February 11, 2008

  • Sense of humor still intact

    I wrote this funny little short story Sunday evening. As those readers who attended high school with me might guess, it is VERY loosely based on a real person. Aside from the proposerous arrogence and nudie pics, the rest is just fiction, baby. Names and town are both fake, lest there really is a town called Clarksville with a history teacher named Gill Macdonald.

    Untitled

    When I saw the crow, dead beneath the gravestone, I knew I had a perfect image on my hands. Rain slicked autumn leaves clung to the bird’s feathers. The etching on the gravestone read: HOPE. I would call it: Untitled.

    My photography show, Art for Feelings’ Sake, is only three days away. So far, with the assistance of a handful of willing sophomores, the theme of the show centers around the nude female form. But I had still been seeking that something special to tie it all together. My instincts tell me that this rotting bird is it.

    In preparation for the opening, I’d sent press releases to Artforum, Frieze, and The New Yorker: MIDWESTERN HIGH SCHOOL HISTORY TEACHER BY DAY, PROLIFIC ARTIST BY NIGHT! ART FOR FEELINGS’ SAKE EMBODIES STRUGGLES OF GILL MACDONALD. My hope is that at least someone from the corporate media will show face. But I am no stranger to disappointment, especially in the fickle frivolity of the art world.

    After college I’d tried to nudge my way into the elitist gallery system to no avail. Chicago curators declined to show my work, intimidated by the raw power of it. One gallery owner had the audacity to say that it felt like I was, quote, “hitting her over the head” with symbolism. In my opinion, the portrait this was in reference to – a lone coffin, entitled Shit Happens – was poignantly, subtly subversive.

    After three cold weeks in a Chicago hostel, eating nothing but the cheapest lentils and the most fetid beans, my bowels had suffered enough. If I was too ahead of my time for even the biggest of cities, then the world would just have to wait for me.  Until then, I would teach and practice art on my own terms, on my own turf in Clarksville.

    I’d only graduated from Clarksville High five years before; it was an adjustment for me to be back after my time in the art world of the Big City. If it weren’t for Bernie’s Beans, I don’t know how I would have got through; it was the nectar of his sweet beans that kept me sane in my first term teaching at Clarksville High.

    One day after school, I sat writing poetry with a mug of dark roast in the shadowy corners of Bernie’s. The air was thick with coffee and crullers. In a moment of pause, I noticed that beneath a smattering of crude rooster woodcuts and a cross stitched sow, lay a breathtaking wall of exposed brick. It was a wall I could work with.

    In an instant, my artistic desires stirred. I put my palm to the wall and imagined it covered in images of softness. Images of Susie and Melissa, images of Trisha and Beth. I awaited until art education might prove beneficial to the girls’ academic achievement before I approached them with the idea. My work was difficult, but necessary.

    Now, three days from the opening, my nudes are framed and mounted. My black turtle neck is laundered and pressed. Flyers have been designed and distributed. And now, with the addition of Untitled, Art For Feelings’ Sake will be elevated from brilliant to epic.

    My only hope is that no one from school–small minded as they are–recognizes the goldenrod paper from the faculty resource room; I used it to create promotional materials. But did the community not owe me at least that in exchange for cultivating the minds of their supple-breasted daughters? Was I not due something for enduring their pedantic sons? I do not trust them to understand that a few reams of paper is a small price to pay for an artistic visionary. I sense there will be trouble.

    ***
    _____________________________________________________________________________________

    In other news, I got food poisoning from my Sunday brunch. Icing on the cake, huh? I called in sick to work.

    Farting around online today, I found out why I am making a bigger salary than ever and yet am poorer than I’ve ever been before. The cost of living in Chicago is 48.5% lower  than in New York City. So even though employers in Chicago typically pay 7.6% less  than employers in New York City, you still end up with more disposable income to save and enjoy. Would this have changed my mind if I’d been responsible and adult enough to uncover it prior to our move? Probably not. I am a hands-on learner. And I’m only 25 for christsakes! I’m prone to fucking up adult decisions. I’m shocked I havn’t fucked up more. Will I ever make this mistake again? Absolutly not.

    I’ve been doing more than fantasizing about a move back to the Midwest. NYC was not the right choice for me. You never really know unless you try, though. I got a lot out of living here. I thought setting up a life here upon re-entry into America was
    the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. That was until I had to admit that it was a
    terrible fit. In a situation like that, you can’t help but grow.

    I’m over fighting it. I’m done justifying how I feel. I’m finished trying to “make the best of it.” I don’t care who thinks what about me. I am getting the hell out of here. I can afford to be patient and strategic. I will look out for me this time.

    Plans and Action are a girl’s best friend. And I can be damn good at implimentation.

Comments (5)

  • First, the story had me laughing several times. The voice is perfect.

    Now EXCELLENT! Not the food poisoning but the knowing your mind.  I agree about plans and action. If you know that things aren’t going to change in how you feel then hightailing it to where you do feel comfortable is outstanding.

    Many people are enamored with NYC. I am fascinated due to curiosity, but I don’t have to live there and wouldn’t wish the wrong fit environmentally on anyone. You’ve done more than most, and now you know and I’d say that’s pretty advanced for 25.

    I’ve been having displacement fantasies myself. I visited wine country in NY once. There was this lake. I had to pull over because it was the first lake I could see across that evoked a sense of peace like Erie but different. I remember thinking, “I could live here.”  Which is pretty big for me. I get grouchy most places at the thought of living there. I need to look into it and get some plans and action of my own. It’s so beautiful there, it has to be pricy. Eh, cannot be as bad as NYC. Pretty sure that is the worst in this country money wise.

    Sending you those energy vibes and I hope your feeling better knowing that change is in the works.

  • Great little story.  I love that it leaves you thinking about a ream of paper in the end.

    Sorry about the food poisoning.  The brunch sounded good before I read you got sick.

    Do what you need to do as far as your living situation is concerned.  Go where you feel comfortable and want to be.  At least you tried NY and know that it’s not right for you.  You could have just thought about it the rest of your life and wondered “what if” and that would kind of suck and doesn’t really sound like your style anyway.

    Get well.

  • Hey Truly.  Sorry about the food poisoning.  It blows.  :(  

    I love your story.  It reminds me of people in the photo department.  A department where I will never fit in.

    Where do you think you’ll head to after new york?

     

  • I’ve seen your footies about and realize that you likely are swamped with work and life, but I have been thinking of you and just wanted to drop by and wish you well lady.

    I have had this idea to do a project with Xangans that might be fun. Do you have a digital camera that take movies? And if so, would you like to do some collaborating on a silly video? Sometimes some silly is a good distraction. But not when you’re busy!

    You’re the first one I’ve mentioned it to and I don’t have a set plan yet, but I thought it might be a neat thing to do.

  • Great Post! Thanks for sharing!!

    Poetry Contest

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