The Mona Lisa or La Gioconda is widely recognized as one of the most influential paintings in the art world. Painted between 1503 and 1519 by the revered Leonardo da Vinci, the Mona Lisa depicts a seated figure of a woman enigmatically smiling, staring directly at the painting's onlookers. There seem to be few who have not at least heard of this painting and there seem to be few who have not seen it. Mona Lisa is, undoubtedly, a celebrity.
She's also hyped up. I remember seeing this painting in text books growing up. In fact, I don't remember when I first learned of her - she appears to be locked in my memory for as far back as I can recall. In every image, the painting - she - seems larger than life. I'd always imagined some large canvas of her - big enough to make her seem real. This, of course, isn't true. When I visited the Louvre several years ago with a traveling companion, we had been warned beforehand of the Mona Lisa Danger: thousands upon thousands of visitors visit the Louvre each year and many briskly, intently make a bee-line directly for the Mona Lisa. As one walks though room after room, galleria after galleria to get a glimpse of her, one misses the thousands of beautiful, influential variety of art. My friend and I fell prey to this lure, and as warned, as predicted, we rushed, nearly ran, to see the painting.
And it was beautiful. And there was mystery. But there was a certain disappointment, too. As I stood in the galleria behind throngs of museum-goers, the painting was not larger-than-life. It's small: 30 by 21 inches. It's behind a thick plate of glass. And like any good celebrity, there were "no pictures, please." Though beautiful, the Mona Lisa turned out to be a 'Full-on-Monet' (Clueless, 1995) in some ways: from far away (seeing her in a text book on the other side of the world), she was beautiful, captivating, alluring. Up close? She turned out to be less than expected... disappointing.
And from one museum to another, our class went on our field trip to the American Museum of Natural History in Manhattan. Our day went relatively without incident (with the exception of a distraught student nearly walking off the subway train mid-trip to the museum from school; as well as, my coworker Lauren sarcastically referencing my recent encounter with the Clap by clapping blatantly yet surreptitiously throughout the day every chance she could. I believe at one point, some of my students unknowing as to why Lauren was clapping, joined in... how wonderful!). Our kids went about their scavenger hunt Science assignment and concluded the day with Whoopi Goldberg's narration of the sun in the massive globe planetarium. As I sat in the darkness of the planetarium staring up into the billions of stars, contemplating the mysteries of the universe, my mind turned to the mysteries of love. Almost 30 years old, every relationship I have had has disintegrated for one reason or another. The word "love" has been used by me toward another human being on more than occasion, and yet, here I was... alone... flying through space... terrifyingly hearing this God-like voice named Whoopi only, wondering if I would ever fall in love again; or, would every subsequent relationship go 'super nova?'
And, from the stars to the stairs. One of our kids had been digging around in her bag throughout the day, denying to my coworker that she had an ipod (which we do not allow). Her hyperactivity, disrespect, and blatant 'testing' pressed me to the boiling point. I went super nova. I firmly explained... the Italian finger pointing and waving... the disrespectful nature of her attitude all day. She had literally been disrespectful to every teach on our trip, even when approached calmly (which I had done earlier). Her hyperactivity and refusal to acknowledge directives given by us made her an embarrassment. I wanted to humble her. And as she fought tears, and as my voice had more bass and force in it than the Big Bang, the entire 7th grade quietly stared at this scene... this image of forceful reprimand. I was going to show her.
I finished my tirade and let her rejoin her group, seemingly unaffected. I realized, standing there under this representation of the sun, that I had actually been in the dark. I put this energy into the universe to exercise authority and power and yet, I had never felt more powerless. Although this student had legitimately acted in a manner that drew looks and stares from others, I was the one who was now embarrassing. All because I wanted to project an image onto her and onto my kids. I felt ashamed. I had compromised myself, all as result of a student who, at the end of the day, was doing what research and memory suggest as being typical, challenging authority and the world around her. And like so many uncertain adolescents, she was 'trying on' attitudes, personalities, and images as one tries on different shoes.
