What's with all the digitization?
Everything from newspapers to slides in the slide library to magazines to museums collections are being digitized, and it's pretty unsettling- specially for all of us old fogeys who love everything in print and on paper. We were talking with Kirk the other day and he definitely wishes that everything wasn't going digital (because, as he puts it, "there's nothing better than grabbing a cup of coffee and sitting down with the morning paper"), but he wasn't sure if it was an age thing.
So basically I started to think about it too, and I decided that I'm very picky with what I like digitized. What I mean is that I'm happy that some stuff is digitized and accessible on the internet-it's really nice to have museum collections available online, for example- but the morning paper? I know, I know. It's more accessible, it's free, it wastes fewer trees and all that good stuff. But I can't really help but agree with Kirk on the subject of newspapers.
I really do like flipping through a newspaper. Maybe it's because that's what I did after school everyday (I needed to be at school by 7:25, and so I didn't have time to do it in the morning). I very clearly remember sneaking into my grandmom's room every afternoon while she was sleeping so that I could sit and flip through all the newspapers to see what was happening in the world. I also very clearly remember the sections that I would look at and what order I would look at them in (headlines, world news on page 4 and 5, the arts section and the sports section in that order). Somehow, clicking through all those sections on my screen just doesn't feel the same as flipping through a newspaper, and it definitely doesn't give me the same kind of satisfaction.
Like I've said here before, if I end up becoming an art writer, I can't say that I will end up being severely disappointed. But I do know that if I do write and get published, I would really like to see my work in print, and on paper, in front of me. Seeing my writing-the final published version of it- on a screen just wouldn't work, and it just wouldn't satisfy me at all. So if newspapers do become physically obsolete, I know I will most definitely become very disappointed.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
On Growing Old
I think it’s time I post something. Sim thought it was time a month ago. I haven’t written in large part because I haven’t known what to write about, haven’t felt inspired. But I think I’m ready. Sim, this one’s for you:
This summer, and especially during the past couple of days, I’ve been thinking a lot about age, aging, the passage of time. I think it's all because I will be launching my final year as an undergraduate on September 2. So much of what I’ve been pondering has been inspired and influenced by the gallery staff, too.
There’s Kirk, the collections manager here, who makes working and parenting – being an Adult – seem like some kind of awesome continuation of whatever utopian existence I’m living now. The man practically plays with pieces from the permanent collection for most of the day, handling priceless works with truly unbelievable comfort. He runs endless errands in the gallery’s sweet beater of a van, answers our questions and Mary’s, and whenever he can he checks in on his adorably teenaged daughter. Somehow he still finds time to work in his studio, on personal projects and others for Scripps. And he does it all in Crocs, with a cup of coffee in one hand. He makes it look like fun, and I’ve heard him say many times that he’s happiest at work.
Kristin, our data specialist, is a parent, too, and of littler ones, but like Kirk, she has not let parenthood sap her of her youth. She more enthusiastic – brighter eyed and bushier tailed – than any of us. She’s more technologically savvy, too.
And Mary is the ageless paragon. There are moments she’s more of a peer than a boss; it’s hard to believe that she’s an alumna, not a member of my graduating class. She’s as hip we are; she’s current on more than just the news that makes the front page of the New York Times Arts section. I pray that I am as vivacious, passionate about my work, self-assured, and seemingly fulfilled as she is when I am her age.
This is all in contrast to what I’ve been reading about Andy Warhol. I’m doing research on the 20th century American deity in preparation for a proposed exhibition of 155 photographs he took in the 1970s and 80s, which the gallery received from the Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts this May. I’m reading his Diaries, transcribed and edited by Pat Hackett, who I would, at this point, kill to meet. You know that game you play in which you have to name the person you’d have dinner with or take with you to a desert island? For me, for the past several weeks, that person has been Pat.
Anyway, I’m reading about Andy – his words, and others’. It’s fascinating. He is fascinating. As are his attitude about age, the world, and what he did to our understandings of those constructs. He stayed so young. Everything I read – every interview with him or people who knew him – alludes to his youth, or obsession with it. He was young for so long, and then when he got old, he had his skin “fixed,” and he just kept on playing with the Kids. Everyone was a kid to Andy. I’ve been wondering: who’s a kid, and who’s not? Andy didn’t think of himself as a kid, but who else wasn’t? And what was he, if not a kid?
What’s intriguing about Andy, too, is his paranoid (or is it just realistic?) understanding of mortality. After being shot and then stabbed, he was quite understandably afraid of death. Fearing another attack, he did little alone. Except sleep. So he says. But he was also aware of the inevitability, the approach of a more banal death: he took vitamins and drank carrot juice religiously. He’s actually famous for drinking orange juice.
