Having lived in Minnesota for most of my life, I thought I knew what it felt like to have completely cold-numbed feet. I didn't. I found out yesterday during my two-hour orientation at the Soap Factory gallery in Northeast Minneapolis. The gallery has no heat, and it was colder inside than the sun-warmed 45-degree conditions outside. My Converse trainers were not designed, nor well-chosen, for the frigidity I encountered.
Dressed, as we'd been advised, in fairly warm clothing and coats, we learned about the Soap Factory's history, went over the duties and opportunities for volunteers and took an extensive tour of the space. Near the end of the tour, I finally stopped feeling the tingling, biting pain in my toes. I stopped feeling anything. When I re-emerged into the sunshine at the end of the session, I decided to take a walk to help reawaken my comatose nerves. Walking on numb feet proved to be a very odd sensation. I was moving forward, but had no sensory record of how I had done so.
But frozen feet were, I think, a very small price to pay. The reason why the gallery has no heat is also the reason that it's such an amazing space. The building once housed the National Purity Soap Factory (hence the name), which always was or came to be owned by Pillsbury. In the late 90s, before real estate near the Mississippi became trendy and expensive, some people from the company were discussing their plans to demolish the building. Apparently this conversation took place in a bar and was overheard by someone who convinced them to donate it to an artists' collective instead.
No Name Exhibitions eventually acquired the old factory for one dollar. But since it had been scheduled for the wrecking ball, many essential elements had already been removed (like the heating system). The $4 million cost of installing a new one is obviously prohibitive for a non-profit organization. But these small imperfections somehow make the space ideal for housing art--especially the sort of emerging, risk-taking art that the Soap Factory seeks.
We were shown several of the building's quirks during our tour. The locomotive boiler still lies dormant in the basement, an absolutely massive, hulking, awe-inspiring and antiquated piece of machinery. The basement itself is one of the eeriest places I have ever seen. It's very well-suited to the Halloween Haunted Basement that is held there each year. I was spooked whilst travelling the maze of dark spaces without costumed characters and other scary effects. I can't imagine what my reaction will be when it's done up properly. Probably sheer, silent terror.
The organic, constantly improving nature of the gallery means that I will have a very interesting volunteer experience there. Unlike the Walker, where I man a kiosk and occasionally direct a visitor to a café or gallery, I'll have the opportunity to be involved with a little bit of everything at the Soap Factory. According to the orientation slides, I'll be able to work one-on-one with artists, help with installations, contribute to rebuilding the floor that was torn out along with the lard-boiling vats, bar tend at openings--and, of course, gallery sit. I feel like I'll have a chance to make a true impact and learn a lot in the process. That is very exciting.
The Soap Factory is already doing interesting things, and I think it has great potential to achieve a lot more. The organisation is fueled by enthusiastic people with great ideas for fundraising and gallery improvements. Hopefully I can contribute a few of my own thoughts in addition to helping to carry out visions already in place. Despite having frozen feet, the orientation left the rest of me warm with eager anticipation. And I now know why the Soap Factory presents the Art Shanty Projects on Lake Minnetonka every winter. No-one expects those to be heated.
30 March, 2009
24 March, 2009
Wheels
Following a string of 40-plus-degree days that melted most of the lingering ice, I embarked on my first bike ride of the season. I was fully prepared for it to hurt. I recalled last year's first ride, which left me gasping for air and feeling a strong desire to throw up. This year, it was my hands and face that were burning rather than my lungs and legs. It was still probably a bit too cold, and the wind rushing across my exposed flesh left my fingers and ears numb. But aside from that, it was a very pleasant ride. I even pedaled against the wind up a long hill and found myself only reasonably winded at its summit.
Apparently the frequent unemployment walks I took this winter gave me some physical stamina. That and making endless rounds amongst the copy machine, printer, binding machine, and errant accountants' offices at Tax Place. While I expected to have some humourous-in-hindsight stories about my pedaling plight, the lack of physical pain I experienced means that a more interesting scenario involves wheels powered by an engine. Before I went to Australia, I had been borrowing my parents' third car when I needed to go somewhere. They and I both thought that I would be gone much longer than I actually was, and they sold the car about a month before I came home. This made it more difficult to go to class, go to my shifts at the Walker--go anywhere.
