Blegh

For reasons I don't care to go into, today was a horrible day. There were moments when I thought I might explode. I gave myself my second stress-caused migraine-ish thing, and felt my head was going to pop.

But tomorrow will be better. I will make it be better.

Good night.

Bikes Be Gone

Today my flatmate and I both had our bikes stolen while we were having a drink in the pub a few streets away.

We came outside excited by our day and our new found comfort riding in real traffic, only to find that the rack where we had chained our bikes was empty. I felt numb, and then sick, and now I'm just sad and pissed off.

We are going to do everything we can to try and find our bikes. We will go to all the 2nd hand bike shops to ask if bikes matching our descriptions were sold to them yesterday. We also filed a police report, even though we know they won't do anything about it (despite the CCTV cameras pointed directly at the place where we locked our bikes up).

It feels like someone took away the symbol of my new freedom to go where I want to go. It really shook me up for a few hours. Somehow it will all work out, I am sure of it. But right now it just feels shitty.

:/



goodbye little bikes.

On Tutors, Bullshit, Mixed Messages, and Failure

Remember how the Dean told me I had to pass all my projects in order to even have a chance of moving on to 2nd year? Let me give you a few highlights from my project hand-in and final crit yesterday:

"You don't have any understanding of how to design, or create a sketchbook."


"You didn't do enough work, that much is clear."


Tutors: "If you were going to design a dress, I want to see all your research into dresses."
Me: "But that has nothing to do with my theme. And every time I've put that sort of research into a sketchbook, I have been told to take it out because it doesn't apply to my actual inspiration."
Tutors: "You misunderstood. If you're going to design something with pockets, I want to see that you have researched hundreds of pocket shapes. I mean look at this page. You looked into some pockets and sketched them. But your sketches aren't to the exact proportions that the photos are. Why didn't you take a moment and draw exactly what you saw?"


Tutors: "Your designs are too simple and boring."
Me: "I am sorry to argue with you, but the last time we met you told me that my design ideas were too experimental and that I needed to think about whether or not it could be sold in a shop. So I went VERY simple and focused on fabric design."
Tutors: "Yes, but now it doesn't make sense because your designs are too simple and mean nothing."
Me: "You understand why I am confused then, because my understanding was that you wanted me to stay very clean and simple even though I was working from a Dada collage artist. When I went experimental like I did here and here and here you told me no one would actually wear that."
Tutors: "Those three pages are just useless exercises in illustration, not actual designing."
Me: "I didn't think so. I was completely serious about making that into clothing until you told me not to."
Tutors: "Well, you obviously don't understand any of this then."


Tutors:" You don't have enough research or design development"
Me:" I'm confused. You told me that I had enough research and enough fabric samples to design last time we met. And the project requirements were 20 rough designs, and I did 75."
Tutors: "I told you that because you were too far behind to continue doing research. And your designs are, well.... you clearly have no understanding of how to develop an idea into designs."


Tutors: "So you did 75 design roughs. But did you really think about what each of these garments would be? I mean, look at this sketch here. Is it a tshirt? a dress? How do you get into it? What is it?"
Me: "Perhaps I misunderstood- I thought that the point of design development is to rough out ideas until you come upon something you like enough to develop further and finalize. At the time I was sketching that shirt, I was just thinking through an idea that I didn't end up using."
Tutors: "Yes, these are rough designs. But you're not answering the question your research poses by simply sketching out roughs. You need to think every detail through every time you design something. These sketches mean nothing."
Me: "So in future, when I design rough designs, I should leave them out of the sketchbook until they are finalized enough to be actual garments"
Tutors: "No, that's the point of a sketchbook, to show how to develop your ideas."
Me: ".....um??"


They proceeded to tell me in every which way that my work was awful and worthless and that I know nothing about art or design.

Ouch.

And so it ends. All I can do is phone it in for the next few weeks while I wait for the letter from the school that says I am no longer wanted as a student at CSM.

(Oh, here. I tried something new with my illustrations, since I was inspired by Dada collage artist Hannah Hoch. I should have been more rough, less lines, more color and media. But it was 4am and I was too tired to think and be creative...)

The Dean, Where I Am, Fear, Stress, and Uncertainty.

The meeting with the dean didn't go badly, but it didn't go well. He suggested I meet with Evil Tutor and himself to discuss my workload and how to manage it. He sympathized with my situation, even told me about a similar situation he had with a tutor he had in grad school. But he said the rules tie his hands and prevent him from helping me. He did offer to look for a loophole in the rules, though. He's been very friendly to me, and I really appreciate his candor. I just wish he could do something more to help me.

I spent this weekend trying to work on my retrieval project. I get a new project assigned tomorrow. And I still have to redo all the work in my portfolio and redo the portfolio itself. By the end of the month. It isn't possible, and I am a wreck. I am falling apart in every way, every day. I really need someone to help support me right now. I just need the monstrous load of work and stress to lessen.

So I emailed the Dean again, and I've included the email below. Names have been changed for obvious reasons. It is a very familiar email, and I did that in part because I don't give a shit anymore, and in part because he responds very well to honesty about a situation. I tried playing it professional at first, and realized that he will mirror my approach to a situation. I only share this email because I feel it expresses where I am emotionally about the potential of being kicked out/asked to repeat first year/etc...

" Dear "Dean",

I have been considering your offer to meet with "Evil Tutor" (henceforth ET) and me to sort out my workload. Although I worry that he will take it personally and it might affect my grades even more, I think perhaps it is a good idea to talk to him about how to manage my pile of homework. I have nothing to lose, right?

I mean... all I want from CSM is for them to take my money and give me the chance to TRY and learn something. The tutors can tell me I'm shit, they can laugh at my work, they can tell me over and over that my work is awful. I truly, honestly do not mind as long as they tell me why. I just need the chance to do what the rest of the succeeding students are doing- work on one project at a time.

