Studying at summer time

788d9d0cc035d11ca0145432b6e6c75aThe Sun is shining once upon a time. My slowness is all about the preparation or particularly the six days of preparation in a row. I know this all fundamentally good for me but this morning I astonishingly realized that for many years summer time was no more than just a hot time in open shoes. And what is the reason? To say nothing about badly established town’s beaches and parks, which are unchangeable for many years. Every summer I have something to do and that deals obsess me. However, the main reason is not the deals but my strange idea that everyone gets rest, enjoys the life but I still sit over the books and gradually transform into a nerd. That’s what I always was afraid of. And maybe that’s the main reason of feeling strange being at the work table the whole day. Not the summer.

Today is the day of the Republic. It never made me any sense of holiday or whatever. I’ve found the new lecture by Chernigovskya and want to make little shopping.

 

just monday

This kind of days most of us usually got up and see how terribly boring, dim and hopeless life is. The warm light inside doesn’t compensate the dampness and coldness of the weather.

I didn’t come to the history lesson but slept. My slow and thoughtful morning went to the silent being at the workshop. What it was all about? I tried to understand something in the air. It was so similar to all that evening at the college when I looked out the window and imagined different variations of future. In the room, there still were papers and easels standing in the twilight. What a terrible hush of routine! We’re drawing the torso. My pencils are short as someone doesn’t want to buy new ones. At the other corner of the room, there were Vlad and Masha laughing out loud about something unfamiliar. The calmness spread out to the canteen where we got a situation with the headmaster.

The more we were in the workshop the more it became a farce. It was almost physical hardship just drawing the torso once more in this life. I read news about the attack in SPb, texted Nastya, she answered that all was basically normal. I was amazed by her calm approach allegedly such things are normal and all will be covered up.

The English teacher was really friendly to me and gave me an opportunity to continue my way of studying part-time. She took me a task which I am to do before the next Monday. That was so grateful of her.

This is the smell of spring everywhere. Those are the dried roads and mild air.

It was hard but possible to push myself out of the bed today. There were calm, yellow sky and no cars on the streets. Someway I got myself going to the institute and even be in time for the first and most important lesson, history. Instead of immersion into the 17 century’s passions, we were waiting for the teacher who set the projector – the first time for a year. Margo shown us the pretty fun app were poetry’s parts were to be transformed into emojis. We tried to remember the classical poem and couldn’t retrieve particular words. Then the lesson went a bit worse than usual though I comprehended it was a chance to remember the pre-historic material.

I felt tired as physically as emotionally. There is always one more day out I need. And a cup of cheap coffee doesn’t help crucially to refresh. However, I had some willpower to paint a canvas before the very dinner. At the canteen it was strange to begin with an odd talk with the animators then come to talk with Mary about cakes and then listen her chatting with cinema scholar who is (as I can assume now) is a boozer. When she speaks I discover what kind of drunkard lifestyle a lot of residents has. It saddens me a bit but makes picture clear – it’s not my company.

The rest of the day I forced myself to stay working in spite of harsh vulgar talks around. I had been to go since half to three but finished that all to the formal end.

Monday

This is so wonderful but nervous to run through the wet street to the lesson and try to keep up with the small talk about nothing. I hurried but the moment I turned to the audience it was clear – nobody can enter the class. There was small but pleasant talk with cinema scholars and other girls – what a great choice for talking! Then it was a mistake to sit with the same girls I went there. But OK, I let other people enjoy talking to the teacher and discussions. Not all have Saturday’s lessons.

The content was great as usual, with lots of contradictions and topics for reflection or deeper research. Sometimes it seemed hard to catch the red thread but I tried to make such exercises. And there is nowhere to go without the mind lapse when I feel a vacuum in my head which gradually transforms into the images. The magic of thinking. As fast as the lecture had ended and the teacher was ready to discuss something hugely interesting I had to go downstairs.

There was the class of non-Russian speaking people who was to study the language. The small chaotic room with the little blackboard and mess of papers in the cupboard. The female teacher cried loudly as it was an audience for fifty students. There were some evident foreigners as Chinese and Uzbek, and some unrecognizable persons looked like Bulgarian. Two Americans. There were too active and noisy, the study wasn’t effective (to my opinion – little constructive explanations). I tried to focus on the translating pre-intermediate level sentences. I realized that I usually work at the good environment for concentration and don’t have a habit of working in bothering surroundings. But I did my best allegedly it was a serious task. (I often make silly mistakes)

Sitting in the canteen with the girls and eating my noodles with chicken I had already felt exhausted. The effect of efficiency. But it was the painting which was on the agenda else. The workshop had a diffused spirit when I came. The regular, habitual movements with the hands and brushes. Some moments it seemed endurable, some – terribly boring. As it eats up my life. After two highly focused hours, I decided to go away and did so. There is no need to suffer and loaf around the workshop.

The neighbor can come today but I don’t worry at all.

Morning notes

Yesterday I even didn’t know what to write about if I wanted to avoid all complaints and whining. I don’t like to whine. But the description of the situation in a word such: the atmosphere is quiet friendly, talkative and joyful, but there is no focus on study and the study itself seems vain as well the content of talks. I couldn’t believe that Nastya really showed me her childhood photos allegedly it’s something interesting. It’s easy to look clever and hard to look hearty.

