What was I thinking about earlier today? I can never be as clear and articulate with my thoughts when I go to document them as earlier in the day when they came into my head.
So... here is an amalgam of thoughts, troubles, worries, insights and misunderstandings (what did I hear today on the radio? Bright Eyes... "Till all that remains is a staircase of misinformation.")
Teaching is definitely new. And being new at it, I inevitably recieve the "knowing" -- or in some cases NOT knowing -- looks. At a fundraising gala for the school I was told, "how lucky are you -- to have a job like this right out of college!" and various remarks related to my age -- and also to the fact that I am currently single. One lady (who in every other way was certainly very nice to keep the poor-little-art-teacher-who-didn't-know-anyone company) told me all about an online and out-doorsy dating website for young Catholics. "So many young men tell me that they can't find good Catholic girls out there anymore!" to which I laughed. Right, right! No, no... they're just not looking in the right places. Apparently. I can stand on top of a table, a mountain, a really really tall building and wave my hands around and yell at the top of my lungs but they still wouldn't see me.
It's an effort to prove myself; I've hardly even started yet. Just don't misunderstand me -- this is a wonderful opportunity and in no way does it go underappreciated in my book. Not at all. But each class is different, as to whether the students will listen to me or not, enjoy the class or not, actually absorb and retain any of the information I'm trying to impart, or not. What a way to go about things.
My dear mother ran into my highschool math teacher -- in fact an old friend of theirs and she told him about this teaching job of mine. Teaching art -- and for some reason he laughed. I'm still not quite sure why.
I am attempting to rewire my brain. I'm beginning to put together the puzzle pieces of what exactly goes wrong with myself. Part of it is that I take myself WAY too seriously. Especially my art. Not the physical stuff, the canvases with the paint or the papers with the charcoal. The fact of my art, the ideas and inspirations and "deep thoughts" that I display nakedly to the world. I take it all SO seriously -- and it's true that it is a very big part of myself and everytime I show it to people I get an unrest deep inside and a a little queasy in the stomach -- but I am so very bothered by people's opinions of it. I want it to be good, I want people to appreciate it, to make me feel justified and worthwhile throught these little paintings and drawings I work so hard at. I take it all so seriously; I need to learn to be humble. I am not the creator, really just the executor of this gift and I've got to learn to stop taking all the credit. In my heart-of-hearts I know this; of course I do, as so much of what comes to me that begs to be put down on canvas is a small piece of God's grace. Only my ego doesn't want to admit it.
Not only do I take myself too seriously, but other people as well. If I could suddenly and inexplicably turn my skin from epidermis to elastomer, life would be much easier and the rude comments and evil eyes would bounce right off my back.
And all of this is much easier said than done.
She (St. Edith Stein, Teresa Benedicta of the Cross) says it so much more eloquently :
"God is there in these moments of rest and can give us in a single instant exactly what we need. Then the rest of the day can take its course, under the same effort and strain, perhaps, but in peace. And when night comes and you look back over the day and see how fragmentary everything has been, and how much you planned that has gone undone, and all the reasons you have to be embarrassed and ashamed: just take everything as it is, put it in God's hands and leave it with Him. Then you will be able to rest in Him -- really rest -- and start the next day as a new life."
It is all about the unrest. Unrest with my job, my lack of finances, my dwellings, my family, friends, (the weather)... life in general. Unrest with the world -- innocent lives taken in Egypt and incredible instability in Libya and everywhere. Unrest with the government, the economy, public education. Unrest begins to take on a completely different meaning. Something much bigger, threatening to swallow everything whole.
More to follow.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Sunday, February 21, 2010
"Are you sure you know what goodness is?"
She looked at him curiously. "What is it, then?"
