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Ready to Join the Circus


I have always been surrounded by creative, interesting people. Everywhere I look, there are painters, writers, filmmakers, musicians, designers, architects… it’s like god (or whoever) grabbed his toy bucket of all the blue soldiers and tipped it out next to me, the red soldier. The lone red soldier, that’s me. Being gobbled up by a big blue talented monster.

So, determined to no longer be the freak in their midst, I applied to this creative school. It’s all about ideas and creativity, and is extremely competitive to get in to. During the info session, they banged on about how they were looking for people with good, creative ideas and an ability to think outside the proverbial box. Well if I could do that already, why would I bother with the course, duh? Imbeciles.

Determined to plow ahead, I put together the portfolio required for the application and in a misguided attempt to garner some support or advice from my art-loving pals, I let a few of them sticky beak at it. What a gigantic, monstrous mistake that was.

The consensus amongst the creative types? N-O-T-H-I-N-G. What one person thought was hilarious another would look at blankly for just a moment before politely readjusting their visage into a supportive, confused grin which mostly looked like a grimace. Another would look and say, “I think you should move that to the far left”, and another would advise me to move it to dead centre. One would say, “It’s too clever, I have to think too much”, and yet another would respond, “The audience will connect with it better if you leave some dots for them to join”.

After my fourth or fifth showing, with yet even more conflicting opinions, I cracked it. I called one creative maven, whom I love dearly (and that is something that does not bear repeating), and I accused her of not caring. This is, patently, not true at all. I was just throwing a tantrum.

The following day, I sheepishly apologised for my melodramatic behaviour. My friend grinned at me. Not half-heartedly, not politely – there was glee in those pearly-whites. I was feeling a little miffed that she treated my embarrassment with indifference; that she was what appeared to be LAUGHING at me. I guess it showed because she put her hands on my shoulders, shook me a little and said, “Stop worrying. You ARE one of us, you idiot”.

And with that, I popped the envelope in the mail, unchanged. Fingers crossed.


words: Kristen Hodges
photo: Matt Hodges

1 comments:

February 3, 2010 at 1:00 AM thislittlepiggy said...

good luck with your application! I'd love to read part two of the story.

 
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