This photo was taken last week. I did not have my computer, but I so badly wanted to write that I was relieved I had packed a little notebook and pen in my massive bag that my phone and wallet hide in.
I snapped this photo while writing because the woman with her back to me so reminded me of a Gerhard Richter, although it probably doesn't remind you of a Gerhard Richter. This is the painting I was thinking of:
I've been spending the evening looking backward. I randomly pulled a fat folder out of a drawer. The drawer is a mess and the folder was bursting at the seams with fliers for punk rock shows and BYU parties, stories I wrote while sitting on the floor of my studio apartment in San Francisco just after graduating from BYU, papers I wrote during my MFA program at the U of U, and syllabi for classes I taught while a graduate student there. Can I just say this? I was a great teacher, maybe not the smartest of my colleagues, but I put together really interesting classes that were hard but fun and--I'd like to think--transformative. I hate when people brag and self-aggrandize; humility and modesty fits me a lot better, but I looked over these papers and felt so sad that I got out of this "lane," that I spent huge chunks of my life forgetting who I was supposed to be.
I don't know what I should do with this now--put the folder back in the drawer, I guess, but never forget that it's there.
No comments:
Post a Comment