still hot.
Yes, this is meant to mimic the notorious dialogue from the movie, Ten Things I Hate About You, a perfect example of the cultural nostalgic zeitgeist that longs for 90s romantic comedies (minus the DVDs and cis-white cast).
As important as art is to me now, I do not think it was this way my whole life. Yes, I am one of the kids who loved arts and crafts and even doodled everywhere since I could first remember.
As a little kid, I had been one of the kids to always look forward to the Scholastic Book Fairs which had books, magazines, those invisible pens, the notorious chocolate calculators (famous for their fake chocolate smell which I was not a fan of) and those obnoxious (and a bit pointless) pointer poles.
I’m not embarrassed to admit that color theory confuses me even as an art major. I wish I understood what truly makes colors work together.
Over the summer I read Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being, which felt to me as pretentious as the title of the book.