Field trips are more exhausting than teaching. At home, I laid in bed and did not awaken until that evening. The rain poured outside my window. At some point, a friend, Miles, texted me. He asked how I was and if I was available to have a glass of wine. I normally do not do this during the week, but I was filled with energy and agreed to meet him at a low-key gay bar called the Toolbox for a drink, despite the rain and work the next day.
I met Miles through an ex. A penchant for grammatical correctness and a decent glass of wine, Miles, a well-spoken young actor and singer, had been one of my ex's few friends that I felt sincerely engaged me. I felt empathetic for Miles, too. When I met him, I was sitting around a table of young gay men, my ex across from me, at the friend's house of my ex - a friend who abhorred the ground I walked on and treated me in kind. At one point, my ex and this friend began texting each other criticisms about Miles. Miles realized this and, very classily handled it with a laugh. Still, I felt kinship, empathizing with the immature way he was being treated. At the time, I avoided passing judgement - perhaps, this caddy behavior was socially accepted in my group? How many times had my best friend and I called each other bitch and whore out of love? In retrospect, it was a different kind of treatment, one I can firmly say now is not indicative of actual friendship.
Miles and I caught up. He told me about his life over these past few months. Gloria Estefan's new song, Wepa, played on the television screens. While he and I conversed, I began noticing the men around the bar. Two older Trannies sat to my right in hideous wigs. To my left, older gay men conversed. Who were these people? What were they after? Did they have someone? What image were they trying to convey, to whom and why?
The next evening, at a Mexican restaurant in Hell's Kitchen, I had dinner with a friend I affectionately call the Professor. The Professor is a young intellectual who has been through a series of unfortunate events over this past year. We also hadn't seen each other in some time. I told him of my future career plans. He told me about his life. As I sat there, listening to this amazing guy recount each unfortunate instance, my mind began to wander. I looked around the restaurant. Couples sat every where, many of whom were gay. It seemed like every person there was more concerned with their phones or what was happening around them, with the exception of a straight couple at the bar: the man was busy staring dreamily into the woman's eyes, his hand moving up her thigh. I was pretty sure I was inferring correctly what he was concerned with. I was also pretty sure, watching man of the gay guys there, that many were on on Grindr, a 'social service' app on phones.
It occurred to me that every one was looking for something. Everyone was conveying an image. The previous few days swirled through my head. What was it about image? Why do so many seem to have this closed-minded attitude, this wall, which prevents them from being truly open to others beyond this image they've created as being their Mr. Right? Did I have a Mr. Right in the back of my mind? I remembered all of the times I have said to others, "I have high standards." What did that mean? I'd let myself be hurt before - or at least, I took a risk and lost. Was that why I was so particular about the person I wanted? And then it hit me, I was projecting an image. Every day. We all are, whether consciously or not. We influence the perceptions and choices of perception of others by how we carry ourselves, what we say. We become so fearful of saying the wrong thing, we hold who we are inside back. We care too much, or for some, too little. In short, "image" is everything: how we are affects the perceptions of others.
Sometimes it ends up working to our advantage, sometimes it doesn't. I thought of the images many of my coworkers and myself have of our kids. It's always interesting to me to see who teachers say they are fond of and why. I include myself in this. One student of mine is looked upon as being very... intellectually challenged. I don't know why, but for some reason, he's gravitated to me and I to him. In some ways, I feel like a father-figure. Just the other day, he came to me with a cut on his hand and I put a band-aid on it. He does have some learning disabilities and exhibits understanding and the behaviors of a second grader. I try to see the best in him and all of my kids. We wouldn't fault a student in a wheel chair for being unable to reach high on a shelf to get a book. We'd accommodate that student. I see it the same way with this particular student. It's similarly not his "fault," despite his size, or propensity to attempt adulthood interaction vis-a-vis obscenities. It's who he is. I accept that. Still, I am human and I struggle maintaining this approach with all of my 60 kids. Some... get under my skin. It's with them I proactively try to control my feelings as maintain a very professional relationship. Kids can't argue with professionalism. It's neither like nor dislike. It's neutral.
