Michelle's Wild Adventures: May 2005

Thursday, May 26, 2005

Makoto Yabe

My second year of grad school was rough: I was in a failing relationship, was lacking faith in myself academically. I was in the middle of three years of heavy courseloads and wasn't seeing the beginnings of research in my near-future. One day, hanging out in my boyfriend's kitchen, his roommate showed up with a dozen oddly shaped ceramic cups that he had made in a class across the river. I was intrigued. I wanted to try out three dimensional art. So I joined his ceramics class. A few times a week, I put all my crap aside, walked across the river and got my hands muddy for a few hours.

Makoto Yabe was my instructor. He was a 40-something japanese artist who had been teaching ceramics in the US for something like 20 years. He was battling stomach cancer and, when I met him, was worn out from the chemotherapy. He couldn't remember my name and spent much of our class resting in a chair, hanging out with us. Makoto was positive and always honest. He never gushed over my pieces, which were asymmetrical, heavy, small, and had holes in the bottom of them. There was no pressure to create beautiful things. When it came to using a pottery wheel, I was a slow learner. Makoto showed me that each piece has its own character and it is this personality that makes some pieces stunning. He was an incredible artist. I was inspired by the beautiful colors he pulled out of the earthy glazes. He could throw a perfectly symmetrical proportioned bowl but when he finished it, it was always unique. In the warm, welcoming environment he fostered in the studio, I kept trying.

For Christmas that year, my family members received sharp, heavy little bowls. The following year, everyone got (functional) coffee mugs. By the end of a year I was rowing with intramural crew and had started rock climbing. School got better. By the end of the summer, I had shelved ceramics. Makoto was getting better. I could wait and take the class again when I was less busy.

My heart broke this afternoon. I received an email from the studio. Makoto didn't get better. He died on Monday. He will be missed.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

home

Its spring time in Andover. I arrived on Saturday night and spent two nights at my parents house, watching E True Hollywood Story on super-cable and chilling out with two large, happy dogs. Outside, the trees are in bloom, the birds are singing, and its a nice, sunny, cool sixty degrees fahrenheit. I got home for the best days of the year.

I have a new and somewhat silly appreciation for little things now, like turkey sandwiches (the law school cafe never tasted so good), english speaking strangers, freshly roasted coffee from peets, driving, spinach salad, internet, connection to the world (well, my world at least) and my super-duper bed. My jet lag is wearing off so I'm not a walking zombie all the time. And these little things have become real treats.

I went to the rock gym on Monday for an hour of bouldering. An hour was all I could do: I've lost *all* of my muscle over the past four months. But it feels really refreshing to be sore. And its going to be fun to get strong again.

Its been fun seeing everyone again! I missed you!!!

I'm thrilled.

Saturday, May 14, 2005

loose ends

A couple of weeks ago, Andy had a party at his house. It was a hot night and we enjoyed the studying gigantic bugs that have colonized his driveway (six inch long centipedes and red and black striped millipedes).

a professor condensation…

(they’re not evil, its just red eye)

Things were pretty chaotic with the Spring School: lots of lectures and lunches. This was taken during Allan's lecture.

see you on the other side

Right now I am on a plane, on my way back to Boston. I’m returning two (or three, depending on how you count) weeks early, missing half of the Spring School in Hangzhou. Nothing terrible (permanently) happened. Its just that I, er, cracked.

That’s right. On Tuesday, I reached the level of emotional stress that I had difficulty making it through a few hours without spontaneously and randomly bursting into tears. I decided that I was fed up and it was time to go home.

The stress wasn’t due to stolen taxis and too much sweet and sour pork, although that didn’t help. I’ve been working by myself and got stuck on my project. My social circle was incredibly small: we’re all miserable together which sometimes makes it hard to be happy. And I was unhappy enough that I had difficulty paying attention to the lectures or working. So, it was time to go home.

During my last twenty-four hours in Hangzhou I had a pretty fun time. On Thursday night, the group took me out to dinner to an Indian restaurant, complete with belly dancing. (belly dancing?!? Well, why not. But the dancers all had flat abs so it didn’t quite fit)

(This is Lisa’s cousin, Paul. He’s visiting and they’re going to visit their village. Notice that he looks absolutely nothing like her. I was expecting a male version of Lisa so when he answered their door, I was sure that I had the wrong apartment)

Afterwards we decided to go out for drinks. Curiosity and loneliness for our SO’s, brought us to a bar where we could drink and watch pole dancing.

It was a strip club without the strippers. The lingerie clad dancers performed synchronized dancers with fake guns and cigarettes. There was one who hung upside down from the pole or spun around it. The floor was glass with red under-lighting. And green lasers lit up the ceiling in random squiggly patterns that moved discontinuously. The other customers (booths full of men, mostly) drank beer by the case and smoked lots of cigarettes. My eyes burned.

And then Monica danced.

After the stripper-less strip club, we stopped in our old friend, Night and Day, for a little salsa. Most of the tables were empty but the band was going strong and the dance floor was full. I camped out at a table with Aaron for some people watching.

I forgot I had the zoom on. This is Aaron.

There was really-good-salsa guy who dipped Monica three times. (Apparently she accidently elbowed him hard in the face but I didn’t see that.) For some reason, he was friends with the foreigner-with-the-attitude-problem who was mean to the waiter. We also watched mister lonely inch his way over to talk to two very drunk girls. He moved at a rate of about two inches every fifteen minutes, smiling and keeping his eyes glued to them. They ignored the creepiness or else they were just too drunk.

Finally we decided to head home. I took one last taxi movie: this one is along the lake.

The next day (yesterday), I rolled out of bed at the bright and early hours of one in the afternoon and went for a bike ride around the lake. For the past month, I’ve been admiring Hangzhou’s street lamps and I wanted to document some of them before leaving town. (Every time I mentioned this to the other students, they gave me that five-heads look.)

It seems that every street in Hangzhou has different (and unique) street lights. For example, the ones on campus remind me of the Starship Enterprise and the pole reminds me of the interior lighting, in the Star Trek lounges.