Thursday, April 28, 2011

pour like water, over me

Brace yourself for the impact: I've been dating.
That's right.
But its not because any of the boys in this city finally grew enough balls to begin approaching girls, and I'm therefore on the receiving end of genuine flirtation. No, it is much more imposed than that. After months of fighting back the loneliness, and after sitting through several convincing monologues by web-savvy gal pals, I decided to give online dating its fair shot.
The result has been a handful of responses and sporadic 'dates'. Nothing too significant yet, but I must admit that after years of being ignored by boys in public, the attention (even via internet) feels good and has contributed to a slight lift in my self- esteem.

Other than that, I've been quite frazzled by school.
Under the tutelage of a dynamic and connected teacher, the Hay Cake has developed into an entire project, now titled "I Can't Have That", with different 'manifestations': the cake itself, a performance art piece I completed just this Tuesday (do you want more detail on that? lemme know), a slide show installation and a few photographs. My teacher's enthusiasm for my idea and its cathartic concept has fueled a fire, and as a result, I've been working hard at it. A film crew showed up at my studio at school to film me working on the idea, and then a taped interview where you best believe I cried on camera and they thought it was brilliant.
My clay tree is coming along, but once more in the kiln resulted in some breakage that was too sad to photograph and post here.

I've a piece titled "Mother May I" at California Conference for the Advancement of Ceramic Arts. Which means I spent the day today driving my piece up to Davis to install it in AAU's designated log cabin. Of course, ceramic SUCKS and my sculpture cracked nearly everywhere and I was forced to hot glue it together. (In art school, it is a giant faux paus to hot glue your piece together. At the very least, you are to use a high-quality epoxy. I, however, did not have the patience or desire.) Needless to say, I was embarrassed and abandoned the piece as soon as it was dry.
I drove home lonely and despondent. Somewhere along the 2-hr drive, past the produce stands, empty fields, and boys named Clint, I stopped for gas in a tiny little town called Dixon. The wind was blowing intensely, but I felt still and strong against it. I didn't want to leave. I lingered. I lingered another hour. Dixon, CA. Who knew.
On the way home I listened to music with violins and it felt appropriate.

I came home to an empty apartment. Again. But waiting for me in my computer were the photos taken from my performance art piece. With smeared makeup, blood running down my fingers only to be mixed with the food coloring staining my hands, and thrashing about on the floor. I felt sick and sad, looking at these images. When I looked in the mirror just now, I noticed the bruises along my arms and hips- evidence of a performance gone right.
Another coughing, shaking fit on the floor of a spinning bathroom.

current mood: sore.
current music: bright eyes - spent on rainy days

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