I've redesigned the main page. Reload it a few times and check it out. Recycling is a popular California activity so I've tried to employ it here. Also for your viewing pleasure is a photo I took today of a variation on the Giant Trillium during our hike at San Pedro Valley Park in Pacifica. That's a flower with some retro paleolithic charm.
 | This and other lovely photos of Tahoe are now up on the images page. Also some photos of crazy people messing up the scenery. And so my snow desire is satisfied for the winter. |
I was in the process of purging my laptop the other night of old memories, and I found, among other things, a bunch of hockey photos that I never posted of CMU playing Allegheny, a Flash movie that Droo made for me one morning at 4 a.m. and turned in as a homework assignment, and a half-finished poem that I apparently started while still living in Pittsburgh. I thought any of these were random enough to make it into the blog, but since I'm in training this week and my only connection to the world is the sketchy wireless at the Park Plaza Starbucks in San Jose, I decided to post the poem only. It was three and a half stanzas long when I opened it, and I felt compelled to finish it before posting, although my original intentions when I started writing it are probably forever lost in an elapsed moment.
Unreflected Back
by J. Mignone
In my wing mirror, the brick houses pass in rows
the snow falls, the ice melts,
flowers bloom, leaves turn,
the snow falls again.
In my rearview, I leave behind a life I wanted
your blue couch, your undaunted smile,
stoic resolve, passionate attack,
your closely guarded heart.
I watched you trimming your beard, in the bathroom mirror
sculpting your jaw, fine shoulders raised,
steady hand, discriminating glances,
keen focus obliterates me.
My father said, the world looks better in a mirror
with sharp boundaries, this version portraying
small slices, existence compacted,
life out of reach.
In your dresser mirror, I see myself and your preoccupation
you run madly, in and out,
occasionally absent, often alone,
my adoration unreflected back.
We walked to the bubble tea cafe on an oddly crowded evening in downtown Mountain View. "I think people have just been led to believe that being sad is a prerequisite to being an artist," A said. "I'm not saying there isn't a stereotype," I answered, striding briskly beside him. "I'm just saying that to create art, you need some kind of inspiration, and sadness is a very easy emotion to come by."
I don't think all art comes from tragedy. But all art does come from emotion and more often than not, attempts to evoke emotion from others. I find that sadness, as an emotion, is less complex than happiness and the sustaining of prolonged joy. Sadness is basic and primal and more difficult to control. It seeps out into my everyday activities, sometimes overwhelming me and sometimes lingering in the background, temporarily suppressed by determined focus. When I channel it, I can use it for creative enterprises that I wouldn't otherwise be able to accomplish in a state of emotionless apathy. The trouble with using sadness as an artistic springboard is that it can taint the results. While the gray pallor on the finished work may not have been my original intention when I was first inspired to start the project, I feel as if it was better to have created in a burst of tears and art than to have sat glumly in the darkness of my lonely, agonized thoughts.
I'm reading a book called Enough: Staying Human in an Engineered Age. In it, author Bill McKibben speculates on the effects of genetically engineering our children to be better people, or to grow up to be the kind of people we want them to be. He asks us to question the effects of infusing a child with the gene for happiness, and quotes Gregory Stock, researcher at UCLA: "If we had the power to protect our future child, we might be very reluctant to leave him or her with a predisposition for recurring bouts of dark depression. Not even the knowledge that our child might use these distressing periods to good purpose would make our decision to forgo germinal intervention any easier." That cyclical sadness is wrong or destructive is the simplest perception. The emotional growth and even the enjoyment one can derive from using creative outlets to overcome this sadness is easily overlooked by peers and family who worry incessantly about surface appearances. In the same chapter, McKibben cites the research of Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, who studied the experience of human enjoyment. Csikszentmihalyi discovered that in the people who found intense joy in some activity, whether it be rock climbing or painting, individuals sought out a "clear set of challenges," and a way to "go beyond the known." Two ways of "going beyond the given" are to compete, as chess or basketball players do, or to "struggle against internal obstacles," as composers or artists do. I find it intriguing that Csikszentmihalyi's work reveals that the deepest enjoyment derives from struggle, whether physical or mental, as at first glance such a challenge would appear detrimental or contrary to the pursuit of happiness.