Kirk, Kristin, and Mary probably drink orange juice too. And it’s likely they take vitamins, or that they have in the past. But they don’t live with the self-conscious deliberation that Andy did. Their existence is not performance. They simply live. In living, they are less obviously fantastic than Andy. Kirk is not internationally recognized for creating transgressive or phenomenally popular art. Kristin doesn’t have a devoted cult following. And Mary’s gallery operation is far from being considered the fourth Factory. All three are real, though, in a way that Andy maybe never was. Instead of orchestrating and documenting, they seem to me to be in each moment, and to enjoy most of them.
As much as I want my 15 minutes of fame, I know that I will be lucky if I can have 15 minutes of adult life as Kirk, Kristin, and Mary live it. Now it’s time I signed off and did some living of my own.
This summer, and especially during the past couple of days, I’ve been thinking a lot about age, aging, the passage of time. I think it's all because I will be launching my final year as an undergraduate on September 2. So much of what I’ve been pondering has been inspired and influenced by the gallery staff, too.
There’s Kirk, the collections manager here, who makes working and parenting – being an Adult – seem like some kind of awesome continuation of whatever utopian existence I’m living now. The man practically plays with pieces from the permanent collection for most of the day, handling priceless works with truly unbelievable comfort. He runs endless errands in the gallery’s sweet beater of a van, answers our questions and Mary’s, and whenever he can he checks in on his adorably teenaged daughter. Somehow he still finds time to work in his studio, on personal projects and others for Scripps. And he does it all in Crocs, with a cup of coffee in one hand. He makes it look like fun, and I’ve heard him say many times that he’s happiest at work.
Kristin, our data specialist, is a parent, too, and of littler ones, but like Kirk, she has not let parenthood sap her of her youth. She more enthusiastic – brighter eyed and bushier tailed – than any of us. She’s more technologically savvy, too.
And Mary is the ageless paragon. There are moments she’s more of a peer than a boss; it’s hard to believe that she’s an alumna, not a member of my graduating class. She’s as hip we are; she’s current on more than just the news that makes the front page of the New York Times Arts section. I pray that I am as vivacious, passionate about my work, self-assured, and seemingly fulfilled as she is when I am her age.
This is all in contrast to what I’ve been reading about Andy Warhol. I’m doing research on the 20th century American deity in preparation for a proposed exhibition of 155 photographs he took in the 1970s and 80s, which the gallery received from the Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts this May. I’m reading his Diaries, transcribed and edited by Pat Hackett, who I would, at this point, kill to meet. You know that game you play in which you have to name the person you’d have dinner with or take with you to a desert island? For me, for the past several weeks, that person has been Pat.
Anyway, I’m reading about Andy – his words, and others’. It’s fascinating. He is fascinating. As are his attitude about age, the world, and what he did to our understandings of those constructs. He stayed so young. Everything I read – every interview with him or people who knew him – alludes to his youth, or obsession with it. He was young for so long, and then when he got old, he had his skin “fixed,” and he just kept on playing with the Kids. Everyone was a kid to Andy. I’ve been wondering: who’s a kid, and who’s not? Andy didn’t think of himself as a kid, but who else wasn’t? And what was he, if not a kid?
What’s intriguing about Andy, too, is his paranoid (or is it just realistic?) understanding of mortality. After being shot and then stabbed, he was quite understandably afraid of death. Fearing another attack, he did little alone. Except sleep. So he says. But he was also aware of the inevitability, the approach of a more banal death: he took vitamins and drank carrot juice religiously. He’s actually famous for drinking orange juice.
Kirk, Kristin, and Mary probably drink orange juice too. And it’s likely they take vitamins, or that they have in the past. But they don’t live with the self-conscious deliberation that Andy did. Their existence is not performance. They simply live. In living, they are less obviously fantastic than Andy. Kirk is not internationally recognized for creating transgressive or phenomenally popular art. Kristin doesn’t have a devoted cult following. And Mary’s gallery operation is far from being considered the fourth Factory. All three are real, though, in a way that Andy maybe never was. Instead of orchestrating and documenting, they seem to me to be in each moment, and to enjoy most of them.
As much as I want my 15 minutes of fame, I know that I will be lucky if I can have 15 minutes of adult life as Kirk, Kristin, and Mary live it. Now it’s time I signed off and did some living of my own.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
The Widening Gap
A couple of months ago, I made the decision to declare two separate majors. It wasn't really a hard decision to make; in fact, it seemed perfectly logical because I have loved both Art and History since sixth grade. To date, I'm really glad that I picked these majors, so let me just preface this entire post by saying that I don't regretting choosing my majors, and I doubt that I'm ever going to.
