Green Scissors

And so, it continues. Perhaps it’s appropriate that my thought process and design ideas concerning the creation of this artist book is changing so frequently, as that is the theme of the damn thing. To prepare for the content area of this book, I decided to look up quotes and thoughts that others have given and hopefully apply those to this book. As I search, I am trying to focus on life changes and all of the excitement/frustration within. I am pissed to find that others are seemingly not so interested in this aspect of change. They are much more excited about the Possibilities and What It All Means. Oh, shut up. Change is often difficult, frequently terrifying, and rarely immediatly liberating.

My search for interesting quotes and thoughts pertaining to my artist book has led me to a new line of thinking. I would like all of these so-called Highly Intellectual Thought People to live in my world. Not forever, because I’m sure there thoughts would quickly become filled with inappropriate language and random quests for More Beer. But for awhile.

Gandhi states, "We must become the change we want to see." And so, it is fitting that he be thrust into a classroom of teenagers who will happily argue that they know MUCH more about art and philosophy than he ever could fathom and deem him as UnCool. Gandhi will now show up early to prepare his lessons and his classrooms, stay late to clean up the disgusting mess left by the seven large overflowing classes of unruly children, and later be called to the principal’s office for a Very Important Meeting. During this meeting, he will be informed that his work ethic is slacking and that his general attitude needs adjustment. I am hoping that as he closes his eyes at the end of the day, he truly feels that he is becoming this change that he wants to see and despises the entire thought of it.

Henry David Thoreau stated that, "Things do not change; we change." He will then be moved from his damn Pond lifestyle into a new home with two young children, 7 and 8. The 8-year-old will question his every movement and the 7-year-old will let him know that there is entirely too much mustard and mayonaise on her lunch sandwich. He will try to seek solace in his two purring loving cats, only to be informed by the 7-year-old that he is not feeding them enough. I am hoping that at this time, he realized that things DID change. The change within him is controlled by these "things".

I am more apt to believe words spoken by an older philosopher, Heraclitus, who stated in 500 BC that, "Nothing endures but change." Yes. Yes. Change keeps happening. We change. Things change. Hell, even our reactions to all of this stuff changes. When looking for thoughts, quotes, and articles pertaining to this, I was overwhelmed to find over 210,000 matches to my search for "change."

So, I will continue to look for a simple yet meaningful structure to this artist book. In all honesty, I am not sure what this will bring. I have a feeling I need to be ready for whatever the hell will come from his. As Henry Wadsworth Longfellow pointed out, "All things must change to something new, to something strange."

Yet another vague initiative has been launched in my life: Lose weight, dammit. 

Like most of my initiatives, the details are sketchy but there are many different interesting ideas out there. Of particular interest is the idea of keeping a journal of what you eat—I like to write, after all, and it sounds almost like the preliminary steps of setting a budget. Once I sat down and realized where my money went over the course of a month, I was much better able to see where I could cut corners and, believe it or not, put some money in the bank (or at least not be stunned when I had $3.59 in my account just before payday).

It occurs to me, though, that the "standard" way of doing such a thing is pretty lame. I mean, just a list of what you eat—what’s the fun in that? Consider what would be on there as of 8pm the first day of this program:

6:30am: One cup coffee, with sugar
7:30am: One cup coffee, with sugar
1:00pm: One pear
6:00pm: 3 ritz crackers
Water: 7 glasses

BORING, right? I think it would be much more entertaining in a narrative format.

6:30am: Arrive at work, fumble over security code, make coffee. Thank god for the individual coffee maker, because I can’t pour water this early.

7:30am: More coffee. I’m still the only one in the office. Please make the bad men stop.

10:00am: Stifle momentary urge to take a long john from the big box of donuts someone brought in. I’ve been at work for almost 4 hours. Drink water instead of breakfast. I’m feeling good about this whole new plan…it’s not so tough, right?

12:00pm: 1/3 of the way through what turns into a 3 hour meeting. Have another two glasses of water. Starting to feel some genuine hunger pangs.

1:00pm: Walk past box of donuts for the fifth time today and get a pear out of the kitchen. A friggin’ PEAR. It tastes surprisingly good…perhaps there’s something to this idea of eating things that have been grown rather than processed.

1:05pm: Finish pear, look balefully at the core, suppressing desire to gnaw off own arm as a second course. Combination of interminable meeting and mind-numbing hunger enough to make me grumpier than usual.

4:00pm: Three more glasses of water later, going through carbohydrate withdrawal. The donuts have been in the kitchen for almost 8 hours now, and still they tempt me. I resist, but only after a longing stare that borders on the disturbing.

4:30pm: Manage to leave work at a decent hour, armed with box of tic-tacs and a bottle of water for commute home. I will not order pizza tonight. I will not order pizza tonight. I will not order pizza tonight.

6:00pm: Eat three Ritz crackers instead of entire box of cookies I am staring at. Curse the fact that the West Wing’s season finale was last week and I won’t be able to see it for 4 more months. Eyes briefly tear up with thoughts of missing the show for that long. Clearly, my entire sense of proportion is screwed up.

