I am currently sitting among the dissaray that is my life, in my "well it was clean this morning" room. I'm about to do some last minute work before my last two exams tomorrow. But right now I am simply sitting and being. I have gone from different levels of extremes today, and now I am looking forward to break all the more.
As we were walking to the car tonight for a coffee break, I confessed to Liz that sometimes I really wonder if I have a mental disorder, (or just shitty luck). She laughed, "No, I'm serious!" I said. No matter how much I do or don't throw myself into my work, I always seem to come out on the losing end of things. I can't seem to handle a normal workload like most people. I have a part time job at the library and only 13 credit hours this semester, and I'm barely above water. "No," Liz said "I think you just hate school."
Well, she's right.
School has never been something I look forward to. I looked forward to going to new schools, to graduating, to coming to college, but after about a year or so I was sick of it. The happiest I ever was in high school was when I graduated a semester early in January. I worked odd jobs, worked around the house, took a course at the community college...and that was indeed the happiest I ever was in school. Mostly because I wasn't even in school.
So needless to say, I am really looking forward to graduation. Granted, I doubt I'll get a job right out. I love art, I love creating it, but god damn I hate how impatient I am when I make the end product. The first couple times around the project does look like absolute crap, and unfortunetly, that's the stuff I have to hand in to my professor. I found out that I do my best work after I've been kicked around and torn down by a professor. I completly redid my narrative project for my typography class, new concept, new look, new everything. And let me tell you, it kicked ass. I cranked that sucker out in six hours and it looked better than the shit I spent three weeks on.
Lesson #1: When left to my own devices I can actually come up with something decent and in a relatively short time span.
I did actually consider changing my major on Friday night. I know that by now this is an idle threat; I'll never really change my major. Liz asked me what I would change it to, and honestly I have no idea. Art is all I've ever had. It's all I've ever been able to do, and to even consider doing something else leaves me completly blank. Yes, I love to write. I love to listen to people and give advise and be a good shoulder to cry on or a friend to call up in the middle of the night. However, I don't feel I'm called to be a writer or a pyschologist. Art has literally been my life. I know people say that all the time, and it sounds very cliche, but it's true.
When I was little I had trouble reading, I couldn't put the words in my head and spit them back out again. I didn't recognize word patterns and was just all around slow. I hated to read with my mom on her bed becuase she'd always get agitated when I couldn't pronounce a word. But I remember always looking at the pictures and being in awe. If I could look at the pictures and know what the story was about, what was the point of words? When I look back on all the books I owned when I was little I don't remember the words, I remember the pictures. I wanted to recreate those pictures and their simplistic beauty, so I drew.
I always won awards in school for my art. I'd skip out on my pe classes and run to the art trailer to get advice from my art teacher on how to draw a human figure. I kept a sketchbook of all of my work, and she would point out flaws but she would always be careful to word it as constructively as possible so as not to hurt my feelings. I accidentally left my sketchbook in the gym once, and when I found it in the lost and found some of my better drawings had been torn out. I was mad for a few minutes because they were really good sketches, but then I was flattered. Someone liked my drawings enough to steal them. (Flattery comes in many forms!)
Later I was adopted by a Fairy Godmother. Yep, she even has wings. She was the only person who could teach me anything about watercolor. (For those who don't know, watercolor is a very aggravating medium!) She helped me pick out frames for my work, pick out paintings that she thought would do well in the fair, and has helped me stick it out as an art student. "OH GOD I hated color theory! Such bullshit!" Hooray for cursing, wing wearing, fairy godmothers.
I have my bad days, and perhaps I complain a little too much about them. I make meaningless threats about changing majors and horrid teachers. But I have reasons to go on, people to kick me out of my rut, and a passion that I love and that words can't describe.
So I guess I'm an artist after all.
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