I will take that sketchbook course that is offered over the summer. I will take any extra courses over the summer that will help me improve. I will do extra work over the summer to make up for the retrieval projects, if the school will only let me spread out the work. I would even suffer a blow to my ego and grovel, beg to move on to 2nd year if it would help. I have met some of the 2nd and 3rd year tutors and I connect with their teaching styles much better than I do with "ET"'s. I could do this. But if I had to repeat 1st year with him again.... I can promise you I would not finish, even if I COULD afford to repeat. He and I, despite getting along in person, do not mesh well in the tutor-student situation.

I don't know if I mentioned this to you yet, but I have ADHD- attention deficit hyperactive disorder. Focusing, laying out timetables, understanding time, planning... these things are unusually hard for me to do. I usually take a medication for this, but the medication I am on is not available in the UK, and so I am operating at a huge deficit. And despite that fact I'm only 2 points short of passing. That is an achievement. I only mention this to make sure you know that I am not a slacker, nor do I expect an easy ride. I just need a little help from the university, and the opportunity to have the time to delve into one project at a time, try new things, really FOCUS on one concept. I can get this, I know I can.

I belong here. I belong at CSM. I am sure of that. Ask any of my classmates, even the ones who don't like me or my work. They will tell you the same thing. That may sound cocky, but it is also true.

All I ask is that CSM continue to take my money, continue to insult my work, and let me move onto 2nd year. I ask that they let me spread my work out a little bit. I stumbled early on in the year and I have never been able to catch up. I'm not asking a lot. I am not asking them to let me off the hook, just dull the hook a little. Give me some more time.

If you think that talking to "ET", or the head of the university, or anyone will help, please tell me what to do. I spent this whole weekend trying to work on the retrieval project sketchbook and I'm finding that I am failing in all the same ways I have before. I am so stressed out I can't find a new way to approach it, you know? I am trying to focus, but the looming monster of another set of double projects, plus the portfolio, plus the work IN the portfolio is really setting me up for failure. In case balancing all that for someone with ADHD wasn't difficult enough, the stress and fear of not being able to move on to 2nd year is making creative thinking nearly impossible for me. Any artist understands that, and I am sure you do too.

I know you cannot bend the rules for me. Who can?


Thank you for yet again reading another inappropriately familiar rant from me,
-"Redhead"


I feel utterly destroyed these days. I am so down on myself and my design abilities I can barely get out of bed in the morning, and barely sleep at night. I am making myself ill with stress and contained fury at feeling powerless over my situation. I don't know what I want anymore. Do I want to stay? Do I want to just drop out? If I dropped out could I forgive myself? I want to stay and give it one last go, but the amount of work I have to do is almost impossible, especially when I am this stressed out.

I am so lost and confused, and have never felt more alone in my life.

I just want someone to help me.

I Fought the Law, and the Law Won... I think? Or wait, did I?

Well, the meeting with the dean did not go how I expected. In fact, he calmed me down. It took me by surprise that talking with him in his dimly lit office would make me feel so satisfied. He was the first person at the school who stopped to listen to me, and agreed that the policies were crazy. Though he knew of no way to work around the policies, or go about changing them in time for them to affect me.

When I addressed the massive number of students failing, he told me it wasn't uncommon at CSM (though I've heard otherwise from 3rd year students). When I discussed the need for in-depth feedback he explained how difficult it is to give feedback and concrete success criteria when each student is encouraged to find their own style. I told him I understood that, but that a tutor's job is to recognize each student's style and work with them to develop it. And that is when the whole meeting changed.... he asked if he could see my sketchbook.

In five minutes, the dean gave me more constructive, mind-blowing feedback than I have gotten from my tutors in the last six months. He told me what was good, he told me what was crap (he apologized and said, "not to be too blunt, but this drawing is utter crap. Why did you draw this when you can draw like this?" and pointed to another sketch.) He looked at my research and pointed out exactly what I've been missing, and suddenly it seemed so obvious. It made sense. He showed me what I was lacking and suggested I approach research and sketchbooks in a different way.

I was shocked. I was inspired. I felt like I could do these four projects and enjoy them. It was hard to hear him tear my work apart, but it was also incredible and inspiring. When he pointed out my shortcomings it was as if they were so grossly obvious I couldn't believe I'd never seen them before.

When he finished I said, "if any tutor had EVER given me that kind of feedback in the last two terms, I would not be sitting across from you now." He chuckled, and told me that he was going to speak with the Evil Tutor about this issue. I expressed my nervousness about him confronting Evil Tutor because I was worried that his ego would be bruised, resulting in anger directed towards me and my grades. The dean assured me that the issue of feedback is a larger issue, and it is something that needs to be addressed. He also said that if Evil Tutor gets at all uppity, that I am to meet with him again so he can have words with the tutor.

He advised me to do all my work while continuing with the appeal process, and that he would assist me with it. He also said that if I pass this Retrieval project and all the other projects this term, my chances of moving onto 2nd year are good.


I left his office feeling strangely accomplished , though in the end I guess nothing really changed. I found that the fight I was entering would be a round against the entire university, and almost assuredly one I would lose. I suppose I gave in to the five projects I have to do. But I also feel as though I have the dean on my side now. He is one of the people who decides who goes on to 2nd year. And now, despite my low grades, I am more than just numbers to him. I am a girl who voiced her concerns and who wanted more feedback, and the opportunity to do better. And when he speaks to the Evil Tutor, perhaps things will change. Perhaps I will get more feedback from now on. Perhaps not. If not, the dean told me I can come speak with him again.

Am I backing down? I don't feel like it. I just feel that my time would be better spent trying to put his feedback to good use, and improving my grades this term. If I don't fail any projects, then this whole "being kicked out" drama goes away, you see.

I didn't really get to enter the ring. I was fully prepared to start one hell of an epic fight with CSM. But the dean's attitude, his empathy for my situation, his honest feedback and critique of my work, and his offer to speak with the tutor satisfied me for now.

And now that I think about it, entering the ring was never the point. The point was to make my concerns heard, and ensure that I had the opportunity to improve and grow as a designer and student. Hopefully I got that. So maybe The Law didn't win.

Taking On the System

I haven't written for a while, and it's because I've been gearing up for a fight with CSM.

When The Boy and I arrived at my place in London, I found two letters from CSM at my door. I'd been dreading them; I'd been hoping they wouldn't come. One letter said, "you failed last term and have to do ANOTHER retrieval project." The other said, "you failed your last retrieval project and therefor your position at this school is up for review."

