Ownership: It's Mine

Summer. I'm in it, people. Like, seven weeks or something. I don't even know. It's getting weird. Here's some things I've noticed over the last seven + weeks:

I live in Philadelphia. Wait. What?

It's hot and often very muggy here. 

I don't have classes eight hours a day to distract me from

I frequently don't finish thoughts.

My time is easily occupied and totally don't feel guilty about watching seasons of anything on Netflix, HBOgo or Hulu.

The West Wing really holds up.

I totally feel guilty about binge watching seasons of anything, even if it's slightly intellectual.

I lie to myself about feeling guilty.

I hate elections, hatred and what burbles up through the mean (all?) parts of the internet because of them.

People at the local thrift store know me by name now.

I don't want to be over dramatic. I'm not going completely stir-crazy. I've adapted over the last few weeks. I'm on a regular schedule practicing piano at school. I strum around on the ukulele now and then. I contacted one of my instructors that I really enjoy working with and asked if her theatre company needs any help this Summer. It does, so I'm freelancing some research for her.

In my meeting with her she said she's draw up a contract for me (my work is voluntary) just so we both know what's expected of me, that way there's no miscommunication and we both have it in writing. A few days after that meeting, it struck me that everyone in the theatre (maybe even artistic) community should do this. I've been a part of countless processes where rifts were formed simply due to someone not fully understanding what their job was. Not due to any fault of their own, just because they had never done it before, or it wasn't laid out for them. Then I recalled a process where we were under contract for a very small stipend, but I was SO relieved that it was in writing and I signed a piece of paper saying "this is what I'm going to do and this is how I expect you to treat me".

Contracts, guys, or Letters of Agreement, whatever you care to call them, are pretty great. 

                         

                             I bet someone was contracted for this.          Sorry. I just needed a 

                                                       Reason to use this photo...

I think they're so great that I took some of my Summer vacation time to write one for myself.

I was considering my goals for the Summer and they were all things like, "learn how to play piano" or "play a lot of ukulele" or "Write more". All worthy, to be sure, but none of them specific. 

So I wrote my first contract as a self-employed artist. For myself. To sign and complete.

You know me: Party. Animal. (Now complete with contract!)

Most responsibilities are weekly. It's not a small amount of work, but nearly all of it are things I'm doing anyway, just sporadically and in a disorganized manner.

No more, my friends. I present to you: My signed contract for being a Human Who Makes Things. This will also mark the first time I've actually attached my name to this blog. Taking ownership all over the place here people.

Contract for Human Who Makes Things

Contract Duration: June 20th, 2016- August 29th 2016

Job Title: Self-Contracted Artist

Job Duties:

Rehearse piano 3 hours weekly

Rehearse Ukulele 2 hours weekly

Read required reading 1 hour weekly

Read for pleasure 1 hour weekly

One blog post weekly

Swim Pony research: 7-10 hours weekly

One postcard or letter weekly

Physical activity excluding bicycle commutes: 4 times weekly lasting 30 minutes or more.

Make one thing outside of "regular craft" each week: 2 hours

This can include, but is not limited to: Dance, songwriting, painting, drawing, acrobatic sequencing, comedy, construction paper collages, model-building, carpentry, clowning, origami, etc.

One movie weekly

Knit 1 hour weekly

Share one work-in-progress with one or more persons each month, beginning no later than June 30, 2016.

Compensation: Self high-fives, spontaneous dance parties, artistic growth and satisfaction, staying out of stupid trouble while getting into all kinds of worthwhile trouble.

I, Sarah A. Gardner, fully understand and commit to completing the above tasks as stated to the best of my abilities. 

                                  

        

Oh yeah, I also wrote it by hand. Because. Summer. And you can't sign an iPad with pen.

So. One blog post a week. I suppose that takes a bit of the surprise out of regularly unscheduled contact. I'll try to make still as unexpected and strange as I am.

I'll end with a yummy Knit Preview:

                       

            

The Dream: What it looks like from the other side.

I have been wanting to go to graduate school ever since I found out they wouldn't let me stay in undergraduate forever without failing more courses. Now I'm two weeks shy of the end of my first semester of graduate school and I thought I'd bore, errr, indulge you all in a check-in of how the first semester's been. Notes from the other side of the dream.

Grad school is absolutely what I expected it to be. And totally not. I keep in regular contact with a friend of mine who is attending another MFA program, also in performance. It's three year, as apposed to my two-and-a-half, it's also on the Eastern sea-ish board and that's pretty much where the similarities end. She had nine papers to write, and about as many texts to read this semester alone. I'm working out of one literature book and have worked from one memorized text. My spare time is spent practicing juggling, piano, handstands or observing a variety of different things. Our programs are wildly different, though our degrees will be considered relatively equivalent. Mine in "Devised Performance" and hers in "Acting". I have a feeling this is a pretty accurate description of how we both feel though.

