It is difficult to be outgoing, but always worth it. For example, a few months ago I went into a tea shop with a friend. It was a lovely smelling place and they were playing enjoyable music. I was with a friend who had just arrived from the US, and we were both still quite young in our experience of the French language.
The server quickly realized (after we fumbled our words and our actions over the menu and his Marseille accent) we were not French and told us about a franco/english language exchange that was starting up in a few weeks. I didn’t really know what he was talking about, at the time. I went back the next week with other friends and he (Ben) told us again. I became more interested and the next week I went back to find out what exactly this thing was. But Ben wasn’t working. I was almost ready to give up, but his coworker offered to call him. The coworker got his whereabouts and I thus proceeded to go on a search through town to find him. That used up most of my energy and courage. By the time I found him I didn’t really know what to say. But no worries, he gave me the phone number of the person organizing the event and said she was looking for people to help her organize.
Knowing I didn’t have a lot of anything else going on, I called Amanda and I offered my help. We met for coffee and I quickly realized I wanted to be friends with her. I was happy to be a part of something bigger than the little sphere of what I knew France to be at that point. It’s turned out to work wonderfully. We meet Tuesday nights at a popular bar. As a helper to the organizer, I tell everyone I know the language exchange and each week we make up all kinds of questions in equal amounts of English and French. The language of the question chosen determines the language of the discussion. There are about ten people who come regularly and another ten who come and go.
Because of that one escapade across town, my scope of aquaintences exponentially exploded. Amanda introduced me to many of her friends who I introduce to my friends who then become friends with their friends. I am slowly watching everyone around me become more close. If I could draw a diagram of the process, it would look like a bunch of triangles intersecting and overlapping in a big happy jumble (sometimes of course there are some uncomfortable collisions, but always in negligable amounts considerating the larger entanglement).
Because of that escapade at the beginning of September, I met another Ben, a Tibou, a Theo, an Erika, a Bo, a Molly…. and so many others, who are now friends with a Mindi, a Teresa, a Terrence, an Amy, a Kirsten and so many others…. and now it is the middle of November and I am not sure how it is that I have come to meet and get to know all of these people.
Like I said, It is difficult to be outgoing, but always worth it.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
On Seeing Things and Being An Artist
I might have found what it means for me to be an artist. It happened in the grand meadows of Edinburgh, Scotland. I was walking absurdly slow, ambling along, with my friend Mindi. It was vacation and we had absolutely and wonderfully nothing to do. She is an artist and I am an artist, so, naturally, we were talking about art.
In turn we asked each other how it is that we go about making art; whether we have the idea first or the object first. We talked about my fear of decorative art and her aspirations to work as a curator. We considered how tightly our lives are wrapped around our identity as artists.
We sat for awhile, got cold, walked a little more, and took a cherry-tree lined path. There, littered on the ground, were the most magnificent leaves. I couldn’t stop cooing over how beautiful they were; the red that looked so red until you picked it up and realized it was pink; the intensity of the yellow that happened when the sun shined through at that perfect angle; the crisp shadows cast by the afternoon light.
In that moment I realized being an artist has trained me to see things. It allows me and encourages me to be over-interested in the scope of my eyes. Being an artist justifies my childlike tendencies to find complete rapture and delight with the textures and shapes and reflections and shadows of things.
The other part of who I am as an artist is an over-excitement to make known what I discover. I realize these discoveries may not be grand and new, but I still insist that one take notice. Have you seen the way that one leaf tumbles when people walk by? Did you notice the faint shadow under that leaf when the sky was overcast? Did you realize how long it will be before you will see a green leaf on a tree again?
Walking slowly in that colorful park I found that the time it takes to really discover an amazing and intricate object, is also the time it takes to become intoxicated with the present moment. I cannot yet say exactly why this discovery is so important, but I do know that there is greatness in small things, complexity in simple things, and that leaves in autumn can somehow create epiphany-like sentiments. My identity as an artist thrives when my eyes are open.
In turn we asked each other how it is that we go about making art; whether we have the idea first or the object first. We talked about my fear of decorative art and her aspirations to work as a curator. We considered how tightly our lives are wrapped around our identity as artists.
We sat for awhile, got cold, walked a little more, and took a cherry-tree lined path. There, littered on the ground, were the most magnificent leaves. I couldn’t stop cooing over how beautiful they were; the red that looked so red until you picked it up and realized it was pink; the intensity of the yellow that happened when the sun shined through at that perfect angle; the crisp shadows cast by the afternoon light.
In that moment I realized being an artist has trained me to see things. It allows me and encourages me to be over-interested in the scope of my eyes. Being an artist justifies my childlike tendencies to find complete rapture and delight with the textures and shapes and reflections and shadows of things.
The other part of who I am as an artist is an over-excitement to make known what I discover. I realize these discoveries may not be grand and new, but I still insist that one take notice. Have you seen the way that one leaf tumbles when people walk by? Did you notice the faint shadow under that leaf when the sky was overcast? Did you realize how long it will be before you will see a green leaf on a tree again?
Walking slowly in that colorful park I found that the time it takes to really discover an amazing and intricate object, is also the time it takes to become intoxicated with the present moment. I cannot yet say exactly why this discovery is so important, but I do know that there is greatness in small things, complexity in simple things, and that leaves in autumn can somehow create epiphany-like sentiments. My identity as an artist thrives when my eyes are open.
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