Where are you?
Because I am honestly getting impatient.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Lonely, Lonely
Water water on the seeds
To my left they rose and leaf
To my right cross Seven Seas
Maybe maybe they'll stay true
My seeds will cross and then take root
And leave you to an empty room
Lonely lonely that is you
Lonely lonely that is you
Paper paper obsolete
How will you reach out to me
I thought you'd ask me not to leave
Lonely lonely that is me
Lonely lonely that is me
Distance makes the heart grow weak
So that the mouth can barely speak
Except to those who hide their needs
And I have read the golden seal
That tell of how the seedlings feel
Reminds my heart what love can yield
By my only things are clear
Baby boy I'm staying here
Lonely lonely that was you
Lonely and so untrue
-Fiest
Friday, April 25, 2008
Abandoning Society
So here I am, asking the question that I've asked more than a dozen times since becoming a college student.
What is this world coming to?
When an "art student" at an Ivy League college can "artificially induce miscarriages" and use it (whatever part of it-- film? Photography? Hell, I don't care) as "ART" is the day I would rather crawl into a hole somewhere and not come out again.
I am seriously considering becoming a hermit.
It would be very lonely, but at the moment it appears the lesser of two evils.
This is what the art student, Aliza Shvart, is quoted as saying about her project:
"The reality of miscarriage is very much a linguistic and political reality, an act of reading constructed by an act of naming -- an authorial act. It is the intention of this piece to destabilize the locus of that authorial act, and in doing so, reclaim it from the heteronormative structures that seek to naturalize it." (courtesy of the Wall Street Journal.)
I'm just not going to comment on that at all, actually. My point with this post was simply to state my terror (not shock or outrage, I've already covered that; this is outright fear) caused by this one incident in general relation to today's culture.
This affects me deeply. It affects me deeply because I can see quite clearly how hurtful and destructive it is to other people. Of course, the obvious response from this individual is, "I wasn't hurting anyone" and she wasn't; not physically.
I just wonder why, when we have wars, school shootings, murder, suicide, hate crimes and children starving to death in third-world countries, why we have to harm each other emotionally this way too. This has the potential of being physically damaging to a number of people. I want to know why this Yale art student thinks it's necessary.
Perhaps there's some deep, underlying concept that I'm just not grasping.
I won't rail on and on about it, I promise. But as an art student, constantly submerged in the idea that art should be "shocking" (a word usually associated with the term avant-garde, which to me is just utter nonsense) and "provoking," I start to feel like I'm drowning in it.
I want to know what happened to art, that though challenging, was stimulating, that was constructive to society and culture-- that, I don't know, call me crazy-- actually reflected the good in ourselves? You know, the kind that held up a mirror to our souls and reflected an inkling of truth and beauty?
Pshah. Far be it from today's society to be at all interested in truth and beauty. That's so last century.
But I mean, if you want peace, happiness and tolerance--the kind of things that are currently considered chic to today's activists-- it CANNOT BE A ONE-WAY STREET. We can't just promise to not blow each other up. Respect for life includes respect for each other's sensibilities. Why do you demand acceptance and tolerance from me but then turn around and slap me in the face with this shite?
Okay, I can handle Duchamp and his urinal "fountain" and Piero Manzoni's crud-in-a-can, but honestly, this is on an entirely different level.
And, though I hate to say it, because far be it from me to judge what should be considered art, this really makes me want to give up on the whole thing. If I'm to be associated, as an art student, with this stuff, than you can forget it.
Alright, alright, alright. I know.
It's childish and impractical. And abandoning my one passion in life would mean losing a voice against this nonsense in the art world.
Lord have mercy on us all.
What is this world coming to?
When an "art student" at an Ivy League college can "artificially induce miscarriages" and use it (whatever part of it-- film? Photography? Hell, I don't care) as "ART" is the day I would rather crawl into a hole somewhere and not come out again.
I am seriously considering becoming a hermit.
It would be very lonely, but at the moment it appears the lesser of two evils.
This is what the art student, Aliza Shvart, is quoted as saying about her project:
"The reality of miscarriage is very much a linguistic and political reality, an act of reading constructed by an act of naming -- an authorial act. It is the intention of this piece to destabilize the locus of that authorial act, and in doing so, reclaim it from the heteronormative structures that seek to naturalize it." (courtesy of the Wall Street Journal.)
I'm just not going to comment on that at all, actually. My point with this post was simply to state my terror (not shock or outrage, I've already covered that; this is outright fear) caused by this one incident in general relation to today's culture.
