At the beginning of every week, on Monday morning, I do three things: 1) Have the breakfast of champions: coffee and homemade banana nut bread, 2) Search for jobs, 3) Think/worry about sculpture and usually google grad schools.
This weekend a friend told me he could get me a job at this new bar/restaurant up town. I was all for it until I strolled in there one night just to see the atmosphere. Not so good. Loud, obnoxious and obliterated college aged people and waitresses in super tiny jorts. Not to be a snob, but I don't deal with that very well. I loved bartending in the past but that was mainly because my customers were older adults. And I never had to clean up anyone's puke.
So thanks, friend, but I'm going to keep searching.
I've neglected any form of creating (other than baked goods) the past few weeks mostly due to teaching summer camp. Now that it's over I have a whole host of ideas to process and work out. Most of these pieces require tools that I don't have. So I'll have to put those on my workshop/audit/student worker list for the fall.
I've felt like a bum for not getting any work done lately, and I fear I will have lost whatever sculpture mentality (technical and conceptual) that I've previously built up. Hopefully not. The pressure and desire to make is always with me. Unfortunately, "real life" fills the creative gaps.
But now is the time to make and take time. To weed out real life nonsense and fill it with a sense of passion and creativity. And I need something to show for this summer besides crummy teacher examples.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Thoughts on The Dark Knight Rises
After waiting several months, I've finally seen Batman. Twice. And I may go another three or four or five times if anyone needs someone to go see it with.
Here are my thoughts about the final movie in the Dark Knight Trilogy:
(Warning...I may spoil some parts if you have not seen it yet.)
The film lasts two hours and forty minutes. It never felt that long until there were awkward (and slightly boring) stretches of dialogue, one in particular by Bane. There were a few scenes that appeared to be unimportant fillers. There was a lot of talk about the mechanics and physics of the atom bomb that were way over my head. I'm not so sure the kids in the theater could understand what was going on with the whole bomb situation. Despite that, I guess it was pretty black and white for them as to who was bad and who was good. But it probably did not matter because after about the second hour I noticed lots of little heads in mamas' laps. (I went with my little cousins last night and it took them a minute to understand who Officer Blake turned out to be, but once they did their faces lit up with excitement. It was cute).
So there's Bane, the bad guy, played by Tom Hardy. I thought the actor did pretty well but to his unfair advantage, it was a little difficult to look at him and have deep felt emotions because of the apparatus that covered his face the entire time. By emotions, I mean that there is obvious dislike against Bane (which later fuels to a feeling of hopeless surrender due to his merciless beating of Batman). But once we find out more about him it still leaves you feeling unfulfilled and indifferent about his character. I did not feel much sympathy for him as to why he has the breathing apparatus on his face (which you don't find out until later than you'd like). I also did not feel torn about him saving "the child" from death, as if he were to be looked upon as heroic. Maybe that's how I was supposed to be made to feel, but I still think a better bad guy could have existed. Other than his mask and size and power, he did not do much for me. The Joker is still the best bad guy.
On a positive note, I did like his accent and calm, slightly amused tone when he spoke.
Anne Hathaway played Catwoman/Selina Kyle and she was as beautiful as ever. She dressed like Holly Golightly, which I adored. However, she came off a little badly scripted. Her acting was fine but her script seemed weak. I did not see major chemistry between her and Batman, seeing as she does not have enough "good" to really be an equal. I assume that changes by the end of the film when they end up together (but does this seem a little forced, a little too expected?). Michelle Pfeiffer probably did better at being a darker Catwoman, but Anne Hathaway has the big eyed beauty and innocence that make her a more deceitful Catwoman.
The best thing about Rises is the cameo appearances and surprises. Since I saw the midnight movie on Thursday, I shared the room with other die hard fans. It was pretty fantastic because every time we saw a character reappear from previous Batmans or were shocked to find out who the actual bad guy was, we commented and reacted as a group. (CB didn't understand why we kept doing that so I later had to explain.) I'm not so sure about Henri Ducard's character coming back as immortal. He was placed there to tell us something important and maybe (I'd like to believe) that Bruce Wayne was just so dillusional which is how and why he saw him. The last five minutes of the movie were incredible, leaving you wanting more (which hopefully the Nolan brothers will give us in a couples years or so).
