I have a little problem with formalized learning…I can’t stop doing it. I’ve been spectacularly lucky in having parents who recognized my freakish desire and were then willing to make great sacrifices so that I could be the first in my family to attend university.

I started off studying science. While I passed some subjects by the skin of my arse, I managed things well enough and was eventually even employable and employed.

As time went by and my passions changed, I managed to save and borrow enough to put myself through law school. Only the mercy of the Good Lord help me there. But I got through it and was eventually employed in the legal profession.

*Let me be super clear about two things:

1) I am not superbly intelligent, and I don’t imagine myself to be. I just like learning. Like some people like jumping off a very high bridge with a rope tied around their ankles.

2) I’m not flighty. I don’t fall around between careers because I can’t make up my mind. My journeys into these milieus – you may be shocked to learn – are related.

As I’ve aged and developed new interests, I’ve decided to continue my studies. This time in art.

And it may very well be here – in the realm of the young artist – where I die.

Look, I like me some rules. I like knowing criteria and how to apply it. I like laws. I like ticking boxes and analysing provisions and criticising judgments. I like procedural integrity and methodological alignment. I just like it. Nay! I love it.

But art got me all about the feelz and I just cannot. For my very first assignment this year, I had to engage in a reflective exercise and express thoughts on who I am in terms of my cultural heritage and language identity. I wrote and rewrote the assignment about 17 times. I sat in work meetings pondering my responses. I became a mad scientist, drunkenly walking up and down the corridor, shouting out solutions to mathematical puzzles at my shadows…except I’m no scientist (anymore), I was never great with math, and I have fuckall solutions to anything.

In analysing poetry, I had to delve deep into my ideas about things. How I see life, how I think about it. In art history I have to…I have no idea what I have to do there…

In my entire life I have never been confronted so vehemently with the questions: Who am I? What do I want? Why am I here? Law is easy. Science is easy. Art is impossible. It expects from me more than I think I am able to give.

Maybe things will get easier as the years pass and my maturity grows. But it feels as though art demands knowledge of and mastery over the most complicated, capricious and dangerous element on earth: me.

And I am currently kicking my own ass.

Forget chococino. This is a whiskey night.

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