In short, over ten of my classmates and I are in danger of being kicked out or held back. Ten out of 36 students is a ridiculously high number of positions to review, wouldn't you say? Although one or two people really do need an ass-kicking to get themselves in gear, it is my opinion that the rest of us have been unfairly threatened.

I currently have an appeal in to the school board to say that I should not have failed the last term and would like to be reviewed again. I also have a meeting with the dean of fashion tomorrow afternoon, during which I will not only request that my unfair retrieval project be revoked, but that from now on my classmates and I need concrete feedback and more attention from our tutors.

If over ten people are failing miserably, then CLEARLY something isn't right. If one or two people were failing, then it's probably their own fault. If a third of the class is failing, something else is going on.

It has been my complaint from the beginning that the tutors don't give me guidance or help of any kind. I know that they are not supposed to "teach us" per say, but that does not excuse the fact that I have been unable to get a straightforward answer from any tutor about why I have been failing projects. Time and time again I have sought out real guidance, help, tutorial time, extra advice, and every time I have been told, "just keep going" or "work harder". I was willing to deal with the frustration of this situation until it became a threat to my position at this university.

Yesterday I met with my tutor. The evil tutor. I decided that before I go speak with the dean I should give me tutor one last chance to explain himself and his grading. He told me that I should "look forward, not look back" and that my work was.... wait for it..... "too glam". Glam? GLAM? He told me that I favored one-shouldered slim fitting designs and never experimented with shape and silhouette. This, incidentally, is utter bullshit. And I told him I disagreed. He shrugged, dismissing me. He had his chance to explain himself, and now I'm going to speak to his boss.

*shrug*

So. Tomorrow I meet with the Dean. I am going to bring in some work, and the school's handbook which clearly states that I should be getting feedback in written form after each project I fail explaining WHY I failed. The handbook states that I may seek out extra help from my tutors if I am confused. It also states that I should be warned if my work isn't good enough to pass. I am going to sit across from him and tell him that I am concerned with the way things are going. I am going to be professional, diplomatic, sweet, but very firm. I want my project graded again because I did NOT deserve to fail. I want my retrieval project removed. And on behalf of myself and the other students that are caught in this huge machine, I am going to demand that we get more thorough feedback, concise success criteria, and more tutorial time.

If this talk doesn't go well, I will go higher. I will piss them off and bug them and plead with them until I am sure that they will make efforts to fix this problem. I shouldn't have to fight for an education. I will gladly take an active role in my education, but tutors shouldn't yell at us for asking questions, or cut us off when we ask for more help.

I am fed up with this place and now they are threatening to pull the rug out from under me right when I am starting to get a grip on life at Central St Martins. Well, I won't let them. And if for some reason I fail, I have so many other options and plans that CSM will someday look back and wish they could have added my name to their "notable alumni" list.

Wish me luck.

I Am Going to Take CSM On...

Being at CSM right now is causing me to have panic attacks. And when the panic starts to take over, I get angry. I get furious. I get so mad adrenaline starts pumping through my veins and I feel the urge to hit something.

I wanted to speak with my tutor and sort out my grades and my progress today. He, of course, was not available. He is never available. And I feel like I've gotten very little help from him, or any of the tutors.

I feel like I'm being treated unfairly.

I am tempted to go in and speak with the head of the department tomorrow, but I've decided I need to calm down first. I am going to fly home on Monday and I am going to do everything except think about school. I am going to pamper myself and spend ridiculous amounts of money on pretty things and massages and excellent food and social outings with people who care about me and support me.

And then when I get back into town I am going to speak with student services and find someone to be my advocate in this. I will schedule an appointment with the head of my program and speak with her and the dean about whether or not I am in the right place, and what I can do to get more help on my projects from the tutors.

Then I am going to speak with the evil tutor, and in more eloquent terms tell him that I will play his stupid game, if he would just tell me what the game is. But I can only do all this once I have calmed the fuck down, because if he insulted me at all right now (and he will, because he is an ass) I would say something I regret.

I am also going to rally my classmates over the break and write a letter to the head of the fashion department stating that we feel that we need MORE tutorial time and more help, and have every student who is struggling (or not) sign it.

Chances are I will annoy the staff until they hate me. But fuck, they already do so what do I have to lose, right?

I am fed up with this place, and instead of crying about it like a child and accidentally yelling at my friends and storming off, I am going to annoy the fuck out of the school until they give me some fucking help. I mean, what am I paying them for? I am paying their fucking paychecks, and I want to know what the hell I am paying for, if not some god damn teaching...?

Well Fuck You Too!

You are looking at the oh-so-proud recipient of yet another failing grade.

Unsurprisingly, this grade was given by the same tutor who failed me the last term. Hm, and I got almost exactly the same grade. In fact, almost everyone who failed that last project also failed this one. Makes one wonder. Are we all really not improving at all? Or is there a bias of some kind at work here?

This was a huge let down. I didn't think my project was fabulous, but I don't think I deserved to fail. My team mate passed, and she is FURIOUS at the tutor on my behalf. But I am just feeling defeated.

I tried to not let this news get to me. Thirteen people failed again, and there were some tears and slamming of lockers. But I just silently scrubbed at my fabric and tried to think of other things. I was feeling alright about it for a few hours when my fabric decided to misbehave. It didn't help that this current assignment (which is due tomorrow morning) had some sort of unknown chemical reaction and didn't actually do what it was supposed to do. The print looks a bit shit and I am very annoyed. Not only that, but the entirety of the project has had to be changed because I ran out of time and money. I have a very bad feeling about my project now. I expect I will fail this one as well.

If I fail two projects there is a very good chance I will have to do ANOTHER retrieval project. And I absolutely cannot do that again. I cannot. And I will not. It killed me this term. I am physically wrecked and emotionally worn down to a very thin strip of something that once passed for sanity. The retrieval project is a large part of the reason I did so poorly on the project I just failed.

So if they send me a retrieval project over this holiday, I will do one of two things. I will repeal it, and then not do the stupid thing, instead handing in a letter explaining why I chose not to do it. OR, I will do the project on porn.

