Deep thoughts

I just wanted to take a second to write down some quick thoughts. I wrote down today something along the lines of “I have tattoos and cat slippers” and it got me thinking: who am I?

A lot of times I get put in a category of people, one or another, for only one thing that I do or represent. For example, as I just mentioned, I have tattoos. So people think I am a badass, that I’m into rock/metal/etc and all those shenanigans, that I don’t care for my future (cause apparently nobody with a tattoo can ever get a job.... right?) and many other things similar. I also have cat slippers and cat mugs and I have adopted a cat a while back and I post cat pictures on my friends’ walls on Facebook and generally, I just enjoy cats. So people assume I am a crazy anti-social cat lady shut-in, a younger version of the log lady, eccentric and awkward at the same time. Then some other people think that because I work at an art gallery that I make a ton of money and that my job is “super cool”. And then other people, finding out that I am Russian, start pestering me with annoying questions about it or assume I don’t speak English very well. This list can go on forever, but the point is, I am none of those people, and yet I am all of those people at once.

I am a badass when I want to be, and I am a cuddly cat lady when the badass goes on holiday, when I am home alone canoodling with my Pan-pan, when it’s freezing outside and I am lying in bed in my heated blanket with my cat tea cup. When I dress for work, I invite the badass back into my life, or when I am going out, or when I am going to a concert.

I do think my job is pretty awesome because I enjoy it (most of the time), it’s not overly hard, it’s intellectual (some of the times), and most importantly, I have learned more about art doing this job than four years of college art history education. Yeah, beat that, Illinois Wesleyan University! But at the same time I barely make any money on it and I would rather have a job that does both: stimulate my brain and stimulate my bank account.

I am Russian, that is correct, but I barely know anything about the country, although I know infinitely more about it than most people on the street. I know a lot of my country’s history, especially the first half of the 20th century, I have read many Russian authors and have been to many Russian museums. I lived in that country and I have my own personal experiences of the changes that it underwent, and still is undergoing. But I hate answering questions about it unless the person is genuinely interested, not just asking me for a tourists’ guide or wanting to hear the usual stereotypes (yes we drink a lot, especially vodka; yes it is a police state; yes it is cold, at least where I am from; yes some people still worship Stalin; yes there is such a phenomenon as “babushka”). But you know what, I also put a lot of effort into learning English, perfecting an accent so I can be easily disguised as an American. This quality has helped me a lot in meeting people, first impressions, interesting conversations, but also has led to a lot of annoying questions, when every single person I ever meet says the same thing: where are you from? oh wow you don’t even sound foreign, how come? Because apparently being foreign is all about the accent.

I am also a lot of other things. I am an artist, although I think I am incredibly shy about it and would rather people didn’t acknowledge it too much. I also don’t like most other art people, which makes my life a bit hard, especially because I hate self-promoting. I am a writer, although very few people have ever read what I have written, and most of the time I think I write total trash because I write to entertain myself and let out some thoughts. I make videos and I like making music videos especially but I hate most music and I would rather always work alone, although video making usually requires more than one person. I do want to put on a play one day, and I want to write a very original screenplay and direct it. I also like to travel a lot, but mostly on my own. I also like to cook and I make very delicious things, if I may say so myself (don’t believe me? ask my friends). That doesn’t mean I make elaborate things and it doesn’t mean I frown upon other people’s food, although I give that impression because I don’t eat most things, seeing as how I am vegan. But being vegan doesn’t mean I hate meat-eaters, and it doesn’t mean I preach about it. I like talking about food A LOT and hearing other people’s opinions and experiences, and I never tell somebody that what they’re eating is wrong or unhealthy. The biggest judge of food is me, and I only ever judge myself for what I am eating.

I really like reading, but in some ways I am very picky about books. I mostly only enjoy fiction (unless it’s books on awesome history or the universe expanding or about art), and I mostly enjoy novels. And on top of that, I mostly enjoy old-er books, not new-er. If something really excites me in what I am reading, I have to talk about it, and that goes the same for when I watch a film that I really like. Films are hard, because I like watching them but most of the time my attention span is too short so I watch most movies in halves. However, there is a handful of films that I have liked for a very long time, and I can re-watch those to death and beyond. Pulp Fiction and the Fifth Element - I am looking at you.

I also really like dressing up, I like to take time and put a lot of effort into how I look. I can never leave the house without wearing at least something decent and appropriate. I am a bit of a snob when it comes to how other people dress, for example I could never date somebody who wears awful shoes or if their standard uniform consists of sweatpants or a Northface jacket. I am quite a vain person, and I am not going to deny it. There is absolutely nothing wrong with loving yourself, if more people did it, the universe would be an easier place to exist. I also understand that as long as I like myself and therefore put effort into looking good, then all is well and it makes me happier and more content. Doesn’t everyone feel that way? Then why do people leave their house in PJs to go grocery shopping?

