The good:
I have the pleasure of spending every morning toiling away rubbing shoulders with some truly wonderful creatures (some grumpy, however, would rather me not be in the stall with them), listening to the birds, and feeling my muscles ache.
I have a tonne more free time and energy. We are usually done with mucking and bedding around 11:30 in the morning, and I'm home by noon with enough spark left to get a good deal of things done and let ideas flow. It feels fantastic.
The weather is turning better. On Saturday as I let the dogs out around 6am, I heard the birds for the first time in what must be months. I know they've been around, but they've been so quiet. I can't remember for certain, but I may have done a little jump of joy at that moment. Amazing what a bit of sunlight and warmth can do this time of year.
I've a few cold weather crop seedlings (mainly lettuce) starting in the studio now. If they get too big before we're out of our frost season, they'll do okay as microgreens in a container I have. I'm looking forward to gardening. Last year I wasn't able to put much time or energy into it, and my plants failed fairly bad, so I won't let that happen again this year.
The Bad:
I received my final school rejection letter today. No grad school, at least this year.
Our boss fell off a horse while riding drunk and bruised his kidney, gallbladder, and hip. Considering the slim pickings of our little crew, the barn manager has thusly placed me in charge. This means a much longer shift for me for the time being, and at least twice the work, which results in me coming home utterly wrecked. I'm hoping this won't last too long. As much as I do adore the horses.
So that's all for now. It feels like my legs are still crunched under me and there's a good bit of grime left to work off, but it's loosening, and there's more relief in that than I can describe.
Thursday, March 19, 2015
Friday, March 6, 2015
Doors
Open and close so quickly.
I received my first grad school rejection letter today.
On one hand, I wasn't surprised, nor nearly as upset as I expected to be - there's that ever-present and very strong voice of self-doubt that follows me everywhere and comforts me in the event that it was correct.
On the other hand, it was the school I was hoping for the most and thus it was by far the most well put-together application I'd done and I had a fair bit of optimism for it.
So the question goes through my mind: What do I do if I don't go to grad school? How do I make my work better - whether to apply again next year, or just for the sake of pushing it? How do I keep up with it?
I feel so estranged from my studio practice and art community. The days of being absorbed in it seem like a far away dream that I can barely remember anymore.
I can't deny that my ego feels a little sore as a result. Between undergrad and now it feels like I've put so much work , intent, and sincerity into everything I've done - trying to maintain a job I loathed despite my ill feelings for it, fitting in painting time, over two dozen hopeful job applications, and few things seem to work out. I don't feel defeated so much as I feel confounded - what do I keep doing wrong? Am I aiming too high? What is my work lacking? What is my language lacking? What is my personality lacking?
And then the big question: where do I go from here?
On the bright side, the barn called back and scheduled an interview with me for tomorrow. I am holding my breath now.
I received my first grad school rejection letter today.
On one hand, I wasn't surprised, nor nearly as upset as I expected to be - there's that ever-present and very strong voice of self-doubt that follows me everywhere and comforts me in the event that it was correct.
On the other hand, it was the school I was hoping for the most and thus it was by far the most well put-together application I'd done and I had a fair bit of optimism for it.
So the question goes through my mind: What do I do if I don't go to grad school? How do I make my work better - whether to apply again next year, or just for the sake of pushing it? How do I keep up with it?
I feel so estranged from my studio practice and art community. The days of being absorbed in it seem like a far away dream that I can barely remember anymore.
I can't deny that my ego feels a little sore as a result. Between undergrad and now it feels like I've put so much work , intent, and sincerity into everything I've done - trying to maintain a job I loathed despite my ill feelings for it, fitting in painting time, over two dozen hopeful job applications, and few things seem to work out. I don't feel defeated so much as I feel confounded - what do I keep doing wrong? Am I aiming too high? What is my work lacking? What is my language lacking? What is my personality lacking?
And then the big question: where do I go from here?
On the bright side, the barn called back and scheduled an interview with me for tomorrow. I am holding my breath now.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
Out of the frying pan
....and into the ice bucket.
