A few weeks ago I attended B.'s history class with her. I needed the car later that day or some other logistical requirement brought me there, and I actually had a really great time. She's taking a History of WWII class and loving it. She's intrigued by one of the world's most famous and infamous conflicts. As am I. It helps that we were discussing the Soviet Union that day and her professor (who got a masters in Russian economics) is actually married to a Russian. She incorporates stories she got from her in-laws about the terrors of that time into her lectures. She's a great teacher. It's a great class.
I really miss using that more academic side of my brain. With all of my general credits out of the way, I'm left with a lot of pure studio classes. I've traded in my textbooks for tutorial videos on graphics software, my research papers for paintbrushes. I study in sketchbooks now. But I do miss that more traditional atmosphere of academia (although not so much the research papers).
B. and I are in very different academic spheres nowadays. It's nice to have some occasional common ground intellectually. She loves science. I can appreciate the complexities of nature. I love making stories and images appealing to readers and viewers. She can appreciate craftsmanship. But we both love history. On that playing field we can meet as peers with equal knowledge and interest.
I really treasure that shared sanctuary of erudition these days. After long days where I leave at 7 am only to come home after class ends at 10 at night, it's hard not to feel like strangers to each other during the week. There's already a scheduling chasm between us, I don't need a gap between us intellectually.
I've noticed that when I try to tell her about a visiting illustrator who lectured about freelancing for the New Yorker or about this one concept artist who developed the character design for such-and-such in some Dreamworks studio films, her eyes will get glossy, she'll nod appreciatively, let me deflate and just wait until she can turn the conversation back to something more interesting to her. Sometimes she'll even just start on her own tangent before I've finished my (probably unnecessarily loquacious) account.
Sometimes, she just doesn't get it.
Not to say she's the only one guilty of it, either. She'll look at me a little miffed as I'm rambling about this one graphic design I spotted or some composition tool I want to try in my own projects. I wonder why she's so peeved until I realize she was in the middle of a story about why jellyfish are called jellyfish and what it was like to dissect a Portuguese Manowar. (Incidentally, they're called jellyfish because what is essentially their equivalent to our circulatory system is filled not with viscous blood but with a more gelatinous substance.)
Sometimes, I just don't get it.
We can't help it. We are in very different fields of expertise. We are learning more intensely about our separate careers now more than ever and we're bound to bring some of that baggage home with us. We don't need to get it. We just need to get each other.
I know when she's truly excited about something zoological she won't be able to focus on anything I have to tell her until she spills. I also know she teaches me something new all the time. I genuinely learn from her. Most of my trivial tidbits consist of whatever imdb.com-inspired refuse has adhered to my short-term memory, so her stories are bound to be more educational, more valuable and just plain cool. (jelly blood?!! cool!)
She knows when I am really and truly pumped and inspired to do more of what I love better than I have, to really hone my skills and emulate other craftsman and image makers (I hate the word 'artist,' it carries such a stigma) there is no hope of shutting me up until I have made some preliminary sketches and dragged her through the online portfolios of someone who's name she'll undoubtedly forget within ten minutes.
I mentioned a visiting illustrator who came to campus earlier. She's actually married to another famous illustrator. They have very different styles. They have very different schedules. They have very different work. They always say they could never work together because they're too competitive. They keep things separate to keep the peace.
I could never have married an illustrator. B. could never have married a scientist. Maybe it's our competitive natures, maybe it's that we would get bored with each other if we already knew all of the stuff the other was learning. Maybe we just enjoy the differences between us.
Sometimes we just don't get it. But we've got each other.
What don't you get?
Is the getting ever good enough?
S
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