I talk about mainly young, mainly very attractive women on this blog all the time. I'm not sure anyone like that is in play right now, but issues concerning the accessibility and availability of such woman for me come up on a regular basis, anyway. At least as far as what concerns me and what I think about on a day to day basis.
In 1991, a fellow SVA student named Ann Marie, an undergrad, became someone I thought about a LOT. The spring semester of 1991 was my last semester in the Masters of Fine Arts program in studio art. As much as I fixated on Ann Marie, I stayed focused on trying to graduate without any shit going down concerning her or any shit going down in general. I did brandish my pocket knife at a fellow male grad student when he made some remark near me about, "Doing it the hard way." That whole incident got buried, I guess, but it was out there for Ann Marie and others to know about.
So yeah, staying out of trouble. I really made a concerted effort to stay out of trouble from then on, and that meant refraining from pursuing Ann Marie. I just stayed in my lane and didn't go out of it for anything. At the end of the semester, on one of the last class days for the entire school, I saw her pass by me near the elevators in one of the school buildings, and I just let her go by.
Two or three days later I had my graduate thesis critique of the work I had done the previous semester. One of the faculty members got really snotty about how he didn't like my essay supporting my art or my art project itself. My thesis advisor, Tommy Lanigen-Schmidt, defended me and my work, as did the other of that trio of male faculty members assigned to grade what I'd done. At the end of the critique, the middle-aged, art world insider type who had an issue with my work smiled smugly as he shook my hand and said, "Good luck man." At one time during the open studios portion of that semester on the following Friday, my thesis advisor said to me, "They were gunning for you, Richard." I asked who was that, and by his coy responses I figured he meant that snotty art world insider who took issue with what I'd said in my essay and with what I'd done for my thesis project.
About a week and a half later, as I crossed a busy street in midtown Manhattan at a crowded crosswalk, I looked down and to my right and saw Ann Marie looking at me. I smiled at her as if to say, "See, I told you I cared for you," and we passed. Such were big moments for me in those days.
Cut to the chase. Several weeks later, in order to leave no stone unturned, I went to an art gallery near that crosswalk where I thought I saw Ann Marie to see if maybe she worked there. My thesis advisor's gallery, as it turned out. I waked in and checked out a current show. I asked the young guy at the desk if a guy worked there that I knew from the grad program. The guy behind the counter said that my former classmate was on vacation for part of the summer.
After I talked to the guy behind the desk, I heard a young woman's voice make a phone call from an office nook just behind the front desk. I couldn't see if it was Ann Marie, but the voice sounded like that of an attractive, confident young woman as she made a business related call about an artist. I stood at the front desk and read the brochure for that month's exhibit, the guy behind the front desk cleared his throat, and the young woman in the back finished her call. A moment or two passed as I looked over the brochure, and then I walked out without saying anything.
If that was Ann Marie, I took that whole thing at the gallery as her saying that what I'd done to connect with her on the street below a few weeks earlier was not good enough for her, and that I had to do more. I even tried to be a good guy about the whole thing and went back to the gallery a week or so later to see if I could work things out. I asked the young guy at the front desk about my former classmate again, and the front desk guy's whole demeanor seemed....chastened. The whole air about the gallery seemed to breathe that what was done was done, and that there was no more for me to do or say.
But yeah, accessibility and availability, that's what that was all about, as far as I'm concerned. In the years that followed, I correctly or incorrectly put together the idea that the snotty art world insider guy at my critique, who was married, was having an affair with Ann Marie. I figured, rightly or wrongly, that whatever he was to her was good enough for him to have access to her, but that my swooping down and stealing her heart on the streets of midtown Manhattan was not, and I had to do more. Fat chance!
Anyway, I've aged out of twenty-two year old hotties, as far as I can tell, so I try to cultivate an interest in other types of women to compensate. I don't know if any twenty-two year old hotties in my world want to bring across the idea to me that I should consider them in play, but even if that were so, this issue of access and availability invariably comes up with them. In my twenties, and once in my thirties, I did some lashing out at such women that I regret, but I think how I handled that whole situation with Ann Marie at SVA in 1991 represented a definite improvement. One needs to realize that my mental illness was undiagnosed and untreated at the time. Despite my compromised mental state, I did manage to spend the whole semester modeling my behavior after how I'd done things with Sara in the spring and summer of 1988. I managed to graduate with an MFA in studio art. I'm an SVA alumnus. The same can't be said for some of the other students in my year in my program, a couple of whom were kicked out due to their behavior.
If any twenty-two year old hotties in my world want me to consider them in play for whatever reason, good or bad that reason may be, I hope they understand if I just let the whole situation go by the wayside and don't do much of anything at all about it, because I find that a much more acceptable course of action to take than lashing out. And, trying to be a good guy and work things out in such situations can be an exercise in futility, if so many of my experiences count as relevant.