Brógan does a funny thing whenever someone tickles me, picks me up, or tries to dance with me (of course, this is 99% of the time Jack). He stands up boldly, defiantly, hair subtly rising on his hackles, begins to whine and whimper, then gingerly jumps up on the "assailant" and begins to push and paw at them, and shove his nose in their side repeatedly.
If said assailant doesn't listen, the force of his pushing goes from 'ginger' to 'frantic' and includes jumping and scratching, and the whining turns into a desperate half-whine-half-woof.
But it never goes beyond that.
When the assailant retreats, Brógan wiggles and wags his tail and whimpers and climbs on me and 'smiles' in submission (one of the unique traits of a Chesapeake is their grin - a literal turning-up of the lips to show teeth, done either when extremely excited/happy or submissive), I assume because he thinks I will yell at him for misbehaving - but in this instance I never do. I usually laugh, shrug him off, and when he settles I hug him. His heart was in the right place, anyway, he's a good boy.
I have to laugh when this happens because it's such a good illustration of internal conflict. Poor Brógan suffers from tension between the desire to get the assailant to back off (his nature means he wants to bite, he wants to bark, scratch, do what dogs do to 'defend' what is theirs), and the knowledge that biting/scratching/aggression is bad (based on previous experiences). Pushing with a nose is one step away from a bite - a type of warning. The hackles indicates aggression, along with the affirmative stance - he's trying to make himself big and scary. All indicators that he's not a fan of the situation and is ready to fight it. The whining, the gentile pushing, that's pleading - that's the evidence that he wants one thing, badly, but knows its wrong, that he shouldn't/can't do it, and so he whines instead.
This is, essentially, how I've felt for a long time now regarding work.
After talking with numerous people at work and my dad, I've decided to take a withdrawal. This means I'm still a union member, but I'm no longer 'active'; I can't work, collect unemployment, benefits, go to meetings, classes, or anything else, but I'm still in the union, pay yearly dues, and can return my withdrawal card and go back to work at any time. Withdrawal has no timeline, and it remains valid unless I stop paying dues or decide to leave entirely.
Cue an enormous sense of relief.
Also cue a bit of anxiety and fear.
When I told Jack this, he was thrilled. A big smile crossed his face and he hugged me with support - his work permit was activated a few weeks ago and he's been working from home doing full-time freelancing and trying his best to convince me to let him take over the financial burden for a while and regain my composure. I'm too stubborn to let him do that because I know what it's like to work and not be able to enjoy or even dictate what you do with the money you worked hard to earn, and as well as that it's his first job (bar working at a Chinese restaurant in his teens) so I didn't want to put any more stress on him than he'd already have getting adjusted to the routine.
At any rate, I've applied for about 7 jobs in the last 36 hours because I'm neurotic and realize that I need some sort of reliable income, however little it might be. Last night it came to my attention that the stable I grew up riding at and haunting throughout my childhood (I dreamed for years and years of working at this place - it was my dream job) was hiring part-time morning stall-muckers. No sooner was this brought to my attention than I was flying out the door to grab an application form - a simple, one-page fill-in-the-blanks form. Being neurotic, of course, I came home and typed up the best cover letter and relevant CV that I could muster, printed them on nice paper, folded them up, and returned them to the barn bright and early this morning. It so happened that your man in charge of this work was there and was thrilled when I returned them to him, asking (jokingly) if I could start tomorrow. He asked a few questions about my experience with horses, machinery, and manual labor, and then said, with a lot of enthusiasm and relief, that it was the best application he'd received and he'd be looking to start the work next week, checked about five times to make sure my phone number was in there, and that he'd be in touch within a few days.
So my fingers are really double triple quadruple crossed for that. I'd probably bring home about a third of what I was bringing home from the trade, but the tradeoff for work I enjoy, in a place that I enjoy, and more time to pursue larger goals would be well worth it.
In the meantime, my head is slowly wrapping itself around the idea that I have some time right now, and not so much pressure. It'll take a while for me to shed the layers of junk that have built up over the course of the last two years, but it feels possible right now.
The breathing room I'm afforded for the time being feels too good to be true. There's a part of me resisting sitting down and relaxing, big time, but I'll get there.