He paused, and thoughts flew through his mind -- mountains, trees swaying in the wind, his father kissing his mother, sitting around the supper table with his brothers and sisters, Mass -- the beautiful statues, the lovely paintings in the church, the glory of stained-glass windows, the harmony of the liturgy, the haunting of music, the poetry of the human body --
Using phrases he had learned in theology class and read in books, he attempted to articulate what goodness was -- its power, its concreteness, above all, its beauty -- theology and poetry and philosophy and mathematics and order and the romp of playfulness -- new babies and bulbs shooting from the earth and creases on the hands of an elderly lady who had spent her life in service to others --
He knew he wasn't an orator, or a particularly good communicator. He spoke haltingly, rambling, then, gaining certainty from the truth of what he was saying, grew effusive, quoting the saints and poets and prophets, recalling sayings of the popes and philosophers, trying to paint a verbal portrait of what goodness was, and why loving it was so critical.
And Rachel smiled, listened to him, and looked up at the sky. He noticed it was getting dark. The moon would soon be rising.
FROM "The Midnight Dancers: a fairy tale retold"
by Regina Doman
She looked at him curiously. "What is it, then?"
He paused, and thoughts flew through his mind -- mountains, trees swaying in the wind, his father kissing his mother, sitting around the supper table with his brothers and sisters, Mass -- the beautiful statues, the lovely paintings in the church, the glory of stained-glass windows, the harmony of the liturgy, the haunting of music, the poetry of the human body --
Using phrases he had learned in theology class and read in books, he attempted to articulate what goodness was -- its power, its concreteness, above all, its beauty -- theology and poetry and philosophy and mathematics and order and the romp of playfulness -- new babies and bulbs shooting from the earth and creases on the hands of an elderly lady who had spent her life in service to others --
He knew he wasn't an orator, or a particularly good communicator. He spoke haltingly, rambling, then, gaining certainty from the truth of what he was saying, grew effusive, quoting the saints and poets and prophets, recalling sayings of the popes and philosophers, trying to paint a verbal portrait of what goodness was, and why loving it was so critical.
And Rachel smiled, listened to him, and looked up at the sky. He noticed it was getting dark. The moon would soon be rising.
FROM "The Midnight Dancers: a fairy tale retold"
by Regina Doman
Saturday, May 02, 2009
Friday, May 01, 2009
Pray for us
I have this stupid habit of thinking in the abstract. Or... maybe it's just writing my thoughts that way. So sometimes I feel strange commenting on these things, but this is just so... compelling.
I am not really much of a social or political critic. There are things that upset and provoke me and I will surely mention them, especially as concerns my faith. But I'm not very good at keeping up with important issues or commenting on them, definitely not on a par with some bloggers out there (additionally, for my art senior seminar we've been putting together "art blogs" via wordpress -- which to me is kind of stupid, as wordpress is WORDpress, not a site necessarily built for displaying artwork -- and apparently I'm the only one in the class who has ever blogged before, as I discovered when the question was asked and there was my solo and timid hand raise... is it just me, or is that REALLY weird for my generation? I thought we were supposed to be the children of the digital age or whatever...) Well, in any case,
I've been keeping an eye on the whole "Obama invited to give commencement speech & receive honorary degree" thing at Notre Dame, which has stimulated quite a bit of controversy from Catholics (both what people deem as "traditional" i.e. observant Catholics, and the "cafeterias" or unobservant Catholics) on account of Obama's incredibly frightening support of all things abortion. More than fifty bishops have stated that they will not support this invitation, and Bishop D'Arcy has refused to attend the commencement because of the Prez's stance on abortion.
So that led me (through the American Papist) to an article by an alumna of Notre Dame, a young woman commenting on Fr. Jenkin's (University prez.) decision to invite our rock-star pro-choice president. The article is called, "Notre Dame, My Mother" by Lacy Dodd and she writes about her pregnancy experience as a senior on the verge of graduating from the University. She states her very firm pro-life stance and her bewilderment at being told from variousnesses that she had "other options" -- abortion.
What really touched me (it made me tear, actually) was what she wrote in her article about turning to Mary in her time of need, and that Our Mother "did not disappoint."
This somehow makes the whole Obama-at-Notre-Dame situation so much more disheartening; a University specifically dedicated (it's in the name for heaven's sake) to "Our Lady," to a woman whom God chose to carry His Son inside of her, a woman brave and holy enough to accept something so incredible and so frightening, is honoring a man who upholds this "other option." It honestly makes my skin crawl.