Luckily Raf and Laura went to Canada a few weeks ago. Luckily, Raf and Laura were generous enough to let me borrow their car whilst they were gone. I had just dropped them off at the airport and driven to work, exalting all the way about my new four-wheel freedom, when I received an email from Andy's parents offering to let me borrow their car when they went to Colorado the following week. I was thrilled at the prospect of having a car for three weeks, and scheduled every conceivable thing to which I would need to drive within that period of time.
But it got even better. Andy's parents decided to let me use Andy's car until he comes home in May. I must admit I teared up a little when he told me. To the people who lend me their vehicles, it may not seem like a huge deal (maybe it does and I just don't realise it). But, for someone who lives in a part of Maple Grove where the nearest coffee shop is a two-hour walk away with no transportation besides the Monday-through-Friday morning and evening rush-hour bus service, having a car is a significant luxury. I met Russdad and Dianemom for dinner and picked up the beautiful green Subaru about a week ago. It has made everything much easier and more accessible.
It has also opened up some new opportunities. I was interested in volunteering at the Soap Factory in addition to the Walker, but I didn't think I'd have reliable access to a car. After discovering that I'd have my own means of transport, I immediately signed up for one of the orientation sessions. It's coming up this Saturday. Working there will be an interesting contrast to the Walker, since it's a much smaller gallery with no permanent collection (as far as I know). That means there will be a lot more exhibitions coming through, which subsequently means more opportunities for me to witness or talk to people about how they curate the shows.
From a much easier first-ride-of-the-season to borrowing a car of my own, the wheel situation is greatly improved this year. Now I can focus on other aspects of life I'd like to improve over last year, like my job. I consider myself very lucky to have basically had the vehicle situation straightened out for me, and I'm hoping that luck holds out.
Apparently the frequent unemployment walks I took this winter gave me some physical stamina. That and making endless rounds amongst the copy machine, printer, binding machine, and errant accountants' offices at Tax Place. While I expected to have some humourous-in-hindsight stories about my pedaling plight, the lack of physical pain I experienced means that a more interesting scenario involves wheels powered by an engine. Before I went to Australia, I had been borrowing my parents' third car when I needed to go somewhere. They and I both thought that I would be gone much longer than I actually was, and they sold the car about a month before I came home. This made it more difficult to go to class, go to my shifts at the Walker--go anywhere.
Luckily Raf and Laura went to Canada a few weeks ago. Luckily, Raf and Laura were generous enough to let me borrow their car whilst they were gone. I had just dropped them off at the airport and driven to work, exalting all the way about my new four-wheel freedom, when I received an email from Andy's parents offering to let me borrow their car when they went to Colorado the following week. I was thrilled at the prospect of having a car for three weeks, and scheduled every conceivable thing to which I would need to drive within that period of time.
But it got even better. Andy's parents decided to let me use Andy's car until he comes home in May. I must admit I teared up a little when he told me. To the people who lend me their vehicles, it may not seem like a huge deal (maybe it does and I just don't realise it). But, for someone who lives in a part of Maple Grove where the nearest coffee shop is a two-hour walk away with no transportation besides the Monday-through-Friday morning and evening rush-hour bus service, having a car is a significant luxury. I met Russdad and Dianemom for dinner and picked up the beautiful green Subaru about a week ago. It has made everything much easier and more accessible.
It has also opened up some new opportunities. I was interested in volunteering at the Soap Factory in addition to the Walker, but I didn't think I'd have reliable access to a car. After discovering that I'd have my own means of transport, I immediately signed up for one of the orientation sessions. It's coming up this Saturday. Working there will be an interesting contrast to the Walker, since it's a much smaller gallery with no permanent collection (as far as I know). That means there will be a lot more exhibitions coming through, which subsequently means more opportunities for me to witness or talk to people about how they curate the shows.
