The Situation.

I woke up early this morning to take my sick, sick cat to the vet, and in my dawn-stricken haze, I found this article. I could almost hear the headline being announced on an evening news show preview, followed by the phrase, "and more, tonight at 7." The words 'mass hysteria' pack quite the punch; I feel as if every news headline in the past 10 years has been leading up to this pivotal news report. No, our country is not under nuclear attack, we have not yet run out of food and water, but MASS HYSTERIA is creeping upon the youths of this country, and soon enough, MASS HYSTERIA will sweep the nation.

HYSTERIA WILL SWEEP THE MASSES.

It might be hyperbolic, but it makes for a good story, no? The whole situation reminds me of Jean-Martin Charcot’s P’lconographie photographique de La Salpetriere. 

Women in a 'teaching hospital' react to hysteria hypnosis treatment.

As explained in the wikipedia articles linked above, La Salpetriere was a 'teaching hospital' in which medical students experimented on patients and also watched/studied different medical treatments on live patients. In addition to the usual medical undergraduate visitors, Jean-Martin Charcot, the 'founder of neurology,' let the general public bare witness to his treatments of female hysteria. Visitors would walk through the treatment center as if it was a museum, gawking at Charcot's so-called 'crazy' female patients. It was later speculated that many of these 'patients' were really hired actresses, but who knows? If MASS HYSTERIA is a contagious affliction, who's to say that these women did not actually experienced symptoms of temporary insanity?

We all have our temporary fits of madness, and throughout history, people with vaginas seem to be blamed more for this. What is it about our gender that makes us crazy, or rather, makes others think we are more crazy than our male counterparts? I'd like to think that we are simply (and generally) more expressive with our emotions and creativity, which makes us better actors, as well. It's all about acting, isn't it? Why not put on a show?

Diane Arbus created and captured many cookie characters through her photography, many of them women. Were they actors or characters?

But of course, Dr. Sigmund Freud was/is at the head of this psychological movement. Offensive as it can be, I love Freudian art. Salvador Dali explored Freud's dream studies.

“Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee around a Pomegranate a Second Before Awakening” (1944), Salvador Dali. Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum, Madrid. ©Salvador Dalí, Gala-Salvador Dalí Foundation/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.

The Apotheosis of the Dollar, Dali.

I dig Surrealism because it doesn't have to make sense, and lately, life has felt more like a dream than reality (in both good and bad ways). The paintings are just a culmination of signs and symbols that are not normally associated with one another, but in dream-world, they make sense...or maybe I'm just another victim of HYSTERIA.

Some of the places, people, animals and beings that exist in dreams keep you wishing you were still dreaming throughout the day...

"Instead of stubbornly attempting to use surrealism for purposes of subversion, it is necessary to try to make of surrealism something as solid, complete and classic as the works of museums." Salvador Dali

Pythia

I found an entry in the Harvard Gazette about how our brains process music. (Take a quick read for yourself.) The first paragraph paints a beautiful picture:

"Your inner ear contains a spiral sheet that the sounds of music pluck like a guitar string.

This plucking triggers the firing of brain cells that make up the hearing parts of your brain. At the highest station, the auditory cortex, just above your ears, these firing cells generate the conscious experience of music. Different patterns of firing excite other ensembles of cells, and these associate the sound of music with feelings, thoughts, and past experiences.

Sound transmitted to the inner ear is broken down according to the spectrum of frequencies that make up sounds. This orderly arrangement of low to higher frequencies is mapped onto the brain much like the way low to high notes are mapped on a piano keyboard." [source.]

I don't know much about science either, but the way our brains process music fascinates me. It all sounds so beautiful and dreamy, as if an orchestra of greek and roman gods are living in your brain, stroking your inner ear and making sparklers out of your brain cells while Apollo acts as conductor.

Apollo was the patron God of poetry and music. The god Hermes made him a musical instrument called the lyre, which is a stringed instrument, like a harp or a guitar. The Romantic poet, John Keats, wrote a poetic ode to Apollo:

God of the golden bow,

And of the golden lyre,

And of the golden hair,

And of the golden fire,

Charioteer

Of the patient year,

Where---where slept thine ire,

When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath,

Thy laurel, thy glory,

The light of thy story,

Or was I a worm---too low crawling for death?

O Delphic Apollo!

The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp'd,

The Thunderer frown'd and frown'd;

The eagle's feathery mane

For wrath became stiffen'd---the sound

Of breeding thunder

Went drowsily under,

Muttering to be unbound.

O why didst thou pity, and beg for a worm?

Why touch thy soft lute

Till the thunder was mute,

Why was I not crush'd---such a pitiful germ?

