You Are A Trash Can, Not A Trash Cannot

Second Semester has begun, and with it, two more textbooks, two hours of more homework, one of the best teachers in school (this isn’t even arguable) recovering from surgery until February, and a schedule packed up the wazoo. College, here I come.

My schedule being packed, however, is not so much guidance’s fault as it is mine. While it is true that I did not request Government and Econ in the same semester, I did put it upon myself to accept the title of Poet Laureate and the responsibilities that come with it.

Government and Econ speak for themselves-I know what I’ll be learning about and they have reputations for being the academic equivalent of holding your breath for an entire semester. I’ve heard that some people enjoy Econ, and I’m assuming that I’ll join their ranks because I’m a Social Science nerd, but as much as I’m interested in learning the inner workings of organized government in our global society, I’m not necessarily so ecstatic to spend two hours a day out of school reading three units, with three + chapters each and answering 6-7 section questions that require about a page and a half of writing at most to complete.

But enough with Negative Nancy here.

My fourth hour is an Independent Research hour dedicated to:

  • Writing poetry.
  • Revising poetry.
  • Contacting district school teachers to organize class meetings with the children.
  • Looking up poetry appropriate for children.
  • Trying to find some of my own poetry that won’t scar the children for life or confuse them out of their wits.
  • Reading Victorian-era literature to improve my vocabulary (A.K.A. picking up where I left off in the second volume of the Sherlock Holmes series-some Hyperbole and a Half, too, which is totally an example of quality literature since Bill Gates has reviewed it).
  • Memorizing my own poetry (or just planning to).
  • Researching private and public publishing firms in a mad search to see who would allow me to publish a poetry collection with them.
  • Just generally attempting to be a productive and progressive artist in a rapidly growing creative culture.

Thus far, I’ve begun to plan meetings with students at two of the three elementary schools, both the middle school and junior high, and have had a proposition to work on an art project at the high school-although I’m unsure whether or not that will come to fruition. All together, I believe that amounts to eight interested parties in all, which is so much more than I expected. It’s fantastic, because it’s what I was originally was signing up for, but nothing is really as it seems until it’s happening in the present.

You may be asking me from behind this screen separating us, “Well, Quinn, that’s all and well, but how are you coping with this sudden onslaught of responsibility?”

That’s a good question. I’d like to know the answer as well.

I’ve taken to going to bed at nine pm or earlier-Monday was a lovely night that consisted of supper and then nap time at seven-thirty that continued until six in the morning, and Tuesday was a similar story-eight thirty bedtime and waking up at five to make it to yoga at six.

I am pretty proud of myself, I must admit, for preparing for this stress quite well. I prepared this past weekend by allowing Poppy and myself to purge ourselves creatively in a two-day-long photography venture at my father’s newly-leased store. It began renovation on Monday, so we took the Saturday and Sunday before its construction to do our dirty work.

The pull to this empty store was not just in the draw to the sharp corners of the room, nor was it simply the three square pillars holding up the ceiling… most of it was in the fact that the entirety of the space was white. Blank white. You can do anything with that-except paint it. That’s a no-no for this situation.

Day one, Poppy and I got together in the afternoon to play with light and attempted to dye our tongues interesting colors with various lollipops she brought, but the contrast to the walls wasn’t as intense as we would have liked them to be, and that idea fell through. We did, however, funnel our love for the strange and disturbing into a few shots, and that became the inspiration for the rest of the initial day’s shoot.

The second day, we met up in the morning, better prepared and stocked with lunches to satiate the hunger that throwing ourselves in front of a camera lens in the hopes that it will turn out to be pleasing to the eye would not. I arrived with an exercise bag filled to the brim with extra outfits, a tripod, and dead flowers. Poppy came along with a change of clothes and more lollipops in case of emergency.

Armed with the previous day’s knowledge of the space and inspiration from each other, we knocked the second day out of the park.

Hands down, this has to be my favorite shoot I’ve ever taken part in. Not only was the space completely malleable to our ideas, but the two of us work so effortlessly together-I guess that’s what comes from being creatively in sync. I’m most definitely going to take the social cues I learned from this to help make future projects more collaborative and comfortable for the models and whoever else helps make the pictures what they are.

In the upcoming week, I do not have a shoot planned, but I’ve been contacted about projects since I put some samples of this work up on social media. You honestly cannot imagine how ecstatic this makes me. This is what I want to make into a career, and you are helping me get to that point. I thank you for your support.

In other news, next week Friday marks the day I begin a yoga workshop with Betsey Downing at Expressions of Grace. I’m taking the Friday and Saturday workshop classes, due to the expense that taking all three classes would put upon me and my parents, and all in all, I will be contorting myself into various poses of questionable comfort for six hours-two on Friday, and two separate two-hour courses on Saturday. I’m. Stoked.

Life sounds good!

Much love,

Q ❤

 

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