I was so sure that one of the frequent characters we love, Fox, Alfred, or Gordon, would not make it to the end of the trilogy. I'm happy to say that they all survived.
Speaking of Gordon, he and Batman have had one of my favorite relationships throughout the trilogy. Although Gordon is an ordinary man, Batman treats him almost as a capable equal. They help each other, giving ordinary citizens (the Gotham City Police especially) a bit of a heroic quality as well. Although Bruce Wayne appears to be an arrogant socialite, Batman is not. He is good through and through.
Someone asked me if I thought Christian Bale was good looking. And I do, but I'm not sure if it's because of who he is as an actor or if it's because he plays Batman. He is one of my favorite actors either way and the best Batman to date. He looks aged in Rises, which I think helps us further see Bruce Wayne as human.
I have other thoughts and I think you need to watch the movie more than once to really pick up on everything (especially the ending with the atom bomb- auto pilot, brillant!) but overall I enjoyed the final film. I do think Christopher Nolan was at his best on The Dark Knight (still my favorite). He tried to pack a lot in with Rises, maybe to up the second one and to make the audience feel a satisfied finality. I'm not sure if he succeeded but you should still go see it because the beauty in the film is that it leaves you feeling empowered and exhilirated.
And call me if you need someone to go with you.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Little boxes
This week finished up one of the art camps that I've been teaching at-Glory, Hallelujah! It has dragged on but I still thought I had a good bit of summer left until CB reminded me that September is less than two months away.
Most of the projects I planned for this group of kids were not that great, seeing as how I didn't make it through the student teaching part of MAT and I always underestimate with older kids and overestimate with younger ones. However, to give myself some credit, the kids didn't listen to anything I said during the whole camp. I was the Charlie Brown teacher. Woanh woanh woanh. But it didn't really matter what they did because it turns out that the whole camp is more of a babysitting service anyway. So I tried to make sure they didn't kill each other, or that I didn't kill them (which would have been more likely). One project that I thought would be fun to at least experiment with was clay. I don't have too much knowledge of clay but I thought, how hard could it be? I once heard an art teacher say that they love the idea of teaching clay but it was always disastrous. Well, they were right.
The kids did not listen to me when I told them how to scratch and score. Handles were falling off of mugs left and right. They didn't listen to me when I told them how important it was to add air holes to thick pieces because it will bust if you don't. The kids made some desserts (pies, ice cream, etc) with the clay. When I opened the kiln after the pieces had been fired, I just had to laugh. Ice cream had combusted all over other shelves. Pies had been demolished. I wish I could have been inside that kiln to hear and see the explosion of clay that occurred. It may be cruel, but I didn't get upset or even care at all when I told the kids some pieces had broken and then heard them moan and raise their eyebrows, in hopes that it wasn't theirs. Maybe next time they'll listen.
Aside from making desserts, bowls, and mugs out of clay, the middle school kids got to make whistles. I had not made one before but I saw enough of them online to think that I could do it. It was also a good time saver while everyone else was finishing their desserts. The whole time they were working on the whistles I thought of two things: 1) I hope these things work. 2) If they don't work, I hope they blow up in the kiln so I won't have to deal with these little assholes telling me that they don't work and basically confronting what a sucky teacher I am.
And guess what? Not a single whistle blew up, and not a single whistle works.
To make a short story long, and to get to the point of this post, I had to deliver the ceramics to and from the camp center and the art building up town. I've been extremely organized during this camp by keeping boxes around to load and contain supplies. I must have had seven boxes of ceramics that I had to load and unload. One day I made some of my unruly older boys help put boxes in my car and clean the room, thinking it would be a punishment. Instead, they were looking in my car, trying to see remnants of my life outside of camp, and begging me to let them vacuum.
Three women at the front desk of the camp center watched me try to wiggle a hand free from holding the boxes to open the door, then use my hip to push it all the way open so I could scurry out, then try to juggle it on my knee again to open my car gate. All the while they stared at me and never even offered to open the door.
