November 9th, 2003

Flying Ace

Reflections Part I

Why am I happiest with stuffed full days? It seems Tuesdays and Saturdays are my favorite days of the week because every minute is scheduled. From 7:30 AM to 10:00 PM every minute has been previously claimed.

Yesterday I got up, scrambled some eggs, fed me and LMA and we parted ways. It was a lot of fun having him. The company was good as well as his ability to carry groceries up all the flights of stairs.
It was a beautiful day yesterday. Brisk and slightly windy but not too cool. I was curiously very awake as I went to my sculpting class.
I am comfortable enough there and with the people that I can banter and make jokes. I have been accepted there. I and my drawings and my jokes have apparently passed muster. I am invited out for lunch by some of them. My soul lifts. I have artist friends!

The class goes by too quickly. I drink in the anatomy, reveling in words like "condyles" and "the great trochanter." Origin, tendons... I try to keep up with the muscles of the back...powerful, beautiful, complicated. What inserts under what?

Drawing...10 minute gestures. I smile to myself when I hear mutterings of concern...10 minutes is not enough, what can you hope to accomplish in 10 minutes?
I am in a drawing mood, my animator speed at the ready. In ten minutes I can draw eternity.
As Kamille goes around critiquing the art she stops by my easel. I am slightly nervous as I always am when a life drawing instructor mutely observes my work.
I catch her eye. "Well?" I think at her and wait for my critique.
She looks at me and back at my gestures. "Very nice," she says.

Very nice?

I try to think of any time Gerard, Werner or Gerry told me "Very nice." That praise was reserved for the prodigies...for Chris Land, for Angelo Libutti, for Sarah Mensinga. Werner once brought in Michelangelo sketches and criticized them.
I found fright and intimidatation did not improve me as an artist. Every time I picked up my Nu Pastel in school I could feel my heart constrict.

I bask a little bit in the soft praise. I am not frightened of her. She does not have the power to cut my wings short, to dash my dreams against the charcoal stained walls like my instructors at Sheridan. She points out what is good, what is working. She tells me to work on things I already drawing is a little large...I have cut off poor John's feet.

After lunch I explored the building. The ground floor seems to be an irregular maze of halls and unopened doors...the second seems inaccessable. I decide to try to get in through the other side of the building...but in a moment of whimsy and deep curiousity...wasn't this a three story building? Where does THAT staircase go? It looks like something my dad would build when my mom wasn't looking. It is just thick plywood, no artistry, no sanding, just plain functional stairs. I pound up.

It goes to the open roof! I look up and smile to myself. The sun is shining coldly...trying it's best to warm the earth with limited success. Chris is there. He turns and sees me and smiles. We do not talk much. He obviously has been here before but does not seem to mind my trespass.
He smiles as I explore. Three stories is not so very high, the neighborhood and the view not particularly beautiful but I revel in it. I feel like I have slipped in a bubble of time. I am grateful for it. I find myself oddly thinking of all my many blessings and I name them to myself one by one.
Life, with all it's stresses and frustrations and concerns and fears, life can sometimes be beautiful. I wonder what it is about a gravel crunched roof that makes me mindful of eternity.
  • Current Music
    The Blind Assassin, Unabridged Part 1-Margaret Atwood
Flying Ace

Reflections Part II

After the sculpting part of the class I have to head to the theater. I dread this. I want to stay in Kamille's studio and draw and sculpt until I tip over from exhaustion but I know I have to be responsible. It is going to be a long night filled with thousands of buckets of popcorn.

Still though, I decided my good mood was going to carry through and it did even though I noticed first thing walking in the new uniforms had finally come in. The supervisor shirt, I decide quickly is hideous. It is a black polo with cream trim and on the back under the collar is a weird scallop of the same color. The black seems perfectly suited to showing off every little flick of popcorn, a small spill of soda, crumbs from nachos. I am not impressed with the choice. Later when I ask Dick who picked the shirts he gets very defensive.

The night passed quickly and I was never so proud of my guys. The line was long but moved quickly, both poppers never stopped and even Dick who hovered statesmanlike near the head of the line was pleased when the roar trickled down to a small din.
We all made guesses as to how many people would shuttle through the theater, some guessed 7 thousand, some 7500. I guessed 8200...and overbid by 150. The busiest day of the year so far.

Counts started at 10:30...rather late but as usual we were understaffed and I had to be the one racing around helping stock napkins,making hot dogs, refilling popcorn buckets and snarling at the box office telling them I needed quarters NOW.

I was rather proud of myself when the night finally ended. We were only over by $12.50, our percaps were $1.90...which is really good considering how busy it was.

I logged off at 2:30 AM but had to hang out for another half hour to give someone a ride home.

The last time I gave her a ride home I stopped on the way out. There in the road was a skinny tortise shelled cat. It was 3:00 in the morning, it was starting to sleet and this cat was just sitting there looking mournful.
I got out of the car and called it over. It did not have a collar and seemed thin...but not hideously so. I knew my friends apartment allowed pets. Did this friendly creature have an owner, albeit an irresponsible one? I ponder taking him home.
He struggles out of my arms. I let him go and watch him head to the apartments, under the alcoves, out of the snow. I hope he will be okay.

I did not see him last night. If I had, I might have taken him home. I am almost a little disappointed.

Wulfie is delighted to see me. After four days of much company I am sure it was a shock to be alone. I am delighted to see him in return. Purr purr purr...
  • Current Music
    The Blind Assassin, Unabridged Part 1-Margaret Atwood