Yes, I will do my retrieval project on hardcore porn, just to give them a big ol' FUCK YOU. I'm talking spread pink, big hard cock, cum dripping down her asshole porn. And not only will I do it on porn, I will print a photograph of a giant spread pussy down the front of the dress, and fill my sketchbook with images of sex and all the mess that goes along with it. I will make it the filthiest thing they've ever seen, but I will make it really beautifully and do everything the way they like it done. If they don't like it when I try to make beautiful things, perhaps they should see what it's like when I try to make ugly things...

So fuck you CSM and fuck you Tutor-That-Hates-Me. If you want to fuck with me, I will fuck with you back. Just TRY and throw me out, you bastards. Try. No, really. I dare you.

Aw shit...

Woke up very ill this morning.

I was worried this would happen...I pushed myself too hard and my body shut down.

Tried to go into school, had to turn around half way there because I felt weak and faint.

Went back to bed and slept for a few hours.

Trying to focus enough to do homework, as I am already very behind thanks to my You-Failed project, and this past waste-o-time weekend. But can't sit up for very long without feeling dizzy. Shit Shit Shit.

This is very bad timing, and I am very mad at myself.

Lost

Today: another awful meeting with a tutor.

My work was laughed at, insulted, and then she ripped the picture off the cover because she didn't like it.

I didn't take it personally this time. Instead I sat through it all trying to get some nuggets of helpful information from the new tutor. I asked follow up questions about what she wanted and tried to guide the conversation towards things that would give me some helpful direction. But no. I got one or two interesting thoughts from her, and other than that... well, I'm as lost as ever. Moreso, even. When I asked her if I should think about things one way or another way, she said "both". When I asked if the best way too approach a problem was to things one thing or the other, she'd tell me to do it my own way.

I am SO frustrated. I am failing, here. I'm trying to get help, some direction, some assistance.....and no one is helping me at all. I have no idea what I should do now.

Do Not Want

Websites that make switching your account from a .com to a .co.uk easy:
-amazon
-ebay
-facebook
-my bank
-almost all other websites

Websites that suck:
-Paypal

Failure, Optimism, and Drunk Friends

There are two words that hold a lot of power for me, and they are "failure" and "friend". Failure has always been a powerful thing for me, but friendship is a more recent addition, since moving to London. Today I dealt with both.

I found out that my optimism about my last project was unwarranted, as I once again failed. To add insult to, uh, insult, our fashion show was today, and the model who wore my dress wore it incorrectly, and unbuttoned and hid the best part of it. I was so deflated.

But after the show the entire class went out to dinner, and then pub hopped until 11pm. (There will be a hundred new, drunken, unflattering photos of me on facebook in a matter of hours, I'm sure.) At 11, my favorite gayboi and I headed back to the tube, but ended up getting off and heading to a pub near my flat, meeting up with two of his friends and having a fabulous time.

Until tonight, I wasn't sure this guy liked me, even though I thought he was fabulous. But when I heard him refer to me as "my friend Rachael" I was immediately happy to meet his other friends. Having someone call me "friend" has never been such an important thing before.

It's 1am, I just got home. I've had eight drinks, which in San Francisco times would have knocked me on my ass, but these days, in London I am only buzzed. That was an awkward sentence. Maybe I am a bitty bit drunk. But just a bit.

I failed my project. I've failed both projects this quarter. Miserably.
But I had a good evening, and that makes it all alright.

I Gave Myself a "Stress Concussion"

It's taken a very loud emotional breakdown to show me that there are people who want to be my friend. That doesn't seem terribly logical, but that's the way it went today.

I made myself physically ill from stress today. I was so angry at my project, I couldn't be quiet about it. I was trying to keep it in but my work was awful and I was so stressed and pissed off that I finally announced I was starting over (2 days before the deadline). I couldn't seem to be consoled, I was too mad at myself.

After two hours trying to rethink my project, I noticed I had a headache. I figured it was time for a cup of tea and something with a little sugar in it to keep me going. An hour after that, my headache was so blinding that I couldn't focus my eyes, and every time I moved I started shaking, lost my balance, and felt faint. I tried to let it pass, or to walk it off, but I felt like I could barely move.

I've given myself three concussions in my 23 years of life, and this headache felt very similar to a concussion headache. I gave myself a stress concussion!

While I was sitting at my sewing machine trying to work, a lot of people came over to try and help me come up with ways to make my garment work. I got a lot of hugs, and a lot of encouragement. I couldn't really appreciate it as much as I should have, but I did notice how people came out of the woodwork to check on me, and that helped me feel less alone in my moody little world.

At 7pm, I felt so awful I could barely stand up, so I slowly packed up my bag and told my tutor that I had to go home because I felt faint. I slowly walked to the tube station, keeping my eyes focused on where I was putting my feet, trying to not get jostled by the crowds, because I thought I might fall over. Thankfully I got a seat on the tube, and I stared at the floor until I got to my stop. I carefully, purposefully walked home, trying to will myself not to pass out.

By the time I arrived home, I was a mess. I tripped on the stairs twice. I dropped my new phone because I couldn't balance while looking at a screen. I tried to cook myself something to eat so I would stop shaking, and had to hold onto the counter to not feel like the world was spinning.

It's times like this when I wish I was home, and I could call a friend or a room mate to help me. But I managed on my own, and made myself some hot oatmeal. I crawled into bed and spooned the food into my mouth ungracefully.

And that's when I got a text from one of the girls in my class. She said,
"hi, I hope you're okay. I was a little worried about you when I left. But you know if you want to get in early tomorrow, we can have coffee and look at your dress and work out wot to do."

I texted her back and thanked her and apologized for taking my stress out on her in class. I said that I would love to meet early tomorrow for some brainstorming and that I would buy the coffee.

She wrote back,
"Ok. I just don't like seeing you like that, especially when you've produced something so interesting and beautiful. Have faith in yourself. See you tomorrow for design boot camp, hehe!"

I also texted a "thank you for being so kind to me, and I am sorry that I was so emotional in class this evening" sort of text to the couple of people who helped me when I began to fall apart this evening. And they all wrote back that they totally understood, that they hope I feel better, and that I could call them if I needed anything.