O Delphic Apollo!

The Pleiades were up,

Watching the silent air;

The seeds and roots in Earth

Were swelling for summer fare;

The Ocean, its neighbour,

Was at his old labour,

When, who---who did dare

To tie for a moment, thy plant round his brow,

And grin and look proudly,

And blaspheme so loudly,

And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now?

O Delphic Apollo!

by John Keats

Debussy is my favorite?

I work for a classical music radio station, and as of yet, I only answer phones and lick envelopes. However, I plan on moving on up by creating a bold, visual statement that the station needs. Classical music stations like the one I work for lose listeners every day, due to the fact that most of its listeners are elderly and the rest are probably music majors. Many young people do not want to listen to classical music because it seems boring to them (I'm generalizing, yes, but I also speak the truth). I know this because I used to be one of those young people, and I am only now realizing the immense capacity and potential of which instrumental music holds.

[image via.]

Active listening is the key to realizing that potential, which is why so many people on this earth have a hard time appreciating classical music. I hate to sound like an old toot when I say this, but here it goes: nowadays, we only hear classical music in the background, even if it is playing through our car speakers. This phenomenon is called "muzak," or "elevator music." Classical music is pleasant to hear during the slow moments of our days, like in the elevator or in traffic. Most of us do not crank up the Mozart on our way to work, though, because we can't sing along and we can rarely even hum along with the conductor. I am part of this clueless audience, and consequentially, I hit a wall each time I attempt to work on my visual marketing project.

I majored in art history in college, so I am more of a 'visual' person, which is why I like the composer Debussy. I love how intricate and interesting it is; it's as if Debussy sketched out each note in animated form for those who have never truly listened to music like his. It really is for classical music "virgins" like me (and maybe you)...take a listen (NOTE: "La Mer" means "Sea" or "Ocean," if that helps to put an image to the music):



Beautiful, right? At least I can appreciate good classical music when I hear it (or so I think).

I wish more people knew how to actively listen to such brilliant music, which is why I want my project to appeal to the masses. I want to connect the visual and the audial through strong, compelling graphics.

Visual art reminds me of chaos, emotion and bright, bold, color, while classical music seems to have an obvious science behind it. I am not inferring that art cannot be scientific, but I will imply that classical music seems more obviously calculated, delicate and intricate. There are particular instruments that play particular notes in classical pieces; the notes fit together like a puzzle or a math problem. Logic is a key component in most classical music pieces (again, this is just my opinion/theory).

However, with logic comes beautiful rhythm and graceful expression. If you listen to a piece often enough, the visuals show themselves to you. Color slowly manifests out from under the straight, thin lines of the composition and you, the listener, are immersed in music.

We didn't go to the Beach.

Jeff and I did not actually travel to the nice Texas beach but instead, we drove about an hour out to Marble Falls, where his family lake-house resides. He snapped a few nighttime photos from atop a lofty mountain, we had some ramen at the house, and watched the art-house insanity circus that is Blue Velvet. We then headed back to our tiny home and sickly cat in Austin. It was a nice night.

Now, I'd like to define 'nostalgia': "a yearning for the return of past circumstances; the evocation of these feelings."[via.] Nostalgia can evoke feelings of sentimentality, romance, fondness, or happiness. Nostalgia is a creeping feeling that can overwhelm a person, if properly summoned. Is there anyone out there who has yet to daydream or reminisce about ones' childhood or even just a few years back? My childhood memories might be categorized under the old 'americana' epithet; as a child, I remember running through my backyard, exploring the grass and its companions, playing with Barbies, dolls, cards, marbles, buttons, (trinkets of any kind, really), dressing up in my mom's old clothes, having tea parties and watching great cartoons every morning. One of my favorite cartoons was Rugrats on Nickelodeon. This show definitely conjures up some nostalgia for me. What do you remember?

Mark Mothersbaugh made some great music for the show.

Although I wasn't a baby when I watched the show, I identified with the characters because they had the same thirst for exploration as I did. Also, unlike real babies, they could form coherent sentences.

The patterns and color schemes of the show seem as if they, themselves were awakened from a daydream...purples skies and orange-y clouds, turquoise bushes and deep, green grass...

The archetypal characters were quirky and unique to the show, but they still somehow reminded you of someone you probably knew.

Angelica reminded me of my best friend Charlene, who was mean and would make me play the boy Barbies EVERY. TIME. She was also aloud to say stuff like 'stupid' and 'shut up.' What a villain!

And of course, I loved Didi's style. She had great, flaming hair and she knew how to color coordinate. Those glasses - work it, Deeds!