I looked on the screen of my phone, which I too had placed on the table along with 90% of the restaurant and realized the past few months had caused me to lose a part of myself. I had let my hair grow longer than it'd been for a while. I was unshaven and unkempt. I hadn't been eating as well as I was over the summer when I focused on nothing but my health and well-being. I hadn't been to the gym. Two months of personal hardship had consumed my time and emotional energy (and I wouldn't change having directed my energies where I have). Still, I was finally getting back on track. Instead of focusing 90% of my energy on my job and the people I love, and 10% on me, I was moving again toward balance... doing things that make me happy: Yoga, thinking about my future career plans, reading, and enjoying a cup of coffee in the sunshine. It's a work in progress - and I will undoubtedly fall prey to giving more of my time to my kids than to myself, but realizing this predilection, I can use that awareness to do something about it.
The next day, I visited my best friend in the hospital again. His image... there aren't words. I spent time with him, talked to him and sent him every piece of love in me. Despite being exhausted from work, I left feeling better for having made the time to go see him after having not in about a week and a half. I drove to my family's house and ate dinner. My uncle asked about my love life. I replied, "What love life?" He asked further and I explained that it was hard finding someone who wanted the same things as myself, someone who'd compliment and challenge me, someone who would love me for me, see me for me and let me see them for them, someone who wouldn't pressure me to be what I am not, someone who was curious and wanted more out of life, to share his life, to experience life with me, and someone who was balanced, too. I explained that I rarely found time to go out where I could potentially meet guys, and that really, I was comfortable letting life happen without actively seeking love. I thought to myself, it's sad how so many put these defenses up, reluctant to say that they too want to fall in love. Maybe they don't know what they want. Maybe they don't want love. Maybe, their ideas of love differ from others... I explained this, saying I preferred to focus on myself anyway until I met someone who would let me give of myself to him and in turn, give of himself to me. He sat there for a moment and simply cautioned, "Be wise in your decisions and who you end up with." He had been there to witness two heartbreaks of mine. Maybe three times a charm?
The weekend came. Friday evening I found myself staring up at the underside of the sun once again at the Rose Center in the American Museum of Natural History. Jason and Katherine, two coworkers of mine, and myself went to the opening of an exhibition, a party for educators. The exhibition, "Beyond Planet Earth," showcased humanity's potential in cost-effectively and safely traveling beyond Earth to the moon, Mars, asteroids and more. I felt like a kid in a candy shop. I sat crossed-legged on the floor listening to the host speak about the exhibition, one of several glasses of free wine, munching on delicious and fresh finger-foods, and I imagined unlimited possibilities. And if man could imagine and design these amazing ideas, and actually evolve to where we are -- having been in space, seen deep into the cosmos without leaving our own backyard thanks to the Hubble, and so much more -- it would be possible for me to find a love that genuinely fit with who I am as a human being. Someone who wants and values the same things in life.
Katherine left early. Jason and I toured the exhibit and slowly made our way through the empty museum back to the Rose Center. Somewhere between birds of the Northeast and primates, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the people in my life. I stared at a skeletal structure of a human child and a primate. The similarities were uncanny. In that moment, I realized something that I espouse often, but that I hadn't internally, viscerally felt in some time: everything changes. Although people have come in and out of my life, and although I have had a bevy of experiences that have affected me in seemingly positive and negative ways, I appreciate and I am grateful for all of it. I almost gave Jason a plutonic hug, but I reframed: the image of two guys hugging, one of whom is straight, in a darkened, closing museum might seem suspicious to the nearby security guard.
