Funny (to me at least) subway experience on my way home last night: I switched from the G to the A at Hoyt-Schemerhorn. Noticing the interestingly-dressed girl across from me who has her nose buried in (not kidding) “Materialist” magazine, I pull out my sketchbook to see if I can do a quick drawing of her without her noticing.
Almost immediately the girl to the left of me who has a baby strapped to to her chest started asking me questions about my watercolors even though I have headphones in. Because I’m not a dick I ditch my headphones to talk to her, but I notice right away that I have yet again gotten on the A going the wrong way at Hoyt (this happens to me embarassingly often). Baby-strapped girl asks if I’m new to NY? No, my whole life. Incredulous-look response.
She asks if I’m in school and I say I’m “far beyond that” which is pretentious-sounding to me now, but still factually correct. She gets around to asking what school I got my BFA from and say Cooper and she asks if I’m just lying because she knows it’s “the best one”. Turns out she is applying and “Tony loves her portfolio”. My turn for a blank-look reponse. (The only Tony I could think of was the one that taught alternative-process photo and retired 14 years ago. Tony Gonzales, impressive hawaiian shirt collection, taught high schoolers including myself in Outreach program, no idea if he’s still involved in admissions. I might have actually known who she was talking about.)
And because I’m a photo guy (for work at least) she asks if I’ve worked with ICP for studio/darkroom credits. Nope, thought about it, never got around to it. So, totally disregarding the part where I said that I was a bit burnt-out on making photo-art, she starts giving me advice on how to get in good with ICP, volunteering for studio time which I actually already know all about, but don’t have much use for any more.
Then with her mid-sentence, we get Utica Ave where I have to get out and do the cross-over to head back in the correct direction. A rushed goodbye. I’m Aaron and what’s your name? “Mirth.” (Um?) A quick “Nice to meet you” and I’m out. I think she must have said “Martha” but my hearing gets more and more garbled as I get older and abuse my ears. I never even got to begin drawing the Material-girl that sat across from us the whole time, but even if I had, she definitely noticed the conversation I was having, which would have ruined any chance of me sneaking in a drawing.
Anyway, sorry “Martha”, wherever you are, for the short-change goodbye and a near-total lack of admissions advice. In spite of your incredulity, I was not full of shit. Except for the part where I said that I was a good writer. That part was something of an exaggeration.
Oh and think she had pink hair.