Of course people say that without meaning it a lot, but I know that at least two of them do mean it. And I appreciate it so much it's hard to say.

By 8pm I was almost asleep. My head was pounding and I was just trying to breathe deeply in my dark room and let it pass. I must have fallen asleep because I woke at 11pm, thirsty, but much better.

I'm going to crawl back into bed now and try to sleep the rest of this stress headache off. But I feel a little calmer, even though I wasted an evening that I should have been working on the project, because I know that even when I am moody and stressed and at my wit's end, there are people who are willing to give me a hug.


(Oh, here's a photo of the fabric treatment I did for this project. We had to use white cotton and white felt ONLY, and so I have been working with the white felt, wetting it, stretching it, creating a lacy pattern of holes before hand gathering sections of it to give it some body and texture. There will be a collar and sleeves and some craziness at the bottom too, this is just a photo of the fabric pinned up on the dress form to give me some ideas.)

Alright, now I'm going to crawl back into bed.

What's a Girl Gotta Do To Get Some Instruction Around Here?

I knew that moving to a new country along was going to be hard. I knew that the fashion program at St. Martins was incredibly difficult. I knew that I would be lonely, that the weather would be crappy, that I would be a broke student who would have to choose between food and art supplies. But I've run into so many difficult things that I never could have anticipated. It's all of those things that add up when I'm not looking.

I had a complete meltdown the night before last. I swore I was going to leave school and move home. I believed myself as I said it, and I said it a lot. I said to to a classmate. I said it to my boyfriend. I said it to all my room mates, one by one, and then again as a group over dinner. I told them that CSM could go to hell, and that I had known from the moment I was accepted into this school that it was the wrong decision. I kept on saying it until I passed out curled up on my bed. I wanted to wake up back home and pretend this whole mess never happened, because I was so furious at my school and my tutors.

Before I continue, let me explain something that I just figured out myself. Here at St. Martins there is no equivalent to what an American school might call "a teacher". We don't have classes either, instead our schedule is project-based. On some days of the week, we have a tutor in to meet with us individually. Our tutors are the head of our program, and they are not there to teach us, but to offer guidance and critiques on the conceptual/design level. They also grade us. On certain days of the week we also have technicians in. Apparently technicians are either there to assist us with sewing/drafting/making difficult things, or to (get this...)do it for us, if it's too difficult. Yes, you read that right. Technicians are there to help us sew things that we don't know how to sew. Because CSM isn't training seamstresses, they are training designers... That's a mindfuck for me. (At my last school if they found out that another student, much less a hired professional was helping you do your homework, you failed the project.)

So we have Tutors and we have Technicians, but the gap in between that in my experience should be filled by a Teacher is left empty. Instead, St. Martins is all about making the students teach themselves through trial and error.

Ah, the dreaded trial and error...

There seems to be a certain artistic disposition that lends itself to creative experimenting. These are the kinds of people that couldn't think inside the box if they tried. They will try anything to get the look they want, no matter how strange or silly it may sound. These are often the people who make it in a business that is always looking for the next innovative thing. These are the sorts of people that end up at CSM.

I am not one of those people.

I am an idea person. I have no patience for the actual construction of a garment. I hate sewing (I have been known to fall into fits of rage while trying to sew) and I despise the problem-solving aspects of pattern drafting. I understand how these things work, and I am very good at helping others find solutions to the problems in their work. But when it comes to my own work, I have no patience for the process.

Maybe I'm just lazy...?

So to clarify, I am a person who designs, understands how to construct and make the design, but needs help making it, or have someone to make it for me. Because when I run into a problem I cannot solve I am not the kind of person to experiment over and over until I find the solution. When I hit a wall, I call in a specialist (read: a teacher) to help me break down the wall.

And this is where all the trouble started the day I nearly got into a fight with my tutor.

At our last meeting, my tutor had suggested that I try a brand new technique to make my design. Excited at the suggestion I immediately went out and found five different books at the library on the topic. Over the weekend I browsed the books, bought supplies, did a series of tests and experiments, and felt confident that I could make this crazy idea happen. All I needed was some help coming up with a way to work around one problem I couldn't solve.

I went into the classroom that day with some very specific questions. I wasn't entirely sure where to begin with this project. I asked the pattern drafting technician for some advice, and that is when the trouble began. Her answer was, "I don't know. I've never done this before."

I couldn't accept that solution so I reworded my question to be more specific. She told me that she had no idea and that I should go buy supplies to experiment with.

Frustrated but determined, I spent the next three hours running around the city blowing my food budget on supplies. When I came back to school and began working I was optimistic. But each technique I tried was failing and I wasn't sure how to proceed, and every time I asked someone for help I was given nothing but suggestions on ways to spend more money on things that may or may not work.

All I wanted was some god damn help from a teacher. I had done all the research and work to teach myself how to do something new, and now I wanted some educational support from the institution that I pay huge sums of money to. But no!

Through this ordeal what I discovered is that at CSM, they do not teach you anything. No, at CSM they assist you in discovering things on your own.

So I stormed out of the classroom feeling as though I had just moved halfway around the world to attend a school where they do not teach us anything. And now that I have finally made a pathetic excuse of a home for myself, I was going to have to pack up my whole life AGAIN and move back home to finish a degree at a pathetic technical school.

I was so furious and miserable that day. I needed to talk to someone who would understand where I was coming from- someone who wouldn't try to solve the problem for me, but sympathize about how much effort it takes to just LIVE sometimes when you've just moved to another country. I wanted someone to agree that the whole CSM system was shit and that I had left everything to come here for no good reason. I wanted someone to agree with me, and to come fly out here to help me move home. Or maybe I wanted someone to just fly out here to give me a hug and let me cry on their shoulder for a little while. I just needed a friend. But I don't know anyone in London well enough to show them this raw, exposed side of me.

I wanted to call my best friend back home, but it was the wee hours of the morning. I don't have an international calling plan on my new phone yet, and I haven't been able to talk to her since I moved. I didn't want the first conversation we had to involve waking her middle of the night to cry in her ear. So I texted my boyfriend, who listened to me bitch and cry and swear that I was moving home for hours, until he decided I'd indulged in enough of a pity party to need a verbal slap upside the head.