From a much easier first-ride-of-the-season to borrowing a car of my own, the wheel situation is greatly improved this year. Now I can focus on other aspects of life I'd like to improve over last year, like my job. I consider myself very lucky to have basically had the vehicle situation straightened out for me, and I'm hoping that luck holds out.
18 March, 2009
Toner Lung Relapse
After an unexpected five-month holiday, I finally returned to being gainfully employed in February. I returned to Tax Place. Not surprisingly, it is much the same as it was last year. Everyone, with the exception of two temps, is still there. I'm sitting in the same cubicle. I'm assembling the same e-file returns for a lot of the same clients. And I think I'm once again suffering from Toner Lung. I remember my fellow temp, M, complaining of mysteriously swollen glands last year. I've noticed that my own glands have become perceptibly larger over the past week, but I thought it was due to a recent cold. I didn't associate this telltale symptom with Toner Lung until today when, in the course of trying to clear a jam in the copier, I found my face in very close proximity to the acrid fumes it produces.
Suddenly everything fell into place. The excessive thirst. Dry, chapped hands. Fatigue. Grogginess. All symptoms that I also experienced last year and that led me to postulate about the existence of the disease in the first place. And this strain of Toner Lung seems to be more severe than ever before. Last year, one of the accountants provided evidence of the respiratory difficulties associated with Toner Lung by clearing his throat almost incessantly. This year, the "Ahm" and "Hrrrrm" to which I had grown accustomed have escalated to a full range of horribly phlegmatic noises. Rather than giving a simple cough, he now sounds as if he's blatantly trying to dislodge a fairly sizable loogie.
I've also noticed strange behaviour from another accountant. Now that M is no longer here to captivate the wheezy preparer, I've seen a lot less of him back by our cubicles. Instead, I've been hearing far more from B. Last year he confined himself to asking me what I was listening to on my iPod. Now it's become much more personal. I'd grown out my hair a bit last year, and it was too long to spike it up as I usually do. I'd forgotten about this change in coiffure until B started constantly teasing me about it.
"What'd'you call that?" he asked, gesturing to my hair. "The Rooster?" Another day he greeted me by calling out, "Hey, Spike!"
Once he ran out of clever jokes about my hairstyle, he moved on to my nose stud. "Do you stick that on there or is it real?" he inquired.
"It's real," I answered. "I've had that for a while. I'm surprised you didn't notice it last year."
"Oh I noticed it," he sneered. "I just didn't say anything about it."
I'm beginning to suspect that the only explanation for this verbal diarrhea is that it's yet another symptom of Toner Lung.
But I don't have quite as much time to study the disease and its strange manifestations as I did last year. Since I already knew how to assemble completed returns, my supervisors decided to teach me how to scan tax documents into the computer. This new task is now the bane of my Tax Place existence. It involves sorting through the big mess of W2s, 1099s, 1098s and whatever else people send back with their tax organisers. Many people seem to have an annoying fondness for staples, paper clips and Post-It notes, all of which I must remove. I have to watch for marks in any highlighter colour other than yellow, since they will turn into black censor bars if scanned in black and white. And, unlike assembling, I can't fix a mistake without completely starting over. I don't have the ability to delete a page that might turn out wonky. Cultivating the eagle-eyed forethought necessary for this task has kept me far busier than I was last year.
Despite the scanning, I generally like being back at Tax Place. I'm getting paid, the passage of time has picked up considerable speed, and I'm treated quite well. But returning here has highlighted the main difference between my life now and my life then. I really miss Andy. We had just begun dating before I started this assignment last year, and my nearly constant love-stupid giddiness must have been apparent to others, too. Immediately upon walking in the door on my first day back, the receptionist called, "I saw you kissing a boy!" Seeing my confusion, she went on to explain that it had been around the time I'd been working there last year.
"I was going to say it must not have been any time recently," I replied, and explained the separate travel paths that we're currently navigating.
"Well, you looked really in love, and it was cute," she concluded.