6:30pm: I have an epiphany! The emotional side of many women is defined not by hormones or their innate sensitivity, but the fact that they diet more often than men. If I can continue this project, will I magically be more in tune with my feminine side? Somehow this disturbs me even more than the way I was lusting after the donuts this afternoon.

6:45: Realize that the combination of Ritz crackers and pear might have had an adverse effect on my higher brain functions. Fuck it, I’m ordering a pizza.

I just read that Larry Doby died, and had the reaction I suspect most people did: "Larry who?"

Turns out Doby was the second black major league baseball player, the first in the American League. He signed a contract just 11 weeks after Jackie Robinson, and yet Robinson is the name we associate with being a pioneer in sports. And Doby, a hall of fame player who hit 20 homers in 8 straight years, leading the American League in that category twice, isn’t remembered by casual fans, and certainly not by non-sports fans.

Why is that? Was Robinson’s path that much more difficult for having started 3 months earlier? I doubt it. More than anything, I think it’s another representation of America’s love of who got there first. In a country with a history less than 10% that of some others, why are we so obsessed with knowing who accomplished something first? We can tell you who was the first man to walk on the moon, but often not the second. The first man to reach the top of Mt. Everest. Who knows the second, or the third?

What I’m trying to figure out is what motivates our ignorance in this area. It would be easy to chalk it up to hero worship; that we feel so strongly about these accomplishments that we idolize most those who got there first. I wonder, though, if it’s not a little darker than that. Perhaps there’s a part of us that wants to belittle the accomplishments of others, and while we can’t refuse to acknowledge how amazing it is to be the first one to get there, so to speak, we can sure as hell ignore the next one, can’t we?

In 1999, the New York Times asked Doby about the racist treatment he received when he first entered the big leagues. "There’s something in the Bible that says you should forgive and forget," he said. "Well, you might forgive. But boy, it is tough to forget." Interesting words from a man who hasn’t been remembered nearly as much as he deserves.

I think we would all do well to make a point of remembering some of the Seconds every now and then. It’s not hard to find the names–a few minutes with an internet connection should do the trick–but I’ll leave it to you to do the research. Spend a little time reading about the second man in space, the second person to sail around the world, the second person to break the 4 minute mile.

I’ll even give you name to look up so you can get started. The second black manager in Major League Baseball? Larry Doby.

For my last graduate school course as I work towards my Master’s in Visual Arts Education, I am told to create an artist book. The subject to be included in this book is completely up to the one creating it, as is the structure and needed materials. Such open ended assignments may feel new and refreshing to many, and yet I am feeling stuck within the realm of Too Many Possibilities.

I have settled on the idea of Change as the foundation of this book. My life and the lives of those around me have been inundated with changes, and no matter if these changes are seen as positive or negative, they are felt as stress. Change is difficult simply because it requires a new adaptation. Perhaps your actions need revisement. Perhaps your thoughts are deemed as Wrong. No matter what it is, change is not optional and You Must Adjust. This often sucks.

My artist book will focus on this theme of Change as it relates to me. I am now living with another adult and two children. I am cooking for four people instead of simply heating up stuff for one. I have to adjust to a huge loss of control and attempt to not seem to neurotic about the cats, as they are all I have left to "control". The book will also look at Change as it relates to people around me. My mother has retired from her job as a Dean at a small women’s liberal arts college and is now opening up a natural foods store. As she puts it so simply, "I’ve moved up from Dean to Grocer." My step-father has therefore been moved from making the small supplementary salary to The Only Salary. The amount hasn’t changed, but their lifestyle surely will.

There are many changes that I can look at as I work through this artist book. What it will look like, how it will come together, and the basic structure all remain to be seen. I simply wanted to blather on about my thoughts on this, and this site seemed the perfect place to do it…

Some people live their lives striving for something that will be remembered after they are gone. They search for their legacy. Something permanent that will endure for lifetimes beyond their own.

I’ve often thought that it would be nice to leave behind a building with my name on it or an invention that bore my patent. To think that someday, 200 years from now I will be remembered as a footnote in some engineering or computer text. That perhaps something I wrote is on page three thousand of a musty tome of last century’s writings and that a student might find that page of that book and be somehow moved by something I thought eighty years ago.

But in the end, I always come back to something different. My mark on the world will most likely not be an architectural marvel or a better mousetrap. Or a sonnet written in a fit of drunken inspiration. My legacy will be the small things. The way I improved just one person’s life. A smile I gave to a stranger that reassured them that the world wasn’t all self centered egotists. Helping a woman change a tire and not accepting payment, but instead saying "no problem, it was the right thing to do". All of those little things that I do in my life that make the world a better place to be. That will be my legacy. And it will not be remembered as such. No one will go to their death bed thinking "it all was better because of that nice man who smiled at me 25 years ago". There will be no holidays or memorials for me. No plaques or quiz questions commemorating my contribution to the human race.

But you know what? When my time is over and I look back, I will feel proud of how I lived and treated others.

And that is legacy enough for me.