Wednesday, January 29, 2003
This blog is going to be a mixed bag of emotions. I think I'll start with the positive.
My painting instructor is the coolest art professor I've had yet. He gives good critiques, and it's always a great experience to be taught by someone who is a real artist, as opposed to someone who thought they could make it in the commercial art world and got stuck teaching instead (there's that old addage, "Those who can't, teach" -- and I think it's actually true for some art instructors I know). Troy Brauntuch is also the first professor I've had who's shown examples of his work -- or at least gave a link to his exhibition in Switzerland. All very cool. But even better is the fact that he listens to decent music.
Now, that may sound odd -- but art professors, and art students, like to have music playing during our lengthy four-hour classes. Energizes the creative juices and whatever. Unfortunately, it seems that the art department as a whole has very odd taste in music. It seems that a lot of people listen to either some kind of folk, some kind of techno, or some kind of techno-folk -- all of which is pretty dreadful, in my opinion. My ceramics teacher has a thing for Zydeco. My drawing teacher last year liked Bjork. Blargh. But my painting professor, much to my delight, opts for Pet Shop Boys and Depeche Mode! And believe it or not, the music actually makes a difference in my work. :)
In other good news...
Pharnabazus: you know what arrived just now this morning?
Pharnabazus: I don't know what to say!
Pharnabazus: such a wonderful surprise!
Pharnabazus: and yes, I did read the foreword!
Pharnabazus: :-)
lydaclunas7: Oooh!
Pharnabazus: yes, it came!
This reaction was the highlight of my yesterday. For all two of you who don't know, this is what Alec received. Many thanks to Adrienne, who did the lovely, lovely design and binding for the books. I think it's obvious that we were both very pleased with them. :)
After class yesterday, my day sort of went downhill. I spent my entire afternoon driving to and from San Antonio to visit my great-uncle, who is in critical condition at the hospital. It was a painful visit, but one that I needed to make.
It's not as though I haven't experienced the severe illness or death of a relation before. My grandfather passed away when I was fourteen, and my great-grandmother died this past summer. Both times I was quite saddened... but seeing my Uncle Dale in this state -- surrounded by blinking machines, attached to a multitude of wires, tubes down his throat -- was different, and more hurtful to watch.
Perhaps it is because my grandfather and great-grandmother had both been suffering for some time, and I knew that they were ready to pass on. I knew that their time on earth had reached its end, and they were sure to be received into a better world. I don't feel that sense with Uncle Dale. He is a person who, despite anything, always has a joke for everyone. He was still active, prior to this hospitalization, and still relatively healthy, as far as I knew. He is one of those people who seemed, to me, as though he still had "miles to go" -- that he would always be there whenever I visited, waiting on the front porch or cooking something in the kitchen.
Uncle Dale and Aunt Juanita have always been like my "surrogate grandparents", even though I wasn't always able to see them often. I'd been meaning to drive to Bandera and spend a day or two there for the past few months... now I wish I had.
In nearly twenty years of life, I've experienced a spectrum of melancholic emotions, from sadness and self-pity to depression and disappointment... but until now, I don't think I've ever experienced true grief.
It hurts.
| 4:34 PM |
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