At the arts building, a guy that looked about my age was on his cell phone not forty feet away from me and silently watched as I did the whole load/unload charade again.
What is wrong with people?
Boxes have been making me anxious ever since I moved all of my small boxes of belongings in to a rather large, cube box that is a storage unit. I might have mentioned that that is where all of my belongings are. Every time I need something out of there I open it up and either cry or make myself take deep breaths. It's not just that I feel like a stage five hoarder, or that I cannot get to my tangible things; it's what the boxes represent.
Whenever the door goes up, it's as if the inside of the unit screams at me,making my hair flow back cartoon-like. It's as if it is children screaming at a mother who abandoned them, saying, "When are you going to get it together??? You need your own place! How old are you again?? You put so much value and money in to us and now you're neglecting us!" Or something very dramatic like that with some humorous imagery reinforcing it.
Both box situations, the lack of another set of hands and the storing away of my belongings, seem to represent help. I need help physically (though most of the time I don't ask for it). I need help standing on my own two feet, which is why I live with Auntie. I know the day will come when I can have my independence back, when the storage unit key will be turned in and my boxes will be at peace with me. And I will momentarily think that means that I've "got it together," at least for a little while.
Until then, I'm purging the boxes in my room and clearing out some space. The future will be open.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_2lGkEU4Xs
(This is the background song that plays when shuffling boxes)
Most of the projects I planned for this group of kids were not that great, seeing as how I didn't make it through the student teaching part of MAT and I always underestimate with older kids and overestimate with younger ones. However, to give myself some credit, the kids didn't listen to anything I said during the whole camp. I was the Charlie Brown teacher. Woanh woanh woanh. But it didn't really matter what they did because it turns out that the whole camp is more of a babysitting service anyway. So I tried to make sure they didn't kill each other, or that I didn't kill them (which would have been more likely). One project that I thought would be fun to at least experiment with was clay. I don't have too much knowledge of clay but I thought, how hard could it be? I once heard an art teacher say that they love the idea of teaching clay but it was always disastrous. Well, they were right.
The kids did not listen to me when I told them how to scratch and score. Handles were falling off of mugs left and right. They didn't listen to me when I told them how important it was to add air holes to thick pieces because it will bust if you don't. The kids made some desserts (pies, ice cream, etc) with the clay. When I opened the kiln after the pieces had been fired, I just had to laugh. Ice cream had combusted all over other shelves. Pies had been demolished. I wish I could have been inside that kiln to hear and see the explosion of clay that occurred. It may be cruel, but I didn't get upset or even care at all when I told the kids some pieces had broken and then heard them moan and raise their eyebrows, in hopes that it wasn't theirs. Maybe next time they'll listen.
Aside from making desserts, bowls, and mugs out of clay, the middle school kids got to make whistles. I had not made one before but I saw enough of them online to think that I could do it. It was also a good time saver while everyone else was finishing their desserts. The whole time they were working on the whistles I thought of two things: 1) I hope these things work. 2) If they don't work, I hope they blow up in the kiln so I won't have to deal with these little assholes telling me that they don't work and basically confronting what a sucky teacher I am.
And guess what? Not a single whistle blew up, and not a single whistle works.
To make a short story long, and to get to the point of this post, I had to deliver the ceramics to and from the camp center and the art building up town. I've been extremely organized during this camp by keeping boxes around to load and contain supplies. I must have had seven boxes of ceramics that I had to load and unload. One day I made some of my unruly older boys help put boxes in my car and clean the room, thinking it would be a punishment. Instead, they were looking in my car, trying to see remnants of my life outside of camp, and begging me to let them vacuum.
Three women at the front desk of the camp center watched me try to wiggle a hand free from holding the boxes to open the door, then use my hip to push it all the way open so I could scurry out, then try to juggle it on my knee again to open my car gate. All the while they stared at me and never even offered to open the door.
At the arts building, a guy that looked about my age was on his cell phone not forty feet away from me and silently watched as I did the whole load/unload charade again.