We found ourselves in the Rose Center once again. While waiting for Jason to get his coat, I finally began looking around at the teachers there. I had been so enthralled in the science of the exhibition. I realized that there, under this gigantic ball, I was in a sea of gay men, each one projecting an image of who they are onto the world in that moment by virtue of a million variable factors which, I'd imagine, sociologists, psychologists and anthropologists would all agree is the case of any human being, whether they intentionally project these images or not. Suddenly, I turned to find myself in conversation with two gay men, one of whom was the spitting image of the vampire with dreadlocks in the film, Twilight. We talked about the exhibit and laughed a bit and with that, I left. Whereas, several years ago, I might pursue something... anything... with one or both of these men, I didn't. I said my goodbyes to Jason, and walked through the Upper West Side toward my car. Even there, the buildings themselves, conveyed in that moment a sense of something, an image of superior gentrification and social class. Wasn't that just my perception, though? Wasn't I the one to make that inference?
I spent my Friday evening falling asleep listening to the rain. The next day, I met with Superman. I call him Superman because he seems to have no end of energy. I enjoyed my time, though I felt a chasm. There is a sordid series of somewhat tumultuous events that have led me to this ambiguous place of interaction which we now were. Sometime around 5 a.m, Superman and I battled. He revealed my kryptonite, something which I have accepted within myself as being a part of myself, despite constantly working at it: that is, in previous relationships, I've been told I was often pensive and introspective, revealing information in inconsistent frequencies, allowing my personality to shine at different times. My acceptance had been this: I become okay with myself insomuch that I didn't need to put on a show for anyone... if I needed to be quiet or wasn't engaged, I was quiet, and instead of feeling guilty or wrong for that, I became fine with it. If I was vocal, interactive, and 'the life of the party,' as my friend Beth has observed in me on several occasions, that's what I was.
The battle, my kryptonite, was this: Superman essentially felt I hadn't been as forthcoming with information, that I didn't need to worry about others perceptions of me and that he would accept me for me regardless of whatever it was I said. In so many words, he essentially said he couldn't relate to me and as such, felt a distance. This might explain the several moments of silence we had. Silence is a funny thing: I've become a person who is okay with moments of silence. But then, how am I supposed to get to know someone if there are moments? How am I supposed to have that person get to know me? Superman and I debated for about an hour, and after several valid points were made on his behalf, as well as mine, I realized he was right... Without realizing it, my previous relationships caused my younger, inexperienced, somewhat naive self to put up certain defenses... walls... in order to protect and convey this image of myself... this image that any one time is just that, an image: a portion of who I am, not who I am in entirety. Without going into the injects of the conversation, I realized he had a need for something: communication. And wherever that need is coming from, I wasn't giving him that. It wasn't intentional, of course. I "walked away" feeling challenged and a bit raw. I could never guarantee I would provide him, or anyone, with whatever level of communication they deemed as respectful or common sense, because I am a person, imperfectly. Nor could he or anyone guarantee me anything, for that same reason. But I can offer and require in any relationship, plutonic, romantic, or otherwise, acceptance and understanding. Trust is not built in a day and I am not in a rush to force a level of trust to exist because it wouldn't be deep necessarily. I am fine with letting trust develop organically. For Superman's part, I think there was no development because I was not offering me - for whatever reason... an unconscious fear, a wall that had been built, exhaustion, just not thinking things through...
I left the debate feeling good -- being one's self is a beautiful thing. And whatever image one projects, whether intentional or unintentional, perceptions will always form, and those perceptions are out of your control, but not out of your sphere of influence by virtue of your ability to communicate, relate, connect, convince, and express. And although the mystery and allure of Mona is enticing, the idea that putting all of your cards on the table at once is a bad tactic... it's not something that is consistent with my values. Honesty and communication have been and always will trump the manipulation that many exercise through dishonesty. I will be who I am, whatever that is, however that is perceived, irrespective of the image that may be conveyed and I hope to utilize the ability to communicate to exchange those things that make me me with others.
Mona is more of a "Monet" than a da Vinci, and whatever image she conveys with her smile and direct stare, it'd be nice to hear who she is from her own mouth. Until then, isn't she just an object? Someone to be perceived however others want? Powerless? That mysterious smile will only get her so far...
No comments:
Post a Comment