Emily Nguyen, Week #11: Glugluglguglu…
Everyone asks what sound a fox makes. But what does the fish say?
Obviously not blub blub. Or bluoubgouboguo. So then, do fish speak from a plane we cannot yet fathom? They seem too quiet, for all that bubbles around them. Even fish with sonar capabilities, who may make underwater grunting noises, seem awfully docile compared to human language. Perhaps, we must see that they are communicating by other means—not sound. Perhaps we must look into how they see us to better grasp their intentions with us.
In walks this fish.
I took Art 1 with Mr. McLoy last year. One notable thing about him was that to have an A in his class, you needed to earn it (isn’t that crazy?). Average, i-did-what-the-instructions-outlined type of work would earn the Average mark: a C. However, art which exceeded his standards of 20+ years, to a self-proclaimed nit-picky man like him, would earn a score of 10/9. His grades were out of 9 points because he believed students could not readily earn 10/10s (what a benevolent guy).
Because I have an ever-inflating ego, I thought this would be a piece of cake. 9/9s would come by me easily; 10/9s would be in sight. Long story short, it WAS easy. I had over 100 in that class while my mixed group of peers from freshman to seniors got Cs, and were overjoyed at Bs.
McLoy was an interesting guy who talked throughout class with students—it made for an entertaining background track to work to. It was an enjoyable class. I would always walk into the class and immediately start on my pieces because art was a wonderful escape from rigorous thinking; I could just lose myself in the motions and simply sketch and color to my heart’s content. But so what? What was the real story behind this course?
Next: a smaller version of it. It was cute. I’ve stared at this fish quite a bit now.
Next: color pencil. Not only color, but on a much wider scale… Dude. Give me a break.
Up until now, drawing the little spikes of the fish was a total pain. I didn’t like tedious things, so I didn’t bother much with the detail—especially for this class which had actual deadlines. So as I worked countless hours on this colored pencil version, I could HEAR the fish speaking to me with its eyes I had yet to render. I could see it. In the center of the fish lay a soul forever curtained by those dastardly spines. I can tell you right now that this fish most definitely held conversations with me through all the time I spent with its stupid puffed-up self. By the time I got to the painting project, I pretty much went insane having been lured in by its green-eyed gaze.
Oh, the power of endless, miserable art! The artist and their muse go through so much together, learning all about each other in inexplicable conversation. This fish sure said a lot to me—though you won’t ever know what.
wow u r so good at art wow. i am both incredibly amazed and incredibly envious wow
ReplyDeletety romir! but man i envy ur writing as an art in its own right too
DeleteEmily, I think I'd like to start by sharing that I truly am so thankful that you are in the same cohort as me, as I deeply enjoy reading your writing; I lwk look forward to your blogs. I also want to comment (haha) on the way you started you blog. I loved it. I also love title you used. I think your first paragraph was oddly insightful in the sense that I never gave thought to the communication methods of fish.
ReplyDeleteI don't know if this was intentional or not but the "in WALKS the fish" line really stood out to me as a comically perfect transition.
After reading your blog for the first time, I remember laughing at the "what a benevolent guy" interjection. I feel like all the parenthetical side quips/asides made the read more enjoyable as it read your voice-voice, as opposed to your writing voice.
I also want to add that I respect the confidence you had in yourself; I feel like there is a very thin line between confidence & cockiness, but at the same time, I fully believe self-confidence is very very necessary if you want to succeed.
I relate to the pov that your art class is almost a break from school because for me, I feel like leadership serves me in the same manner; sometimes during extremely test-heavy days, Lship is genuinely a safe haven where I can relax. Calling the class relaxing feels disrespectful almost, as it brings unparalleled stress during our busy times of the year.
Finally, I really enjoyed the almost-insanity you described during your plethoric hours with the fish. I definitely relate to this in my time with cricket. I literally had conversations with some of my equipment, which in retrospect feels super odd to think about. I remember my whole body felt a magnetic-kind-of-pull to go back into my stance if I was ever standing, and how my hands always felt I was holding my bat—regardless of where I was. I guess this isn’t that close to your experience, but you get the point.
I do feel like I have so much more to say, but I think these blog comments have an unofficial limit somewhere around where I'm at right now.
Overall, I loved this blog. And please never stop doing art.