I like that the Rugrats began most of their adventures based on a tiny misunderstanding that is solved through a big adventure. They find fear in their misunderstandings, yet aim to solve it through courage and exploration. I think that the mistakes and precariousness in which the characters find themselves encompass the great experience that is childhood. Everything seems new, big, bright, and confusing, and when we think back on it now, those memories come as vivid daydreams.

That was a nice walk down memory lane, wasn't it? More to come, including small illustrations or inspirations by me.

I'd like to explore a few concepts in relation to 'nostalgia' in the future: sounds, patterns, color, the act of watching and listening (as a child in particular), past and past-times, daydreams, exploration, and archetypal characters of the 1990s and in cartoons.

Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny

I am beginning my first blog post of the new year in hopes of accomplishing one of the '23 things to do before I'm 24.' However, I do not have much to say here because I'm currently hungover and exhausted. Maybe I'll be better later on today, but I might be at the beach by then. Jeff and I are going to the beach.

In other news, I'm working on a nostalgia project. I'm not quite sure what it will turn into, but I know it will be big. I've been watching old 90s cartoons for research.

I don't know. This will need editing.

Tomorrow, I start my career in education. Well, maybe I shouldn't call it a "career," because all I'm doing is volunteering at a pre-school. It's called Mainspring, and it's a place for children ages 0 through 4 years old who are placed under free (or almost free) care, because they come from underprivileged families. I meet with a woman named Margaret Silverberg at 9 a.m. and to be honest, I'm pretty nervous. I've only worked at a place like this once in the past, and it was something of a traumatic experience (that story's for a different time though). Anyway, children now make me nervous and I'm worried that I'm going to screw it up or hate it. I'm not sure what's worse.

For the past 4 months, I've been searching for a job. I attended a liberal arts university and got my B.A. in Art History and Communications in May. I have applied for jobs at museums, retailers, grocers, law firms, hospitals, abortion clinics, and video game manufacturers. Most of the positions I applied for were "entry level," which in this economy usually requires 3-5 years of experience in a related field. So far, I haven't landed a job in any of these places because my experience is either not relevant enough or not lengthy enough. Finally, my parents made a visit to Austin to discuss my "future." Great. My mom, who has been a teacher for over 20 years, encouraged me to apply to Alternative Teaching Certification programs. So, why not? I have always wanted to teach abroad, and this should be my first step. A little experience will be good for me. I can use my creativity for good.

But lately, I've felt less and less creative. I feel discouraged because I haven't found a job and I feel as if nothing that I do is good enough, or worth any of my time or anyone else's. I used to care so much about helping those in need, but I'm continuously giving less of a fuck about anyone or anything. We'll see.

UPDATE:

I woke up at 10 a.m. this morning - about an hour before my usual greeting time as of late. For some reason, the bed felt better than it ever had this morning. I just had to keep freshly shaven legs on those covers for a little bit longer - 30 minutes, no, 45, no, an hour longer than my first alarm. It is a problem that I can reset my alarm multiple times on my iPhone each morning, as I obviously take advantage of this feature almost every morning nowadays. Like clockwork myself, I awoke and immediately went about my 'strict' morning routine: brush teeth, (maybe) wash my face, pour out some raisin bran in a hefty bowl, maybe grab a banana or some yogurt, head back upstairs to my room and begin watching Netflix. The episodes go one after the other and my ear filters out the boring stuff while I browse the web. I mindlessly click the same site over and over, accidentally forgetting that I had just clicked on it not 5 minutes ago. I laugh occasionally at Amy Poehler's ridiculous lines on Parks and Recreation, or glance up and stare intensely at my iPad to see Heisenberg rampaging across the scene of Breaking Bad. If I get uncomfortable, I sometimes stand up on my heavy legs and stretch a little bit. Wait, how did I end up back on reddit? Just then, seriously.

I did not volunteer at Mainspring because I was too lazy, but luck was in my favor on Monday because Hudson Bend Middle School called me that same day for an interview. I just went in for it at 1 p.m., and it went pretty well. I need to work on my interviewing skills though because I was nervous the whole time and now I'm hoping it wasn't too obvious. I interviewed for a receptionist position in the front office.

What's my fuck-up batting average?

Well, the fact that this is just about my second post on this blog and it is currently February might be a signal that my batting average is quite high. I have an entire list of goals for the year, and I have accomplished none of them so far. However, I will try not dwell on this fact, because the podcast I've been tuning into encourages me (as a person with ADHD) to acknowledge my fuck-ups but then continue an inward discussion focused on moving forward, which is more productive.