And that is a big part of the reason why I'm also ready to be done with Tax Place. Unlike last year, where the end of my assignment meant only uncertainty and, eventually, a far worse temp assignment, this year I have a great deal to look forward to. By 15 April, there will only be two weeks left until Andy comes home. Soon after that I'll move out of my parents' house. I have fall classes to plan. And I've been working really hard to find a job I might actually enjoy by the time tax season is done. I'm feeling pretty optimistic and eager to move on to new things. And, of course, I need to recover from this new strain of Toner Lung.
Suddenly everything fell into place. The excessive thirst. Dry, chapped hands. Fatigue. Grogginess. All symptoms that I also experienced last year and that led me to postulate about the existence of the disease in the first place. And this strain of Toner Lung seems to be more severe than ever before. Last year, one of the accountants provided evidence of the respiratory difficulties associated with Toner Lung by clearing his throat almost incessantly. This year, the "Ahm" and "Hrrrrm" to which I had grown accustomed have escalated to a full range of horribly phlegmatic noises. Rather than giving a simple cough, he now sounds as if he's blatantly trying to dislodge a fairly sizable loogie.
I've also noticed strange behaviour from another accountant. Now that M is no longer here to captivate the wheezy preparer, I've seen a lot less of him back by our cubicles. Instead, I've been hearing far more from B. Last year he confined himself to asking me what I was listening to on my iPod. Now it's become much more personal. I'd grown out my hair a bit last year, and it was too long to spike it up as I usually do. I'd forgotten about this change in coiffure until B started constantly teasing me about it.
"What'd'you call that?" he asked, gesturing to my hair. "The Rooster?" Another day he greeted me by calling out, "Hey, Spike!"
Once he ran out of clever jokes about my hairstyle, he moved on to my nose stud. "Do you stick that on there or is it real?" he inquired.
"It's real," I answered. "I've had that for a while. I'm surprised you didn't notice it last year."
"Oh I noticed it," he sneered. "I just didn't say anything about it."
I'm beginning to suspect that the only explanation for this verbal diarrhea is that it's yet another symptom of Toner Lung.
But I don't have quite as much time to study the disease and its strange manifestations as I did last year. Since I already knew how to assemble completed returns, my supervisors decided to teach me how to scan tax documents into the computer. This new task is now the bane of my Tax Place existence. It involves sorting through the big mess of W2s, 1099s, 1098s and whatever else people send back with their tax organisers. Many people seem to have an annoying fondness for staples, paper clips and Post-It notes, all of which I must remove. I have to watch for marks in any highlighter colour other than yellow, since they will turn into black censor bars if scanned in black and white. And, unlike assembling, I can't fix a mistake without completely starting over. I don't have the ability to delete a page that might turn out wonky. Cultivating the eagle-eyed forethought necessary for this task has kept me far busier than I was last year.
Despite the scanning, I generally like being back at Tax Place. I'm getting paid, the passage of time has picked up considerable speed, and I'm treated quite well. But returning here has highlighted the main difference between my life now and my life then. I really miss Andy. We had just begun dating before I started this assignment last year, and my nearly constant love-stupid giddiness must have been apparent to others, too. Immediately upon walking in the door on my first day back, the receptionist called, "I saw you kissing a boy!" Seeing my confusion, she went on to explain that it had been around the time I'd been working there last year.
"I was going to say it must not have been any time recently," I replied, and explained the separate travel paths that we're currently navigating.
"Well, you looked really in love, and it was cute," she concluded.
And that is a big part of the reason why I'm also ready to be done with Tax Place. Unlike last year, where the end of my assignment meant only uncertainty and, eventually, a far worse temp assignment, this year I have a great deal to look forward to. By 15 April, there will only be two weeks left until Andy comes home. Soon after that I'll move out of my parents' house. I have fall classes to plan. And I've been working really hard to find a job I might actually enjoy by the time tax season is done. I'm feeling pretty optimistic and eager to move on to new things. And, of course, I need to recover from this new strain of Toner Lung.
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