A Cornish Hen

It has been a crazy month.
A month ago today I was in the Badlands of New Mexico and Utah sandwiched between Taco and B.B. Monster, trying to read a magazine in the heavily vibrating cab of a Budget rental moving truck. Slowly moving across this ridiculous nation at a mind-numbing pace of a mere 60 miles per hour.
Ugh.
When we got to Seattle, there was no where to park the moving truck to unload. But after just parking the thing and then dealing with numerous apartment tenants yelling at us as we unloaded our belongings (for the 6th time in 3 years) into our new home on Pacific Time. We had a great first week before Van went to work -we went everywhere and had fun, almost a vacation.
Then, once Van went off to work, it was time for me to begin what I came to Washington to do: Get into Cornish College of the Arts. A highly competitive Arts school and proud alma mater of many, many, many famous people. I worked nearly every day to finish 5 paintings in one cohesive theme, 5 sketches, 2 essays, and one really good outfit. Finally the day had come. I packed everything in my car, set the GPS, and headed to Cornish - a twit of nerves. The campus is in one of the oldest buildings in Seattle, on the top of Capitol Hill (Seattle is divided into hills) and in the middle of everything. Once I got in there and set all of my work up, and big woman named Bonnie came in, totally not in the mood to see me, or my shitty artwork, and told me to get started, because she only had 20 minutes before she had to catch the metro. This woman, was Bonnie Biggs. Arguably one of the best female sculptors of the 20th century. She sat there and quizzed me on everything art technique term I could think of, berated me like a drill sergeant and asked me about a million times: "Do you really think you're up to this?" After looking her in the eyes and replying with: "Did you think you were ready when you went to Art school?" She then softened and asked me if I'd like one of the junior professors to give me a campus tour. I said yes.
And this next part, in addition to the day my father passed, is why this day was one of the worst days of my life....
It was immaculate. Amazing studios and work everywhere. It was just as good as RISD, if not better. The students were chugging coffee and working. One guy we talked to said he hadn't slept in 2 days, trying to finish his painting before the summer was over - drinking coffee and taking pills (drugs are kind of 'no big deal' at Cornish - which I can't lie, I kind of liked) and in addition to looking so focused, everyone in that school just seemed so fucking miserable. No one smiled there, no one laughed - it was intense. Which is what art school is, just like med or law school, people are there to work, not play. But one girl told me she was going to UW in the fall to get her second Bachelor's in Business, and one guy said he's going back to school after grdauating Cornish to get something in education. I asked why, each time: "Because it's just not what i used to be."
Let me explain something to you all: There was never a point in my life, where I didn't identify myself as an artist. Everyone has their thing that they are good at and that they love, art was mine. It didnt matter that I could fail a Math class 20 times, because when I'd put a brush or pencil in my hand, different worlds were made where I was queen. I created it all and at the same time, it was beautiful. That is the best feeling in the world. It make everything else disappear, it clears my head so i can figure things out, it brings my dad back to life, it makes memories I had forgotten resurface, music sounds better - everything is alive when I'm making art. I think I'm a very dead person at times. I have no sympathy for most people, nothing really impresses me - I'm not a good girl, I'm not a good person. But when I'm making Art - I am a good person. I feel like I can do anything, say anything, and people will finally understand me and what I'm trying to do for this world.
I don't ever want that to go away.
And it's the same drug-like feeling that inspiration and artistic motivation comes from - and most nearly as artists have it. The "Selfishly Me and Free and Fuck You" gene. I remember when I signed up for Music classes at HCC. I was beyond excited. I was doing a lot of shows at Lakeland at the time, and one thing Lakeland does to teenagers and kids is boost their confidence - almost too much. At home being treated like a child, then at Lakeland treated as an adult professional that shares the stage with other adults - it can lead to feelings on over-whelming invincibility. I was told I was talented everyday by people, encouraged to make it a career - while other people told me I was a bitch, un-talented, refused to cast me, and sabotaged my chances of getting in to NC School of the Arts by writing nasty letters. So, I did take music classes. I was going to be a performer and nothing made me feel better than singing next to Art.
but after one semester - I hated singing. After Singing nearly everyday, learning theory - I never wanted to sing again- and didn't for nearly a year after. Now that was HCC. And even though Chris was a great teacher, I doubt he has as much fire and pressure on him as the professors at cornish do. I can't imagine 4 years of that. I knew that after those four years, or maybe even before those 4 year were over - I'd hate art. I'd never want to pick up a brush again - unless I had just sold $300,000 worth of work at a show - but who knows if I would ever get that show? The idea that I'd lose Art is like the notion that tomorrow you'd wake up and your best friend would be dead. Or your lover, or your soul-mate. They'd be dead when you could've done something to stop them. I couldn't handle that.
The next day, I woke up and went to check my email. Via the admissions counselor that was handling all of my info for Cornish I was sent this message:

Hi Elyse

I am so glad you were able to come for the portfolio review. I am sorry everything was so last minute!! I have spoken with Bonnie and you have been admitted for the Fall semester! Congratulations!
The next step is getting FA in order. Have you filled out a FAFSA?
Let me know what questions you have.
Take care,
Cari

Cari Mc Ialwain
Admission Counselor
cmcialwain@cornish.edu



* Cornish Near You: view our Admission Calendar.
* Missed the 2010 BFA Exhibition? View our Online Catalog.
* Visit Cornish: 2010 Departmental Open House dates.
* EVENTS: 2010 /2011 Merce Cunningham minEVENT
* Interested in a pre-college program? Visit Summer at Cornish.

I couldn't breathe. I guess I could compare it to when I found out I was pregnant. So amazingly excited but yet so extremely scared at the same time. Immediately, my brain does what it always does: split in half. On one track, I was parking my car and heading into the building on my first day of classes, coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other, balancing my nerves and messenger bag. On the other track, I was sitting alone in a studio, day 3 of grayscales, measuring my hands and feet for accurate profile drawings, looking at the clock and realizing I'm missing dinner, meeting friends for drinks, calling Leanne and going out (in this fantasy Leanne lives in Seattle :) .... ) I don't know. Not happy.
When you're spiritual like me, yet at the same time, so totally against organized religion - you have to go with what your gut says. My gut was telling me to stop. Not to mention that cornish basically needed $1000 by the end of the week that I just did not have... I basically said, 'thanks, but no thanks. Maybe next year." Bonnie Biggs had told the admissions counselor I was admitted for the fall, and not Spring. So, I can re-apply next year, but I don't think I will.
My favorite memories of childhood and all the way up to 20 years old was drawing and painting, and seeing my dad's reaction to it. It made me want to do better. When I make art, he comes back a little bit for me. I don't want to lose that. I refuse to sacrifice my passion on the altar of 'You got a good thing here, Elyse.' So, I said 'no' to Cornish. Am I having second thoughts? Fuck yes, I am. All day, every day. In the middle of the night I have them, while I'm cooking I have them...they don't stop. But hey, you do what feels right.
Right now, I'm trying to get my life in order. I'm looking at schools all week, every week. Whether it's massage schools, graphic design programs, Culinary school - whatever, I'm exploring my options. Why? Because I can. I want to find a career path where I'll be happy what I'm doing, providing for my family, and not losing myself. And that takes time and dedication to the craft of "Trying" - you've got to try it all to figure out what is right. I just don't care anymore. I don't care what people back in North Carolina say about me, or the choices I make. I don't care about what my mother thinks of me - because I know I am doing what's best for my head and heart and husband. Now, everything would be perfect if Leanne would just move out here.... haha.
I don't know yet what is right for me. I know I'm 24 and I should know by now, but i don't. Congratulations if you're 19 and you think you've got it all figured out just because you're in college doing what it expected of you - but wait till school is over, and you're out in the real world and you'll realize - you don't know a fucking thing about yourself. Your career? It's what? A career? Oh, wow, but I don't really like nursing, or business management, or English, or Anthropology..." Yeah, you don't.
But I do know one thing, I know that Art is my religion, where I am in constant prayer. But i'm not ready to give up the faith quite yet.