I wish I could say that he shook me out of it, but he didn't. Instead I curled up on my bed and hugged my knees, sobbing until I passed out. I woke up an hour later shaking from the cold and crawled under the quilt, feeling ashamed of myself and miserable.

Needless to say, not my best day.

But I did learn something about how I have to approach my education here. I realize now that if I am this stressed about a single project, I need to rethink my approach even if it means I fail again. I decided to scrap everything my tutor suggested and do something entirely different, whether or not he likes it.

As a result of this decision my mood has been much more upbeat. I am incredibly stressed for time as I am starting over on a project most people began a week before, but I feel better about what I am trying to do. I am experimenting with fabric and trying to teach myself some new things.

And as a sort of penance for being such an emotional mess the day before, I went into school and spent a lot of time helping many of my classmates with their patterns. As one of the only students in the class with any drafting experience, word has spread that I can offer some sort of advice. It made me feel better to know that although I am struggling to keep it together, I do know something about fashion.

More than that I realized that I love to teach. My classmates suggested that I look into being a class helper for first year students for pay. I would love to do that, if I could. It's so satisfying to work with someone and solve a problem. Although I do not know the conventional way to do things, CSM shares my opinion on pattern drafting: if it fits, and it looks the way you want it, it is correct and bugger the rules.

So teaching is good. But I've found that what I like best about it is working with another designer to make something. Which made me think that I would like to try my next project as a team project. I plan to find a partner to design with before informing our tutor that we are a design team for this round of the game. That sounds like a recipe for success, in my opinion.

So CSM and life in London is turning out to be a lot more difficult than I expected, in ways I couldn't have anticipated. It takes so much out of me just to stay afloat that I feel very brittle of late. But I am trying to stay optimistic. I've spoken with a counselor at school about my concerns, and she informed that almost every international student at CSM starts to feel this doubt and depression at the three to five month mark. She also assured me that it will get better.

It will get better.

I was worried that going home for the Christmas holiday would make coming back to London harder. But now I cannot wait to go home and I wish I could change my flight to go back next weekend instead of the 16th. I am hoping that being with my friends and boyfriend and family will recharge my batteries for my next round in the ring against CSM.

I just have to keep reminding myself that it will get better.

I Hope Nostalgia Makes This All Seem Better

I really truly hope that a year from now, I will be able to look back on this quarter and sum up the horrible experience in a few sentences that sound nonchalant and wise. Maybe something like, "during my first quarter I failed every project. My ideas were laughed at by my tutors, and any teeny tiny shred of confidence I had in my ability to design and communicate visually was shattered. Wow, I sure learned a lot, darn skippy. Those were good times." And then I could nod sagely, pat a first quarter student on the head, and go back to work.

Yeah, I hope hindsight makes this all seem like a good ol' learning experience. Yup.

And Once Again, I Am Not Okay

I hate to admit it, but I am having a really tough time with the long distance relationship again. I thought that I pretty much had a handle on it after The Boy left London and went back home, but it seems I am falling apart yet again. The little congratulations I was giving myself for finally being a more independent woman were a little prematurely given, I think.

I hate being in a long distance relationship. I love my boyfriend, but I am not built for this kind of situation. It is fucking with my head and my heart every second I let my guard down. In order to survive it I must keep myself tightly wound up and securely locked down, carefully avoiding anything that will remind me of the life I don't get to have with him.

Burying feelings is not a good way to deal with anything, especially something as explosive as this, so I have to be very careful to not put myself in a situation that would loosen me up. One glass of wine and I am online begging my boyfriend to move here, and considering dropping out of school to go home to him. It's pathetic, but it's my reality at the moment. Despite all my efforts I haven't found a way to make the sadness of missing the person I love into romantic melancholy.

The last few days have really brought all these feelings to the surface again because I expected to be socially busy this weekend. Three times I got dressed up to meet classmates for some work and fun and three times I got stood up. (They had good reasons, and I am not mad at any of them.) So instead of having a nice time developing new friendships, I once again found myself alone in public, with nothing to do but hunch over my sketchbook and order another coffee so as to appear that I had intended to be alone all along.

See, I have no friends yet. I have a boyfriend thousands of miles away, eight hours behind me, who I cannot see or touch, or go to when I need comfort. I am trying to fill the spaces left by all the people I care about, but I've had no luck. Each day I socialize in class, but have never found myself invited out to any of the events I hear about later.

When I am in class I feel a huge sense of relief because I am around people I like who seem to like me too. I am not hiding my sadness, I am actually pretty happy when I am at school. But I must be keeping myself isolated from all the people in some way, because I am not being invited into their social lives.

I love London and school is keeping me very busy. But I am slowly sinking into depression. I'm not exercising, I'm eating like crap, I stay at home alone, awake all night and when I do sleep I don't sleep well. I'm desperate for friends, someone I can talk to. My best friend back home hasn't been able to talk with me since I moved, and she has always been my companion in my most difficult times. I am so utterly alone, in a city full of people, full of life. I've never felt lonelier than my time in London.

So yeah, things are fine. I'm fine, everything's fine. School is fine, life is fine. Everything is just fine. I'm not dying, I still have all my limbs, the world isn't ending. But I'm not happy, and I don't know what to do. I can't move home and leave my career behind for a boy. But I can't live like this much longer.

I can't deal with being alone every day anymore.

Catching Up: My First Failure

I failed my first big project.

But it's okay. Surprisingly, I don't really care. When I began classes I decided to not let my grades matter as long as I felt I was learning something new.

I can shrug off the pathetic grade I earned, and I would have forgotten about the whole thing already had it not been for one issue that is nagging at me, and my entire class...

Our complaint is that we did not receive ANY feedback from our tutors on our projects. After many of us had pulled all-nighters, we all arrived early last Friday to turn in our projects. Our The tutors arrived to send us away for a few hours while they reviewed our work. By the time we were allowed back into the room (some four or five hours later), they pointed out three things they liked on three separate projects and then said, "see you on Monday," and left.

