Catching Up

One way to look back on 2011 is to read my past posts.  And, wow, what a whiner I am.  My first impulse was to delete it all.  I even contemplated going completely offline, and just writing by hand in an old-fashioned journal--which I still might do, as part of my resolution. But I happen to be reading Barbara Ehrenreich's book Bright-Sided, so instead I'm working on seeing these past whinings as honest, valid feelings.

Strange that I should have to convince myself that my own feelings are valid.  That's the root of a lot of problems these days.  I've fallen into several traps like the ones Ehrenreich describes.  I need to keep a positive outlook, or I won't find a job.  I won't keep any friends.  I won't find a mate.  Well, I'm having trouble, incidentally, with all three of those issues, and I don't think it's just my attitude.  It can't be, can it?

I'm not immune to positivity.  It seems I am today in particular, but there were some positive moments this past week.  For example, I had one glorious, Fox News free evening when Dad was out.  I watched my latest Netflix offering, Eat Pray Love.  I'm not saying it was phenomenal...maybe I'll explain later.  And despite some setbacks, I squeaked by with an order in to the printer for work, done on my day off, but still, an accomplishment.  Now my keen, penetrating mind is capable of many feats of critical thinking, and in this instance I do mean critical in its pejorative sense.  Not the well-meaning academic sense I attempt to convey to students.  My critical mind finds one major negative aspect in the most positive things: none of my most recent list of good things involves, directly, other people.  No human interaction without incessant doubt, suspicion, bitterness or regret.

Why?  Because, with my bad attitude, who could possibly stand to interact with me on more than the most superficial level?  I'll keep reading Ehrenreich's book, because I am most definitely stuck in the rut of positive thinking.  Not because I think positive, but because I believe my lack of positivity is the root of all my troubles.  To put a happy/brave face on it, on the most heinous things like cancer or the silliest like feeling utterly cut off from the world, is to deny myself the catharsis of typing it out.  Not talking it out.  A magazine told me not to do that.  (I'm only half-joking, there.)

do something great

I would love to write sunny things, happy things, giggly things...but that's not where I am right now.  And that sort of thing is well-covered by some professionals at Hellogiggles.com, including one of my heroes, Zooey Deschanel.  Sometimes I can't stand her, though, and others like her, because I start to think about how much I have not accomplished, how much I have not yet done.

I get that same bitter reaction while reading alumni publications and emails, the Phi Beta Kappa magazine, and others of the sort.  I like the design, the articles, especially about exhibitions.  But...then I see people both younger and older than I am doing great things, to borrow a Buckeye phrase.  What am I doing?

Well, I can make it sound really interesting if I try.  I teach a survey course in Art History at a local branch of a major university, bringing a little art into the lives of accounting and sociology majors.  I also work at a local non-profit, helping people find the aid and services they need in these tough times and recruiting volunteers.  I have also recently been told that I am a good writer.  I don't know about that last.  You're reading this, so you tell me.

Here's where reality sets in: most of my students don't bother to show up or complete assignments.  Many of them didn't know the course would be quite so challenging.  And I'm at my wits end, at the end of week 8 of a 10-week quarter, to help those who want to be helped.  And those who do not seem to want help...

I'm not sure what exactly happened to my goals.  I'm back to wondering why the heck I ever left Columbus in the first place.  I definitely didn't go to graduate school intending to return to rural Ohio.  Neither one of my jobs will help me with a future museum career.  At least not in my opinion.  At this moment in time.  I miss city life.  I miss mattering in some way, shape, or form.  The sinking feeling that's getting to me right now is that it isn't just about the recession.  I am up against a tough job market, but I also haven't done enough.  Not enough to get me where I wanted to be four years ago.

This town isn't really the best town to live in when you're an idealist.  Or a liberal.  Or a big dreamer.  I'm confronted by a lot of hardship on the job, both jobs, and the bleakness others feel, yeah I just absorb it like a sponge.
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To update: I always fluctuate back to mindlessly optimistic.  And by that I mean I get big ideas in my head and ignore their impracticality.  Like my latest brain storm.  I've been noticing that my main annoyances with rural life center on the glaring lack of literacy, both adults and children.  There is the Muskingum County Literacy Council, which could always use volunteer tutors.  And I think, maybe that's something I can do to solve this problem.  But if I added another gig to my plate, I just might go completely crazy instead of half-way there.

disconnect

I'm a little crestfallen about the whole teaching thing.  Somebody told me once I was a natural, and when I was observed a couple weeks ago, they said I was doing exactly what I should be doing.  My problem is getting the students to interact more, remember the material...and show up to class.  Those are pretty big problems.  Hence why I think maybe teaching isn't for me.

