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| Photo collage of my favourites (clockwise from left): Anna and me at Disneyland this summer, Alex and me at the Getty last year, Dr. Wright and me at Torrey graduation this past May. |
Firstly I had a morning cup with Dr. Wright. We talked about his trip (and my past trips) to England, our favourite sights (predominately associated with Churchill), my move to New York, my "journey of self discovery", my thoughts about contemporary and classical art and architecture, this blog, the new school term, the Torrey books he was leading on, and our enjoyment about following each other on Twitter. Unfortunately we weren't able to talk about Confederate Monuments (and the controversy therein), but we were able to talk about good advice.
In particular two pieces of advice which I had taken to heart. The first being his extremely helpful critiques about writing. When I was trying to write my argument about art on here a few weeks ago, I realised my entire argument was trying to tackle too many pieces at once. I could hear his editing in the back of my mind, telling me to outline the argument and go back to the Torrey paper proposal outlines he had me do. So I decided to outline my argument, and unsurprisingly I was able to write an even better, clearer piece which I ended up posting.
The second piece of advice was what he told me three years ago, about how you're never ready to do something until you "just do it". I remember thinking that it was terrible advice that I didn't understand at the time. How could you never be ready to do anything? And how could adults just go ahead and jump into things they didn't feel prepared for? Now, of course, I understand what Dr. Wright was really saying.
A few weeks ago I found out one of my nephews is interested in moving to New York. I reached out to him on Facebook, and we chatted about his decision to move and some of his hopes, dreams, and fears associated with something like relocating across the country. He brought to me two main concerns: 1) That he didn't have enough money 2) That he was going in blind - he has never been to New York, doesn't know how to start his career, and doesn't know anyone there. My response? I told him that:
1. You will never have enough money. I know this is a huge problem for a lot of people, but taking the time to research how much things cost (rather than just hearing "it's expensive") helps a lot. It means that you can actually sit down and budget how much money you could reasonably save.
I have a lot of friends who save and save, but they never feel like they have enough to comfortably survive and take The Plunge. The truth is, you never will (and that's kind of the point). After two years I have saved enough money to, I believe, reasonably live unemployed in New York for 5 months during which time I hope to work in the media industry. But if not, I have no problem (like yourself I'm sure) waiting tables in restaurants while I keep working towards my dreams.
And 2. I've only visited New York twice. Once for two days (very briefly, and stuck in a hotel room the entire time), and another time to play tourist for five days. So I'm no expert on the city. It's been a huge exercise in learning how to research and trust other people who are much more qualified than myself about the city.
The problem with all of the arts industries, of course, is that it's extremely difficult to become employed (or even know what jobs there are) unless you move to the city you want to work in. And for a field as diverse and ever changing as the arts, there is no linear path to follow. It's one of the best and worst parts of the trade.
I definitely don't have all the answers. And I'm scared as hell that I'm going to be throwing away my life savings for moving across the country to live with a stranger, never find a job, and be completely alone. But so far I've had nothing but encouragement from friends, family, and even strangers who are all excited for me and want to help me out. If nothing else, my move has shown me how much kindness there still is in the world.
So I think it's a good thing to be cautious and practical with your two points - it means you're serious about moving and setting goals to achieve what you want. But also don't forget that you will never feel as prepared or ready as you want to. I certainly don't and I'm moving in less than a month!
Here, I look to David Bowie: "If you feel safe in the area you're working in, you're not working in the right area. Always go a little further into the water than you feel you're capable of being in. Go a little bit out of your depth. And when you don't feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you're just about in the right place to do something exciting."
After giving him this advice, I felt like I finally understood what Dr. Wright had told me so many years ago. You never feel ready, and when you're out of your depth, you're in the right place for God to do some amazing things (reminding me of the story of Abraham who had no idea what he was doing wandering out in the desert). As always, it was really nice to see him again, but his particular type of mentorship, wisdom, and friendship was especially welcome right before my big move.