I run out there after the lesson and appreciated me-time as never ever. It’s all like school again – double life, one of which is formal, other is personal. And the concept of being myself isn’t perfect. Yesterday I tried to improve the set as it was evidently badly made. Nastya supported me before the very moment we needed to pursue the teacher who didn’t want to change anything. Everything remained the same though the teacher’s arguments were weak.

I’m happy in the mornings when I feel so fresh and have a few minutes for reading or learning. I shouldn’t drown in this activity but I feel like it affects me in a bad way. There are discreet manners and full-time sense loneliness. And the task is to stay curious, active, friendly and etc. I don’t want to mix with them and spend hours to find a proper key. No thanks. But it’s evidently weird to sit alone.

And the place for relief is a spare time which I can spend on three activities: study, personal life, and preparation for transfer. Each is immense and demand time, power and discipline. And it’s hardly possible to balance all three. Surely, I can just stop sleeping but I know how harmful it is for my abilities and mood. The other option is to score on the major study and focus on minors which are closer to the desired speciality. I don’t know. Or to work on the majors’ task firstly to free the space for real things. I don’t know what I’m here for, what is the reason of mom’s fear.

Though I have found some options, some tiny paths out of the current situation, the anxiety is still here. Compare to the easiness of risky way, the way of compromises is tough in its psychological angle. There is twice more work and worries of student life and with all my rationality it’s not so easy to persuade the body in the happy ending. As far as the reluctance to be in the same position freeze and upset me greatly I should change my lenses and look at the light instead of darkness.

The whole position is odd, make one thing to get another result which is kind of stupid idea. Nobody dances to be able to read. Crooked ways and paths require a good driver with excellent GPS. I know I shouldn’t worry that is waste of time and nerves.

Monday’s fire

104668d45696f27b1e48c1d5206ae164Such beautiful pictures in the purple haze of optimism and inner aspiration to come pictures true. Pictures of places, actions and possible complications. All that went to my mind in the grey lit room with a cup of coffee and some YouTube videos about study.

Even when I came to the art department with the white wave paper it seemed magical. Allegedly, I was in the college I coloured and stretched the paper, talked to people easily and jumped to and fro in the desire to actively do something. The sets were not excellent to avoid my criticism, but good enough to draw. I started with the charcoal and did everything as I knew. The teachers went to suggest something, but recently I was insensible to all their advice (not good argumentation). I do by the ideas put into my head at the college and I am not to alter or even adapt to someone’s vision. It hasn’t the price it require.

After the lunch the scandal repeated. The boy asked the sitter to pose for him at the long break so when I came back from the canteen they were working again. After that the sitter hurried out the workshop to smoke and eat. (What!!) But he unyildingly replied that he’d been sitting enough to get a break. And people were embarrassed. All tried to figure out how that happened. In a moment the fire was flamed. Mary cried on Sasha and he cried on her. But the point was clear, Sasha neglected the common agreement for a schedule and stirred everything. To understand how that was going I should say that both fucked each other twice or more, cried at each other. Finally Mary tried to calm down and pressed him saying she’s not going to cover him for skipping the lessons. And all went on the bad language level. I was standing in a shock, thinking what to do and either it worths interacting. Finally, they quarreled, we all kept tense silence and the sitter was getting his lunch.

The rest of the study I rather forced myself to draw than positively (as the first hour was) tried to manage that faster. Me, Mary and our female sitter were analysing the boy’s behaviour and possible future strategies to avoid the open conflict. We changed the topic and some way begun to discuss me. The sitter said I was updated as I’m aware of some ideas. The minute after the flattering I asked them to stop praising me. The respond was kind of clever in the context. She said I’m afraid of being in the spotlight. It struck me immediately and the finish of talk I can’t remember. Basically it’s true. I’m afraid of attention. The evident drawback is luck of male attention and opportunities to be noticed. I did contemplate on this idea the rest of the day and understood the roots but didn’t got the healing.

As the day finished, the damp street and electric light let me breath and remember the morning vision. The real stuff is kind of distracting. It’s not the meal I’d like to feed myself.

Wednesday. Sadness

If it happens for me to be upset, this day is an example for such condition. I overslept my morning tasks and English lesson. My calm innocent time. I changed the linen and packed all things, went out with classical music in the headphones. In the elevator I met the animation’s boy. We spoke a bit about the exams and came to the point of English and the state exams. I didn’t prepare for social studies and passed it with 63, he didn’t prepare for English and got 97, me – 80. Those are only standardized tests but in the whole picture of my insufficiency that was unpleasant.

So, black lines and white everything else on the streets, me listening Mozart as a part of mind cleaning and usual road. Undoubtedly, I was late on 10 minutes though nobody noticed. Then it were hours and hours of drawing or pretending to be drawing. Talks were common despite the fact that at the beginning I could even make jokes and laugh at something. Going out for a lunch I realized that I wanted some privacy, some place to feel comfortable. I took the cellophane salad and sat to unknown girls. The other day I would speak with but then I just ate. At the way up I met Sonya, she energetically spoke to me about her two ideas for the mastery. The option of saying about my mastery project wasn’t good for positive talk, so I tried to say something on Pozner’s film.

