Its 7am and I’m in a cafe watching the sun rise already supping on my 3rd coffee waiting for the moment where I have to walk to where the bell tolls for me and time waits for no man.
You can tell I’m very much made of the Gen Y mould, as I’m over it. Only 5 weeks in and I’m ready for a change.
Perhaps this lament is inspired by reading the Viva section of our herald featuring an article about 20 something females doing ‘it’ all and doing ‘it’ now.
“It” being Art. Whether its photography, writing, acting, painting, designing or all everything, ‘It’s” Art. And I want in.
Right now all I teach is music. All day. Everyday.
Truly it’s great when I’m not in the mood I’m in now. But while I’m feeling it, I will write, and then I will never forget I was once inspired and idealistic.
Here’s the magnet: Music is my reality, but art is the force that is attracting me to my true self.
All this reading about the photographer for the Frankie mag makes me want it. The fight, the competition, the industry battle. The lights, the action and me being the one to say it.
I want to live in Barcelona in a crumbly old shack (totally idealised I’m aware- the crumbly and Barcelona combination is probably not that attractive in reality- but for now when everything is more textured and coloured with lazy hues in my dreams, I want it) and paint. I want to be the photographer for the covers of the Frankie mag (I have already done a few I could choose from to last at least 4 months). I want to teach art to tired old men and bring passion and reason (the purpose kind- not reality based). I want to battle it out for exhibitions and show my work in the Biennale di Venezia.
Or at the very bare minimum least- I want to have paint splatters as my manicure again. The closest I get to art.....is whiteboard markers.
I think this entire lament really truly boils down to teaching from some shockingly designed year level workbooks. They range from all colours of the rainbow for easy visibility and have centred size 12 Times New Roman font with pixilated images and clip art borders. It’s clearly depressing. Surely it’s not regarded as quality Duty of Care and correct transmission of curriculum to teach content from such ugly manuals? (Yikes, I’m aware I sound like a gay man on a labour site).
Perhaps this is also me flexing my newly built graduate teacher wings and planning my school domination.
Next yr I will teach (wait.... ((word change)) inspire....!) from books with all the correct aesthetic principals and I will be paid (albeit minuscule- which is a fortune when you have nada) to do it. Wow.
But for now I shall go against my very Gen Y nature and stop idealizing and settle back to my current reality and wait till I have the guts to pay a dog to eat everyone’s homework.
You can tell I’m very much made of the Gen Y mould, as I’m over it. Only 5 weeks in and I’m ready for a change.
Perhaps this lament is inspired by reading the Viva section of our herald featuring an article about 20 something females doing ‘it’ all and doing ‘it’ now.
“It” being Art. Whether its photography, writing, acting, painting, designing or all everything, ‘It’s” Art. And I want in.
Right now all I teach is music. All day. Everyday.
Truly it’s great when I’m not in the mood I’m in now. But while I’m feeling it, I will write, and then I will never forget I was once inspired and idealistic.
Here’s the magnet: Music is my reality, but art is the force that is attracting me to my true self.
All this reading about the photographer for the Frankie mag makes me want it. The fight, the competition, the industry battle. The lights, the action and me being the one to say it.
I want to live in Barcelona in a crumbly old shack (totally idealised I’m aware- the crumbly and Barcelona combination is probably not that attractive in reality- but for now when everything is more textured and coloured with lazy hues in my dreams, I want it) and paint. I want to be the photographer for the covers of the Frankie mag (I have already done a few I could choose from to last at least 4 months). I want to teach art to tired old men and bring passion and reason (the purpose kind- not reality based). I want to battle it out for exhibitions and show my work in the Biennale di Venezia.
Or at the very bare minimum least- I want to have paint splatters as my manicure again. The closest I get to art.....is whiteboard markers.
I think this entire lament really truly boils down to teaching from some shockingly designed year level workbooks. They range from all colours of the rainbow for easy visibility and have centred size 12 Times New Roman font with pixilated images and clip art borders. It’s clearly depressing. Surely it’s not regarded as quality Duty of Care and correct transmission of curriculum to teach content from such ugly manuals? (Yikes, I’m aware I sound like a gay man on a labour site).
Perhaps this is also me flexing my newly built graduate teacher wings and planning my school domination.
Next yr I will teach (wait.... ((word change)) inspire....!) from books with all the correct aesthetic principals and I will be paid (albeit minuscule- which is a fortune when you have nada) to do it. Wow.
But for now I shall go against my very Gen Y nature and stop idealizing and settle back to my current reality and wait till I have the guts to pay a dog to eat everyone’s homework.