What is wrong with people?
Boxes have been making me anxious ever since I moved all of my small boxes of belongings in to a rather large, cube box that is a storage unit. I might have mentioned that that is where all of my belongings are. Every time I need something out of there I open it up and either cry or make myself take deep breaths. It's not just that I feel like a stage five hoarder, or that I cannot get to my tangible things; it's what the boxes represent.
Whenever the door goes up, it's as if the inside of the unit screams at me,making my hair flow back cartoon-like. It's as if it is children screaming at a mother who abandoned them, saying, "When are you going to get it together??? You need your own place! How old are you again?? You put so much value and money in to us and now you're neglecting us!" Or something very dramatic like that with some humorous imagery reinforcing it.
Both box situations, the lack of another set of hands and the storing away of my belongings, seem to represent help. I need help physically (though most of the time I don't ask for it). I need help standing on my own two feet, which is why I live with Auntie. I know the day will come when I can have my independence back, when the storage unit key will be turned in and my boxes will be at peace with me. And I will momentarily think that means that I've "got it together," at least for a little while.
Until then, I'm purging the boxes in my room and clearing out some space. The future will be open.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_2lGkEU4Xs
(This is the background song that plays when shuffling boxes)
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
A not-so-secret secret
I love superhero films. Always have. I don't have too much knowledge about the actual comics but I love the movies. And have become a self proclaimed superhero film snob.
Reasons why they are awesome:
The dichotomy of someone who has a superpower yet has to realize when and how to use it for good and what defines "good" according to him/her versus how the people of the city define it.
The tumultuous love between the hero and the one that they know they cannot ever fully be with. The selflessness that not only affects the person(s) that he/she loves, but affects the entire city as well.
The shocking reality of death. Whenever someone dies, I am always surprised that their time is up (even though it is expected) and still secretly think that they will come back to life or that they can be saved. But they can't. And that is what makes the superhero such a tortured soul: seeing the people that they love die and knowing that is has to be that way (I'm still mourning the loss of Uncle Ben and the good cops/detectives that never make it to the end).
The duplicit darkness. Not the kind of darkness that was in Watchmen (the whole almost/kinda rape thing was just too much). But the duplicity of the hero. The Dark Knight is my favorite and that movie exemplified a hero that the city turned on and caused him to hide and wait for the right time to come back and save it. He almost has to hide from himself. I imagine it becomes hard and confusing to be smoking hot Bruce Wayne one minute then masked Batman the next.
I tear up, my hands get clammy, I gasp, I laugh, I bite my nails...all emotions are covered for approximately two hours with no interruptions. It forces you to feel.
For a minute, you feel as if you are actually a part of the problem and your input will help solve it. You yell at the people to "Run faster!", "Dismantle the bomb already!" And when they don't, "Idiots!!"
This ridiculous sort-of-secret did not come out of the blue. I saw The Amazing Spider-man tonight.
I was wary about seeing it at all but I ended up with nothing to do tonight. The first Spider-Man with Tobey Maguire was good. But then he kind of turned in to a goobhead and never had the looks to pull it off anyway. Enter Andrew Garfield. I was hesitant about him too, mostly because he seemed so young. But he turned out to be a total cutie (with fantastic arms) and a great Spider-man. He cries without becoming a sap like Maguire did, therefore making it seem more realistic. I think little boys will especially be drawn to him. This one also features Emma Stone and who doesn't love her?
I'm stoked about The Dark Knight Rises and I'm sure I'll be posting about it immediately after seeing it. When I bought The Dark Knight, I watched it once every few days for a couple of months. I still drop everything if I see it's on television. The cast is phenomenal. I'm hoping that Anne Hathaway will do Catwoman justice in the new one. Michelle Pfeiffer was terrific in the role in Batman Returns. Although Julie Newmar has been the hottest to play her, she had the Bond girl look about her that brought a little class to the role.