Deciding to study the two subjects I love most seemed like a great idea-specially because I was way ahead of most of my friends with my major(s) declaration-but I never really considered what I would do with the two majors once I graduated from college. At the time, any thought about grad school was just a speck on the distant horizon, and I mostly just concentrated on patting my back for actually figuring out what I wanted to do for the remainder of my undergraduate career. At the back of my mind, however, I always just sort of thought that museums would be a good career direction to explore because both my majors seem to apply very well in that general direction.
At the start of this summer, I went into my internship thinking that I would possibly like to be a conservator, but I quickly decided that I didn't have the personality type to actually become one, so that whole idea went right out the window. When we met Suzanne Isken and Suzanne Muchnic, I started to seriously consider going in to either Arts Education or Art writing. Until we met Charlotte Cotton, that is; after we met her, curation got a whole lot more appealing. But then we met Ed Sanchez-an antiquities conservator at the Getty-a week ago, and *poof*. Suddenly, I got right back to square one.
This summer, I've met a whole array of interesting people with incredible jobs. And more importantly, I've met a whole array of interesting people who love their jobs. Ordinarily, all of this should be encouraging, but in truth, all of it is just unsettling. Because most of these people seem to have stumbled into their jobs by accident.
Now before people start rolling their eyes and thinking that I'm just a paranoid girl whose hyperventilating about my future (I mean, dozens of people, both in museums and not in museums, fall into their current jobs by accident, right?), hear me out. Almost all the people I've spoken with this summer prefaced their little "my career path" schpiel by saying, "I'm not the best person to talk to about my career path because I fell into this job and nowadays you need to have a specialized degree to get the job I currently do and love" or something to that effect. Each and every one of them said that, so I'm guessing that this is a trend. I'm beginning to seriously think that there's a huge generation gap between current museum professionals and us, because most of them learned a lot on the job. But "falling" into jobs like these seems to be no longer possible, or extremely rare at best. Museums are getting highly specialized, and they are now beginning to look for people who are not going to have to learn things from scratch, and this worries me.
What happens to all of us who don't know what specific field we want to go into? How will "following my passion"-which is what I'm doing with my two undergraduate degrees-help me pick the appropriate graduate school course that I might need to take to actually get hired at a museum?
In many ways, I'm glad I have two more years before I graduate, but all of this is confusing. I really wish that things could just work out the old way and that I could just fall into my dream museum job- whatever that might be. But I guess the times are changing. And I'm going to have to keep up with them. *Sigh*
Deciding to study the two subjects I love most seemed like a great idea-specially because I was way ahead of most of my friends with my major(s) declaration-but I never really considered what I would do with the two majors once I graduated from college. At the time, any thought about grad school was just a speck on the distant horizon, and I mostly just concentrated on patting my back for actually figuring out what I wanted to do for the remainder of my undergraduate career. At the back of my mind, however, I always just sort of thought that museums would be a good career direction to explore because both my majors seem to apply very well in that general direction.
At the start of this summer, I went into my internship thinking that I would possibly like to be a conservator, but I quickly decided that I didn't have the personality type to actually become one, so that whole idea went right out the window. When we met Suzanne Isken and Suzanne Muchnic, I started to seriously consider going in to either Arts Education or Art writing. Until we met Charlotte Cotton, that is; after we met her, curation got a whole lot more appealing. But then we met Ed Sanchez-an antiquities conservator at the Getty-a week ago, and *poof*. Suddenly, I got right back to square one.
This summer, I've met a whole array of interesting people with incredible jobs. And more importantly, I've met a whole array of interesting people who love their jobs. Ordinarily, all of this should be encouraging, but in truth, all of it is just unsettling. Because most of these people seem to have stumbled into their jobs by accident.
Now before people start rolling their eyes and thinking that I'm just a paranoid girl whose hyperventilating about my future (I mean, dozens of people, both in museums and not in museums, fall into their current jobs by accident, right?), hear me out. Almost all the people I've spoken with this summer prefaced their little "my career path" schpiel by saying, "I'm not the best person to talk to about my career path because I fell into this job and nowadays you need to have a specialized degree to get the job I currently do and love" or something to that effect. Each and every one of them said that, so I'm guessing that this is a trend. I'm beginning to seriously think that there's a huge generation gap between current museum professionals and us, because most of them learned a lot on the job. But "falling" into jobs like these seems to be no longer possible, or extremely rare at best. Museums are getting highly specialized, and they are now beginning to look for people who are not going to have to learn things from scratch, and this worries me.
What happens to all of us who don't know what specific field we want to go into? How will "following my passion"-which is what I'm doing with my two undergraduate degrees-help me pick the appropriate graduate school course that I might need to take to actually get hired at a museum?
In many ways, I'm glad I have two more years before I graduate, but all of this is confusing. I really wish that things could just work out the old way and that I could just fall into my dream museum job- whatever that might be. But I guess the times are changing. And I'm going to have to keep up with them. *Sigh*
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