This affects me deeply. It affects me deeply because I can see quite clearly how hurtful and destructive it is to other people. Of course, the obvious response from this individual is, "I wasn't hurting anyone" and she wasn't; not physically.
I just wonder why, when we have wars, school shootings, murder, suicide, hate crimes and children starving to death in third-world countries, why we have to harm each other emotionally this way too. This has the potential of being physically damaging to a number of people. I want to know why this Yale art student thinks it's necessary.
Perhaps there's some deep, underlying concept that I'm just not grasping.
I won't rail on and on about it, I promise. But as an art student, constantly submerged in the idea that art should be "shocking" (a word usually associated with the term avant-garde, which to me is just utter nonsense) and "provoking," I start to feel like I'm drowning in it.
I want to know what happened to art, that though challenging, was stimulating, that was constructive to society and culture-- that, I don't know, call me crazy-- actually reflected the good in ourselves? You know, the kind that held up a mirror to our souls and reflected an inkling of truth and beauty?
Pshah. Far be it from today's society to be at all interested in truth and beauty. That's so last century.
But I mean, if you want peace, happiness and tolerance--the kind of things that are currently considered chic to today's activists-- it CANNOT BE A ONE-WAY STREET. We can't just promise to not blow each other up. Respect for life includes respect for each other's sensibilities. Why do you demand acceptance and tolerance from me but then turn around and slap me in the face with this shite?
Okay, I can handle Duchamp and his urinal "fountain" and Piero Manzoni's crud-in-a-can, but honestly, this is on an entirely different level.
And, though I hate to say it, because far be it from me to judge what should be considered art, this really makes me want to give up on the whole thing. If I'm to be associated, as an art student, with this stuff, than you can forget it.
Alright, alright, alright. I know.
It's childish and impractical. And abandoning my one passion in life would mean losing a voice against this nonsense in the art world.
Lord have mercy on us all.
Monday, April 21, 2008
A Delicate Reflection on the Various Facts of Life
Why do bad things happen to good people?
My roommate's grandfather died today, very suddenly. A sadder thing couldn't have happened to a nicer person.
It makes me realize what kind of a person I am. I mean... it's important to know yourself, right? Not that I do, really... but let me tell you, I'm really really bad at knowing what to say in tragic times. At funerals, I mostly just cry. I usually choke on my words. But how many times can people say 'I'm sorry?'
I remember early this school year a memorial I attended in the campus chapel. Some friends and I gathered to lead a rosary service for the family of a student who died. I didn't realize who the person was until I saw her picture. I didn't know her--not really, but she and I lived just down the hall from each other our freshman year. Yet, sitting and listening to the things people said... the tears came down my face and they wouldn't stop. I mean... I wasn't sobbing or weeping; in a strange way, I didn't feel I had the right to. But still it was like someone turned on a faucet behind my eyes.
Relay for life was this past weekend and for the kick-off, a girl (whom I also happened to live down the hall from freshman year) gave her testimony of her fight with cancer. She said, something to the effect of, we as twenty-something young people, we know we're going to die, eventually. It's a fact of life. Still we don't actually realize it until something really happens to remind us. (She got a standing ovation as she left the stage.)
So today, right up to when I found out about what happened to my roommate, I had been worrying and complaining about all of the papers and presentations and projects I had to finish; all that work. And then I felt so ridiculous for fussing about it all-- how stupid are all these little minuscule things that everyone has to deal with, when such bigger, life-shaking and heart-breaking things are happening. It makes me wish I could put things into perspective like this more often. Especially when bigger things are happening to the people I care about, and I'm too self-centered to notice.
I told one of my friends earlier this year that I didn't make a new year's resolution; I never do because they're stupid. But actually I did... it just sounded too self-righteous to say aloud. But I want to pay attention more, talk about myself less, notice when my friends and family are upset or hurting, and learn to be more easy-going. I want only the important things to affect me. Because in the long run, why get upset about-- for example, just today in class-- a person who regularly sits next to you and her obnoxious eating habits? Pshah.
Oh yeah, and here's a big one: praying more. And reaching out to others. And... pulling them in with you. (hey, you can reach out to people, but you're still just reaching. And you can reach out and "touch" people. But that's just a touch. Sometimes-- especially in college-- you gotta reach out, grab hold and not let go. If someone were drowning and you were on shore, would you let go?)
So I made a cookie pie for my roommate.
With frosting.
My roommate's grandfather died today, very suddenly. A sadder thing couldn't have happened to a nicer person.
