A Pessimistic Retrospective

I feel as though I need to update this with something a little bit less...well...depressing. I should be writing more often. How can I be a writer if I don't...I dunno...write?

So, there are a few topics that I'd want to discuss, but I'll only touch on one today.

The topic of the day is:

I suck!

No no, wait...this isn't quite as self-depreciating as it seems. Really! I suppose I should rewind a bit to get to the exact reason why I believe that the above is currently a fact.

Growing up, I always viewed my adult self to be more successful than I am now. I had dreams of being a wildlife biologist and a Harvard graduate. I was a straight A student; good at just about everything I stuck my hand in. I also had an excellent work ethic. Oddly enough, I believe that's what did me in.

I know, it's weird. But bear with me. (Hehe...bear. I don't care if I used the wrong spelling!)

I grew up with no understanding of having to work hard. Everything always just...came to me. I was leaps and bounds ahead of where other kids my age were. I learned how to read at three years old, and my and everyone around me's standards were set rather high after that. The thing is, I knew I was smart. I read everything, learned a lot, absorved more... so when it came to school, I never had to try. I had already learned it. And if I didn't, it just came to me soon enough.

And that work ethic, that unbelievable work ethic that I now envy? Artificial. I hated doing homework, especially math (the only thing I didn't just pick up really easily). I always wanted to do something else, but there was always an adult sitting there at the table, or in the next room. Meanwhile I was stuck listening to people watching TV or playing outside and I just stewed. So, when I got older and adults weren't watching...weren't asking where my homework was everyday... I had the realization: I didn't have to put up with this grind anymore.

So, in seventh grade, I stopped doing homework. Something it took me until my junior year of college to start doing consistantly again.

After I transfered to a high end prep school, I couldn't cope with the fact that things didn't come easily to me anymore. I was discouraged by the fact that all of a sudden, I was two years behind in math (we had just started pre-algebra, and they were in advanced algebra in 8^th grade), and was struggling to do well in my old school. I didn't know how to study. I didn't know how to work hard. School was always just "sit there and have people telling you things you already know."

You see, I realize my failings. I understand why I'm in the position I'm in now, unemployed and unsatisfied with my life. But, while I'm not trying to shirk the blame onto anyone, I feel like it was an unavoidable consiquence of my childish arrogance.

I always feel a bit disappointed with myself about where I ended up. The standards I've held myself to have steadily decreased over the years. Sometimes I feel like because of one poor decision in my childhood, I lost out doing the only things I felt I was ever good at. Yes, art is good, respectable, fun...but, it was always a hobby for me. I went through higher education for a hobby, and I don't think I could put forth the effort to be as competitive in the field as I should be.

So, yes. I suck. If I ran into my childhood self, she would kick my ass. But, I don't have to suck forever. This is why I'm writing and constantly going around with a camera slung around my neck.

If nothing else, I don't want to be a complete disappointment to myself. So, practice makes perfect and all that.

...fin.

(One day I'll learn how to end these, I promise...)

The most awesome TA EVER!

(Warning...this is going to be long and probably very disjointed. Read with caution!)

So, it's taken me awhile to get back to this. Sorry. But I have my reasons, and for once, they don't involve me being horribly uninteresting! So, cutting straight to the chase: I'm a TA (ish). Yay! I should elaborate, I guess.

I went to my old high school/middle school, and visited one of the art teachers. She was always super cool to me, and when I was in 8^th grade, co-ran the After-School Art program that I was majorly involved in. So, yeah, I went to visit, and she kind of forgot that I went to college. So, she was downright astounded when I said I was a college grad (which I TOTALLY am now!). I asked her if she ever needed any volunteer stuff let me know, and it so happened that the next day (Wednesday, two weeks ago) her Service Through Art group were painting murals and I should "totally come and check it out."

I went to a Quaker school. We're all about peace and service and generally being a good person, there. Yes, I am a proud alumn; and even if my high school years sucked (which they did, cuz it's high school) they were probably better than yours, so NYAH!

So, I did go the next day. Remembering that I'm not a morning person, waking up at 8AM to traverse public transportation to get to a middle school by 10AM... I was not a happy Jazzy. But, I got there, twenty minutes early, and out of breath because I scrambled up there so I wouldn't be late. First thing, she sprang on me that I had to do a presentation to a group of hungry, judgemental 10-14 year olds. (I had to do it right before lunch. So cruel...) So, I was automatically nervous. Then the REAL artist came in.