Deep thoughts. I did just write “Depp” and had to go back and re-write it. Johnny Depp, he is a cool guy.

Being Female, a personal tale

Hello World! I am writing today from my poor infected bedroom with an army of phlegm and tea cups, in other words I caught a cold. Everyone in Chicago is dying from the crazy flu that has taken over the city, but I’m just sitting here with my sore throat and my snot, ears ringing but no fever, no chills, nothing of the sort. Every time it happens this way: everybody gets sick properly, I just float in my own self-pity. Not that I want to be more sick, no way! I just think it’s pathetic that I can withstand every goddamn flu epidemic in every place I’ve ever lived, mind you, without ever getting a flu shot! But those damn normal colds, I just can’t get enough of them.

Anyway, from being stuck at home for many days (and sometimes eating popcorn for dinner.. because when I am sick I can’t taste anything, so I just want to eat foods that have a LOT of taste... or just comfort foods I guess... or something that can make itself in the microwave in two minutes) I have been reading a lot of online subpar journalism. There is that horrible Esquire piece on Megan Fox (http://www.vice.com/en_uk/read/this-interview-with-megan-fox-is-the-worst-thing-ever-written-esquire), then there are feminist articles, anti-feminist, misogynist, and so on. I always wonder, why does the world hate women so much, that’s like half of the world’s population, despised! Mistreated, misunderstood, misused, just plain hated. It’s so strange to me, how did people ever decide, in the Ancient worlds far gone, that women are somehow inferior. Every single thing that anybody ever does or says or works on somehow can always lead to woman-hating.

I won’t intrude on other people’s experiences, I only have my own to speak of and address. So I will start with those.

When I was a kid in school (still in Russia), I remember I got into a few fights with boys in my class. One time it was because this asshole threw his half-eaten apple into my yogurt, which was almost full, so that I lost my lunch and got my desk covered in pink slime all at the same time. I chased him around the classroom, caught him, but before I could do anything, the teacher came in and told me that there is no fighting allowed. I told her what he did, and she just said “mind your own business”. But at the same time, she would see boys fighting with boys and never said a word. She prevented me from picking a fight with a boy that did something wrong. Perhaps in her strange mind she figured it was for the better, so that I won’t get hurt, but honestly that is my right, my decision, not hers.

Another time, I don’t remember why, but I was wrestling with this other boy and the teacher walked in (another one). She sent me to the nurse, but the boy was allowed to stay in the classroom. When I got to the nurse, she tried giving me some sort of calming herbal thing, and I protested, because I couldn’t understand why I was told I was being irrational, while the boy was left alone.

Then I grew up and stopped picking fights with boys, not because I was afraid or anything of the sort, but mostly because I didn’t want the boys to stoop so low in their friends’ eyes and hit a girl. Which I am kind of confused about. On the one hand if everyone is equal, boys and girls and men and women should be able to hit each other, right? But on the other hand violence against women is disgusting. So I guess what I am trying to say is, it is never okay to hit another human being, but especially women or children, because they tend to be less strong physically. I abhor violence completely and think it should only be used, if ever, in self-defense or defense of others, not just innocent people, but anybody because humans can never be the judges of who deserves that sort of punishment and who doesn’t.

I am getting off topic. I started talking about women and now I’m talking about violence, so back to my original topic.

Being a grown up woman I face disturbingly misogynistic situations all the time. When I am cat-called on the street or when people shout things at me on the street, it makes me very upset. It usually makes me feel extremely unsafe and I am never sure how to react in those situations, whether I should be cold, or if I should reply or ignore, I am never sure what is the best action to get myself safe out of the whole situation. I remember one time in the summer I was walking to the grocery store, in the morning! and this man was sitting on the steps of someone’s house, I think he might have been homeless, and he made a comment about my breasts. Very unpleasant, so I decided to just ignore him and continue walking. To my horror he got up as I passed him, followed me for about two steps and shouted “what’s wrong with you, you stuck up albino bitch”. Yeah, I am not joking, those were his exact words. What should I have done in this situation? Should I have responded to his first comment? But how? Why should I even have to put up with this horrible man who diminishes my whole person to a pair of breasts and my blonde hair? It isn’t fair that when I passed him on the street, all I thought of him was that he seemed hungry, angry and lonely. And yet I didn’t torment him, and why would I? So why did he torment me? Why do men torment women in this way, why do they feel the need to say something to a girl walking? Can someone explain this to me, because I don’t understand.