And there is also something very thought-provoking about Lacy Dodd's article; she writes about her pro-"choice" boyfriend who was unwilling to support her. At the end of the article she says, "I’d like to ask this of Fr. John Jenkins, the Notre Dame president: Who draws support from your decision to honor President Obama—the young, pregnant Notre Dame woman sitting in that graduating class who wants desperately to keep her baby, or the Notre Dame man who believes that the Catholic teaching on the intrinsic evil of abortion is just dining-room talk?"
What a smasher. Here we are with young men claiming a pro-choice stance thinking they're supporting a woman's "right to choose" when the only choice (as Dodd states) they won't support is the choice to embrace an innocent life.
Why are the beginning stages of life (completely helpless, completely in their mother's hands) so disposable? Why are we raging and ranting about other forms of genocide and closing our eyes and stopping our ears to this? Why? Because there are no victim voices to cry out? They can't use their vocal cords, is that it?
Oh, Fr. Jenkins. Oh, our beloved Obama (Aaak! Car Bomb!) God help you. I have a feeling that on your day of judgement -- whenever or however that will be -- you will need especial intercession from Our Lady. You're so lucky you have her for a Mother.
I am not really much of a social or political critic. There are things that upset and provoke me and I will surely mention them, especially as concerns my faith. But I'm not very good at keeping up with important issues or commenting on them, definitely not on a par with some bloggers out there (additionally, for my art senior seminar we've been putting together "art blogs" via wordpress -- which to me is kind of stupid, as wordpress is WORDpress, not a site necessarily built for displaying artwork -- and apparently I'm the only one in the class who has ever blogged before, as I discovered when the question was asked and there was my solo and timid hand raise... is it just me, or is that REALLY weird for my generation? I thought we were supposed to be the children of the digital age or whatever...) Well, in any case,
I've been keeping an eye on the whole "Obama invited to give commencement speech & receive honorary degree" thing at Notre Dame, which has stimulated quite a bit of controversy from Catholics (both what people deem as "traditional" i.e. observant Catholics, and the "cafeterias" or unobservant Catholics) on account of Obama's incredibly frightening support of all things abortion. More than fifty bishops have stated that they will not support this invitation, and Bishop D'Arcy has refused to attend the commencement because of the Prez's stance on abortion.
So that led me (through the American Papist) to an article by an alumna of Notre Dame, a young woman commenting on Fr. Jenkin's (University prez.) decision to invite our rock-star pro-choice president.
What really touched me (it made me tear, actually) was what she wrote in her article about turning to Mary in her time of need, and that Our Mother "did not disappoint."
This somehow makes the whole Obama-at-Notre-Dame situation so much more disheartening; a University specifically dedicated (it's in the name for heaven's sake) to "Our Lady," to a woman whom God chose to carry His Son inside of her, a woman brave and holy enough to accept something so incredible and so frightening, is honoring a man who upholds this "other option." It honestly makes my skin crawl.
And there is also something very thought-provoking about Lacy Dodd's article; she writes about her pro-"choice" boyfriend who was unwilling to support her. At the end of the article she says, "I’d like to ask this of Fr. John Jenkins, the Notre Dame president: Who draws support from your decision to honor President Obama—the young, pregnant Notre Dame woman sitting in that graduating class who wants desperately to keep her baby, or the Notre Dame man who believes that the Catholic teaching on the intrinsic evil of abortion is just dining-room talk?"
What a smasher. Here we are with young men claiming a pro-choice stance thinking they're supporting a woman's "right to choose" when the only choice (as Dodd states) they won't support is the choice to embrace an innocent life.
Why are the beginning stages of life (completely helpless, completely in their mother's hands) so disposable? Why are we raging and ranting about other forms of genocide and closing our eyes and stopping our ears to this? Why? Because there are no victim voices to cry out? They can't use their vocal cords, is that it?
Oh, Fr. Jenkins. Oh, our beloved Obama (Aaak! Car Bomb!) God help you. I have a feeling that on your day of judgement -- whenever or however that will be -- you will need especial intercession from Our Lady. You're so lucky you have her for a Mother.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Corrected
I really don't understand what it is with some people.
I have certain "friends" who have this strange ability to make me feel like I'm burdening them somehow by asking to spend time with them, or even just wanting to chat with them. What's with that?