When will come the day that a woman plays the superhero in a film of her own, not just as a supporting character? The supporting female characters always seem to just be sneaky and/or sexy. (Scarlett Johansson, put your boobs up already. Bleh.) Really? That's it? Come on. Women can be badass too! I may have a date with myself to go see Brave next week. It's a Disney/Pixie film about a young, Irish heroine, complete with flowing ginger locks. I'll give them credit for this movie but I'm still waiting to see a real person play a heroine.
If ever I should hear about a role opening for a leading lady superhero, I'm auditioning...with plenty of suggestions.
Side note: When the moment rarely occurs that I do think about having children, I think about having boys. That way my weird obsession with superheroes will be justified. Or perhaps I'll end up having coolest little girl in the world.
Reasons why they are awesome:
The dichotomy of someone who has a superpower yet has to realize when and how to use it for good and what defines "good" according to him/her versus how the people of the city define it.
The tumultuous love between the hero and the one that they know they cannot ever fully be with. The selflessness that not only affects the person(s) that he/she loves, but affects the entire city as well.
The shocking reality of death. Whenever someone dies, I am always surprised that their time is up (even though it is expected) and still secretly think that they will come back to life or that they can be saved. But they can't. And that is what makes the superhero such a tortured soul: seeing the people that they love die and knowing that is has to be that way (I'm still mourning the loss of Uncle Ben and the good cops/detectives that never make it to the end).
The duplicit darkness. Not the kind of darkness that was in Watchmen (the whole almost/kinda rape thing was just too much). But the duplicity of the hero. The Dark Knight is my favorite and that movie exemplified a hero that the city turned on and caused him to hide and wait for the right time to come back and save it. He almost has to hide from himself. I imagine it becomes hard and confusing to be smoking hot Bruce Wayne one minute then masked Batman the next.
I tear up, my hands get clammy, I gasp, I laugh, I bite my nails...all emotions are covered for approximately two hours with no interruptions. It forces you to feel.
For a minute, you feel as if you are actually a part of the problem and your input will help solve it. You yell at the people to "Run faster!", "Dismantle the bomb already!" And when they don't, "Idiots!!"
This ridiculous sort-of-secret did not come out of the blue. I saw The Amazing Spider-man tonight.
I'm stoked about The Dark Knight Rises and I'm sure I'll be posting about it immediately after seeing it. When I bought The Dark Knight, I watched it once every few days for a couple of months. I still drop everything if I see it's on television. The cast is phenomenal. I'm hoping that Anne Hathaway will do Catwoman justice in the new one. Michelle Pfeiffer was terrific in the role in Batman Returns. Although Julie Newmar has been the hottest to play her, she had the Bond girl look about her that brought a little class to the role.
When will come the day that a woman plays the superhero in a film of her own, not just as a supporting character? The supporting female characters always seem to just be sneaky and/or sexy. (Scarlett Johansson, put your boobs up already. Bleh.) Really? That's it? Come on. Women can be badass too! I may have a date with myself to go see Brave next week. It's a Disney/Pixie film about a young, Irish heroine, complete with flowing ginger locks. I'll give them credit for this movie but I'm still waiting to see a real person play a heroine.
If ever I should hear about a role opening for a leading lady superhero, I'm auditioning...with plenty of suggestions.
Side note: When the moment rarely occurs that I do think about having children, I think about having boys. That way my weird obsession with superheroes will be justified. Or perhaps I'll end up having coolest little girl in the world.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Cleaning the cobwebs
My best friend, Ember, is leaving. She's moving back home to begin a new chapter in her life. She just finished her Master's degree and will hope to begin teaching art in a public school in the upstate.
In a town full of people that I've found to be insincere and aloof, Ember has been my one constant that goes against all of those things. Our friendship has always been based on honesty, openness, and never having to fear that being yourself will be frowned upon or judged (which is why we are the two silliest girls around). I have tried not to think about her leaving but she just called to say she's coming to town to start cleaning out her place.
One of her pieces of art in the show for her Master's was a window. I know, windows are typical in art. I've said before that windows are to sculpture what trains (and maybe flowers) are to photography. We've seen them a dozen times. But hers spoke to me as something different, maybe because I know her and I know the stories.