This week was a long and difficult one. I worry that every week/day seems that way lately, and that maybe my depression is worsening. I feel somewhat trapped inside myself - like my ADHD thoughts have become more and more sporadic, and less and less easy to control. I asked myself, "Who am I in relation to this world? Where am I, what am I, and why do I feel as if I should be ten feet taller, so maybe I could gain more control over this chaos? What the FUCK am I going to do after graduation? I want to do everything. At once."

However, this beautiful Friday morning gave my soul the good lifting it needed. Today, I visited a school in Austin called the Waldorf School. I am part of a class (in my final year of undergrad education) called Innovative Schools. I am not an education major, and aside from the information my mother (who is a teacher) has divulged over the years, I do not know much about education. However, it seemed like an interesting class and an appropriate choice for this day and age in which the U.S.'s education system struggles more and more.

My Innovative Schools class wakes up SUPER early every other Friday to go on a field trip to a nearby school that is considered "innovative" in some way. After visiting three schools, I have gathered that the phrase "innovative school" includes schools, either public or private, which employ different, creative, and inventive forms of education for secondary-level students. The Waldorf school was located in a financially "privileged" part of Austin, on a secluded woods property. As I pulled into the long driveway of the school's parking lot, through the towering trees and still under the gray light of the breaking dawn, my hazy stupor was immediately broken when I saw a sign pointing to the school's tree house.

WHAT? This school is awesome already.

We walked over a rocky bridge and underneath a gentle canopy of evergreens, and approached a humble, single-story wooden building with the doors wide open, as if to welcome any guests - forest friends or otherwise. I felt comfortable and instantly soothed as we cramped into the tiny building; the walls were painted a soft pink, the staff all wore scarves or loose pants with their hair curly and flowing or short, with an androgynous edge. The teachers and staff seemed completely 'at home,' settled with themselves and their current positions. The woman who gave us the tour had an awkward, thinly trimmed shoulder haircut and wore a lumpy combination of khaki-cargo-capri pants, a white fleece hiking vest over a black 3/4 sleeve blouse and tennis shoes. Yes, this combination did catch my eye and bother me a little bit, but who cares? She didn't seem to, and who am I to judge? She was way more comfortable with herself than I am.

Moving forward, our class left the administration building and followed our tour guide through the woods, stepping on carefully-placed stones and stopped in the middle of what seemed to be just a peaceful meditation ground. To our left was a wooden fort that was built by the fifth-graders, their teachers and their parents. To our right - a fountain  in which water flowed melodically down four levels of concave stones. The teacher explained that lessons are taught there so that students are able to engage and situate their bodies in accordance with the earth. Any subject could be taught that way - physics, art, math, etc. Students are constantly acknowledging the sense of "self" at Waldorf.

After observing an eighth grade class lecture (more like a French Revolution story-time), our class was lead to the fine arts building. Each room embodied a different narrative that was displayed through the paint on the wall; one music room was painted in gradation from peach to purple to light pink, to represent the personal journey each student has from birth to high school graduation. We sat in a room that was painted like a sunset and discussed the education system at Waldorf with the teacher a little further. I have reflected upon our discussion for an assignment, and maybe I'll share that later. My concern or question or contemplation or whatever it is from my behaviors and reactions to Waldorf and our class discussion is my focus here.

In art history, I have often studied gender representations, which includes situating the "feminine" or "female form" within popular culture and modern society. Where then, is my gendered and intellectual body? I know that this is an ancient question, which is normally asked when one is going through puberty, but this question is not sexual in nature. It is more of an academic and philosophical pursuit that I may never have a palpable answer to. I wish though, that I could know the answer, because life would probably be a lot easier that way. I think that as a person, I am too chaotic and malleable to my ever-changing surroundings that my "self" cannot be defined by means of gendered or age-specific choices or journeys.

My reaction to the Waldorf school and my inability to stay still the entire time or directly focus upon the information being spouted about the school confused and frightened me, but also gave me insight into my most honest being. Waldorf has an arts and crafts center, and everything there is underscored by artistic creativity and invention. (Knitting is used as an early form of learning math, I kid you not.) I believe that my inward self was so excited and intrigued by this spa/summer-camp-like institution that she could hardly contain her ideas and thoughts for her own artistic potential. As mentioned above, my thoughts are so scattered that I have a high fuck-up batting average. That may partially be because my journey thus far has not included enough stimulation for my truest, most artistic and creative soul. This soul, I think, is my strongest and most vibrant piece of me, and in order to succeed in life and become a balanced self, I must replenish my thirst for the arts. If I were to paint a self-portrait right now, it would most likely include a sunset of some kind, because even though that hippy-dippy school was weird as fuck, the people there are onto something innovative.