I'm not tired of wearing black. I didn't expect to be, ever. Had you told thirteen-year-old me that I would be in school in my late twenties and have to wear all black every day and wouldn't be allowed to wear shoes, I would have told you it's cruel to tease people. However, I do still fall victim to being teased by my peers when I change from my school blacks back into my regular street blacks. Don't worry. I don't have a black turtle neck collection...yet...

I'm so glad I brought all of my stupid noise makers. Mostly my slapstick. And my rubber chicken. Even though I haven't used the chicken... yet...

Yeah- This is from a real school project.

I'm almost as broke as I thought I'd be. I haven't gone into debt (outside of good old, regular student loans) thankfully. And really, fully due to the generosity and gumption of my super supportive and super-hero skilled S.O. You should probably understand, that before I even knew I was accepted to the program, we went through about ten days of, "You should come with me." "I should probably do this on my own." "We could try a long distance thing." "We should break up right now." "I'll write you." "We'll still be friends." Before finally settling on, "Hey, if you want to leave everything you've known and go somewhere we have no connections and no immediate prospects for work then I'd really really like it if you would come with me. Oh, also, it'd be great if you could support both of us while you do it because I won't have time to work and don't have savings to speak of and grad school is really expensive."

He's the goddamn coolest. Supports my head, heart and body with every fiber of his being. We're living off a lot grocery shopping savvy that I don't really have and I dare say, we're doing just fine. Our hearts are very happy.

And our bellies. Because dinner.

I'm. So. Tired. Thanksgiving break is winding down to a close, which is great. I needed a break. I'm up and moving every day from about 8AM-4:30PM. There's a lot of emotional and physical exertion in class. I'm usually asleep before 10.

Gobble Gobble. My whiskey intake has plummeted. This may be embarrassing. Or just healthy.

Personal grooming really has started disappearing. Well- okay, really just shaving. I have to keep my nails in check because we train barefoot. And I'm working on my sweet ukulele skills.

I have taken up the therapy of baking. This is good because it makes my house smell nice. It is also good because it keeps my backside round.

Scones, anyone? Or Chocolate chip cookies? Or peanut butter cookies? Or ginger snaps?

I miss home. This one blind-sided me a little. But that's okay. I'll see it again soon. And I'm making a new one, however temporary.

How could I not miss this place? I mean, please. #BoiseNeedsNoFilter

The more I know about academia, the less sense it makes. My program is partnering with a University for the first time this year. I have a work study project that involves researching undergraduate theater programs all over the nation. Lecturer, Adjunct, Associate, Assistant, Dean, Chair, Head, Director, Instructor I DON'T GET IT! But it may be an adventure I embark upon one day... who knows. Or dare I re-enter the.... PRIVATE SECTOR?

That's what's happening now. Two weeks until the semester break, then evaluations, then back to it.Grad school will be over before I know it. Then I'll have no choice but to get a real job... or start on that sweet, sweet PhD...

It's Only the Beginning

*Please Note: Things are getting more personal. My life is getting less private. Expect to see that reflected here. I'm exposing more (MAYBE BOOBS?!?! WHO KNOWS?! READ ON!). There's more me here than usual. *

I've just wrapped my second week of graduate school and it's wonderful. It's hard work. It's exactly what I was hoping it would be and then some.

School uniform! Looking particularly maniacal.

Philadelphia Fringe Festival happens to be running for this first month of school- which is incredible. We're seeing tons of shows that we'll be discussing at a later point in class. We're being encouraged to "Fringe-Binge" to our heart's content. Philly Fringe is chalk full of local, National and International performances in theater, dance and visual arts of all sorts. Locations are all over the city in basements of bars, formal theaters, empty store fronts, outside in parks, everywhere. It's been a beautiful introduction to the city.

A shot of the house pre-show of Pig Iron's Fringe Fest Piece: Swamp Is On. Sheer rock n' roll awesome.

I find my country bumpkin-ness kicking in from time to time, but nothing that's gotten me killed thus far. Sometimes someone on the street makes eye contact with you and you exchange pleasant hellos. Sometimes someone makes eye contact with you and then asks you what you name is and if you've got a minute and looks at you like maybe he wants to take your skin off your body and wear you as a suit. Hey- there's all kinds of people everywhere you go. In that respect, I've had to raise my guards a bit. In class I've been trying to find where they are so I can take them down a notch.

The view from my crappy local grocery store. I was mugged while I took this picture. Not really. But I felt like I should have been because I was taking a picture of a city skyline in a grocery store. Doing everything but exclaiming, "Whul golly gee!"

There's 15 of us. We are all exceptional. And challenging. Over the last 6 years of beginning my professional career I have had the great fortune of working with many of my favorite humans. Former class mates I had always admired. Professors I was crazy about. Professionals in the community who invited my voice into a room. Drinking buddies with a drive. All of the above. Regardless of who they were, we had a former mode of communication before we began working together, with very few exceptions.

Not so with this class.

NERD! Happy, happy nerd.

We range in age from twenty-three to fifty-four (maybe older, but I'm not one to inquire about ages), which is thrilling for me. We range in experience from fresh out of undergrad to producing professional regional theater and beyond. We range in background from military to Carnegie Mellon grads to circus school grads. We make something together in varying group sizes every week and it's extremely difficult.