This returns us to A's original observation about tragic artistry. Is sadness necessary to produce great art? Of course not. The perception that artists are often tortured, isolated figures is not altogether invented, but it is a misguided understanding. What people fail to see is that even in times of great distress, a person can find happiness in the struggle to share his feelings with a disconnected audience. When I write or draw or design, I think of two things -- the emotion that drives me to create, and how I can enable others to perceive that emotion the way I do without it being their own. Is it impossible for someone who is sad to be inspired by it and to find enjoyment in the struggle to overcome it? I don't believe so. The constant challenge that this reinvention of my feelings provides me with actually alleviates the original sadness, even if temporarily. Art, happy or sad or otherwise, extends and sometimes alters the current state of the soul.
I don't think all art comes from tragedy. But all art does come from emotion and more often than not, attempts to evoke emotion from others. I find that sadness, as an emotion, is less complex than happiness and the sustaining of prolonged joy. Sadness is basic and primal and more difficult to control. It seeps out into my everyday activities, sometimes overwhelming me and sometimes lingering in the background, temporarily suppressed by determined focus. When I channel it, I can use it for creative enterprises that I wouldn't otherwise be able to accomplish in a state of emotionless apathy. The trouble with using sadness as an artistic springboard is that it can taint the results. While the gray pallor on the finished work may not have been my original intention when I was first inspired to start the project, I feel as if it was better to have created in a burst of tears and art than to have sat glumly in the darkness of my lonely, agonized thoughts.
I'm reading a book called Enough: Staying Human in an Engineered Age. In it, author Bill McKibben speculates on the effects of genetically engineering our children to be better people, or to grow up to be the kind of people we want them to be. He asks us to question the effects of infusing a child with the gene for happiness, and quotes Gregory Stock, researcher at UCLA: "If we had the power to protect our future child, we might be very reluctant to leave him or her with a predisposition for recurring bouts of dark depression. Not even the knowledge that our child might use these distressing periods to good purpose would make our decision to forgo germinal intervention any easier." That cyclical sadness is wrong or destructive is the simplest perception. The emotional growth and even the enjoyment one can derive from using creative outlets to overcome this sadness is easily overlooked by peers and family who worry incessantly about surface appearances. In the same chapter, McKibben cites the research of Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, who studied the experience of human enjoyment. Csikszentmihalyi discovered that in the people who found intense joy in some activity, whether it be rock climbing or painting, individuals sought out a "clear set of challenges," and a way to "go beyond the known." Two ways of "going beyond the given" are to compete, as chess or basketball players do, or to "struggle against internal obstacles," as composers or artists do. I find it intriguing that Csikszentmihalyi's work reveals that the deepest enjoyment derives from struggle, whether physical or mental, as at first glance such a challenge would appear detrimental or contrary to the pursuit of happiness.
This returns us to A's original observation about tragic artistry. Is sadness necessary to produce great art? Of course not. The perception that artists are often tortured, isolated figures is not altogether invented, but it is a misguided understanding. What people fail to see is that even in times of great distress, a person can find happiness in the struggle to share his feelings with a disconnected audience. When I write or draw or design, I think of two things -- the emotion that drives me to create, and how I can enable others to perceive that emotion the way I do without it being their own. Is it impossible for someone who is sad to be inspired by it and to find enjoyment in the struggle to overcome it? I don't believe so. The constant challenge that this reinvention of my feelings provides me with actually alleviates the original sadness, even if temporarily. Art, happy or sad or otherwise, extends and sometimes alters the current state of the soul.
Photos from my February 15 shoot with dmk26 are now up on the images page. Dmk26 has a much larger collection at his site, if you are really trying to avoid work and want to see more. He has a great eye; I simply wish I could have been a little less tragic that day. The weather I swear I had nothing to do with.
I'm standing on a bridge
I'm waiting in the dark
I thought that you'd be here by now
There's nothing but the rain
No footsteps on the ground
I'm listening but there's no sound
I'm looking for a place
Searching for a face
Is anybody here I know?
'Cause nothing's going right
And everything's a mess
And no one likes to be alone
Isn't anyone trying to find me?
Won't somebody come take me home?
- Avril Lavigne, I'm With You
I'm waiting in the dark
I thought that you'd be here by now
There's nothing but the rain
No footsteps on the ground
I'm listening but there's no sound
I'm looking for a place
Searching for a face
Is anybody here I know?
