who can really tell?

this weekend i went to the seattle art museum with john, emily, and meagan. the last time i went there was four years ago, when i was a junior at s.u., and byron and his mom came to visit. i have to admit that i don't really get museums, or art, at all. i won't admit to not appreciating art because i don't think that's true. i know the process of trying to create something and failing, failing, failing. but when i look at something like, say, a jackson pollack, how does he really know when he's finished? how do i know that he's not just fooling me, and everyone else? what is it about drips, and shapes, rectangular frames, oil on canvas, pictures depicting gods and goddesses?

what makes mary cassat, renoir, lichtenstein, and warhol so special? they're innovators, people will say. they changed the world. well, what about the quiet people who i ride the bus with everyday? i'm sure they have dreams, would like to be artists, would like to remembered for all eternity. if given a spacious studio with sufficient lighting, and proper art materials, they would probably jump at the chance to paint all day, suffer for their art, and work and work and work to achieve something worth achieving. maybe they are aware of this dilemma. i don't know, and what i don't know could fill a book.

there's always this talk of getting a "real" job. well, what is a "real" job? is it having the ability to put on a tie every morning and drink coffee? does it have to do with pay and benefits and retirement funds and made-up titles? almost everyone i know is stuck some place where they'd rather not be, and they're always waiting for something better, something more glamorous. but what is it? sitting at a desk with no real responsibility? contributing to society in a real and meaningful way? what does it even mean to contribute?

life becomes completely absurd and devoid of meaning when i stop at any moment and visualize myself just a few months ago, sitting on my cousin's couch and playing grand theft auto iv. people do this all the time. i've been watching the olympics, and all i can think about is how michael phelps must feel the day after winning the eighth medal. you train your entire life for something, and once it's achieved, it's just like the day after the best christmas. you have to wait a whole year again, and it'll never be as good. some people work and work and work, and the smallest thing could ruin it all. you jump in the water too soon, and you're disqualified. you lose by 1/100th of a second.

i don't know what i'm getting at, really. was i better off just being a bum and living in my parents' house? i feel like in that situation, i could at least be blatantly honest: i live at home. i don't do anything with my life. the most i accomplished today was taking a walk to the bank. i rode my bike. i didn't contribute to the gdp. i didn't harm anyone, and i didn't feel like a victim. in fact, i didn't feel anything at all. i am unemployed, but i am not ashamed because i am not suffering like most others actually are. i don't have friends, but that's okay because most people my age would just like to go out to a bar, and i have no interest in doing that.

now i have a job, and i have potential for some real responsibility. i have things to talk about, like how today, i'll be hearing back about a studio apartment in columbia city. howdy. how was your weekend? was it a good weekend? this is a proposal. i'll forward it to you. make sure you cc her. the red light means there is a voicemail waiting for you. i'll be attending a word formatting training today from 3 - 4:30 p.m. does the printer only print from the third tray? if you need more toner, you can always order some.

if my body is 90% water, why can't i swim?

1 comment:

Tiffany said...

eeee! I love love LOVE Columbia City!!! Good luck.

Also, I sort of hear you. Now that I am living in South America, which is all I have really dreamed of doing for the last several years, it's like, well, okay, now what?