Truthfully, that is why there are a lot of people with whom I don't keep in touch anymore. I hate the feeling that there is not a mutual "interest." I guess what it comes down to is that if one is not willing to put an equal effort into a friendship (just as it is with any relationship) then it really isn't worth it.
What is happening exactly? I realize people change, but there are some changes that I can't quite understand. When two people lose that mutual interest things begin to fall apart. Why does that happen?
I know I have changed. But I always hoped it was for the better; now I wonder if that is really true.
I was thinking today about how incredible it would be to move somewhere far away. I am not a world traveler (I'm hardly even a country traveler) and the idea scares me to death -- but in that way it would be so thrilling and terrifying and probably wonderful. To go and build your life in a foreign place amongst strangers -- build your life almost from scratch. What would that be like? I feel that if I could ever sum up the courage to do something so insane, I would learn so much. So many people have done it before -- most of my friends have. What would happen if I followed that lead?
I shudder. Here is my last month of college. I feel as though this semester were lasting ages -- both because I can't wait for it to finally be over, and because after this few weeks, hello there's reality and an adult life for which only I am responsible. Goodness gracious.
I'm not allowed to run away and join the circus, am I? How about be a hermit? Join a cloister? I am not ready for real life yet. It scares me to death, only I didn't want to admit it before.
I have certain "friends" who have this strange ability to make me feel like I'm burdening them somehow by asking to spend time with them, or even just wanting to chat with them. What's with that?
Truthfully, that is why there are a lot of people with whom I don't keep in touch anymore. I hate the feeling that there is not a mutual "interest." I guess what it comes down to is that if one is not willing to put an equal effort into a friendship (just as it is with any relationship) then it really isn't worth it.
What is happening exactly? I realize people change, but there are some changes that I can't quite understand. When two people lose that mutual interest things begin to fall apart. Why does that happen?
I know I have changed. But I always hoped it was for the better; now I wonder if that is really true.
I was thinking today about how incredible it would be to move somewhere far away. I am not a world traveler (I'm hardly even a country traveler) and the idea scares me to death -- but in that way it would be so thrilling and terrifying and probably wonderful. To go and build your life in a foreign place amongst strangers -- build your life almost from scratch. What would that be like? I feel that if I could ever sum up the courage to do something so insane, I would learn so much. So many people have done it before -- most of my friends have. What would happen if I followed that lead?
I shudder. Here is my last month of college. I feel as though this semester were lasting ages -- both because I can't wait for it to finally be over, and because after this few weeks, hello there's reality and an adult life for which only I am responsible. Goodness gracious.
I'm not allowed to run away and join the circus, am I? How about be a hermit? Join a cloister? I am not ready for real life yet. It scares me to death, only I didn't want to admit it before.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Just Something
Isn't it funny how people surprise you sometimes?
Good or bad, I've seen it both ways.
The best though, are those who upon first impression seem... well, sort of vacant. And then you come upon something (never mind what or where you found it) that proves just how wrong you were -- and just how deep and complex they really are. I love to be blown away by such things. Within the realm of human relationships, it's what I live for.
Today was such a weird, creepy, unnerving day. Actually, I guess it was pretty awful. I woke up feeling queasy... and it was almost as if that physical feeling interrupted and invaded my brain too. Kind of like, my body felt so gross and tired and then it seeped into my emotional state and suddenly I felt this creepy sense of depression and foreboding.
Then again, maybe it was just the weather. Creepy weather we've had today -- ominous clouds blowing in on the howling wind, but not really dropping any rain or threatening any thunder (which really might have been refreshing.) And anyway, it kind of makes me sad how much the weather affects my mood.
But then I got a letter from one of my best friends currently in West Africa for the Peace Corps. And that just seemed to make everything better somehow; things seemed suddenly more normal. Made me realize that this nasty day wasn't going to last any longer than twenty-four hours. Then tomorrow comes.
