Thursday, January 26, 2012

Television

This happens.
I put away the glue gun. I shut it up in the cupboard and I hope that I haven't disrupted the order of my mother's craft. I worry about it, at the back of my head. She would never say anything if I did, but it is precious to her. And I am someone who treads lightly in the worlds of others. I may be naive. I might not have a quick tongue. I am too concerned with aesthetics. Deposits of flaws crop up constantly in my being. But I do not stomp around in the gardens of other people's thoughts.
The TV is covered in scraps of newspaper, and it's face is vacant and empty. Hours from now, I will sit in a crowded classroom, rewatch tonight's event on another television, and I will feel the same way as this costumed piece of equipment does now.
I forgot to ask for someone to turn it on. I neglected (on purpose?) to ask for help. It didn't reach it's full potential, and after, everyone looked on, half-satisfied with something too normal and too weird. The worst part: it was not a misunderstanding. It was a valid observation.
The scissors return to my desk. I tuck the roll of scotch tape to bring to school. Accidentally stolen tape. I would like to say that I had a plan to make things better. That, given more time, things could have gone differently. But in this moment, I am not so certain. Benevolence was not given a habitat to grow. And it's awful that the bad weed destroys the garden, but it does. You can't not see the dandelion. Or perhaps that is just me. I fixate on it.
I have not learned to say, "You are wrong," with any sort of conviction. That sounds like an admirable thing, but it leads to apologizing. Needlessly. It leads to back tracking. To nights and happenings such as these. People get in your garden.
In the morning, we will clean up the mess, and it will be better, somehow, in the light. And in the labor. I can clean a place. I can keep going. I can keep my head down. I will sweep and laugh, and the sun will be shining, and on Saturday, I will go to the symphony and play.
But tonight, I am putting away the glue gun, and regarding the TV. When I see it, bedecked and bruised, I'm struck by the appropriate nametag. And with old, worn anger, and a someday resignation burning in the future, I start to peel the newspaper from it's face.

Friday, January 20, 2012

What is Art? they say

Sometimes, art is hard.
I've been working on this book of poetry/illustrations for the last two snow filled days. I should be doing other things (senior project, FAFSA, applications) but I just kind of put my foot down and said to myself: It's cold. You're hungry. The power is intermittently going out. Make this and be happy.
And everything was going well, until, well, I brought out the embroidery thread, and began stitching words into card stock. Oi veh.
All supplies are now gathered on my desk. On probation until further notice. I will probably be back to them in half an hour, once they have learned their lesson.
Speaking of art being frustrating, I'm taking the craziest mini-term. It's all about art and indeterminacy, and how we can create art that is not fully centered on emotion. It's really uncomfortable, at least for me. I operate creatively based almost entirely on my emotional threshold. To take that away, to say it no longer matters is very strange for me. As I said, rather embarrassingly in a class discussion in front of sixty of my peers, my music can't be about "that boy last summer" anymore. Funny. I feel slightly robbed.
Other than artistic frustration, my life has been fairly rosy lately. Most importantly, I got this scholarship. And it means that next year, I'm probably going to be somewhere I really, really, want to be. I have been so frightened that I have left something out. That I am missing a huge piece of this process. And maybe I am. But I don't feel as frightened about it anymore.
Cello has also been really rewarding lately. Things are starting to feel easier than they were at the beginning of the year. I'm really excited about our programming for the next semester in school, which includes Phillip Glass and Gershwin (okay arranged Gershwin, but who cares?)
We have all this snow at our house. I haven't ventured outside in two days. I don't like the snow, and I know I sound like a total party pooper, but I just don't. I don't get it.