It makes me realize what kind of a person I am. I mean... it's important to know yourself, right? Not that I do, really... but let me tell you, I'm really really bad at knowing what to say in tragic times. At funerals, I mostly just cry. I usually choke on my words. But how many times can people say 'I'm sorry?'
I remember early this school year a memorial I attended in the campus chapel. Some friends and I gathered to lead a rosary service for the family of a student who died. I didn't realize who the person was until I saw her picture. I didn't know her--not really, but she and I lived just down the hall from each other our freshman year. Yet, sitting and listening to the things people said... the tears came down my face and they wouldn't stop. I mean... I wasn't sobbing or weeping; in a strange way, I didn't feel I had the right to. But still it was like someone turned on a faucet behind my eyes.
Relay for life was this past weekend and for the kick-off, a girl (whom I also happened to live down the hall from freshman year) gave her testimony of her fight with cancer. She said, something to the effect of, we as twenty-something young people, we know we're going to die, eventually. It's a fact of life. Still we don't actually realize it until something really happens to remind us. (She got a standing ovation as she left the stage.)
So today, right up to when I found out about what happened to my roommate, I had been worrying and complaining about all of the papers and presentations and projects I had to finish; all that work. And then I felt so ridiculous for fussing about it all-- how stupid are all these little minuscule things that everyone has to deal with, when such bigger, life-shaking and heart-breaking things are happening. It makes me wish I could put things into perspective like this more often. Especially when bigger things are happening to the people I care about, and I'm too self-centered to notice.
I told one of my friends earlier this year that I didn't make a new year's resolution; I never do because they're stupid. But actually I did... it just sounded too self-righteous to say aloud. But I want to pay attention more, talk about myself less, notice when my friends and family are upset or hurting, and learn to be more easy-going. I want only the important things to affect me. Because in the long run, why get upset about-- for example, just today in class-- a person who regularly sits next to you and her obnoxious eating habits? Pshah.
Oh yeah, and here's a big one: praying more. And reaching out to others. And... pulling them in with you. (hey, you can reach out to people, but you're still just reaching. And you can reach out and "touch" people. But that's just a touch. Sometimes-- especially in college-- you gotta reach out, grab hold and not let go. If someone were drowning and you were on shore, would you let go?)
So I made a cookie pie for my roommate.
With frosting.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Denying Your Age
It occurred to me the other day-- while watching The Office-- just how crazy human beings are. This reaction was a response to an Avon commercial for some kind of "Age-defying serum" or the like. The make-up industry has effectively taken advantage of a woman's fear of getting older. Not just getting older, LOOKING older. And I really can't pretend, at my young, inexperienced 20 years, to know what that's like. (For heaven's sake, my cousin's husband thought I was 14. MY issue at this point is looking too YOUNG for my age.) But that's just it; at my age, and nearing the summit of my college education, I will very soon be thrown down the mountain into the crazy jungle of real life. For which I feel slightly ill-equipped.
And while watching these constant, obnoxious "lie about your age" and "keep them guessing" age-denying serums and foundations and lotions and facial treatments... I keep thinking, what wouldn't I give to be one of these women? And why are they trying to hide their age? To have the life-success, the life-security, the life-experience... that's all I want right now. I want to KNOW where I'll be in twenty years. I want to be confident, flourishing, secure. Heavens. I want to be past the initial suffering and struggle. I want to know where I am, know where I'm going, know where I've been.
It's a double standard. Women want to BE older without LOOKING older.
Pshah. I could easily start railing on about this ridiculous culture's misconceptions about beauty, (I mean, for heaven's sake, the strength, confidence and intelligence of so many women today, how is that not beautiful?) but I'd really rather not. It's like beating your head against a brick wall, and it makes me tired.
And while watching these constant, obnoxious "lie about your age" and "keep them guessing" age-denying serums and foundations and lotions and facial treatments... I keep thinking, what wouldn't I give to be one of these women? And why are they trying to hide their age? To have the life-success, the life-security, the life-experience... that's all I want right now. I want to KNOW where I'll be in twenty years. I want to be confident, flourishing, secure. Heavens. I want to be past the initial suffering and struggle. I want to know where I am, know where I'm going, know where I've been.
It's a double standard. Women want to BE older without LOOKING older.
Pshah. I could easily start railing on about this ridiculous culture's misconceptions about beauty, (I mean, for heaven's sake, the strength, confidence and intelligence of so many women today, how is that not beautiful?) but I'd really rather not. It's like beating your head against a brick wall, and it makes me tired.
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