I was furious! I felt like my project was terrible, but I couldn't figure out exactly why it seemed so terrible to me. I wanted some direction. I wanted some guidance from my teachers. Honestly I would have been happy to have my project ripped to shreds publicly, as long as they told me why they hated it and how to make it better.

But we were sent home without any sense of what they wanted, or how to improve our work. When our grades were posted a few days ago two of the three projects they had pointed out and liked did not even receive high marks. We are all very confused and angry.

So far, our complaints have fallen upon deaf ears. Our tutors seem reticent to give us any feedback whatsoever. But my classmates and I have decided to get together and go over each other's work and grades and see if we can acertain what it is they liked based upon who got good grades.

We have already begun our next project, and I have GOT to figure out how to focus, kick my own ass, stretch myself in every way, and create something incredible.

I'm Such a Fucking Downer

I think perhaps I shouldn't drink.

Not because I can't control how much I drink, but because I relax my tightly wound emotions when I drink. And then I fall to pieces.

"I am fine" is the phrase I keep using whenever someone asks how I am. And it's true, I am fine. But only until I let myself go a little. And then I am miserable.

But it makes no sense. I keep asking myself, "why am I so miserable?" I'm in LONDON for fuck's sake. I am LIVING in LONDON studying at one of the best schools in the world. I wish I could put my finger on exactly what it is that is bothering me so much. If I could figure out exactly what it is, I could go about fixing it. But here I am, so miserable I can't even hold decent conversation.

When I am in a new social situation, I usually put on my "fabulous face" to get me through the nervous moments. But these days I am guarded and nervous, and I hide it by being quiet. Which doesn't lend itself to meeting new interesting people, surprisingly. I'm just so wound up I can barely contain my desperation, and no one wants to be around someone who's desperate. I know I don't.

In short, I am boring because I am depressed.

The worst thing is that I realize I am fucking this up. This should be the most interesting, wild, creative time of my life. I should be out meeting people, doing things, seeing things, having fun. And here I am at home, wasting it by being miserable and lonely. I am so mad at myself! But I can't seem to fix the problem. I don't even know how to go about starting. And I have no one here to help me do it, either. No one to drag me out despite my protests, and force me to have a good time. And I need that right now. I really need it.

Determined to become a more social and independent woman, I planned to go to a pub alone last night. I intended to have a few drinks, meet some new people, and then come home. After dinner my room mates and I had a few glasses of wine while they helped me pick an outfit for my pub crawl. We were discussing boys, sex toys, and generally having a good raunchy girl talk, when suddenly I stopped having fun. They had to go get ready for their own evening plans, and I began to silently freak out.

That's when I saw my boyfriend online and begged him to come see me. I mean, I begged. I became so damn desperate I couldn't control myself. I NEEDED to see him. Of course he couldn't just pop over. The couple of thousand miles between us makes it hard for him to stop by for a few hours on a whim. But I couldn't stop myself from begging him, wishing more than anything in the world that he could magically appear at my door.

This of course put him in the undesirable position of having to say "no" to repeated unreasonable requests. Each time he said it I felt like I was getting punched in the gut. I wanted to throw up. I was so disappointed (even though it wasn't his fault), and right then decided I couldn't stand to live like this anymore. I decided that I was old enough to know that I am putting myself through unnecessary torture, so I made the drunken, grand decision that I would move home after this quarter was over.

And then my boyfriend got pissed at me, and rightly so. He got offline to start his day and let me cool down. Suddenly alone in my panic, I felt even more miserable and hopeless than before. Furious at him, and at myself I went to bed early. No going out for this redhead. My outfit for my planned night was still laid out on my bed when I crawled under the thin quilt to sleep. I found it in a messy pile at the foot of my bed this morning.

It seems I come apart every time I talk to my boyfriend. He is the only person I can talk to with any honesty about how I feel, and he's at the center of most of my feelings about being here. So the poor guy gets to hear all the crap and listen to me break down every few days. He's handling it really well, but I can't keep doing this to him. And I know he's nearing his breaking point with my complaining. I won't be winning any Best Girlfriend of the Year awards, I'm afraid. I'll be lucky to get a Miss Emotional Stability ribbon.

I hesitate to say, "I should be...." because that is a verbal set up for failure. But I should be happy. I should be. I really, really should be. Or at least I should be a little excited, or a little thrilled. But I am finding it hard to live in the moment, and see this opportunity for what it is. All I can focus on is how lonely I am, and how lonely I will continue to be if I can't shake this downer bullshit.

My Little Pity Party

Self pity is an ugly thing. But it seems I need to indulge in it this evening.

It's Friday night and I am without friends, a boyfriend, or friendly acquaintance to go out with. Going out on my own is far too scary right now because I feel like it's either a recipe for lonely disaster, or a chance to have to deal with men who are trying to pick me up.

That sounds egotistical, but it's not. It's just that being a girl out at night on her own sends out the single girl signal. And while I may be living alone, I am not single. Honestly I don't know how to deal with people approaching me when my long distance relationship is so difficult for me right now. Until I feel comfortable with my love life as it stands, I don't feel good about putting myself out there as "unavailable, but always here by myself, and hi it's nice to meet you".

The other side of this problem is that I think I'm giving off a desperate vibe. I have never before been so goddamn fucking lonely in my entire life. I see people on their cellphones talking to friends to kill time between trains and it makes me so jealous. I have always had people to text or call when I'm out and about. I've had friends that I could rely upon to invite me out every weekend (even though I almost never went) and friends that would almost always wander around thrift stores and cafes with me. And now I can't even figure out how to socialize with people, much less make a friend who I can call to chat with when I'm bored.

Thing is, I have toned my shtick down to the point that I have almost nothing to say because I'm trying to gauge what I CAN say around people here. I am treading carefully. Maybe too carefully. But I am not comfortable here. I feel surprisingly foreign in some ways.

I just want a friend who gets it. I want one person who I can have a drink with, who is going through similar things. I want someone who calls me when they need an ear, or have some free time. I want a friend. I don't think that's too much to ask for.

