November 16, 2011

I'm making progress in my French, I saw it tonight. This is probably a terrible example, but at dinner the grand daughter went missing for awhile. Madame asked what she was doing, and I heard very distinctly "I'm going poop!"

Is it sad that I see this as a land mark in fluency? I feel like it takes a certain amount of expertise to know a phrase so selective. But hum, this post is about to turn toward more serious matters.

I hate trying to phrase this, because i'm certain that regardless it will sound as awful as it is going to sound. I used to believe that people were put in our lives when we needed them. Maybe this semester has rekindled this belief for me just a little bit. The people I have met through this program, both students and professors, even and especially my host mom, have provided me with something i didn't have. Something i needed but maybe didn't realize I needed. I feel like I could go through and just list everyone and what they've meant to me, but I don't want to do that. That would be a summary and I'm not ready to summarize this semester, because it's not over. Nor will I ever summarize people, or life for that matter because it is constantly changing and too full for definition.

I would like to mention, however, how uncannily I connect with my Madame. Sometimes, when it's just me and her, there's a lot of silence. I know.... but i think she might like it. I hope she finds my presence calming rather than unnerving anyway. But sometimes, like tonight, we talk about freaking life. And I think I've seen a fair amount for someone of 21 years, more than my peers anyway. Sometimes it feels like a burden, and sometimes i just wish I could spend some time mindlessly watching TV. I see the lives some of my peers have led, how easy of a ride it's been, and I feel just... frustrated. Mostly because I feel foreign to everyone. And yet, this french woman who is old, who i happen to be living with, told me tonight something I needed to hear. "Some families seem to go along fine, and some seem to have always a problem." she told me. I smiled. I didn't have nearly enough french to convey how much i agreed with her, how much my family always has a problem. Or two. But then she looked at me,"But, in fact, life is never simple for anyone. People search for happiness" she said, "but it amounts to nothing. Happiness is a moment, a very small, fast moment." Looking at her, I know she is the kind of woman who looks back on these moments. Some might call this dwelling in the past, but I think it takes strength to appreciate what you have in face of what you had. And if nothing else, it is an amazing thing to be able to connect with someone of a different nationality, a different age, and have an understanding. Because we've fought the same battle, or more realistically watched someone fight the same battle. And hopefully I'll remember this and stop wishing I liked Jersey Shore.

Ireland pt. 1

http://youtu.be/AGqAA8KZR4g

http://youtu.be/h_FiAxGYP5w

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=2380568201290&set=vb.1463220590&type=2&theater

There's more videos. Also, they take way too long to upload on stupid blogger so you can just click on links. Sorry, this website is evidently not video friendly. There's a lotta pictures to come. Unfortunately, my camera died so I did not get to take a hostel video or a pub video, but I will try to convey the gist of these things in writing form. Hostel: great experience. Everyone was very nice, very open (sort of a requirement if you're going to sleep with 9 girls you don't know). Made friends so easily, and so quickly. A girl who was in our hostel, Courtney, had studied in France before. It was incredible how she became a part of our group. By the end of the week we all felt like she was coming back with us, but alas. The last night we went to the pub with Courtney and her Irish friends (who became our Irish friends) was my favorite. High light of the night: Somehow, the origin is unknown, one of our friends decided to say "It's Lauren's birthday!" Which resulted in half the pub grabbing me and putting a kiss on my cheek. It was so sweet, I'm such a fan of European kisses!

The latest week of my life: Giverny

I was skeptical, if not terrified, of the prospect of 18 art school girls living in close quarters for a week. But I'm realizing in Giverny that each person in marchutz has a story, a coolness, or an interestingness to them. In other words, I'm having a great week. I'm not sure whether i enjoyed getting to know everyone better, sculpting with GREG WYATT (google him!), seeing Monet's freaking gardens, or our hostel dinners the best. It was all amazing, and living in a Bed and Breakfast with a dredded french owner and having tea gossip with natalie every day was just fabulous. I think it was also the first time i experienced Autumn, i mean the real stuff with the colder weather and the fog and the brightly colored trees and such. Not to mention, I assumed I would be bothered to spend my Fall break "working" from about 8am-7pm, but that's the great thing about art. Working is a pleasure, and as cliche as it might seem, there's nothing better I could possibly be doing with my time.

October 24, 2011

Good, good. No one comments on my posts anymore, which means (hopefully) that no one really reads this. That makes me feel less pressured to write for you. It also sort of makes me feel unloved, but there are probably deeper reasons for that which date back and are coming forward as mental illnesses. (I think mental illnesses is one of my new favorite terms. I also think that I have a lot of them.)

