Celebrate

I find myself at home with a sudden head cold (no, it's not swine flu, for the last god damn time people!) and sitting in bed with little to do but drink tea and bemoan the fact that I'm not out celebrating right now.

So what do I have to celebrate, you ask?

Today my flatmate and I learned that our application for a flat in Hoxton was accepted! And not only that, but we both decided that we hated the student dorms so much that we opted to move out sooner than we originally planned. Instead of September 5th we are now moving in to our new place on August 10th. Yes, I am mere days away from a double bed, a bath tub, a real kitchen, and a living room. Can you believe it? I still don't. I am still skeptical, and sure that something will go wrong. It is too good to be true.

I've lived in a lot of different apartments, but I have always rented a room in someone else's flat. It didn't seem right to leave my stuff in the rest of the house, interrupting their routines and habits. But now? Now I can create my own living habits and my stuff can be anywhere! I can do logical things like make a place for my DVDs in the living room! I can leave my sketchbook and paints on the table without fear of being in someone's way. This is huge for me, you see. I finally get to occupy the space I have and make it my own.

Secondly, and in some ways more importantly, I would like to formally announce that I have decided to leave Central Saint Martins School of Shit and Bollocks.

This, I believe, warrants a drink. A toast, even. Raise your glasses if you will to the end of an era and beginning of another, far better one.

When I found out that Evil Tutor failed my latex project (despite telling me it was good all the way through the process) I made up my mind that I would not be returning to that awful sham they call a university, regardless of whether they wanted me to repeat 1st year or move on to 2nd year.

Words cannot describe how incredibly happy I am to be free of that place.

For the first time in years I feel inspired, eager to learn. Eager to make my own way, to go out into the world and absorb information. I want to do everything, create everything, experience everything. I feel free. I have no solid plan, just a good solid feel for the direction I want to head in. And that is liberating.

Of course I can't deny that CSM is a good name to have on your degree. Those three letters will open a lot of doors for a designer. Though, point of interest, I have come to realize that it will also close doors.

In making the decision to leave the school, I came across an interesting phenomenon in the design world. Being able to say "I graduated from St Martins" is great, but there is a certain respect I get when I say that I studied at St Martins only to realize that the reputation wasn't justified, and chose to leave. Funny, that.

In case I haven't made it painfully clear, this is not a school that will teach you anything, least of all actual, technical skills. Now I know that we all love the idea of simply drawing out a pretty sketch and handing it to someone else to make, but frankly that is bullshit. You need to follow through. True artists of any kind need to understand their materials, their craft, their process.... and often those things will inform and change their design. Half the stress/fun is in the process of trying to make one of your designs and seeing how it changes and becomes better.

The reason I got my internship with my awesome design mentor is not because I went to CSM, but because I studied at a technical fashion school and have a background in theatre and performance. I even said in my initial letter to her that "despite hailing from St Martins, I have not yet had my love for design or theatricality beaten out of me." She knew exactly what I meant.

My point is simply that there is something to be said for knowing how to make things. Any things. Whatever sort of things you want to make. And if you want to learn to make things, then St Martins is not the place to be.


So raise one more glass to the end of St Martins. And give Evil Tutor the finger for me, will you?

In the meantime I am looking into community college classes while I consider other universities. And should I decide to attend another uni, I have decided that the classes I take will not be in fashion.

I need a break.

But I also have a good solid foundation in fashion now, and it's time to start expanding outwards. In order to do this I am devoting four or five days a week to my internship to learn as much as possible from the designers I work for. And when I begin taking classes again, I want to learn to work with other materials so I can incorporate them into my designs- plastic, wood, metal, etc. I want to work in anything besides fabric and learn anything except fashion.

More shoe making and design courses are already queued up (more on that later), and from these classes I have also developed a rather subversive plan regarding my future shoe designs. See, a friend of mine at CSM asked if I was planning on continuing to learn how to make shoes, and if so, would I design and make the shoes for her final show at St Martins. I of course said yes! See, this way I get to have my final 3rd year show at St Martins by putting my shoes in the show, right under the nose of Evil Tutor and all those other fuckers who told me I was shit. BWAHAHAHAHA <---evil laughter and mustache stroking

Hell, if you've managed to read this far I think you deserve one more drink. Raise your glass one more time to the closing of a miserable year at an all-consuming, pretentious, and useless school, and the end of a year living in a moldy, tiny, uncomfortable dorm room.


Cheers.

A Random Day with Absolutely No Homework

In the unexpected heat yesterday, I found myself at a fascinating talk at the Architectural Association about the future of cities and architecture. I only caught the last three speakers, but it gave me lots of food for thought for my own design.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think the talk was organized by the writer of one of my favorite blogs, BLDGBLOG. If you have any interest in architecture, urban spaces, or the history of cities, keep an eye out for the BLDGBLOG book that is being released in a few weeks in the UK. This man is utterly brilliant. I approached him at the end of the talk and said his work was fantastic. I think I might have creeped him out a little. Sorry!

I went to see my friend Warren Ellis speak, but I was most intrigued by the speaker right before him- Francois Roche (sorry Warren, you know I still care). The way he approaches the design of a new building makes each of his structures feel like a story is being written. His focus is always on the process of creation, the cycle of death and life. Good stuff! I will follow his work from now on, and you should too.

That would be me, far right.


At the end of the talk, which was being live streamed, I gave Warren a congratulatory hug. Apparently the live stream was still going and Warren immediately began getting emails asking who I was. Shortly thereafter I got about 30 new followers on Twitter. Funny, that. If only I was an artist with a body of work I could be using this publicity for!

