cher btch

Having those “feeling like a fraud” feelings. Are these blog entries a cop outs for harder work? Am I judging myself for not being that commanding of the English language and that it’s difficult for me to recall words? Yes. Is this something to be kinder to myself about? Yes. Do I need to stop comparing my experience with others? Yes (stopping in a way that’s detrimental)

I am grateful I can write at all. Do I feel responsible for writing for those who cannot? I do… but I feel like that is a bit problematic when I need to take care of myself. I need to figure out how to get things done, period. I have too many ideas and not enough follow through. Energy and time is limited and there are only so many hours in a day so it’s crucial I am more present and carve out the time for them. Consistency.

About this time last year, I moved to London, and I was so focused on the work to be done at college. I managed to get a room in someone’s home which was walking distance from the campus and a part time job across the street from campus.

I am an artist, period. I need to make things, these blog posts is a subsidization of my artistic practice. I rent out a small room in a shared flat and this is a way for me to express myself a bit more freely because space is limited. I don’t feel comfortable painting in a small space. I think of it all the time, I want to paint, but painting comes at a higher cost to me than it would do another. That goes for everyone, painting is for privileged folks, and I’m exceptionally privileged and blessed in countless of ways. So, some days I think it’s worth my weekend to completely dedicate to an oil painting (52 weeks in a year, 104 days of painting, realistically will I go out or go on a short holiday, - 10 weekends, so let’s say 84 days, average 4 hours/day, 336 hours in a year for painting) Yes, actually, that seems doable.

People took responsibility for where I am now in life (those who shall not be named), such as having gotten into a college I really wanted to get into, having landed jobs that I really wanted, not considering that I, Laura, am in fact responsible for that and not them. That they did not know (or frankly care to know) how much work I had already done before I even moved to this country and the work I did when I did arrive in this country. I already had a vision for my life, as simple a vision that it is (to have a home and be comfy, be real, obviously make art, as much as I can, help others when I can). They can imagine they had a big role in it but they really didn’t. The only person who is truly responsible for where I am right now and wherever I am going is my mom, literally the biggest supporter of my life and has always encouraged me to choose my life since I was a little girl. And my little brother and very few other people who helped me escape a really difficult situation, that might always be a struggle to comprehend, something I wish never happened, something that makes me feel so dumb. Really if not for the kindness and love of those people who cared for me I probably would be on the street or struggling hard and some people don’t have anyone and do end up on the street (not by choice like in Denmark) and are dehumanized by this system who needs us to be in costume and character in order to survive. Such a strange turn of events in our evolution, as if I know anything of our evolution but the sad short history taught by the athletic departments coaches and visits from the military recruitment officers. A history of timelines when in fact we live in repeating loops, so many hoops and loops. There were two occasions popping in my head right now, a sad privilege to have these burned in my head and sadly, maybe fortunately for an ignorant peace, some of the context and details escape me…

The first being a visit by a man who was born and raised in Africa. All I can remember is that he was smartly dressed man in a suit. I can’t remember what the colour of the suit, I don’t know why my brain really wants to know, it’s just placed him in white, navy, and purple suit. What made me remember him, was that he told us a story of him as a child, that in his village you had to walk miles and miles to water, and that school was miles and miles away too. He said, one day either on his way to somewhere, he couldn’t or was not able to find water anywhere, and it was so hot… He told us that he had these Nike shoes with a jelly like logo or sole, he said it looked like it could have water in them, so he tried to burst the gel in his shoes to drink it. Obviously, it was no good

I just cannot ever imagine being that thirsty. Keep in mind this is a child is literally scraping at his jellied shoes for water, clawing for their life while they however many tons of water is being used to produce the plastic jellied shoes at the oil companies plastic manufacturers. I had met a grown man who had experienced this and lived to tell us in a very small country town in north Florida, we are exceptionally privileged.

The second visit was by one of our substitute teachers whose name I can’t remember. We were learning about the Holocaust for months, and our substitute teacher was invited read to our class out of the diary of his grandparent who was sent to a concentration camp. After reading Night by Elie Wiesel and hearing this man read from the diary of one of his grandparents who was in a concentration camp broke my heart.

What I think is so important about both of these visits was that it was their stories, one lived out personally and another was handed down to a keeper of knowledge and words, a direct descendent of someone who experienced a very real and terrifying reality. It is so important to WRITE AND READ AND SHARE – this is something that I believe has the biggest impact when shared personally, in the flesh not just in out heads, not online, not reading a blog post, we need to be in each other’s presence to understand the gravity of anything, you can speak of running or visiting the top of a mountain, but how can anyone understand that if they are not there, and if someone who has visited does not write down the rawness of that moment, it is so difficult but we have to try.

I know at the beginning of this I was so nervous, but really I feel like I need to share my experiences of the people who have come into my life like this, share my experiences and be take care of the knowledge I gain from others and SPEAK MORE OR ELSE SOMEONE WILL TRY TO SPEAK FOR YOU.