living for friday nights...
I am so over being unemployed and I live for my volunteer Friday nights at the deYoung!
It's not rocket science by any means, sometimes it's an intellectual challenge just staying sane and keeping my brain waves in check.
Last Friday I spent an hour and a half alone in a hallway next to an elevator that goes upstairs into the Yves Saint Laurent exhibit counting off the number of people who used the lift.
The center court area of the museum is designated a 'public space' and in order to keep funding as high as possible it's important to keep an accurate count of the number of people using the space.
Click, click, click...
Down side to keeping track of that number is that the elevator is next to a projected video piece titled "The Collection" which projects onto a wall around 82,000 images of the pieces in the permanent collection of FAMSF.
Row upon row of post card sized imaged descend from ceiling to floor in a constantly moving image...
...which just happened to be projected directly into my face.
I am grateful and blessed that I don't currently experience photosensitive epilepsy.
After that shift finished I moved on to coat check, where I get to interact with many more people and hear what they either look forward to in the museum or what they liked once they return to pick up their things.
Still not rocket science, but much more thought intensive than you would imagine.
So I spend Friday nights so happy I could cry, doing these things that need to be done for a museum I'm growing very fond of and spend the rest of the week trolling craigs list and barging into Human Resources departments all over town.
80 resumes sent in and passed out and only one interview out of the bunch, I've even moved into a psychological position of applying at places I have no business inside.
Like Gucci...
...Barneys, Louis Vuitton, and Gump's; stores where I imagine only the cream of the sales force crop being hired.
Very soon I'll be shifting down to fast food, about a day before I slit my wrist again.
In the mean time I live for Friday night, an art party with art people when I feel useful, helpful and needed among the Warhol decor,
or from inside the cubbie hole of coat check.
Gilbert & George understand how I feel.
It will all work out eventually.
It's not rocket science by any means, sometimes it's an intellectual challenge just staying sane and keeping my brain waves in check.
Last Friday I spent an hour and a half alone in a hallway next to an elevator that goes upstairs into the Yves Saint Laurent exhibit counting off the number of people who used the lift.
The center court area of the museum is designated a 'public space' and in order to keep funding as high as possible it's important to keep an accurate count of the number of people using the space.
Click, click, click...
Down side to keeping track of that number is that the elevator is next to a projected video piece titled "The Collection" which projects onto a wall around 82,000 images of the pieces in the permanent collection of FAMSF.
Row upon row of post card sized imaged descend from ceiling to floor in a constantly moving image...
...which just happened to be projected directly into my face.
I am grateful and blessed that I don't currently experience photosensitive epilepsy.
After that shift finished I moved on to coat check, where I get to interact with many more people and hear what they either look forward to in the museum or what they liked once they return to pick up their things.
Still not rocket science, but much more thought intensive than you would imagine.
So I spend Friday nights so happy I could cry, doing these things that need to be done for a museum I'm growing very fond of and spend the rest of the week trolling craigs list and barging into Human Resources departments all over town.
80 resumes sent in and passed out and only one interview out of the bunch, I've even moved into a psychological position of applying at places I have no business inside.
Like Gucci...
...Barneys, Louis Vuitton, and Gump's; stores where I imagine only the cream of the sales force crop being hired.
Very soon I'll be shifting down to fast food, about a day before I slit my wrist again.
In the mean time I live for Friday night, an art party with art people when I feel useful, helpful and needed among the Warhol decor,
or from inside the cubbie hole of coat check.
Gilbert & George understand how I feel.
It will all work out eventually.