'Cause nothing's going right
And everything's a mess
And no one likes to be alone
Isn't anyone trying to find me?
Won't somebody come take me home?
- Avril Lavigne, I'm With You
 | J-man sent me this photo he took several weeks ago after my women's league game at Ice Oasis. We're in the "lounge" overlooking the rink. I posted it because people said the blog was getting too sad and needed some smiles. I have none to give at the moment, but at least I can dig up some archived happiness. |
Goodbye Superstar. And so he requests that the story end now, he is done reading, without so much an acknowledgement that it was a good book, or that he liked it at all. I guess it's one of those stories you don't recommend to others or read for pleasure on lonely winter nights. It's the kind that sits on a dusty shelf in a closet you never open, waiting to be donated to charity ten years later when you're married with kids and your wife wants to clean out the house. The least I could do was make it a beautiful story. Even if no one remembers that, I will.
We have shared out like thieves the amazing treasure of nights and days.
- J. L. Borges
- J. L. Borges
It kills me to write it like I did, but I don't know what else to do. In desperation, in my everyday perception of the world through the blurry outline of a rim of tears, I wanted a response, any answer, knowing full well it would not be what I wanted to hear.
Happy Friday the 13th. I signed my title documents today, closing on the 19th of this month. Home ownership found me reading a copy of Martha Stewart's Living in the title company lobby. How very sad. Still no date for Valentine's, although one person did send me an e-card with a picture of some pretty flowers, so for that, I thank him.
Folks, I'm not doing anything or going anywhere for Valentine's Day, so stop asking. Thanks.
The coaches at Ice Oasis, though I don't like to admit it, are finally teaching me something about hockey. In one drills session on Sunday night, I was able to both lift the puck off the ice with my wrist shot and skate backwards while stickhandling. Now, I'm not saying I'm doing either of these things well, but at least I'm finally doing them. And Paul, despite being married and having two kids (sigh), acknowledged with surprise that I was crossing over backwards around the circle pretty convincingly, and at a minimum, better than the other people in my group. A thick accented older guy in a blue jersey assured me that playing defense during our skills scrimmages was the best way to practice. So I closed my eyes, jumped the boards, and didn't spend the entire 45 seconds fretting over skating backwards. I did manage to shoot the puck up the boards once or twice, and even got commended by a guy on my team who later got busted by one of the coaches for slashing. Hey, a compliment's a compliment, and maybe even more so when it comes from a bully.
Now if only I could feel better playing with the women on my tournament team. They are, unfortunately, infinitely less patient and understanding when it comes to bad passes and slow skating. I will be straight up with you -- they scare me, and not because I am intimidated by any of them skillwise, but more so because of their limited patience and cliquishness. It reminds me of middle school, when I was always the last kid to get picked for a team because I just downright couldn't keep up. (Of course, I blew them all away later in high school during our track meets, but who's holding a grudge here?)
A lot of times people will say things like "Hey, at least you're not as bad as her," or "You've come a long way in a year." These are all certainly other ways of looking at the situation, and I do the same thing when I meet someone who says they've been playing for a year. I watch that person skate and judge whether or not my skills meet or exceed the mark that person sets. It's comforting for about five seconds, and then I tend to remember how much worse I am than most everyone else, and I start to get frustrated with myself again.
The thing about hockey at these lower levels is that it's not just about skills, it's about having a whole lot of heart. It's about skating as hard as you possibly can, even if you're not nearly as good as the person you're up against. Case in point: Saturday night there's a tall Asian girl who skates and plays remarkably well (only 6 years of playing, she told me) and who is often on top of me or somehow harassing me during games. I don't have a lot of chance face to face with her, although I can probably skate as fast as her if my life depended on it (not nearly as maneuverable, however). She had the puck, and was skating up her wing quite aggressively into our defensive zone. I had managed to stay right on top of her, and kept her up against the boards until we got near the hash marks. Something in my head backed me off, and it wasn't the fear factor. It was a more casual manner, a split second thought that told me that I could indeed go a lot faster and probably knock her down, but instead kept me content at matching her speed. She sped up at the last second and squeezed the puck in between the goalie's leg and the goalpost. I was appalled, for the simple reason that I could have stopped her if I had put some heart into it. Now, the mysterious absence of our defense is an interesting study in team dynamics, but either way, I was irritated with myself for not putting forth the effort.
