94. Are You Old?

Two totally unrelated, but decisive incidents occurred in my earlier years, which shaped a few basic core attitudes on how to approach life.

Flash back to art school, where all of my instructors were middle-aged males, who encouraged me to take up home economics or physical education rather than art. In one class, the instructor went around the room tearing down projects, from the wall, that represented several hours of work and then proceed to walk on those he deemed not worthy of discussion or comment. Another two-dimensional design instructor called my necktie design "insipid." After several weeks, of being discouraged, in most all of my classes, I was feeling super insecure about continuing on with my interior design ambitions. In those days, I was also somewhat shy, not at all accustomed to speaking up for myself, and had only once before defied an authority figure..

One spring afternoon, in a basic illustration class, the assignment was to draw a hard-boiled egg inside a plastic baggie, with a white pencil on gray charcoal paper. Without belaboring the task, being among the first to finish, I packed up my art supply box, placed my drawing on the instructor's desk and proceeded to walk out the door. "MISS SARUWATARI, where DO YOU think you're going?" bellowed my instructor, causing everyone to jump.

I turned around and responded that I was finished. "Do YOU call this finished?" The entire classroom fell silent, all eyes were on me; I felt mortified and filled with dread. Then, I don't know, a feeling of anger that I had never experienced before, in all my twenty some years, welled up inside my chest, I had had it! After weeks/months of being criticized, put down, disrespected, I took a deep breath, and slowly, but resolutely approached his desk, looking at my drawing, which he was holding up for the class to see. "YES, in my opinion, I'm finished!" "So you're satisfied that you've done a good job?" "Yes, I'm satisfied with it regardless of what anyone else thinks," I said, glaring directly into his eyes. I wasn't sure what I was going to say or do next, if this confrontation continued.

In that moment of silence, known as a "pregnant pause," everyone waited with baited breath, and portions of my life flashed before my eyes. "AH, good... it's About TIME! Finally, you understand art. An artist's perspective is personal and if she can't defend her own work, who can... or will?" "Thank you Miss Saruwatari, thank you for helping me to teach a lesson."

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