In 1991, a fellow SVA student named Ann Marie, an undergrad, became someone I thought about a LOT. The spring semester of 1991 was my last semester in the Masters of Fine Arts program in studio art. As much as I fixated on Ann Marie, I stayed focused on trying to graduate without any shit going down concerning her or any shit going down in general. I did brandish my pocket knife at a fellow male grad student when he made some remark near me about, "Doing it the hard way." That whole incident got buried, I guess, but it was out there for Ann Marie and others to know about.
So yeah, staying out of trouble. I really made a concerted effort to stay out of trouble from then on, and that meant refraining from pursuing Ann Marie. I just stayed in my lane and didn't go out of it for anything. At the end of the semester, on one of the last class days for the entire school, I saw her pass by me near the elevators in one of the school buildings, and I just let her go by.
Two or three days later I had my graduate thesis critique of the work I had done the previous semester. One of the faculty members got really snotty about how he didn't like my essay supporting my art or my art project itself. My thesis advisor, Tommy Lanigen-Schmidt, defended me and my work, as did the other of that trio of male faculty members assigned to grade what I'd done. At the end of the critique, the middle-aged, art world insider type who had an issue with my work smiled smugly as he shook my hand and said, "Good luck man." At one time during the open studios portion of that semester on the following Friday, my thesis advisor said to me, "They were gunning for you, Richard." I asked who was that, and by his coy responses I figured he meant that snotty art world insider who took issue with what I'd said in my essay and with what I'd done for my thesis project.
About a week and a half later, as I crossed a busy street in midtown Manhattan at a crowded crosswalk, I looked down and to my right and saw Ann Marie looking at me. I smiled at her as if to say, "See, I told you I cared for you," and we passed. Such were big moments for me in those days.
Cut to the chase. Several weeks later, in order to leave no stone unturned, I went to an art gallery near that crosswalk where I thought I saw Ann Marie to see if maybe she worked there. My thesis advisor's gallery, as it turned out. I waked in and checked out a current show. I asked the young guy at the desk if a guy worked there that I knew from the grad program. The guy behind the counter said that my former classmate was on vacation for part of the summer.
After I talked to the guy behind the desk, I heard a young woman's voice make a phone call from an office nook just behind the front desk. I couldn't see if it was Ann Marie, but the voice sounded like that of an attractive, confident young woman as she made a business related call about an artist. I stood at the front desk and read the brochure for that month's exhibit, the guy behind the front desk cleared his throat, and the young woman in the back finished her call. A moment or two passed as I looked over the brochure, and then I walked out without saying anything.
If that was Ann Marie, I took that whole thing at the gallery as her saying that what I'd done to connect with her on the street below a few weeks earlier was not good enough for her, and that I had to do more. I even tried to be a good guy about the whole thing and went back to the gallery a week or so later to see if I could work things out. I asked the young guy at the front desk about my former classmate again, and the front desk guy's whole demeanor seemed....chastened. The whole air about the gallery seemed to breathe that what was done was done, and that there was no more for me to do or say.
But yeah, accessibility and availability, that's what that was all about, as far as I'm concerned. In the years that followed, I correctly or incorrectly put together the idea that the snotty art world insider guy at my critique, who was married, was having an affair with Ann Marie. I figured, rightly or wrongly, that whatever he was to her was good enough for him to have access to her, but that my swooping down and stealing her heart on the streets of midtown Manhattan was not, and I had to do more. Fat chance!
Anyway, I've aged out of twenty-two year old hotties, as far as I can tell, so I try to cultivate an interest in other types of women to compensate. I don't know if any twenty-two year old hotties in my world want to bring across the idea to me that I should consider them in play, but even if that were so, this issue of access and availability invariably comes up with them. In my twenties, and once in my thirties, I did some lashing out at such women that I regret, but I think how I handled that whole situation with Ann Marie at SVA in 1991 represented a definite improvement. One needs to realize that my mental illness was undiagnosed and untreated at the time. Despite my compromised mental state, I did manage to spend the whole semester modeling my behavior after how I'd done things with Sara in the spring and summer of 1988. I managed to graduate with an MFA in studio art. I'm an SVA alumnus. The same can't be said for some of the other students in my year in my program, a couple of whom were kicked out due to their behavior.
If any twenty-two year old hotties in my world want me to consider them in play for whatever reason, good or bad that reason may be, I hope they understand if I just let the whole situation go by the wayside and don't do much of anything at all about it, because I find that a much more acceptable course of action to take than lashing out. And, trying to be a good guy and work things out in such situations can be an exercise in futility, if so many of my experiences count as relevant.
RSS Feed
