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There's Always a Story

Today has been the first day that I wasn't running around from dawn until dusk sprinting from place to place. I actually had four and a half whole hours to do as I please.

The morning started with a long lecture. I swear, the strength of the sleep spirits are strong in this place. It is all I can do to not just lay down on the floor and go to sleep. I feel my eyelids droop. I try to keep them open. Often my eyebrows rally to support them by raising, but it does nothing, the eyelids are immovable. I felt guilty that I'm practically in a half-sleep daze through every lecture. What is wrong with me? I covertly peer around the room, no one else seems to be sleeping, unless they have mastered the art of sleeping with their eyes open like dolphins. The lecturer started by reading a short essay from some other person called "taken for granted" which I both really liked, and found really annoying. The way the author of this essay posed it was "taken for granite" which, is how most people quickly mispronounce this expression. Granite supports people as they rope together, unmoved by any force or weight. So the whole artistically written essay was about, don't take me for "granite" take me for mud. I am impressionable, sloshy, yielding, you leave foot prints when you tread on me. The people who rope themselves together and like to climb on granite don't like mud because it makes them feel unsteady. So on and so forth. I liked it and it was beautifully written—BUT I just could not overcome the blaring truth that the expression is not granite, it's granted, and therefore this whole artistic analogy, metaphor yada yada was just wrong. Wrong I say.

Later, around lunch time, I decided to get a treat from Cafe Anna. Aaron was in there and we chatted for a while. He said, "I don't want to sound bitchy, but these lectures are just hard to sit through." I said, "I thought I was the only one." We both expressed that we felt that the lectures are a bit repetitive, and a little preaching to the choir. We also both reported that our Committee Reviews said things like "how is this going to change the world?" and we both expressed frustration that 99.9% of art does not change the world, and we aren't trying to change the world. They are judging something that's trying to be yellow on its level of blueness. But it's not trying to be blue, it's yellow,  dang it. We both said we have no interest in making political art and activist art, etc. But yet here we are, where they seem to strongly encourage that. Both of us like things to do with the mystical. They also don't seem to appreciate painting nor photography and encourage people to do highly conceptual sculpture, video, and performance art. Anyway, what can we little painters and photographers do? So we are on a similar wave-length. Anyone who sticks to their guns and does straight photography has guts in this place. I would like to experiment next semester and do a knitting piece, but it's still going to relate to photography since it will use a photographic process. Beyond that I plan to stick with photography.

I had four hours left of free time and decided to go to the library. As I entered the place, I found that I was not the only weirdo wanting to hang out at the library, tons of people were there. So this is where everyone disappears to. I found that they have a really large color printer for photographic prints and it's pretty darn nice. I can print anything I want for free. "Free" means I've already been charged $500 of my tuition every semester that goes to library services. So I should really take advantage of it. I spent my afternoon looking at photography books. They have a pretty decent sized section on the subject. Anything I want to check out I get for 6 months, basically I just bring it back at the next residency. If  I find a book that they don't have but is in the "world library" they can do an inter-library loan which is for three weeks and have it shipped to me for free. When I'm ready to return it they send me a shipping label. I found a giant textbook called the world history of photography. I said to myself, "this is a little too broad." Zach, a photographer who is graduating this semester, overheard me and said, "What are you talking about, that's the most narrow topic in the world."

At 5pm I had a meeting with Dalida to talk about my Artist Teacher choice. I reported that I had reached out to a local professor that does fiber sculpture and conceptual knitting. She said that sounded great and to just keep moving forward with that. I then took the opportunity to ask for advice on how to research my odd research topic idea. Dalida said, "That sounds like a great PhD subject! This can be the beginning of your PhD work! Then you can go to UC Berkeley and get paid to do it!" I said, "What? Get paid?" "Yeah! They give tons of scholarships and pay a stipend for PhD students living expenses." hmm, interesting. Maybe Ganesh's dream of me getting a PhD will come true some day after all.

In the evening, we all dressed up and went to the graduating exhibition opening. Of course, I didn't dress up that much because I didn't think to bring anything fancy. Complementary drinks on the house. What other college lets you drink alcohol while you view conceptual art? Aaron had a bright green scarf and classmate Jessica complimented it. Aaron answered, "There's a story that goes with it." Jessica replied, "There's always a story with you, Aaron."

Zach had five photographs as his exhibit, and they were pretty darn funny. Elaborately set up, faux-documentary photos showing the chaos around raising three daughters under the age of 6. Changing diapers on the couch while other kids are screaming, being buried in toys, etc. It's hard to make photography funny, and it's a welcome shift from the overly refined, conceptual, heavy art that everyone else does. I spent a good half hour reading the graduates thesis papers which were on a table in the back of the room.

My floor doesn't seem to have lights at night. It's super scary opening my door only to find a pitch black hallway. Gives me the creeps. I take my flashlight to get to the bathroom, but it's just so darn creepy. 100-year-old building, weird creaks and thuds. Why are there no lights at night? I thought there were lights last time when I was on the first floor.

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So I went to my room ready for sleep, still exhausted even from my rather low-key day. So you see, almost nothing happened today, but there is always a story, indeed. This was the second night in a row that I woke up in the morning only to find the light on and I was still dressed. I seriously don't remember what happened last night. When did I lie on the bed? When did I close my eyes? Was I looking at my phone or something? Why can't I remember?

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