(no subject)
How do I begin to tell this story? How can I explain why I am sitting here, that I am hiding, actually- badly needing to pee but afraid to go back inside? How to admit that I am the coward that I always tried not ti be? Weak, uncomitted, lazy, needy... and above-all, that messy, dirty word: emotional.
I am here, in Long Beach, California- it is almost 3 pm and I am huddled behind a giant "sculpture" - a giant sprawling thing, a relic from the 60s and 70s. I am an MFA student under the head of set design. Danila Korogodsky. Technically I am "working" right now, but Rob, our TD, thinks I am still at a meeting and somehow did not see me clomp through the shop in my over-sized work boots.
I walked past the table saw, past the paint frame, up to the designer's studio. Danila was sitting up there with 2 of the other scenic design students, and a woman I did not recognize. He was flipping through her portfolio and speaking to her in his Friendly But Intimidating Voice; the one he rarely trots out for his day-to-day students; we are too familiar, we have become pieces of furniture to him. I did not expect to find him there; I thought they would have all gone home. Afterall, it is the last day of class before the break and there is no work to do.
I should not have been so surprised to see Brittany sitting there, her blond hair brushing over her tiny collarbone, her tiny hands tapatapa-tap on her Macbook Pro, it's blue cover almost the same icy shade as her giant, anime eyes. Wherever Danila is, she is sure to be nearby- if she can find the opportunity to sidle up to him she will.
When I saw him sitting there I knew that I was going to bolt, even though I hadn't formulated an escape route yet. I blinked my eyes like a giant china doll, ridiculous smile scrolled across my face. Smile, smile, smile, going about my business, nothing to see, nothing to see, smile, smile, smile, puttering about my desk, eyes down, beeline for the door, keep smiling, keep smiling and- GO! RUN AWAY!
And then I am out the door, walking out into the California sunshine, blinking and over-exposed, tears already threatening to burn down my cheeks. How embarassing.
I went to the first place hiding place I could think of- the dilapidated sculpture- the only giant in a campus of oversized concept-art that has somehow been forgotten- even by art students who flock to neighboring monuments in droves, sketchpads in hand, earnestly scribbling in the grass.
And what do I do now? And tomorrow, when Tom arrives, and I have to tell him that I have failed- and not at set design- but as a person- as a human being? How can I stand the moment when he looks at me in the airport for the 1st time, when he tries to touch me, embrace me? How can I allow him to be my hollowed space in the earth- when I have failed him, too?
I am here, in Long Beach, California- it is almost 3 pm and I am huddled behind a giant "sculpture" - a giant sprawling thing, a relic from the 60s and 70s. I am an MFA student under the head of set design. Danila Korogodsky. Technically I am "working" right now, but Rob, our TD, thinks I am still at a meeting and somehow did not see me clomp through the shop in my over-sized work boots.
I walked past the table saw, past the paint frame, up to the designer's studio. Danila was sitting up there with 2 of the other scenic design students, and a woman I did not recognize. He was flipping through her portfolio and speaking to her in his Friendly But Intimidating Voice; the one he rarely trots out for his day-to-day students; we are too familiar, we have become pieces of furniture to him. I did not expect to find him there; I thought they would have all gone home. Afterall, it is the last day of class before the break and there is no work to do.
I should not have been so surprised to see Brittany sitting there, her blond hair brushing over her tiny collarbone, her tiny hands tapatapa-tap on her Macbook Pro, it's blue cover almost the same icy shade as her giant, anime eyes. Wherever Danila is, she is sure to be nearby- if she can find the opportunity to sidle up to him she will.
When I saw him sitting there I knew that I was going to bolt, even though I hadn't formulated an escape route yet. I blinked my eyes like a giant china doll, ridiculous smile scrolled across my face. Smile, smile, smile, going about my business, nothing to see, nothing to see, smile, smile, smile, puttering about my desk, eyes down, beeline for the door, keep smiling, keep smiling and- GO! RUN AWAY!
And then I am out the door, walking out into the California sunshine, blinking and over-exposed, tears already threatening to burn down my cheeks. How embarassing.
I went to the first place hiding place I could think of- the dilapidated sculpture- the only giant in a campus of oversized concept-art that has somehow been forgotten- even by art students who flock to neighboring monuments in droves, sketchpads in hand, earnestly scribbling in the grass.
And what do I do now? And tomorrow, when Tom arrives, and I have to tell him that I have failed- and not at set design- but as a person- as a human being? How can I stand the moment when he looks at me in the airport for the 1st time, when he tries to touch me, embrace me? How can I allow him to be my hollowed space in the earth- when I have failed him, too?