At the lesson I was quiet inert, read the article, wrote the texts and listened to the teacher. He worked enthusiastically, but I did not care about the drawing. And to say honestly, he is not concrete: “this area” is not the name of the bone and “shade” doesn’t define the form. Vice versa. I understand how it must be but there is no interest in achieving. Looking around on other people and listening to inner voice, I more and more understand that I am not an artist. And I don’t want to train for being one. I’m not. Certainly. Evidently.

The perspective was my best time as I could train my brain and just enjoy time. Though I still afraid to be myself and speak out as others do. Scrolling Instagram I saw one picture (there are a lot you know) and one thought came to me. I want to have a home with family, constant possibilities to study, work on the projects, let children learn everything, connect with interesting people and travel freely. All I want is a little strong thing called happiness (personal and professional)

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The one stupid thing at the morning totally changed the day. My alarm clock didn’t work. I opened eyes feeling the light out of the curtains. Strange thing for the morning in Moscow. I thought it’s Wednesday and quietly reflected on the dream. I saw some preparation philosophy course where the lector came to one student during the break and ask either he knows foreign languages or no. He said no and the lector directly responded that he wouldn’t attend in this case. So was my strange dream.

The morning I had to be at the cinema hall watching the Soviet films. But I did read the articles on them and watched the extracts. For some reason, my skip didn’t worry me at all. I ate the soup at the canteen in the company of the girls (such a boring company) and watched the people around.

During the lecture I observed the teacher. She was clever and good-looking (for her age) the strategy seemed smart and interactive. Students could feel free to express their impressions. Her tale about the famous director was full of bright details. I looked at her and some ideas came to mind. The ideas about life and happiness, and pleasure. The vague but so explicit ideas of life I want to lead. The clear image of society I want to be a part of, the lifestyle including lifelong self-education, visits to theatres, museums and other cultural places, the sturdy family relationships, good stylish apartment, the great profession which is a part of me. Piano music by the real piano. And in a moment everything seemed clear, understandable and possible. c1dd7bbb78056e27278b26436f1f5241

Moreover, I got that I need to demand more from myself to fill the gap between the idea and reality. Presently I live like in a dream, not like in a real world. I cannot look at other people’s faces and frankly say something like “I work on my becoming a production designer” or “I do everything to achieve my goal”.  Actually I am between, not within.

There was a lesson of the mastery then. I did talk a lot and felt quiet good being so indifferent about the pictures in the plastic bag. Mary offered me a project again. I couldn’t reject the other way than just taking her along and talking to her strangely. She very quickly asked me either I was burnt out at the profession and wasn’t I going to study the whole year. Talking to her a bit was my relief. The way down on the old staircases was the easiest for the whole time. The road to the art store I listened the Russian history and felt so good. The work is ahead.

Certainly this all looks different. The question is: is it really different or the same?

I woke up in time and had a good talk with the girl from cinema studies. We discussed film distribution on the way to the institute. She talked much about weekends and box offices. I listened and commented but basically listened. We went to the class as usual at Mondays and sat together to talk more.

The history lesson was terrific, full of reflection, political games and historical science. I enjoyed the process of thinking and even being ignorant at some points. Pleasure in one word.

Then I immediately was brought back to the same world as it had been week ago. Sleepy Nastya and talks about talks. The free porridge was surprisingly well-cocked and we had a lovely talk with the animation students.

I stretched the paper at the corridor as the workshop was noisy and cluttered. The joyful point is that I liked the reflection in the mirror – firstly while study. Maybe the reason is that I had so much wonderful events which I truly liked and moreover I have begun to think about New Year Eve and found lots of inspiration in considering the menu.

I read the interesting thought. It is about inertia. We continue to do something just because we have already started it. We should ask ourselves either I do this all such way if I knew it be like this. If answer is no, it should be changed, transformed. My answer is totally no. I wouldn’t make choices like I did in past if knew how it works. Clearly it means that I need some corrections. God thanks I’m still young! 22 isn’t the mature age though I feel explicit gap between me and younger students. This is why the decision I made at the history lesson was – read history not fiction now.

The drawing lessons were terrible. Evidently, there were no order, no working discipline by the sitters and reluctant by the students. I got a target to get drawn the head for a day and then move on. So did I in some extent. They talked usual messy talks of exhausted art students. The girls squeaked and moaned. The boys were fooling around. When I took off the headphone to ask the sitter be calmer I’d heard such common hum which I’d never heard even at the worst days at the college.

Of course, nobody was interested in the festival or volunteering. I just felt a bit more confident and went to the dean’s office for clarification of the dates without any hesitation. I did many complements during the day and felt well. But surely the drawing was monotonous, meaningless and long. I could read something instead.

For some reasons (runny nose is one of them) to the end of the lessons I had no former desire to attend physical lesson. I went to the drugstore, grocery and went in the hostel when all were inside the gym. So I told Mary to write me down. The good news is that I met the cinema studies’ girl Sasha and got her contacts.