adding to the conversation

Living in a community of artists is far more demanding than I expected. It puts a pressure on me to achieve something, to "add to the conversation" as my jewelry teacher says. To not just learn the craft of interior design or jewelry making but to create something that matters. I think I have had that pressure on myself for awhile now, but Italy makes it tangible.

All that to say, this summer makes me think I shouldn't be an Interior Design major. It doesn't seem to have any lasting meaning. This is probably my attitude because we are designing a high fashion boutique in the heart of Italy. Ehhh. But I am aching to make something that matters. I don't know exactly what I mean by "matters." I don't think it needs to be something that adds to the conversation on a national or global scale, or even just in the art world. It is the idea of creating something meaningful that can make a stranger feel something within himself. It is about saying something that isn't necessarily about God, and being able to express for a stranger a feeling that he or she has had but hasn't known how to externalize.

So the final exhibition went up this weekend. The school rented out this sweet old bulding in Cortona and every student chose one work from the summer to display in the show. The faculty did the same. The show went up Friday and came down this morning. A short run. I was so impressed by the work we had all did. This was my favorite weekend in Cortona by far.

Instead of showing my final interior design project, I entered my jewelery piece into the show. I felt like I needed to but honestly it was mildly terrifying. I haven't created a work of art...maybe...ever. I have completed some paintings and drawings during college that I am proud of, but none of them had a concept behind them. I wasn't saying anything- I wasn't adding to the conversation. But I did with my jewelry piece.

I cast the lids to my seven-day pill box in sterling silver. I kept the plastic base the way it was. And in each of the seven containers I placed objects that have been an escape from taking pills. From being sick. From being scared. There is a tiny camera that I made out of wax and cast in bronze. It represents photography and also the decision to continue creating even when it feels insignificant. There are stones that represent my need to keep everything simple. To not worry or be anxious. There is the silhouette of a tennis shoe cut from the rubber of my own running shoes that represents... running...my most tangible form of therapy. There is a magnifying glass that represents my need to continuing thinking, learning, researching, and figuring everything out. To not stop caring. There is a tiny book, within which I have pasted a couple sentences from a letter that Paige wrote me this summer. Words assuring me that "PSC won't win," and that she is there to fight for me when I can't fight for myself. I cried when I read this part of note, realizing how much I had already let it win, and knowing for the first time that I am not going to have to fight alone. There are two tiny ceramic bowls that Britney made for me which represent communion with people. The community of friendship and the importance of not pulling away from people. And the seventh item is a silver ring, molded out of wax only to fit my finger, which represents the promises of God, that he is good, that he is loving. Promises I easily forget and doubt but the the main truth that gets me though.

I made the piece because I wanted to follow through with what I said I would do - to share. And even if I am the only one that benefits from it, I think I needed to be open. My friend Chris from L'abri is the most transparent person I have ever met. And Heather is a close second. And I don't think I will ever be that way. But I can be honest.

Creating that piece was hard, but I loved it. Britney and I had more than a few brainstorming sessions. The title alone took a whole morning. But...I wish it was possible to care about everything I make as much as I care about that piece. Studio artists are living the dream.

Maybe I'm just ready to be out of college and working with people instead of with my computer screen.

A good friend of mine told me once that he thinks every artist should create a masterpiece. I thought that was interesting, but I didn't know that I agreed. I do though. I don't know if I will ever make one but I understand the longing now.