She found her old window from a dumpster on the way to the Dixie. The thought of her going near a garbage dump much less reaching inside of it to pull this window is hysterical. (She's terrified of nature and doesn't go for the messy either). She weaved webs in the corners of the frames using yarn and broke and cracked the glass in others. Minimal color was used, which is also very unlike her; she has a Disney palate in almost all of her other artwork.
I won't go in to the entire concept of this piece because that's for her to do and I wouldn't want my thoughts to influence anyone else's about a piece that isn't mine. But I will say something that she mentioned during a critique of the piece. She said that she knew this chapter of her life was coming to an end and that she still had things she needed to work on that she had put off during the last year(s). She claimed she needed to "clean the cobwebs in the corners" that had been piling up.
Like skeletons in closets, don't we all also have cobwebs in the corners? I know I do. I pray for those webs quite a bit. Mostly, I pray that I will find peace with their prescence and not fight the formation of them. Because who really can? It's only human nature to shove things aside, to deal with them later. And then you think that they're gone only because you've forgotten about them for a bit until they rear their ugly head again. And then that's all you can think about.
My friend Sayrah and I recently had dinner. We were discussing relationships and such and one of us said, "How do you get over something? How do people do it?" How do you clean webs that you've so dearly and secretly loved to look at? Which has led me to think that we never really "get over" anything. It's true that time heals and helps our memories lie down or live, whichever we desire them to do. Memories are like old toys, you take them out of their boxes in the shed, dust them off, let the touch of them remind you of a time long ago, a time when you didn't know as much, then let them entertain you for a while, then put them up until you remember that they are there later down the road. They look great and desirable even though we are well past the age of playing with them. But do we "get over" these old toys? Not really. Getting over sounds too much like giving up. Maybe we should say we "matured" these things instead.
"I matured that old boyfriend because he wanted to spend time playing video games all day."
"I matured being friends with her because she had too much drama."
That sounds better to me. It sounds fair, as if every party involved had a chance to meet you at the newfound place of Growing Up Land and chose to come along or stay behind.
But back to cobwebs. This previous weekend's beach trip was not so great. But one thing I did gain out of all of it was how much I appreciate silence and alone time. I walked on the beach, away from the group, for a couple of hours. It was serene, like a backbround on a computer screen. I didn't allow myself to think about the group behind me, the boyfriend behind me, new ideas for sculpture, what everyone back home was doing, what life was going to be like when I returned. Instead, I stayed present. I've finally learned how to sit on the beach without getting sand in my bikini bottoms so I did that for a while. I watched the water rush in and blanket my hand while it sank in the sand. I saw the little holes in the sand make small bubbles when the tide rolled over them. (Although this did make me cautious because I'd already been pinched by a crab the first day there and was terrified that they were all out to get me after that.)
Silence. Touch. Warmth.
It was nice. I wish I could do it once a week.
There's a line in Pulp Fiction where Mia Wallace/Uma Thurman says something about knowing you've found someone special when you can, "Just shut the f**k up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence." I'm not so sure about knowing if that makes someone special, but I do know how it feels to shut up and enjoy the silence.
I've started my silence, my cleaning of the cobwebs, my reformation, my understanding of what is okay and what's not okay in my life, by deleting my facebook account. I'm sure you're thinking that is very trivial and meaningless. But it's not.
Facebook (and probably the other social network sites) is part of the reason that I think our society, my generation especially, is so disconnected from each other. You can say, "Hey girl, we need to catch up soon!" on facebook knowing that it is never going to happen but it sounds like a nice thing to say. And it has crept out from computer and cell phone screens into the real world. Hence, the lack of sincerity among us. I saw something on pinterest that said, "I'd rather have grown up with the hippies than with the cell phones."
Damn right.
So here's to wishing blessed while I discover these newly cleaned corners.
In a town full of people that I've found to be insincere and aloof, Ember has been my one constant that goes against all of those things. Our friendship has always been based on honesty, openness, and never having to fear that being yourself will be frowned upon or judged (which is why we are the two silliest girls around). I have tried not to think about her leaving but she just called to say she's coming to town to start cleaning out her place.