How refreshing to actually write in my blog again! After some bloody *ahem* decided to come along and leave behind some self-righteous b.s. to try to make me feel about two inches tall, I'd been kind of wary about even writing here again. For heaven's sake, you know -- there's ALWAYS someone who's just got to stir up trouble and ruin someone else's peace. It's like a perverted thrill for some people, offering their unwanted "two-cents." And those people are usually the ones who like to think they're the be-all and end-all of creation. Bloody crap.
I was thinking earlier today about how I spend so much of my time writing and drawing and painting and posting. And going back and looking at it all over and over again. It is almost as if I'm trying to figure myself out. You know how everyone is always blabbing on and on about "discovering" oneself and "learning about" oneself -- through various means of spiritual exercises and meditation and journals and all that.
I've written pages and pages of papers and anecdotes and kept about a million sketch books and I keep going back to them and rereading as though I were trying to understand what I meant by all of it. Where it came from and if it's any good? Most of what I write isn't very clear and organized and ideas that become artwork usually have some pretty ambiguous concept behind it. So I have to keep going back to it. It's weird.
Good or bad, I've seen it both ways.
The best though, are those who upon first impression seem... well, sort of vacant. And then you come upon something (never mind what or where you found it) that proves just how wrong you were -- and just how deep and complex they really are. I love to be blown away by such things. Within the realm of human relationships, it's what I live for.
Today was such a weird, creepy, unnerving day. Actually, I guess it was pretty awful. I woke up feeling queasy... and it was almost as if that physical feeling interrupted and invaded my brain too. Kind of like, my body felt so gross and tired and then it seeped into my emotional state and suddenly I felt this creepy sense of depression and foreboding.
Then again, maybe it was just the weather. Creepy weather we've had today -- ominous clouds blowing in on the howling wind, but not really dropping any rain or threatening any thunder (which really might have been refreshing.) And anyway, it kind of makes me sad how much the weather affects my mood.
But then I got a letter from one of my best friends currently in West Africa for the Peace Corps. And that just seemed to make everything better somehow; things seemed suddenly more normal. Made me realize that this nasty day wasn't going to last any longer than twenty-four hours. Then tomorrow comes.
How refreshing to actually write in my blog again! After some bloody *ahem* decided to come along and leave behind some self-righteous b.s. to try to make me feel about two inches tall, I'd been kind of wary about even writing here again. For heaven's sake, you know -- there's ALWAYS someone who's just got to stir up trouble and ruin someone else's peace. It's like a perverted thrill for some people, offering their unwanted "two-cents." And those people are usually the ones who like to think they're the be-all and end-all of creation. Bloody crap.
I was thinking earlier today about how I spend so much of my time writing and drawing and painting and posting. And going back and looking at it all over and over again. It is almost as if I'm trying to figure myself out. You know how everyone is always blabbing on and on about "discovering" oneself and "learning about" oneself -- through various means of spiritual exercises and meditation and journals and all that.
I've written pages and pages of papers and anecdotes and kept about a million sketch books and I keep going back to them and rereading as though I were trying to understand what I meant by all of it. Where it came from and if it's any good? Most of what I write isn't very clear and organized and ideas that become artwork usually have some pretty ambiguous concept behind it. So I have to keep going back to it. It's weird.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Abtoxious
I'm not usually this negative. Really. I've tried to put the complaining aside and laugh about everything, since lately everyone's been telling me that's the way to stay healthy. And sane.
But the frustration has really begun to build up. It has so much to do with this college! I'm starting to dislike the people here. I feel like I can't be myself! Especially when it comes to the one thing I love, and that is making art.
I mean, I was really starting to branch out and try new things and challenge myself at the BCA. There, my work felt SO dull and "traditional," when everyone was so free and easy expressing themselves in any way they could. I had a very long conversation with a friend about it, as he is more of a traditionalist where fine art is concerned. But then, at the end of the semester, I felt like I'd really accomplished something; I was moving in a new and exciting direction.
And then I come back to Gustavus.
And suddenly I feel all these odd expressions and weird comments when it's my turn to have my work critiqued. It's all, "what is this supposed to mean?" "why did you do it this way and not this way?" "why did you decide to repaint that?" "why not try this? I think it would work better." Every single minute detail broken apart and analyzed and DEAR LORD IN HEAVEN GRANT ME PATIENCE.
