Have you ever known without a shadow of a doubt that someone, who ranks no deeper than an acquaintance, who might, under different circumstances, like you, inexplicablely resents every part of who you are? Not minor irritation but true all encompassing resentment.
I know this to be a true phenomenon because during various parts of my life I have resented people, almost exclusively other women, for just being who they are. I haven't felt that way in a long time and I wonder how much of it stems from insecurity and jealousy. Some too has to come from that fact that we all can't be everyone's cup of tea.
I know this to be a true phenomenon because during various parts of my life I have resented people, almost exclusively other women, for just being who they are. I haven't felt that way in a long time and I wonder how much of it stems from insecurity and jealousy. Some too has to come from that fact that we all can't be everyone's cup of tea.
I came to the harsh realization today that I have become the subject of such resentment for someone I really like. That my ignorance and inexperience and perhaps voracious appetite for knowledge has made my classmate downright disgusted.
We are entering into week 5 and until this point her resentment had yet to register, perhaps with either of us, but today it became too much. She was telling me about some blog written by some woman who used to run some gallery that was founded by some very important man who is no longer around, all of whom I had never heard of.
We are entering into week 5 and until this point her resentment had yet to register, perhaps with either of us, but today it became too much. She was telling me about some blog written by some woman who used to run some gallery that was founded by some very important man who is no longer around, all of whom I had never heard of.
"God, you have a lot of catching up to do."
"I know. I am trying, I am reading everything I can but after all I just moved here."
"Well, didn't you keep up with what was going on in New York before you moved here?" The question was more of a blurt than an actual desire for a response. The creases in her forehead made unpleasant wiggly shapes pointing down to the tip of her nose. I wasn't sure exactly why but I had seriously offended her.
I probably shouldn't have said what I said next. "No, why would I have, I had no interest in New York and no intention of coming here." I was about to go on and explain for the tenth time that I am a performer and writer and that this is my first entree into visual art but I didn't think it would have diffused the situation.
I had been, after all, accepted into a special curatorial program that she wasn't.
I was telling my mother about the conversation a few days later and I could tell that it was still bothering me because of my need to talk about it (and now write about it).
"You can't let her make you feel bad about yourself," mom said in typical mom-like wisdom.
And I wasn't, at least not in the way such a comment might have once chipped away at my self-confidence. "The problem is, I really like this girl," I explained. "I think she is really smart and interesting and I could learn a lot from her but at this point I don't think it is going to happen. I don't know why they chose me and not her and it really isn't my problem. If she wanted it bad enough she would have done what I did and barged into the program directors office and babbled at her until she let me in."
I spend every day I am in New York, knowing I don't know enough, knowing that if I read everything that is put before me and research every concept and word and movement that I don't understand, I still won't know enough. But I have to believe - for my sanity - that that is not the point.
I might not have known about fancy blog lady who used to run the fancy space founded by the fancy man, but now I do - because someone was willing to tell me.
That is why I am in New York. That is why I am studying curation. Because there are so many people with different backgrounds and different ideas who have knowledge to share if someone will create a space for them to share and exchange their ideas.
So I might not know about visual art now but I can talk writers and performers and philanthropists and more than that I can listen, and that has to count for something.
I had been, after all, accepted into a special curatorial program that she wasn't.
I was telling my mother about the conversation a few days later and I could tell that it was still bothering me because of my need to talk about it (and now write about it).
"You can't let her make you feel bad about yourself," mom said in typical mom-like wisdom.
And I wasn't, at least not in the way such a comment might have once chipped away at my self-confidence. "The problem is, I really like this girl," I explained. "I think she is really smart and interesting and I could learn a lot from her but at this point I don't think it is going to happen. I don't know why they chose me and not her and it really isn't my problem. If she wanted it bad enough she would have done what I did and barged into the program directors office and babbled at her until she let me in."
I spend every day I am in New York, knowing I don't know enough, knowing that if I read everything that is put before me and research every concept and word and movement that I don't understand, I still won't know enough. But I have to believe - for my sanity - that that is not the point.
I might not have known about fancy blog lady who used to run the fancy space founded by the fancy man, but now I do - because someone was willing to tell me.
That is why I am in New York. That is why I am studying curation. Because there are so many people with different backgrounds and different ideas who have knowledge to share if someone will create a space for them to share and exchange their ideas.
So I might not know about visual art now but I can talk writers and performers and philanthropists and more than that I can listen, and that has to count for something.
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