Meet Jonny: a really (really) tall, scrawny, scraggily mural artist and sculptor. Mid-thirties (I'm assuming) assistant to the biggest mural artist in Philadelphia, and practiced art teacher.

So, I'm awkward. You know that by now. Luckily, my former teacher did all the introducing. We shook hands and shot the shit for a minute or two, before setting up for the muralling. My old teacher (who will now be refered to as Mrs. Dice [not her real name]) asked me to take pictures for them, and, with my brand new, wallet murdering, DSLR camera, I gladly obliged.

Thus, the first week passed. I chatted with real adults for awhile, took some pictures, and had...well, the best presentation I could manage considering the short notice.

The second week I missed, due to only sleeping about three hours.

Now, lets get into yesterday. My second day. I got there a bit late, due to a fiasco with public transportation, construction, and mud. Mrs. Dice and Jonny were pushing the art cart to the hall they were painting when I ran over to them. We went to the enclave that the kids were painting, and Mrs. Dice went to wait for the kids. As I chatted with Jonny, I realized a few things:

1. I haven't quite shaken the whole "giving college critiques" thing, and I was terrified to advise these kids because I might be a dick and make them cry.
2. I might be more seriously considering being a teacher.
3. I will never, never be as cool as Jonny, the mural artist. Seriously.

The kids came, and started painting, and I started taking pictures. Here's where it gets interesting though. Jonny and Dice now gave the kids almost complete creative freedom now. And, I was quite frankly impressed. Like, some of these kids were GOOD. Really good. The ones that weren't particularly great artists were impressively creative, or had a really entertaining sense of humor. I'll show you some pictures.

 The background: root/tentacle thingies.

 The art cart!

 Jonny.  One day I'll make it to this guy's level of awesome.

 A kid painting words.  They were told to collect words that they overheard in the enclave to paint.  It was only a guideline, really, and the kids wrote everything from memes to pictures to...I dunno, the actual assignment.

One amazing "Amazing." 

A kickass horse. 

Eyeball.

My personal favorite little corner.  I'm a sucker for pretty geometric patterns!

Meme-kids' doodle corner.

Remember, most of these kids are ten, twelve, fourteen years old, at oldest. I advised and encouraged as best I could. What struck me, though, was that these kids remembered me. One girl, who two weeks ago mentioned that she wanted to go to a creative arts high school in the city, came up to me, excitedly, telling me that her mom decided to let her try to go, and started doing the paperwork and stuff. She then found me right after they went to clean up, and started talking painting and techniques and mediums with me. Yes, I was having an intelligent conversation with a sixth grader about painting. I remember how it felt to be talking to adults at that age, and I did my best to talk to her like an equal, not like a little kid. I'd like to think I did a good job.

Anyway, the day wore on, and I was invited to stay for Dice's clay classes. And lunch. AT THE TEACHERS' TABLE (hoh man!). All the teachers were really cool and surprised that I was all graduated and stuff. I had real conversations with my old Drama teacher and a new middle school English teacher.

This raises the question: when did teachers gain three dimensions? It's almost like they're real people, and I was too self-serving to notice! Nahhhh...

Middle school ceramics. I didn't see myself ever qualified to help teach a class like that, considering I only took one Ceramics class in college, but...I actually knew what I was talking about. At least enough to advise middle schoolers. I helped a girl with building a ceramic dollhouse (very ambitious, cuz it's going to be really big...), a boy make an octopus lamp (super cool idea!) and tried to convince a girl that her vase was super cool and she shouldn't break it into a million pieces. Then the fifth graders came in. Ten year olds are scary. I already knew that, but I've never been closed in a room with twenty of them. They were fun kids though; quite proud to explain what their projects were (cartouches...not sure if I'm spelling it correctly). By the second set of fifth graders (and the end of my day), they decided that I needed to be quizzed on all of their names, and I was followed around by a kid who wanted nothing more than to talk video games.

Even if you're only 4.5 feet tall!

Apparently, it's amazing that GameBoy was invented the year I was born.

Who knows, I might have found my thing. I forgot how much I liked kids and enjoyed teaching, being around fellow awkward college students for the past five years. We'll see.

Or Jonny.  Whatever.