Let me say that I do love being alone. I really do. But I'm had enough of it for right now. It's Friday night and everyone I know is busy or hanging out with their real friends, and didn't catch my subtle hints about looking for something fun to do tonight. And I am afraid to go out on my own and run into situations that I don't know how to handle. I feel so pathetic. I should be out in London doing new exciting things and meeting new exciting people in new exciting places. And instead I am spending another night at my computer, indulging in a little pity party for myself.

I want to be the kind of person that can have a great time on her own. But I am not there yet. I am too confused, too desperate, and too broke to go out and navigate brand new social waters alone. When I feel this stressed it's hard to find the social balance necessary to be fabulous yet approachable, fun but not flirty, interesting but not showy, and clear about what I want and what my boundaries are.

So instead I will slouch in the chair at my desk while moping about how I have no friends, and generally feel sorry for myself for the rest of the evening...

The Fun Begins....

It all began when I received my sewing machine in the mail. After finding that a few things arrived broken in a previous box, I decided that it would be wise to take a break from my homework and unpack the machine to make sure it was in working condition. Worst. Decision. Ever.

I find an adapter for the US plug and attempt to turn the sewing machine on. POW! All the electricity in my room goes out. Normally I would just go find the fuse box and flip a switch, but our switches are behind locked doors, so I had to find someone who had a key.

The Senior Resident on call was a very sweet girl named Lauren. We opened every single locked door in the flat , and after we had no luck finding my room's fuse box, I suddenly had a thought. Remember that "potentially problematic door" I posted a photo of? I asked her if the fuse box for my room might be outside in the fire escape area. Turns out I was right... But this suggestion of mine kicked off a series of discoveries that led to an interesting night for the whole flat.

When Lauren tried to unlock the "potentially problematic" fire door we realized that the lock had been broken, and that the door has been open to the outside world this whole time. All my jokes about setting up a lounge area in the room off of the fire escape? They weren't funny any more because we found that our unlocked fire door had left our flat open to anyone in our building. Adding to the sudden feeling of discomfort was compounded by the fact that it seemed a lot of other people knew they could get up here and took advantage of it.

When Lauren and I (followed by my flat mates, many of whom were awakened by the noise) went out into the hallway to flip my fuse switch, we found that someone decided that our indoor fire escape was a good place to do some spray paint artwork. The ghost of spray painted 11x17 papers in various colors littered the carpeting. Our mystery artist even left a can of red paint and their latest creation drying on the floor in front of my fuse box.

We turned the corner and found that someone had been smoking on our steps, and left us a little mess to clean. (Last week, many of us commented that our hallway smelled of smoke. Now we know why.)

It was midnight by now, and this whole situation would have looked very funny if it weren't for one problem. All this "vandalism" was done outside out top floor flat, so it of course would appear that WE did it. The fine for something like this is a few hundred quid, minimum.

But the only problem we could deal with at midnight was my lack of electricity. Now that we'd found my fuse box, we flipped the switch. Nothing happened. We did it again, and waited. Still nothing. Phone calls were made, drama ensued, but when the overhead light popped back on in my room, there was great rejoicing in the camp! Everyone shuffled back to their rooms, I thanked Lauren profusely, offered to buy her a bottle of wine for her trouble, and settled down to complete my homework.

Before she left Lauren promised to talk to the building owners on our behalf regarding the mess and mysterious broken lock (and hopefully get it fixed so we aren't giving everyone free access to our flat).

All was well it seemed. That is until I found that despite my overhead light working, all my electrical sockets were still completely dead.

I called Lauren again, very apologetically, and we began searching for the mystery switch that would turn my power sockets back on. The noise of Lauren and I talking alerted all the room mates that something was up, and soon they were all awake and gawking at the cigarettes and spray paint.

My room mates were understandably of freaked out about the unlocked fire door, and tempers were rising about the mess. But none of this was as pressing a concern to me as the fact that nothing seemed to be turning my power sockets back on. With everyone's permission, Lauren and I shut off the main power to the whole flat. Sitting in the dark hallway, lit only by emergency lighting, what could you do but laugh at the situation? "Wow, you broke the flat the first day of school," someone said to me. Heh, whoops.

It was 12:30 or so, and I was getting a little punchy. I was finding that my concern about not having power was slowly being outweighed by concerns about the fines that we would have to fight when the building managers found out about the mess our mystery friends had made.

All the girls seemed to be getting progressively more upset about the spray paint on the floor. The lovely piece of artwork that our mysterious artistic friend had left to dry seemed to be egging them on. I think a few of the girls were feeling very exposed and victimized, what with the door to our flat unlocked and broken. So I decided to do something that would make us all feel in control again, and redirect our collective anger back to the place where it should have been. I grabbed a dark marker....



... and let them know that we were somewhat annoyed.



I really hope the artist comes upstairs looking for their paint cans and art piece soon.

I guess my punchiness had rubbed off on everyone because as soon as I emerged from my room with a pen announcing my intentions, my flat mates grabbed their cameras to record me being what was later termed "the flat's guard bitch" and "the mean one" and "the girl who starts shit". (It was suggested that they get me a "guard dog on duty" sign for my door. "Why not just put a nice big welcome mat outside our unlocked fire escape door?" I had said. "What, so you can beat up anyone who comes through?" they'd giggled.)

We never did get my power turned back on. I am writing to you now on battery power while the wine buzz wears off. At 1:00am we ended the evening with a lot of shrugging, and a "who needs wine and cookies?!" comment that brought about, well, wine and cookies.

So maybe I started some shit with the people below us. But you know what? Fuck them. I am pissed that their actions might cause a very expensive fight with the building owners. I am completely prepared to follow this through, too. If the people downstairs want to fuck with us, the flat's "guard bitch on duty" is happy to confront them. In fact, I suppose I already have. And the whole mess will be reported by a Senior Resident who was there to witness the situation and who took photos of the whole thing. Let the fun begin...

If all goes well, an electrician will show up tomorrow around 8am to fix my room's power. And maybe the door to our flat will be locked before anyone can try to retaliate for my little note. (Hm, maybe I should have considered that before I wrote on their artwork, hm?)


...you know, I never did get this homework done....