One of her pieces of art in the show for her Master's was a window. I know, windows are typical in art. I've said before that windows are to sculpture what trains (and maybe flowers) are to photography. We've seen them a dozen times. But hers spoke to me as something different, maybe because I know her and I know the stories.
She found her old window from a dumpster on the way to the Dixie. The thought of her going near a garbage dump much less reaching inside of it to pull this window is hysterical. (She's terrified of nature and doesn't go for the messy either). She weaved webs in the corners of the frames using yarn and broke and cracked the glass in others. Minimal color was used, which is also very unlike her; she has a Disney palate in almost all of her other artwork.
I won't go in to the entire concept of this piece because that's for her to do and I wouldn't want my thoughts to influence anyone else's about a piece that isn't mine. But I will say something that she mentioned during a critique of the piece. She said that she knew this chapter of her life was coming to an end and that she still had things she needed to work on that she had put off during the last year(s). She claimed she needed to "clean the cobwebs in the corners" that had been piling up.
Like skeletons in closets, don't we all also have cobwebs in the corners? I know I do. I pray for those webs quite a bit. Mostly, I pray that I will find peace with their prescence and not fight the formation of them. Because who really can? It's only human nature to shove things aside, to deal with them later. And then you think that they're gone only because you've forgotten about them for a bit until they rear their ugly head again. And then that's all you can think about.
My friend Sayrah and I recently had dinner. We were discussing relationships and such and one of us said, "How do you get over something? How do people do it?" How do you clean webs that you've so dearly and secretly loved to look at? Which has led me to think that we never really "get over" anything. It's true that time heals and helps our memories lie down or live, whichever we desire them to do. Memories are like old toys, you take them out of their boxes in the shed, dust them off, let the touch of them remind you of a time long ago, a time when you didn't know as much, then let them entertain you for a while, then put them up until you remember that they are there later down the road. They look great and desirable even though we are well past the age of playing with them. But do we "get over" these old toys? Not really. Getting over sounds too much like giving up. Maybe we should say we "matured" these things instead.
"I matured that old boyfriend because he wanted to spend time playing video games all day."
"I matured being friends with her because she had too much drama."
That sounds better to me. It sounds fair, as if every party involved had a chance to meet you at the newfound place of Growing Up Land and chose to come along or stay behind.
But back to cobwebs. This previous weekend's beach trip was not so great. But one thing I did gain out of all of it was how much I appreciate silence and alone time. I walked on the beach, away from the group, for a couple of hours. It was serene, like a backbround on a computer screen. I didn't allow myself to think about the group behind me, the boyfriend behind me, new ideas for sculpture, what everyone back home was doing, what life was going to be like when I returned. Instead, I stayed present. I've finally learned how to sit on the beach without getting sand in my bikini bottoms so I did that for a while. I watched the water rush in and blanket my hand while it sank in the sand. I saw the little holes in the sand make small bubbles when the tide rolled over them. (Although this did make me cautious because I'd already been pinched by a crab the first day there and was terrified that they were all out to get me after that.)
Silence. Touch. Warmth.
It was nice. I wish I could do it once a week.
There's a line in Pulp Fiction where Mia Wallace/Uma Thurman says something about knowing you've found someone special when you can, "Just shut the f**k up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence." I'm not so sure about knowing if that makes someone special, but I do know how it feels to shut up and enjoy the silence.
I've started my silence, my cleaning of the cobwebs, my reformation, my understanding of what is okay and what's not okay in my life, by deleting my facebook account. I'm sure you're thinking that is very trivial and meaningless. But it's not.
Facebook (and probably the other social network sites) is part of the reason that I think our society, my generation especially, is so disconnected from each other. You can say, "Hey girl, we need to catch up soon!" on facebook knowing that it is never going to happen but it sounds like a nice thing to say. And it has crept out from computer and cell phone screens into the real world. Hence, the lack of sincerity among us. I saw something on pinterest that said, "I'd rather have grown up with the hippies than with the cell phones."
Damn right.
So here's to wishing blessed while I discover these newly cleaned corners.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
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