Honestly. Do I really have to explain every little aspect of a painting to you in order for it to make sense? I hate critiques with the art department profs, but especially with the other art majors. I don't feel I should HAVE to explain why I included representational aspects and abstract aspects, or why that eye in that portrait is painted that color and not some other color. REALLY. It's just so much like... talking about your work until it doesn't even feel like it's yours anymore -- it's alien. Foreign. ALL of the sublimity gone out of it, and now it's empty.
Why is that necessary? Geez, I've never had this problem before. I guess that's because I never tried anything different before. It's always been... same ol', same ol'... just what everyone else is doing. Whatever happened to innovations? Creativity?
GUSTAVUS: you have sucked the energy, the money AND the ingenuity out of me.
But the frustration has really begun to build up. It has so much to do with this college! I'm starting to dislike the people here. I feel like I can't be myself! Especially when it comes to the one thing I love, and that is making art.
I mean, I was really starting to branch out and try new things and challenge myself at the BCA. There, my work felt SO dull and "traditional," when everyone was so free and easy expressing themselves in any way they could. I had a very long conversation with a friend about it, as he is more of a traditionalist where fine art is concerned. But then, at the end of the semester, I felt like I'd really accomplished something; I was moving in a new and exciting direction.
And then I come back to Gustavus.
And suddenly I feel all these odd expressions and weird comments when it's my turn to have my work critiqued. It's all, "what is this supposed to mean?" "why did you do it this way and not this way?" "why did you decide to repaint that?" "why not try this? I think it would work better." Every single minute detail broken apart and analyzed and DEAR LORD IN HEAVEN GRANT ME PATIENCE.
Honestly. Do I really have to explain every little aspect of a painting to you in order for it to make sense? I hate critiques with the art department profs, but especially with the other art majors. I don't feel I should HAVE to explain why I included representational aspects and abstract aspects, or why that eye in that portrait is painted that color and not some other color. REALLY. It's just so much like... talking about your work until it doesn't even feel like it's yours anymore -- it's alien. Foreign. ALL of the sublimity gone out of it, and now it's empty.
Why is that necessary? Geez, I've never had this problem before. I guess that's because I never tried anything different before. It's always been... same ol', same ol'... just what everyone else is doing. Whatever happened to innovations? Creativity?
GUSTAVUS: you have sucked the energy, the money AND the ingenuity out of me.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Aching
I miss Ireland so much it hurts.
Really.
I never even imagined it would be this bad.
I keep trying to rack it up to my last semester in college and the weirdness and vulnerability I feel here. But it's not just that.
I miss so much! I miss wandering and being by myself without actually feeling alone.
I miss the sunlight and the intermittent rain. The fog, the mist, the trees, the green, the pier. The houses. The people. The pubs, the music, the beer.
EVERYTHING!
I wish it were easy to fix, that I could just cry really hard or something and let it all out and let it all go, but I can't cry about it. It just aches, dully.
I wonder if it'll ever go away. I just don't think a place has ever held on to me like that. Does it mean I need to go back? The BCA does offer post-bac and MFA programs...
but will it be the same without the same people?
I don't know. Maybe I just need to deal with the fact that it's over. I'm here now and I have to figure this thing out. I know I do, I just can't help but feel a spot inside my chest sting a little whenever I think about it all.
Really.
I never even imagined it would be this bad.
I keep trying to rack it up to my last semester in college and the weirdness and vulnerability I feel here. But it's not just that.
I miss so much! I miss wandering and being by myself without actually feeling alone.
I miss the sunlight and the intermittent rain. The fog, the mist, the trees, the green, the pier. The houses. The people. The pubs, the music, the beer.
EVERYTHING!
I wish it were easy to fix, that I could just cry really hard or something and let it all out and let it all go, but I can't cry about it. It just aches, dully.
I wonder if it'll ever go away. I just don't think a place has ever held on to me like that. Does it mean I need to go back? The BCA does offer post-bac and MFA programs...
but will it be the same without the same people?
I don't know. Maybe I just need to deal with the fact that it's over. I'm here now and I have to figure this thing out. I know I do, I just can't help but feel a spot inside my chest sting a little whenever I think about it all.
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