And it's not easy to worry about my quality as an educator at this particular moment in history.  In the last year teachers have been criticized for earning too much money and too many benefits for working "only 9 months," demonized when those bad apples got caught changing students' answers, and just generally crapped on.  How do you suppose young teachers are feeling right now?  Well, I think I know how the unemployed ones are feeling...you get this Masters degree and then all you can find is subbing unless you move (and uproot your family perhaps) across the country.  And the employed ones?  They face the constant threat of lay-offs, often seniority-based.  Then there's my primary fear:  that I'm not good enough.

I wish I could just take my brain and copy and paste it onto the students, but that's not how it works.  I've been seeing some good interaction from particular students, some smiles and even a few proverbial light bulbs when something clicks in their heads.  But the first midterm was brutal.  And I'm having trouble not thinking that it is my fault.  My questions were either too difficult or badly written, or my lectures aren't memorable enough.  But they have the textbook, which lays it all out.  They haven't done too badly on the homework.  It all boils down to effort I think.  My effort and theirs.

And there's a major disconnect:  I'm putting my all into this, and consequently taking all the badness onto my shoulders.  Many of the students are too quick with an excuse, and they don't show me any willingness to work harder.  That shows on their grades.  And on my own grade for myself.

thoughts on trying to be an academic

Yesterday would have been a lovely day to drive down to Athens (Ohio, that is), yet unfortunately I was stuck at home doing laundry, writing an exam and generally vegging out.  Today is a gray day, and being at work in Zanesville would have prevented me from such a road trip anyway.  I'm thinking about Athens because I was invited (with every other faculty and staff member, I'm nothing special), to a brown-bag meeting of sorts at Alden Library.  The topic was "Using Principles of Design to Rethink Powerpoint," which I figured would be interesting, even if I don't teach long-term.

With today's lovely technology, I was able to watch the talk online.  And inevitably, everything the speaker said made me think in my head, "Yes, but for an art history lecture..."  The presenter is a professor of communications, and he extended his points to other subjects such as biology, business and chemistry, but nothing was mentioned about art history.  If I were brave (and if my computer were equipped with a microphone) perhaps I would have chimed in. 

Some things did make sense for all subjects; such as, using properties of narrative and compare/contrast to tie the information together.  I do that all the time, naturally I think.  Especially when I obliterate the order in which images are printed in the book.  And one rule I go by every week:  if your students could print out your Powerpoint and have all the information without your spoken words, you're doing something wrong. 

However, a lot of things said and presented are the exact opposite of what I do, and I'm hesitant to make those changes.  For example, he mocked the concept of black backgrounds, calling it his "Dark Period."  Now I use black not to be "artsy" but to give a better view of the details and colors in each image.  White just messes it all up.  And I don't have a lot of graphics and charts and captions and text...that's just part and parcel of an art history lecture.  It's all about the image.  Period.  I try to mix things up with video and real artist's tools and supplies, but really, it's all about those slides.  I just don't have the luxury of turning off the projector like I'm sure some other professors do.

I'm not a graphic designer, and neither is the presenter.  He did gave a line that cracked me up, though:  "I'm not an expert in graphic design, but I know enough to be dangerous."  If I were able, I'd be happy to use the Rule of Thirds, etc.  But when my slides are paintings, sculpture and views of architecture, I see no harm in exact centering.  Sometimes I'd like to use different fonts and effects, but that takes away from the art, which is not only a visual aid, but the topic of discussion itself...

I guess art history is really that unique.

autumn

Most consider autumn the season of decline...leaves start to turn and fall, grass browns and temperatures drop.  Yet for me, autumn, this one in particular, is all about a new start.  It's my spring.  Instead of lamenting my under-employment, I will be chronicling the whirlwind that is holding two jobs: one in academia and one in the non-profit sector.  Right up my alley.

Now, I can't exactly blog about the non-profit...if I choose to identify it, I'd have to follow a law that bans me from "proselytizing" or making political statements.  And although I don't consider myself much of an activist, I think I should allow myself the ease of anonymity where that is concerned.  Suffice it to say that it's a brand new chapter in the book of me, a challenge that will hopefully develop my management skills and make me irresistible to future employers.

The temperatures are still summer-like...jeez it was hot Monday during the 9/11 Day of Remembrance service project.  I prefer cool weather when I can wear scarves and cardigans and other layers.  Speaking of scarves,  the least complicated issue of the academic job is whether I should go full Manhattan mode with the wardrobe. It's what pops into my head when I think "art history professor," but then again, I'm teaching in Ohio, and I need to be accessible to the students, not aloof.  I already feel like the bad guy, expecting them to do incredible things like show up for class.  And I'm already on the path of disappointment, heading toward the realization that despite my words and images and best efforts, they won't love art like I do.