Brógan does a funny thing whenever someone tickles me, picks me up, or tries to dance with me (of course, this is 99% of the time Jack). He stands up boldly, defiantly, hair subtly rising on his hackles, begins to whine and whimper, then gingerly jumps up on the "assailant" and begins to push and paw at them, and shove his nose in their side repeatedly.
If said assailant doesn't listen, the force of his pushing goes from 'ginger' to 'frantic' and includes jumping and scratching, and the whining turns into a desperate half-whine-half-woof.
But it never goes beyond that.
When the assailant retreats, Brógan wiggles and wags his tail and whimpers and climbs on me and 'smiles' in submission (one of the unique traits of a Chesapeake is their grin - a literal turning-up of the lips to show teeth, done either when extremely excited/happy or submissive), I assume because he thinks I will yell at him for misbehaving - but in this instance I never do. I usually laugh, shrug him off, and when he settles I hug him. His heart was in the right place, anyway, he's a good boy.
I have to laugh when this happens because it's such a good illustration of internal conflict. Poor Brógan suffers from tension between the desire to get the assailant to back off (his nature means he wants to bite, he wants to bark, scratch, do what dogs do to 'defend' what is theirs), and the knowledge that biting/scratching/aggression is bad (based on previous experiences). Pushing with a nose is one step away from a bite - a type of warning. The hackles indicates aggression, along with the affirmative stance - he's trying to make himself big and scary. All indicators that he's not a fan of the situation and is ready to fight it. The whining, the gentile pushing, that's pleading - that's the evidence that he wants one thing, badly, but knows its wrong, that he shouldn't/can't do it, and so he whines instead.
This is, essentially, how I've felt for a long time now regarding work.
After talking with numerous people at work and my dad, I've decided to take a withdrawal. This means I'm still a union member, but I'm no longer 'active'; I can't work, collect unemployment, benefits, go to meetings, classes, or anything else, but I'm still in the union, pay yearly dues, and can return my withdrawal card and go back to work at any time. Withdrawal has no timeline, and it remains valid unless I stop paying dues or decide to leave entirely.
Cue an enormous sense of relief.
Also cue a bit of anxiety and fear.
When I told Jack this, he was thrilled. A big smile crossed his face and he hugged me with support - his work permit was activated a few weeks ago and he's been working from home doing full-time freelancing and trying his best to convince me to let him take over the financial burden for a while and regain my composure. I'm too stubborn to let him do that because I know what it's like to work and not be able to enjoy or even dictate what you do with the money you worked hard to earn, and as well as that it's his first job (bar working at a Chinese restaurant in his teens) so I didn't want to put any more stress on him than he'd already have getting adjusted to the routine.
At any rate, I've applied for about 7 jobs in the last 36 hours because I'm neurotic and realize that I need some sort of reliable income, however little it might be. Last night it came to my attention that the stable I grew up riding at and haunting throughout my childhood (I dreamed for years and years of working at this place - it was my dream job) was hiring part-time morning stall-muckers. No sooner was this brought to my attention than I was flying out the door to grab an application form - a simple, one-page fill-in-the-blanks form. Being neurotic, of course, I came home and typed up the best cover letter and relevant CV that I could muster, printed them on nice paper, folded them up, and returned them to the barn bright and early this morning. It so happened that your man in charge of this work was there and was thrilled when I returned them to him, asking (jokingly) if I could start tomorrow. He asked a few questions about my experience with horses, machinery, and manual labor, and then said, with a lot of enthusiasm and relief, that it was the best application he'd received and he'd be looking to start the work next week, checked about five times to make sure my phone number was in there, and that he'd be in touch within a few days.
So my fingers are really double triple quadruple crossed for that. I'd probably bring home about a third of what I was bringing home from the trade, but the tradeoff for work I enjoy, in a place that I enjoy, and more time to pursue larger goals would be well worth it.
In the meantime, my head is slowly wrapping itself around the idea that I have some time right now, and not so much pressure. It'll take a while for me to shed the layers of junk that have built up over the course of the last two years, but it feels possible right now.
The breathing room I'm afforded for the time being feels too good to be true. There's a part of me resisting sitting down and relaxing, big time, but I'll get there.
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