SommervilleThis past month has been nothing if not intense. I finished my first year at Hyde which was a pretty unique experience- what with the indoctrination of the words and principals that not only am I supposed to apply to my own life thus "taking Hyde home" but also utilize them fluently in my curriculum. There are moments when I have no time for this and want nothing more than to go back to "teaching art". Still I mark the successful completion of this year as a milestone, a wall scaled in some ways, I suppose despite my occasional misgivings, there is a modicum of pride that exists in what I see growing in my students.
I flew to SF just after finishing, and while I spent my entire trip save for the four hours laying langourously out on Katie's picturesque and perfect roof deck in excurtiating pain, not sleeping and cringing with any movements, sudden or not from the sun posioning I developed. While I didnt exactly have a savour these moments experience with the excurtiating pain I found myself in, the rest of the month I found myself taking time to hold on to the fleeting. I did however take the time to convince myself that SPF would forever be slathered like butter all over my body if I was ever planning on taking my top off again. I've said this before, but this time I mean it. Really.
London was a perfect juxtaposition of all it had been- revisiting old haunts and exploring new ones with the help of old friends. Staying at J's cousin's flat was akin to being a child and playing house, not the fantasy of being domestic, but the fantasy of living anothers life, well less someone elses life- because it wasnt a role, but instead, one that doesn't quite exist- but for a couple days it did, and it was ideal- down to Angus, the black lab that I've been talking about since the last time I lived in London. When I left London last time, Schuy and I had been all talk about getting a dog, and Edith, as only Edith would, wrote us going away cards wishing us the best and hoping that we would find our dog- we didnt, but I, as a consolation prize, I somehow ended up with a cat- a place holder of sorts and a memento mori. There was one night, as I layed in bed before drifting off, I made myself relish the moment, because it was perfect, the perfect day had transformed into the perfect night, and the perfect weekend.
I've been thinking about simulacrum and pastiche a lot lately, something in London made New York feel like pastiche, a fake copy, not quite ever able to live up to the original. At Owen's birthday party I experienced what has been missing for me in New York these past four years. I just havent found that niche of creative thinkers, a whole room full... I know individuals, but a room full is asking a lot. Those late nights in smoke filled kitchens with lager and wine in tea mugs strewn about the table we had as students, they're long gone, but the meeting place for stories, ideas, collaboration, actions and experiments need not. Still I can't seem to find it all colliding here as yet.
This morning I found myself back in the queue at customs in JFK, arriving home from Africa with my dad. I've never traveled, physically traveled long distances with anyone, and I really much prefer it on my own. There is something great about meeting another in a foreign country, the chaos of the unknown and trying to find each other in those crowds of strangers.
I grew up going on, and hating, after dinner drives with my dad looking for deer, and when I was 4 I got my first fishing pole, so being outdoors in the country is not exactly unfamiliar territory, being outdoors with the humbling elegance of giraffes is new, having a rhino charge us was unfamiliar territory, seeing a herd of elephants setting off towards the watering hole at sunset, was a moment I never want to lose.
Alternatively, I visited a school in Tembe, in some ways it was exactly what I expected, they were entirely without- but actually being there was quite strange- perhaps its the addition of the senses. The students spoke a little english and welcomed us, danced and sang familiar english tunes but the spectacle was awkward. While the students were excited to recieve our gifts of sweets and pens and notebooks, one hardly leaves a school full of children without shoes, clean water or any books and feels entirely optimistic. While we distributed our alms - it felt staged- I'm pretty sure the awkwardness was generated from the fact that there would always be a trench deep between where we stood and where they existed. In many ways it was a dog and pony show but we were both accomplices, we came with our money and supplies which they sorely needed and blatantly had come to expect, and perhaps they put on a show for us, to satisfy something in us we needed- soothing our guilt of privilege, the need to be needed, the validation of having and the power that ensues- in the moment where you become the benefactor you recieve a sort of love, and I suspect that this love despite the fleeting moment in which it all transpires and is then forgotten, I suspect, that we are sorely lacking authentic love in our lives.
Still the supplies seemed to be a symbol of the opportunities of education that we all had, that these students would rarely be privy too. They live in a community entirely deprived of industry, 70% of their parents and grandparents were unemployed, while that figure may ebb to an extent with their coming of age, the state of the economy in the world and in SA did not necessarily assure that things would likely get any better. The Zulu have their own fine culture and customs and in no way is our way of life any better, if anything I am sure we are all a lot less happy, (we are certainly plumper, more assuaged, in some senses cleaner, more mobile and probably better apt to stave off the cold) however these communities need jobs, because they need food, and one deserves the opportunity for options. Some moments we are meant to savor are not the sort that engulf us with a sense of awe, beauty or satisfaction, some are merely sobering, thought provoking, and humanizing.
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