Speaking of hockey, Saturyne tells me there's a hockey movie out that's too cool to miss. Sounds cheesy but I think I might go see it. Now, finding someone willing to go with me is a separate challenge. I have been known to hit people over the head with long sticks when things don't go my way, however, so I'm confident I can convince someone that they very much want to see this movie too.
Now if only I could feel better playing with the women on my tournament team. They are, unfortunately, infinitely less patient and understanding when it comes to bad passes and slow skating. I will be straight up with you -- they scare me, and not because I am intimidated by any of them skillwise, but more so because of their limited patience and cliquishness. It reminds me of middle school, when I was always the last kid to get picked for a team because I just downright couldn't keep up. (Of course, I blew them all away later in high school during our track meets, but who's holding a grudge here?)
A lot of times people will say things like "Hey, at least you're not as bad as her," or "You've come a long way in a year." These are all certainly other ways of looking at the situation, and I do the same thing when I meet someone who says they've been playing for a year. I watch that person skate and judge whether or not my skills meet or exceed the mark that person sets. It's comforting for about five seconds, and then I tend to remember how much worse I am than most everyone else, and I start to get frustrated with myself again.
The thing about hockey at these lower levels is that it's not just about skills, it's about having a whole lot of heart. It's about skating as hard as you possibly can, even if you're not nearly as good as the person you're up against. Case in point: Saturday night there's a tall Asian girl who skates and plays remarkably well (only 6 years of playing, she told me) and who is often on top of me or somehow harassing me during games. I don't have a lot of chance face to face with her, although I can probably skate as fast as her if my life depended on it (not nearly as maneuverable, however). She had the puck, and was skating up her wing quite aggressively into our defensive zone. I had managed to stay right on top of her, and kept her up against the boards until we got near the hash marks. Something in my head backed me off, and it wasn't the fear factor. It was a more casual manner, a split second thought that told me that I could indeed go a lot faster and probably knock her down, but instead kept me content at matching her speed. She sped up at the last second and squeezed the puck in between the goalie's leg and the goalpost. I was appalled, for the simple reason that I could have stopped her if I had put some heart into it. Now, the mysterious absence of our defense is an interesting study in team dynamics, but either way, I was irritated with myself for not putting forth the effort.
Speaking of hockey, Saturyne tells me there's a hockey movie out that's too cool to miss. Sounds cheesy but I think I might go see it. Now, finding someone willing to go with me is a separate challenge. I have been known to hit people over the head with long sticks when things don't go my way, however, so I'm confident I can convince someone that they very much want to see this movie too.
All right, I've finally moved everything. Don't look so shocked. It's not nearly done. I've just reskinned the site (and switched hosts) but in doing so I've revealed my embarrassingly lazy, clumsy site creation and maintenance habits. Basically, a lot of stuff is broken, and I know it, and if you're bored you can go looking for it. All those transparent gifs I never made? Yeah, those have come back to bite me in the ass. I'm also having a font problem in the blog, but at least it's still readable.
No, the main page (index.htm) doesn't match the rest of the site. It's a placeholder. So please don't mail me about "how you don't like the color" and what not. A better response would be "Congratulations Jessica on finally breaking the bank and buying a domain name for $12. We knew you weren't really that cheap." I still have to update a lot of images, and link up the art page, but it's mostly here now, so shutup and like it. And while you're liking it, you may want to update your bookmarks too, because the link at my old site will only be up as long as CMU fails to remember that I already graduated. They could potentially remember tomorrow.
Oh, there are some new photos too, just in case you were getting bummed that you came here for no reason.
No, the main page (index.htm) doesn't match the rest of the site. It's a placeholder. So please don't mail me about "how you don't like the color" and what not. A better response would be "Congratulations Jessica on finally breaking the bank and buying a domain name for $12. We knew you weren't really that cheap." I still have to update a lot of images, and link up the art page, but it's mostly here now, so shutup and like it. And while you're liking it, you may want to update your bookmarks too, because the link at my old site will only be up as long as CMU fails to remember that I already graduated. They could potentially remember tomorrow.
Oh, there are some new photos too, just in case you were getting bummed that you came here for no reason.
