Line, Shape and Form

After diligently addressing, stamping and mailing an application for a volunteer position at the Walker Art Center this week, I expected at least a few days to pass before receiving a response. But the very next day my inbox contained a message from the representative to whom I'd sent my form and introductory letter. I opened it eagerly and scanned to the part where it said I'd be a good fit for the program. I couldn't help but grin rather hugely. I was, and am, absolutely thrilled.

Based on the amazingly fast response time, I doubt the selection process was very competitive. Perhaps just sending in the application was all that had been required. But it feels so great to finally be chosen for something. After all the negative responses (or lack of responses) I'd received in Australia during my job search, this is truly gratifying. And it's an opportunity I'm tremendously excited about. I can't remember ever being so eager to do work for which I'm not going to be paid.

But, even though they're not monetary, there are still many benefits to be gained from the experience. I'll learn more about art. Make connections at the gallery. Find someone I can talk to about grad school programs. Interact with lots of people. And, hopefully, enjoy myself as well. Though the position only requires me to volunteer four hours a month, this seems like a big step for me. Things are finally taking shape.

Part of that shape is formed by the art history class I'm taking at the University of Minnesota. I was told by the graduate program's director of admissions that I'd never be accepted with the single art history course currently on my transcript. So I'm slowly building a more substantial background in art history, one class at a time. I've started with a course dealing with the history of prints (woodcuts, engravings, etchings, lithography, etc). I'm finding it really interesting, despite focusing on very early religious prints thus far.

Though I graduated only about two years ago, it's quite strange to be an undergrad again. I'm a bit removed from the student lifestyle, so I'm able to look at it from a different perspective than I could when school was my main career. I'm basically surprised at how uptight and anxious some people seem to be feeling about the class. The midterm exam, for example, has proven to be a huge source of worry. It's still at least a month away, but our professor feels the need to reassure us every week because someone has come to her with concerns about it.

At least four people have also asked during class if our professor could put the slides and lecture notes up online before class rather than after. She refused, telling us quite honestly that she generally worked on the lecture up until class started.
"It's always a race to the finish," she confessed. I personally like her style. She told us on the first day that, "8.50 [the end time for our class] seems really late, especially in the winter. I'm all for letting you guys out early." This she has done consistently, which completely makes up for any tardiness in posting the lecture materials.

Then there was her tact in fielding a fairly delicate question last week. We had been looking at a print by Goya that featured a scary woman threatening a small group of people with an even scarier gigantic needle. Our professor told us that this would have been used to deliver an enema. This statement was seemingly going to pass without comment. But one student posed a question after we'd moved on to the next slide (which she seems to have a habit of doing).
"Wait...what was that big needle in the last slide?"
"I think it's called a clyster," the professor responded.
"But what's it for?"
"It's to give an enema."
"But what's an enema? That's what I'm asking."

The professor hesitated for a moment, certainly trying to figure out how to respond without delving into graphic descriptions. Trying to save us all from having to hear what her answer might be, one student announced to the girl, "I'll tell you after class." But Professor M discovered a way to disclose the information somewhat discreetly.
"Well, what's the opposite of Imodium AD?" she asked, having forgotten the name of the drug.
"Ex-Lax," another student chimed helpfully.
"Yes," our professor announced, sounding understandably relieved. "It's like Ex-Lax."

And yet some people in the class look bored!

Despite some awkward moments, I'm enjoying the class and the other steps I'm taking to reach my ultimate goal of being a curator. I'm excited for Walker orientation this week. I'm excited to pick my class for summer term. I'm excited to pick a grad school. I'm excited for all of it. I've felt a little lost career-wise for the past year or more, so it's exhilarating to pursue this line. I'm not quite sure exactly where it leads yet, but I know it's going somewhere I like. And the fact that it's still flexible is the most exciting part of all.

An Object at Rest...

Repatriating this time around has not proven to be as traumatic as it was last year. I think in a way that's because I never truly felt like an expat in Australia. I felt far more transient than I had on any of my previous excursions abroad. There are several reasons for that. Part of it was that I didn't discover a source of steady income and couldn't dismiss my concerns about running out of money before my visa expired. Part of it was that I didn't latch onto anything about Sydney that made me absolutely need to stay there. Part of it was that I took a lot more guided tours. Part of it was that Andy wasn't there.

And part of it was that I genuinely missed the Twin Cities. I missed the Current, the local music scene and the free local publications. I missed Punch, Chipotle, Quang, and the rest of Eat Street. I missed the bridges over the Mississippi. I missed the Mississippi in general. I missed having more clothes than I could carry in a suitcase. And after seven months of hot weather, I even missed the winter (though the solid week of -30°F temperatures that heralded my return was a little excessive). More than all the tangible things, I was actually happy to have a sense of stability. I've been moving about so much over the past two years that the idea of settling into one geographical place for a while is very appealing. I was glad to come home.

But my enthusiasm about being back doesn't help to eliminate the intense boredom I've felt since returning. I'm going back to Tax Place for another temporary assignment, but not for over two weeks. I have no car and very little money. I've largely been confined to the house, and am struggling to combat the inertia that such entrapment seems to encourage. For me, being bored is a vicious cycle. The logical way to fight boredom would be to engage myself in something interesting or productive. Something I always wished I had time to do when I was working. It's simple in theory, but in practice it's close to impossible. Instead of reading my textbook, I compulsively read facebook updates. The longest thing I've managed to write lately is a text message. And I won't even talk about how many games of Snood (a ridiculously simple and ridiculously addictive computer game) I play in a day.

Last week was much better. I think finding ways to leave my house has been the key to setting myself in motion. I'm taking a night art history course at the U. My friends have been supplying pretty frequent invitations for dinners, ice skating or watching football matches at the pub. I've been taking the bus downtown when I feel like I'm about to lose it in suburbia. I brave the cold and take long walks. All that getting out of the house helps me to be more productive when I'm in the house, too. I've been applying for weekend jobs, reading, inquiring about volunteer opportunities at art galleries...and writing. These latest posts on my blog represent my return to being an object motion. And if I adhere to Newton's first law, I'll hopefully stay in motion, too.