When I see someone walking their dog and the dog is very cute and I really want to pet him/her, I walk up to the owner and tell them their dog is really cute and ask if I can say hello. I have never been turned down and so I proceed so say hello to the dog, pet him/her, and usually ask for their name and bid them a good day and walk away. That is an appropriate behavior of acknowledging something you like on the street. I don’t just shout “oi sexy dog over there” or something of the sort because that’s rude. Why do men feel the need to say something rude instead of something nice? I mean, if it’s true that all men want to do is appreciate the “female” (very common reason behind cat-calling), then why don’t they come up to the girl, ask if it’s okay to say a few words, then say “I think you’re pretty” or something, ask for her name, and be on your way. That’s it, how hard is that? Is it really that much harder than being rude? When did rude become the norm in our society anyway, why is it easier for people to be rude than to be nice? Humans, I will never understand them.

Again, going off topic. Maybe this should be called “What I find wrong with humanity” instead.

When I was in college, I noticed another pattern with woman-hating (or shaming is more appropriate I think). I would see lazy college students wearing the worst outfits on campus, like girls would be wearing sweatpants and uggs (or flip flops), hair in messy buns and yesterday’s makeup still traced around their eyes. Boys would be wearing sweatpants or the equivalent but in shorts’ form, flip flops, baseball hats hiding bed hair, bodies probably unwashed for days. Yes, the norm of American colleges, everybody knows that. But there is a problem, because I would hear people say “oh that girl and this girl, why do they just not put on jeans and brush their hair” but nobody, ever! would point out the disgusting boys. I mean it’s actually totally normal for dudes to be disgusting pigs, they are forgiven, but girls - hell no! Girls are required to look appropriate. Now, I am not defending this horrible clothing pattern going on, I hate it more than anybody, but I hate it equally on girls and boys. I never talked to boys in that “uniform” if I could help it, and I didn’t talk to girls like that either. But I would hear boys say how they like this and that girl if only she didn’t wear uggs/sweatpants/etc. But look at yourself! You’re just as much of a slob as her! This used to drive me mad.

At parties, I would see girls dressed so pretty, with tight dresses and heels and hair and makeup and everything, and boys would be wearing the same variation of t-shirt/shorts/flip flops/baseball hat. It was a miracle when one of them wore a pair of jeans or a clean shirt. And yet, this was acceptable. Why??? I felt so sorry for the poor girls trying to get any kind of attention from those gross boys, who barely would notice them, and if they did they acted like total assholes and somehow still managed to get girls to date them or sleep with them or whatever else.

Being a girl/woman isn’t easy. Everybody expects so many things from you, on all sides. You’re expected to be beautiful, to take care of your body and look fantastic. You’re also  expected to do better in school than boys, but then men end up getting better jobs, higher wages and more opportunities in life. Why? You’re expected to be shallow, to care about clothes and gossip, and when you don’t you’re automatically assumed homosexual, but when you’re into clothes and girly movies, you’re automatically named a “bimbo”, shallow and unintelligent. Why? As if boy things are always so incredibly intelligent and intellectual, like all those beer and pizza gatherings consisting of discussing girls on a scale from 1 to 10. How is that not shallow, how is that not more shallow than girls discussing which boy has better looking hair? 

Okay, now I am just plain ranting. Women are perceived irrational and too emotional, but from all the men I know, they are just as irrational and emotional. Men always say they can’t understand women, but women can’t understand men either. In fact, it’s very superficial to think you can understand another human being. You can never see the world through their eyes, you will never know if your blue is their yellow, or if their salt is your sweet. Assuming you can rationalize another person’s feelings and thoughts is playing God, and nobody is God. But of course, as per usual, women get a bad rep for being unpredictable, while men ride on the glory of victory over the whole world.

I am not a man-hater, I really am not. There are a lot of things I really like about men, and there are so many traits I wish I had that are more specific to men, and the fact that it is easier to be a man in this world definitely makes me want to be one, and not because I hate women, far from it! But just because it would be an easier life, and there is no denying that, because we live in a misogynistic world, that is just the truth of it. I really enjoy my friendships with men, and some of my favorite people in the world happen to be male. Unfortunately some of my male friends exhibit slight forms of misogyny and sexism, and I have to say I can’t help them, and neither can they most of the time, because those thoughts are ingrained like ancient wisdom or cultural ethics, or “appropriate” etiquette, call it what you will. I have friends that shout things at girls, that treat girls like inferior beings, that expect girls to be supreme in every aspect and still think of them as inferior, and unfortunately I wish I could say I don’t ever want to be friends with such people, but it’s just not true. I can’t help being friends with whoever my emotions want me to connect to, I just can’t. All I can do is to try and educate my male friends about what it is like to be a girl, and hope that one day they can change for the better.

A rather pleasant day

I want to tell you about my day because it was incredibly wonderful, considering I've been having some not so comfortable days lately. Why? Because it's cold, because I've got the winter blues, because I feel lonely, lost, abandoned, bored by this world and want to be out in the universe, floating in space, travelling to other galaxies... basically, the norm of my inner feelings toward the universe.

