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11:08 p.m. - January 29, 2003
what happens when I watch documentaries about ambitious people
I spent the last two hours watching a documentary about Juilliard Conservatory.

It's things like this that make you feel really insignificant, and yet at the same time, the comments that the students (both former and current) make about the curriculum is eerily reminiscent of what I experience as a graduate (now doctoral) student.

But first, let's talk about how insignificant I feel. There is a mystique associated with Julliard. How many of you know people who went to Julliard. Speak the name, say "So-and-so went to Juilliard", and it's almost as if there is a whisper of awe reverberating in the air.

I know two people who have had Julliard educations. I am so impressed.

But there I go again, getting off track once more.

I took piano for six years, on and off, off and on. I hear the people playing the piano on this documentary, and I feel so untalented. I was practicing Greensleeves after coming home from school because I just needed to relax, and I see some pre-college Juilliard program kid, probably about 12 years old, and he's playing so well, and I just think of the fact that I keep messing up on several passages in Greensleeves, which is not a long song by any means, and probably a lot less complex than the classical piece this adolescent was playing.

Or how about the violin students on the documentary? I took lessons for one year, but they didn't take (so there's no heartbreak there), but there's still that wish of that talent, that divine sort of skill and ambition to play the violin. Seriously.

And let's not forget drama. I discovered acting relatively late, and to tell the truth, I always wonder what would have happened if I discovered it earlier. There is nothing like the rush of being on stage and knowing all the lines from the inside out, and knowing the character--slipping into the character as easily into a t-shirt and loose jeans. It's like skin--you slide into it and you fit, you can wear that skin without feeling uncomfortable.

My goodness. These people are just talented, some of the few in this elite group of strong people, of people who just have all this talent...and I wish I had that sort of talent. It's their life, it's like they cannot breathe without this sort of artistic outlet in their lives--because it is a part of their total personality. My friend says I do have talent, but I told him that mine is definetely not music, though I can read it and I can play a little bit, and it's definetely not dance--my limbs do not do that, and I do not know if it is drama--probably not.

My friend originally said that I have this talent, because look at what I am doing: working with people who have hearing loss--to me, this is not talent. It's a skill, it's a career. I know what one of my talents is. It is art.

Visual art. My art teachers have seen this when I was young; my seventh grade art teacher recognized this and asked me to be in this group she was going to develop, she was going to have about--I think it was three or four of us seventh graders (out of about 200) to work with her. She would then teach us different art techniques not covered in class (like basket weaving, sculpting, collages, paper-making, batik, etc.)

Some of it stuck and became a hobby. To tell the truth, when I am making pieces of art, it's like I leave and just disappear into what I am making. All my focus, all my energy is concentrated with the production of a product, and I just forget everything else. I just disappear. I cannot explain it in any other way.

In high school, my jewelry teacher asked me if I wanted to keep working on jewelry during the 8th period, even though I was done with the course. I wanted to, but I had 8th period classes. She kept seeing all these things in my jewelry designs (this would be more akin to metal craft, with copper and brass, riveting, acid etching, and soldering--I never made it to enameling because I spent so much time on one of my riveting projects). I still have pieces I have not finished, and I don't know where to finish them now.

My former roommate tells me my talent is my collages. While I consider it a compliment in some ways, the other part of my screams: what about my paintings? my drawings? my metalcrafting? I can't do printmaking well, so I omit that.

And I'm in audiology, after all this artistic stuff. Sometimes I wonder about myself. To tell the truth, I sometimes wonder if I'm doing the right thing going into audiology, because sometimes I feel like half of my heart belongs to the artistic group, covered in charcoal and paints and clay, my hands wielding pencils (this is more of a strength for me than charcoals) and paintbrushes, a jeweler's saw and some steel wool for buffing metal.

The other part of my heart lies in the eyes of children and parents, in the hope and strength, in all that. In the helping and healing, in the knowledge that I am making differences in people's lives.

But still, I can't help but wonder.

 

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