When I told the awesome people at the store about the class, they were surprised.  "You have a Masters?"  "Wait, how old are you?"  Seems I can still pass for a teenager in some people's eyes.  Well, gone are the days of shop-girl-dom.  Now my brain is fighting shifting into overdrive to get into this new mode of employment...a mode which requires and invites me to think.  It's what I wanted, but getting what we want can be scary too.  Come on, autumn.  And bring it on, winter.  Except for a lot of snow...a snow day or snow emergency would seriously wreck my course schedule.

shop talk

There are days when I do not get so bitter about working at a department store.  Granted, these days are rare.  And numbered, since I will be embarking on a more idealist-friendly quest to teach art history at a local university branch and wiggle my way back into the non-profit sector.  These are the kinds of things that I find more substantial and beneficial to society than soliciting credit card applications.

Don't get me wrong.  A lot of great people work in department stores.  The kind of people who make anything and everything a fun experience, make you feel welcome, and have a knack for socializing (that's key to customer service, and the reason I sometimes get frustrated with it).  I wanted to rant about somebody who is not one of these fun people, then Sunday happened, and I once again saw the bright side.  Even when comparing notes on dealing with less-than-cooperative customers, the fun people really lighten the retail burden.  Even when I have not suckered any poor souls into an application, they treat me as one of them and even tell a customer "We're lucky to have her."  Now, of course I know that no manager would share their real opinions about an employee to a customer, but I enjoyed the moment (so don't take that from me!)

Now I am trying to squeeze in thinking time for lecture-planning between working hours...I had the hardest time turning my brain off Tuesday night in preparation for a super-early morning.  Then, of course, once the monotonous under-employment commenced, I felt acutely less energized and enthusiastic about the future.  But I have a few good ideas for alternative learning modes.  One is sending the students to local churches to compare what they find with the Italian Baroque.  (I have yet to visit some of these churches myself to even determine if there is anything for them to analyze.)  And I want to assign some sort of internet activity to engage them long-distance in some of the heavy-hitters of the museum world:  the Prado, Musee d'Orsay, even the Vatican.

Before I set anything in stone, though, I need to figure out how to cram four centuries into nine lectures.  Yes, Veterans Day will be cheating me out of my ten-week quarter.  Compared to nasty shoppers, though, this is a good problem.

I'm trying to take the advice of a museum blog on this site, as well as fulfill that idealist nagging inside of me, to branch out beyond the sorts of jobs you find on an employment website.  I'm trying to live spherically, as the phrase from Under the Tuscan Sun goes.  I have grand plans to infiltrate a local gallery, perhaps, and volunteer.  I'd also love to blog about my non-profit work coming up, but I'm unsure whether that is ethical, considering I also use this thing to rant politically, sometimes.  We'll see about that soon.  We'll see if I can be the sort of inspiring and "different" teacher that I have in my mind's eye.  Wish me luck.

formless function follows

I got all excited remembering a Get Fuzzy comic strip that touched upon architecture, yesterday.  I had a copy of it printed out and tacked to the outside of my cubicle in Columbus, where it befuddled many an IT guy.  Confronted with the drawing of a scraggly cat named Stank Lloyd Wrong (LOL, right?), one guy scratched his head and told me he didn't get it.  To which my inner dialogue replied, "Of course you don't."

Now the end to this story is sad...because I can't find that printed copy, and when I found the archives online, it was strangely underwhelming.  I don't like it when things that used to amuse me so much are no longer amusing.  It makes me feel like I've lost something important.

The amusement can only be momentary, I suppose, when it comes from a cartoon cat shouting "Skidmore, Owings and Merrill!"  I thought it was so neat, that a comic about a spoiled cat (my favorite animal) would include architectural tidbits, like an homage to those first quarters at Ohio State.  Like the strip was drawn for me.

I don't think that way about anything, not these days.  Nothing seems particularly symbolic or mystical, like so many things that made me feel I was in the right place at the right time.  I do not feel like I am in the right place.  I do not feel like I belong.  The loss of seeing signs in everything might be good for me (in the sense that I'm officially not delusional), but it takes a little romance out of living.  I guess this is just something else I'll have to "get over."  Is that what my life is about now?  "Getting over" all the disappointment?  I thought that wasn't until I turned at least 40.

Where I am right now, both literally and figuratively, seems to be both the cause and the effect.  I couldn't find fabulous work in the arts, so I moved here.  Now, because I am here, I most likely will not find fabulous work in the arts.

Some guy in New York once asked me, about growing up on a farm, "Are you proud?"  I thought to myself, what a strange question!  Unless I, in my socially awkward glory, have once again failed to follow the conversation carefully enough and I just don't get it...but if memory serves, it was a strange thing to ask.  I answered, "Yeah, I guess."  But if being proud of living on a farm means being satisfied with all the life provides, the answer is no.  If being proud of living on a farm means I have to conform to all the rural stereotypes a New Yorker can dream up, the answer is also no.

Just now I used the same sentence structure (or close to it) as Zimbabwean dictator Robert Mugabe, as quoted in the documentary Mugabe and the White African.  It makes me a little squeamish, but at least I've not been compared to Hitler.

How's that for stream-of-consciousness writing?