Today though! I don't work on Tuesdays so I took this opportunity to go to the Art Institute for free (that would be the Art Institute in Chicago) and look at some art. Now, I've just been to this museum about a month ago and I was there for a long time and looked at a lot of things thoroughly, so this time I just went wherever I fancied, or to see my favorites.

The day started off quite nice, it was very sunny, although still freezing cold. I went to Belmont (because I hate the Addison red line stop) and got on the train, and got off at Jackson. Immediately from being at the Jackson red line stop I came up with a new idea for yet another short story, so that was good.

I walked to the Art Institute slowly right past the DePaul Loop campus and silently laughed at all the funny students walking around there. Classes just started last week I believe, and I inwardly mock college students now, I am not really sure why, probably because they make me feel ancient.

There were few people at the museum because it's the middle of the week, so I was mostly undisturbed except for a couple of workers there that tried to start a conversation with me, this always happens.

I started with photography because I am still trying to understand it and develop some sort of critical opinions about photographs. Alison Rossiter's "Acme Kruxo" was very interesting, here is an example:

These photographs are about the development of photographs, expiration, digitalizing the whole photo process. I don't want to get into technical talk because there is little I understand of photography in those terms, but either way, those works were really quite incredible to think about and look at.

Next I really enjoyed studying Gary Winogrand's "Women are Beautiful". The concept, on the one hand, is very primitive, but on the other it goes so deep. Every photograph is unique and fantastic, but altogether the collection gives a sense of something powerful, not in an emotional sense, but from a philosophical and aesthetic point of view. Women are traditionally worshipped by men for their beauty, which in term is replicated in all forms of art. Here it is a similar idea, but it's different. These women are not posing, they are not beautified. The femininity is raw, and that is what makes it enormously powerful and long-lasting. Here are some of my favorites I could find on the internet:

Then I stumbled upon space photos, from the moon expedition. I stared long and hard into the helmet of one of the astronauts and tried to imagine what he was feeling, and I think he was happy, beyond anybody's comprehension. I think behind that helmet he was laughing, and they all were, because they were so far away from Earth, the first people to venture out so far and step on a different world. Wow, it is truly amazing to think about that. When I studied those photographs I actually started tearing up a bit. One day I will follow in their footsteps and reach space, I promise. That is why I cannot die until I do.

Then I went and saw the usual what I always go to see: American contemporary art. Robert Mangold's "Green/2 Orange X Painting" from 1983 that hangs there always captivates me because every time I see it there I forget it is a cross, and just look at the thin line running in the middle of the really long and thin canvas. Then I notice the color, so beautiful and pure. And when I start reading the description, it finally hits me: it's a cross! I always forget!

Cy Twombly's big paintings that face each other in this one room at the Art Institute always make me stare at them for a long time. His works are strange to me because I feel like there is a whole universe in every single one of his works. Every scribble is just another planet or star system or galaxy or perhaps every scribble is another dimension and another time. It's amazing how his paintings are incredibly chaotic and yet so still and lonely with all that vast space that feels like the void to me.

But then you see the Mark Rothko's on the other two sides of the room and you realize everything you ever felt or known or imagined is contained within each Rothko painting. Whole civilizations and time, centuries, landscapes, cliffs and oceans, and also emotions and people and stories and death, all of those can be seen in a Rothko work. It's as if your soul leaves your body and plants itself in those pools of color, softly intersecting each other, borders playing tricks on your eyes and colors mixing and creating new ones. If you stare long enough, it will bring you peace to your mind.

Looking at art calms me and unsettles me at the same time but in different ways. I feel peaceful, introverted, reflective but also lonesome, melancholic and all wrapped up in my head so that it's hard for me to talk or listen or do anything other than write, think and walk. What sort of power is it that can make a person feel so confused?

Something strange happened at the museum today: when I was walking around, for some reason I was somehow convinced that I was in London, not in Chicago. I have no idea why, I was really spaced out and I kept looking at all those American photographs and thought to myself: "Why are there so many American photographs, I wonder how the Brits feel about that. I guess there is a lot of New York and people say New York is a bit European in a way..." and then suddenly I realized I was in America and the amount of American photographs was absolutely normal. Then I got dizzy because I legitimately thought I was in Europe for a few moments. Then I felt as if I wasn't me at all, but removed from my body with my thoughts. It was such a strange feeling that it made me feel really unstable. Then I started wondering if I am actually going insane, bit by bit, my mind just becoming something scary weird. I have all these thoughts in my head that run on forever, and I disconnect from the world for long periods of time, without even noticing it. It makes me feel so disoriented and not really a part of the world at all. It's as if I am floating or dreaming...