"He just wants to play now and work later," Superstar said about his brother. "It doesn't work that way." This coming from a man who played all his childhood and into adulthood and who now finds it quite natural to get to work. I never played. I worked as a kid, throughout undergrad, for three years into my career, and then the fourth year I surrendered to market forces and played. It wasn't my intention to play. I had the horse I "always wanted" and dreamed and drew as a kid. I had a house and a boyfriend and a car. I had all those things. They're gone -- I've started over. Now, in a funk, I can't get back to work. This scrambling pointlessness, this Sisyphean struggle impairs my forward progress. Why have I worked so hard? Where am I going?
"People who love what they are doing, are just more lovable people in general," Droo said. How can I be like that? How can I love what I do? "I'm here for a reason," he added. "I don't know what that is yet but I know there is a reason." What's my reason? Is it possible I made a mistake and my reason wasn't what it was originally supposed to be? Is this the classic chicken and the egg? I believe in reasons but not in fate. I question if those are conflicting beliefs. Can one believe there is a reason for everything and not believe in a predestined fate? If I think, "I am back here in California for a reason," then aren't I suggesting that predestiny makes all things happen and that I am here on account of fate alone?
K said, "You are in control of your life." This means that if events occur for a reason, they occur for a reason you intended, not for some intangible purpose floating somewhere over Lake Tahoe.
I think people believe in reasons and karma to make them feel better about senseless occurrences. If there's a divine reason for Fido getting hit by the car, for a lover dumping you, for not getting admitted to that university, then that makes it okay. "If it was meant for me then it would/wouldn't have happened." This is what people say to comfort themselves. This is what my mom says to console me. Not "If I hadn't left the backyard gate open Fido wouldn't have been hit by a car," or "If I had been more sincere then Jack/Jill wouldn't have dumped me," or "If I had just studied harder for my exams and did more extracurricular activities I would have been accepted to that university." Do the people (like me) who say the latter establish our own reasons? Do we not believe in fate, or that when something goes awry, it is because we are destined for some other purpose? To some extent, believing in fate is an escapist technique. At the same time, however, it's a coping strategy, a way not to be overcome by everything that doesn't go as planned.
Perhaps what I need is some happy balance between destiny and control. If I leave everything to destiny, I can fall into a cycle of hopelessness vs. mindless content. If I think I control everything that happens to me, I will ride a wave of huge success and at times bitter regret. And regret, as we know it, is just a reaction to the belief that we have made a wrong choice somewhere down the line, that we were in control of the future and blundered it. My issue then, is that I adhere to this paradigm like it's my devoted religion.
"People who love what they are doing, are just more lovable people in general," Droo said. How can I be like that? How can I love what I do? "I'm here for a reason," he added. "I don't know what that is yet but I know there is a reason." What's my reason? Is it possible I made a mistake and my reason wasn't what it was originally supposed to be? Is this the classic chicken and the egg? I believe in reasons but not in fate. I question if those are conflicting beliefs. Can one believe there is a reason for everything and not believe in a predestined fate? If I think, "I am back here in California for a reason," then aren't I suggesting that predestiny makes all things happen and that I am here on account of fate alone?
K said, "You are in control of your life." This means that if events occur for a reason, they occur for a reason you intended, not for some intangible purpose floating somewhere over Lake Tahoe.
I think people believe in reasons and karma to make them feel better about senseless occurrences. If there's a divine reason for Fido getting hit by the car, for a lover dumping you, for not getting admitted to that university, then that makes it okay. "If it was meant for me then it would/wouldn't have happened." This is what people say to comfort themselves. This is what my mom says to console me. Not "If I hadn't left the backyard gate open Fido wouldn't have been hit by a car," or "If I had been more sincere then Jack/Jill wouldn't have dumped me," or "If I had just studied harder for my exams and did more extracurricular activities I would have been accepted to that university." Do the people (like me) who say the latter establish our own reasons? Do we not believe in fate, or that when something goes awry, it is because we are destined for some other purpose? To some extent, believing in fate is an escapist technique. At the same time, however, it's a coping strategy, a way not to be overcome by everything that doesn't go as planned.
Perhaps what I need is some happy balance between destiny and control. If I leave everything to destiny, I can fall into a cycle of hopelessness vs. mindless content. If I think I control everything that happens to me, I will ride a wave of huge success and at times bitter regret. And regret, as we know it, is just a reaction to the belief that we have made a wrong choice somewhere down the line, that we were in control of the future and blundered it. My issue then, is that I adhere to this paradigm like it's my devoted religion.
