Based on the letters I write, many of you may believe that I’m an incorrigible optimist. You’d be more or less correct, but I have gotten the occasional request to demonstrate that I get frustrated by things. Here, then, is the demonstration, a response or rebuttal of sorts to my previous letter, when I mentioned my favorite parts of being in Lacoste. I hereby present to you my least favorite aspects of being in art school in a diminutive Provençal village on a hill:
My least favorite part of living in a tiny medieval town: Quaint though life undoubtedly was, it was sometimes frustrating living in a place without an easy escape. Almost everyone we encountered each day was either a tourist or was associated with SCAD in some way. It took about four minutes to walk from one end of the village to another, depending on whether you were going up or downhill, so as you can imagine, life got quite cramped quite quickly. We couldn’t drive anywhere and it took a fair amount of planning and determination to walk or bike anywhere. It reminded me very much of my time on Semester At Sea, when even though I was surrounded by gorgeous views and fascinating people, there were times when I felt trapped. The parallel to being on a ship intensified at night, when the village across the valley lit up in a surprisingly ship-shaped pattern.
My least favorite part of being in art school in Lacoste: Lacoste doesn’t have an ATM or a grocery store. While the SCAD boutique did quite well in anticipating our needs and ordering what supplies it could, and while we did take regular trips to a larger town to get basic art supplies, there were moments when I wished I could just be back in the States going to a familiar art store. I mentioned in my last letter that I developed a new way of working involving a certain kind of marker. As far as I could find, these were not for sale in France. Yes, limiting your resources can sometimes be a source of great creativity, and it’s true that it is never good to rely solely on a technique to be able to produce art. However, it was mildly infuriating to be on the edge of a new style and medium, with potential seemingly bursting through the perforation holes in my spiral sketchbook, and not be able to act on it. Thanks to my mother and FedEx, an emergency package containing four of the markers arrived the Tuesday of finals week. In true Sarah Jackson last-minute style, I did two more pieces using them, one being completed in its entirety the night before our final show went up.
My least favorite thing that to most people would seem charming: The cobblestones. They’re fun to draw and Lacoste wouldn’t be the same without them, but my goodness, they’re slippery! I was lucky that I fell only twice, but I certainly felt the sharp rush of adrenaline through my feet often as I stumbled up or down the hill.
My least favorite part of the schedule: How little time we had. Yes, of course, one always wants lovely experiences to last, but nostalgia aside, I honestly think that we could have benefitted from a longer term. I think that even ten week terms, the standard in Savannah, are too short for art school. In Lacoste, it’s technically eight weeks, though in reality, we have more like six when you include our trip to Paris and then the last week which is reserved for preparation for our final exposition. I was ready to move on by the end, but more so because of the other frustrations I’m listing here, not because I felt like my classes were as complete as they should have been.
My least favorite food: Endives. These repulsive, bitter vegetables featured in my last visit to France as well as this one, and apparently, French people think that not only are they wonderful, but that they are also an ideal meat substitute and are thus perfect for vegetarians. Simply and tactfully put, this is untrue. Simply and bluntly put, this is a heinous lie. As far as I can tell, there aren’t many occasions when one would use slimy, burnt rubber, let alone a substitute for it, so I’m not sure why the endive was invented in the first place. French people in general don’t understand that simply supplementing a meal with more bread, mushy carrots and pastries doesn’t actually replace the protein you’ve lost when you’re a vegetarian. Let’s just say that when I had a chance to eat at a Mexican restaurant in Paris and I got a good helping of beans and rice, I gobbled them down at an alarming rate.
My least favorite part of being a graduate student in Lacoste: Out of the 60+ students in Lacoste this spring, only four of us were grad students. For the most part, I got on just fine with the undergrads, though there were times when I wanted to shake a few of them and say, “Honey, it’s only 2 months. Your boyfriend either will wait or isn’t good enough for you.” What was frustrating, though, was that the graduate students were expected to do more extracurricular, organizational work and have more responsibilities while still being treated like the undergraduates. I would have preferred it if we could have each simply done independent studies and produced a body of work by the end of the quarter (which is what most of us ended up doing in addition to our other work), rather than having to go through the busywork motions of taking undergraduate classes simply because they are the ones being offered.
My least favorite cultural frustration: For better or for worse, I was buffered from some of the French bureaucracy by SCAD bureaucracy, but some did manage to sneak into my experience. Like endives, the French method of handling a problem wasn’t entirely new to me. In short, here is the recipe: 2 parts hemming and hawing, 2 parts denial and 1 part going on strike. The quintessential example from this term came as I was helping to organize the Sidewalk Arts Festival in Lacoste. Not surprisingly, this takes place outdoors, and since the weeks leading up to the event were particularly inclement, I asked several officials what our contingency plan was if it rained. The only response I got was, “Well, last year, it rained only at the end.” Problem solved, French style! Incidentally, it did rain a bit during the festival and when it looked like it was getting bad, the director turned to me and said, “What do we do?”
My least favorite part about not being in Savannah: Life goes on when you’re not there -- that’s the cruel lesson (or in some cases the intent!) of traveling. SCAD is no different. Though we were across the world and in a totally different time zone, we were not allowed to forget the mother ship back in Savannah. We still had to register for classes, contact professors, pay bills, submit portfolios, and have interviews on Savannah time. The internet obviously helps a great deal with these tasks, but when your internet connection is shaky, it can be hard. Basically, it often felt as though there were fast-paced, U.S. expectations of us in a slow, provincial place with limited resources.
Alright, then. There you have it -- my list of grievances regarding the last term. However, I still stand by all the things I loved about being in Lacoste that I described in my previous letter, and I am still very glad that I was able to go. I suppose I treat opportunities that come up in my life the way I treat packing suitcases: Have a vague plan to make use of them and then if the details don’t exactly fall into place, cram them in at the last minute as you’re rushing to the airport!
I’ve packed my bags several times since I’ve left Lacoste, and soon I’ll describe what I did in the interim between France and South Africa (where I have now safely arrived).
Have a good week,
Sarah/Mouse
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