Today i finished painting a copy of Vincent Van Gogh's Potato Eaters: (The image is Van Gogh, not me)

And John appeared from no where and made profound noises. Finishing though? It felt ...bad. Maybe because it was a copy? I can't place or describe quite why it felt so underwhelming, maybe part of it was "finishing". Finishing stuff sucks. I also finished a book today, called Bird by Bird (you should read this. it's about writing, which sounds lame, but she can actually write about writing and its okay. Actually its great. Read it.) Finishing that book sucked, I felt so empty and the desolate sound of the wind howling outside my window and the uncharacteristically gray sky today either sympathized with or created this feeling of discontent. The painting felt like that. I thought I'd feel proud, or accomplished, but really all i felt was "now what the hell do i do?"

On another note, my madame's grand daughter is chilling at home for the week because she's on break. Last night at dinner she started singing american songs in typical french style, that is to say she murmured and made up words and had no idea really what she was saying. Sometimes this is really funny. I walked home one night, the air was full of a drunken french chorus singing "We are the Champions" but it sounded more like "Weeee errr de champpppeeonssss" I feel exalted every time i hear this song, but this is getting off track. The songs that the grand daughter sang ranged from bad to worse. She started singing Rihanna's S&M, dappled in some Lady Gaga, and then all of a sudden made a plunge into the "Fuck you" song. My face went from uncomfortable smile to uncomfortable. i guess this is a form of American imperialism or whatever. Mostly i just hate pop music, and good lord I don't understand how anyone can just listen to that shit and eat it and shit it and eat it again. Sorry, I try to sympathize. I try to smile and say "ooh yeah that is catchy". But I hate it.

Tortillas

I tried to explain to my host mom what a tortilla is, and how delicious they are home made and with honey. I think all she got is that it's like a crêpe.

September 11

I have strange and mixed feelings about the September 11 tragedy that has now assaulted our memories for ten years. They say you understand things better when you get a new perspective on them, but in this case I find this incorrect. I do not and never will understand how someone could plan what occurred in New York those years ago: no matter how much hate, how much dissonance, how much misunderstanding...how it could result in thousands of deaths. No, rather I understand more of the picture. Occasionally Madame puts the T.V. on in the background during our long french dinners (they're becoming some of my favorite times), so that we can improve our french, discuss the news, etc. She purposely left the T.V. on today because she understood how me and my housemate felt: distant. Distant from our country where everyone we knew was getting together to remember and honor those who lost their lives. The images were horrible, and watching them this time i felt a weight in my heart like I have never known. I think seeing these things in this setting- completely removed from them in space in time- gave me a greater ability to reflect and imagine their reality. The reason I share this here is because I had a singular experience that I can't bring to you any other way. When we watched the planes crash through the world trade center, I held my breath. But more importantly when Kristin, my house mate from Rhode Island saw the planes crash she held her breath. And when Madame saw the planes crash she held her breath. And the tears that swelled in my gray eyes swelled in blue eyes and they swelled in brown eyes. It was an American tragedy, but I realized in full today that it didn't just effect us by any means. The world stopped. And the world was wounded and horrified by what they saw as we were. And this is never so real as when you see your horror reflected in an others' eyes.

Day 1- sensory overload

Yesterday was a little overwhelming to say the least, but it was hard to stress with all the beautiful things constantly invading my view. One of my first glances of France out the window of my plane was an epic view of Paris in all it's massive glory covered in sunrise fog complete with the Eiffel Tower. The CDG airport was not nearly as much of a maze as I thought it would be, but I immediately realized my French is BAD. Every one was nice, however, and I managed not to get lost. I found the train ride pretty pleasing as well, excepting the fact that the only information for stops was presented by a very quiet, fast speaking French announcement. The scenery by my window was gorgeous, but I barely got off at the right stop. A fair trade off. I wasn't sure what to expect at the train station, but I certainly didn't think I'd be meeting my host mother, Madame Vogel, and housemate right then and there. I struggled to introduce myself, had no way to express my happiness except through a smile. I can imagine that in all my plane ride/ train ride glory I looked about the way I felt- disgusting, smelly, zombie-esque. The day was far from over. Mme Vogel drove us back home where I had time to put down my bags and was shown the rooms. The place is adorable, and I can't help but mention how Mme Vogel reminds me of my granny, maybe because of her big brown eyes, but her home in some ways also looks similar. I guess the standard old lady house translates. I felt incessantly stupid at my ability to barely comprehend her. Speaking was even sadder, the majority of what I said yesterday was "oui". My longest sentence was probably uttered at dinner, when Mme and her daughter asked me if I liked to dance, I replied "oui, mais je danse mal." ( yes, but I dance bad.) Mme Vogel walked me and my dazzled house mate around Aix, which I remember in a haze of old buildings and winding streets. We returned home where I started unpacking, but ended up falling violently asleep in plank-form on my bed. And then it was time for my French dinner. We started with appetizers, bread and crackers with a brown paste, which sounds sketchy, but it was delicious, it was all delicious. Pistachios and, of course, wine and talk. For dinner we had chicken with sauce and a cooked vegetable dish, and bread. After that we had salad. And then we had cheese. Me and my room mate were stuffed and as exhausted as we were, falling into deep comas. When our host offered us ice cream we must've given her sad eyes because she laughed and sent us to bed.

Sent from my iPad