1st and 2nd years.

I find myself on a precipice fairly frequently. I'm uncertain as to what that precipice is exactly, as I generally have been steering clear of it because it feels like it could be doubt and anguish and sadness and tears and fear. However, in the interest of being less guarded and more open and showing off some of that sexy vulnerability, here's a touch of honest openness for you: As much as I revere my independence and am proud as an individual, I miss my partner in crime out here a great deal and it sneaks up on me in what I deem as unfair ways. Often I'm so involved emotionally and physically in courses that missing him feels romanticized and melodramatic in an almost sweet, longing, classical way. Other times I just wake up plain angry, annoyed and immaturely inconvenienced. It's strange, but I'm fairly certain a good thing, in the long run, though immensely frustrating in the short term.

So much stupid happy.

I also just miss being established somewhere. The community here has been kind to me; offering couches and sublets to house me until we have enough money and security to find a place for both of us. It will take time. It's reassuring knowing that I don't have to establish myself here if I don't want to. I'm here for grad school, not to start a completely new life, though that may happen. I'm allowed to be temporary right now.

The beautiful view from my gracious hosts' roof deck. Yummy.

Thank you for your text messages. Your Facebook updates. For favoriting tweets. You make me feel close and warm and snugly to that sweet Boise bosom. Heh. Boise bosom.

Firsts

And so the adventure begins.

I arrived three days ago. I caught a cab. I big part of me wanted to go for public transit right off the bat. I'm not 100% stupid though, so I took my extra heavy bag and two carry ons to the cab stand and paid my $40 fare (totally worth it) to get to my generous hosts' house.

Totally nerdy picture of a city bridge I took from the cab.

The place I'm currently staying is delightful. Two performers (one focusing predominately in the dance medium) and someone that I'm fairly certain is a marketing director of some kind. 

When I first arrived no one was home. Keys were left for me sneakily. I hauled my things up stairs and settled in, noting the very sweet and excited dog in the kennel in the living room. 

"Can I let your pooch out, or does it stay kenneled till you get home?" I texted my host.

Gah! That FACE!

"You can let him out! His name's Murphy. He's my roommates. I think there's a leash by the door if you want to take him out to pee too!" 

Of course I did. 1. I love dogs. 2. What a nice thing to come home to after a long day at work, knowing that your dog had already been taken out. 3. Why bother thinking beyond that? WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE WRONG WITH THIS PLAN?!

I changed out of my sweaty shirt and grabbed Murphy and we were off! Sure I was in a city I didn't know, but I had looked at maps pretty studiously for the last few weeks, and Murphy clearly knew exactly where we were going.

We strolled along, he peed on everything. He led me around a corner and tried to tug me across the street to a dog park. I know better than to take a dog I don't know very well into a dog park. At least I have that going for me. 

I wanted to turn around and head back, as I realized I'd neglected to leave a note for Murphy's owners and they might be worried that someone had robbed their apartment of their dog. Maybe my host had forgotten to tell her roommates that I was coming in today. I hadn't even met these people yet. For all they know maybe I'm just a serial dog napper. 

Now of course as I started trying to loop back Murphy was NOT okay with they fact that we were missing his favorite point of the walk. You know, that part with grass, and other dogs? I apologized to him, (as dogs totally understand what an apology is and it fixes everything) and kept tugging him along, attempting to not look like some sort of animal abusing idiot while trying to find my way back to the apartment I had left six blocks ago.

I pulled out my phone and mapped myself, which I HATE doing, but I was out of options. I kept heading down and re-checking block by block. At about the fifth time I checked my phone (we'd probably been out for a good half hour at that point) I looked up from my screen to see a man 20 yards from me eyeing me suspiciously. He then squatted down with a sign of relief and said, "Hi Murph."  

Over apologies ensued. I felt dreadful, then promptly called him by the wrong name. Then apologized some more. I should have known better than to take him without asking you directly, I should have at the very least left a note, I should have not been an idiot.

Murph on our totally non-approved walk.

It took us a couple days but I think we're on the level now. He cooked the whole house breakfast this morning. It was delicious. I'm very lucky and trying to be the least noticeable house guest I can be. I leave them tomorrow.

I have housing lined up for September as of last night.

I still don't have a student ID.

I'm still not registered for classes, that start on Monday. 

I have a very small, part time position working in the office of the theater. 

I have a cat that wakes me up at three AM to snuggle. He's lovely.

I have my chevro-legs.

I have a ukulele, thanks to a dear friend who gifted me one we've named the "starter uke" that I am to gift and sign as soon as I purchase a better one.

I have a kick ass theatre program and a diverse and exciting cohort. 

I have work to do. I need to start living a less guarded existence. It hasn't gotten me far. It certainly hasn't gotten me anywhere compared to laying all my cards out and showing my under belly and saying, "I could use some help." "I'm really vulnerable right now." "Please." "Thank you."

I like this place. A lot. People are nice. I've been thrown into a family of people who want me to do well.

Adventure officially begun.