Warren and I then proceeded to a nearby pub and, forgetting that neither of us had eaten since that morning, got each other very drunk very quickly. I stumbled home and he hopped on a train and I ended my day curled up in a warm bed after a sympathetic room mate made this drunken redhead pasta.

And now, back to the regularly scheduled program: homework homework homework.

Sick

Party at my flat last night- TOTAL DISASTER.

Well it was for me at least, as I spent the whole evening throwing up and sobbing into a towel for no real reason.

I've never been drunk enough to throw up or not remember things. And I didn't have too much to drink, either. I guess something just didn't agree with me.

After my VERY caring room mates sat with me and rubbed my back while I threw up the entire contents of my body (I swear, if I vomited up a lung or my spleen I wouldn't be surprised) they managed to put me to bed. I woke at 6am and thought I was at my boyfriend's house for some reason. I turned expecting him to be there to hold me and warm me up, and felt my heart sink into my stomach when I realized where I was.

Got up, had some tea, sat around in the messy party remains in the kitchen eating slices of cheese and toast until I got too cold and crawled into bed again. Walking back into my room, I could survey the damage: apparently my sink decided to start leaking in a serious way, the shelving in my shower decided to fall, and my room was a giant mess of my clothes which I had managed to take off piece by piece over night. Either my entire flat smells slightly of the acidic contents of my stomach, or my nose has been burned by the acid and it's all I can taste and smell.

Everything is a mess and I just want last night to have not happened. I am so embarrassed I don't want to face anyone today. Even though I am not hung over, the whole evening made me feel really vulnerable and lonely.

Quick

A very quick update, as I am exhausted and busy:

I have the Congratulations-You-Failed-and-Now-Have-Twice-the-Work project half way done. It is due Friday morning. On top of that we have started our new project. Very stressed for time. However, it is a team project and I was paired up with one of my favorite people in the class. I feel very lucky. But first, I must magically finish this project for Friday. Eep!

No word on my grade for the shirt project yet. DYING to know what mark I earned.

My relationship with The Boy is undergoing some significant changes right now. And they are insightful, challenging, sad, happy, and confusing. More on that later.

I need a massage. All this stress, and hunching over my sewing makes me feel like I should be ringing the bells of Notre Dame or something. Like Spiderman said... "I hunch."

My flatmates have organized an "un-valentines" party for Saturday evening. Could be hilarious, could be fun. If nothing else, as the only person at the party who can hold their drink, it will be amusing watching my friends get drunk and play Twister in the kitchen.

And with that, I bid you good night. I hope to have the time to posts something more in depth in the next few days.

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.

Tonight

The heater is blasting, I am nibbling on bacon chocolate, my project is on my desk and I am trying to illustrate my designs right now.

I am excited about tomorrow, when I will turn in my first real project and get my first real grade.... which might not be a good grade, but at least I will get an idea of what they are looking at when they grade us.

After we turn in our work, several of my classmates and I are going to get lunch and go to a pub while we await our grades. And then I have social plans that evening. Followed by SLEEPING.

It's a cozy evening, complete with a glass of wine and movies on in the background. And it will be even better when I finally finish this project and can crawl into bed.

Going With the Flow (of Drinks)

It began innocently enough as a trip to the supermarket to buy dinner fixings. But on the way it was suggested that we get a drink at a local pub and scope out the Friday night scene.

My favorite room mate and I found a not-too-busy pub in which we could have a pint (we seemed to favor anything ending in "berg" or "bourg") and observe the Brits in their natural, drunken state. Drink had, dirt shared, boys avoided, we began to head back home to buy groceries and cook dinner. But on the way we passed a little park next to the church that some satanist had designed and decided that we wanted to see this strange structure in the park (it made me feel the need to read From Hell again).

At the entrance of the darkened park a small group of young guys were taking a smoke break. As we passed one of them immediately said, "you two alright? Know your way around and all that?" His friendly tone was warmed by a charming Irish accent. We appreciated his concern, introduced ourselves, and spent a good half hour smoking with Irishmen in a darkened Satanist's church park on a Friday evening.

During our initial search for a good pub, my room mate and I had noted a funny little underground bar that used to be an underground toilet, we think. It looked a little dodgy though, and had avoided it. But turns out our new friends were taking a break from a birthday party being held at that very bar. So a few minutes later my room mate and I were underground, doing tequila shots with cute Irish boys and a very drunk birthday girl (whose name I never did get, oops).

You know you're in England when people comment on how your smile is nice because your teeth are even. Lucky for me that they are, because I smiled a lot that evening as I got progressively drunker and enjoyed the attentions of a number of very sweet boys, while dancing with girls I didn't even know.

Very drunk, and still without dinner, my room mate and I stumbled home around midnight to scavenge for food in the kitchen. I began to eat some yogurt, a piece of ham, and a toaster waffle while she sorted something out with another student in our building. While I was waiting for her I decided that I needed a glass of water to stop my head from falling off my neck. But my Brita filter was all the way in my bedroom. I slowly shuffled down the hall, grabbed the water filter off my desk, and that's when everything changed. See, I spotted my bed. And that tiny little uncomfortable mattress has never looked so good, so welcoming, so comfortable as it did in that moment. I downed the water and collapsed onto my messy unmade bed. Next thing I knew, my room mate was at my side giggling and pulling my boots off.

"Wait, no, I must have stinky feet..." I mumbled.

"I don't care, stupid," she said and pulled my boots off.

"Wait, I have food on the table. I nee-"

"I'll take care of it. Here, drink some water, get some sleep." She handed me a glass of water, kissed my cheek, threw my quilt over me and closed the door.

I mumbled "thank you," as she left, but I don't know if she heard me.


Best. Room mate. Ever.


And so ended my first Friday night drinking in London.


My head hurts...