Then I got to see Anna for lunch. We went to Tokyo Town to get sushi, ramen, and Teriyaki chicken (all delicious). Of course when we saw each other we started talking about art and television, our summers back home, her role as a seer, what our hopes and dreams were for the future year, what advice or opinions we had about all the things discussed, our goals moving forward in the media industry, our current projects, and our experiences and love of making films. Currently on my list to watch is "My Own Private Idaho" and go back to watch "Back to the Future". I also found out Anna likes "Quantum Leap" and we generally talked about our shared love of sci-fi and the logistics of time travel (in art). I recommended to her two of my favourite shows - "Strange Days at Blake Holsey High" and "Pushing Daisies". And of course Bowie made the cut for lots and lots of (one-sided) conversation.
What I particularly love about Anna is the element of female mentorship our friendship has. Although I'm older than her, I feel like every time we get together I learn something new and get a fresh set of eyes on a situation. She's definitely one of my favourite people, and I wish that I got to know her sooner! The level of honesty and vulnerability we have with each other about our careers, our failures, and our lives is something I find extremely rare and refreshing to have in a friend.
And finally I got to see Alex for dinner at his new house. He made some delicious fried rice (he's always been one of my favourite cooks), and we were able to catch up about all sorts of things. Of course I talked about watching the solar eclipse, moving to New York, and all the mundane things in between, while he told me about his summer and his new job. I'm so excited he's working at a gallery in Santa Ana - it's not just a "job for money because I gotta do something", but a job that he was telling me he could see himself staying at for a few years, cultivating skills in his chosen profession.
Of course, like most of the time when we talk, the conversation turned to philosophical perspectives on art, and art in general. Like my debate with Ike on the role of artist and audience in art, the frustration I had with Lazarus reviews, and the shared admiration we have for Agnes Martin. In particular, I told Alex about how one of the best things his friendship has given me is an appreciation for modern art. Without him, my enjoyment and love of contemporary pieces would remain dormant and undiscovered (which would be a real shame!). I also conveyed to him how I use his metaphor about contemporary art being an artist who is exercising all of their tools all the time to people who only like classical art. I also shared the names of Toba Khedoori and Henry Moore as some of my favourite contemporary artists (along with the Blue Four's Wassily Kandinsky and Paul Klee). Khedoori's "(Untitlted) Doors" and Moore's "Family Group" are two of my all time favourite pieces.
But my favourite thing about Alex is the fantastic advice he always gives. He's a great listener, and understands my need for space and prior knowledge of a social situation (he's always been considerate of both). And we were talking about friendship. I was telling him about how I was afraid that I will not make any friends in New York before we started talking about long distance friendship. I told him that I believe people cross paths again and again more than you think or anticipate.
In particular, in my long distance friendships with Todd and Annaliese I have found that we continue to "look for excuses" to be together. A friend's birthday or a graduation can be the perfect "excuse" needed to do what you wanted to do anyways and visit a friend and maintain that connection. I also talked with him about how in long distance friendships two dynamics that shift were that 1) I became more intentional with the time I spent with them and 2) That we were able to still fall back into old patterns of hanging out and speaking that didn't feel awkward or strange.
He reminded me that even though I was moving, and I was grieving for the fact I wouldn't be near my college friends every day, that I was not, in fact, "loosing" anything. I was changing something. He told me that change like a move is always scary because (and I quote), "You can experience loss, but you didn't loose something".
And in parting, he shared with me an absolutely beautiful poem by Naomi Shihab Nye. My favourite stanza was the one which starts with, "It's not that you don't love them anymore". An intense, powerful, intimate piece which I know I'll be meditating on as I move and after. Trust Alex to always find excellent art. It's called "The Art of Disappearing", which I will quote in full below as my own parting words to this post:
When they say Don't I know you?
say no.
When they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.
If they say We should get together
say why?
It's not that you don't love them anymore.
You're trying to remember something
too important to forget.
Trees. The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished.
When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven't seen in ten years
appears at the door,
don't start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.
Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time.
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