Joyce C Wong

I started today off, not wanting to be in my studio.  I hadn’t been feeling very productive since I’ve been in Portland, whether in or out of the studio, but I knew that I would rather sit outside and see people go about their day while I worked, than to sit at my computer screen avoiding my other (silk) screen.

So, I left my big white box, which I call my studio:And headed outside, where last night, it had come to me that I wanted to spend the day reading palms.  And so I did today.

As a kid, I was obsessed with fortune telling, palm reading, astrology, and astronomy.  I would check out dozens of books from the library and spend afternoons at Waldenbooks and Borders reading about the mysteries and connections between the body, mind, space and time.  I remember lazy afternoons, where I’d hang out with my parents who would go around interpreting everyone’s facial features and what they had in store for their futures.  I loved all of it. But I kind of pushed it all into the back of my head, writing it off as false sorcery because the practices were a little too outlandish for my friends.

This afternoon, and honestly the last few weeks, I’ve felt like I’ve been lacking something.  A human touch.  A close connection.  Holding hands.  I wanted to hold someone’s hand.  I wanted to connect with people, beyond a passing smile.  I wanted to be as vulnerable as I felt.  So I set up a little blanket outside of MECA with some of the work I’ve been letting linger on my desk, and a little chalkboard that read:[     FREE PALM READINGS

Accuracy Not Guaranteed

However, Acceptable Donations:

-Drawings                              -Lunch

-Fotos                                      -Smiles

-Life Stories                                        ]

My intent, while it included wanting to hold a stranger’s hand and talk to them for a few minutes, was also to see if anyone was willing to give themselves to me.  As a complete stranger, I wondered who would stop and allow me to touch their hands, which is such an intimate and powerful gesture.  Right off the bat, I had three willing customers.  I rarely sat idle.  In the five hours I conducted this experiment, I had twenty-one visitors, and many who stayed in line for as long as they could, until they had to catch a bus or get somewhere quickly.   I was so fortunate to spend this time with these people.  The people that I met ranged from students, to business men, to a burlesque dancer, and an aspiring politician.  The whole experience was so draining—I was giving myself fully to all of these very real people.  I engaged in conversations that went beyond their hands, cried with them, laughed with them.  There was some unease when I was asked for love advice and personal soul searching.  While I wanted to help and solve these personal problems, I emphasized that I do not tell the future, but read the past.  Your hands collect and grow with what life deals you and what fate gave you.  I did give some advice, and shared my opinions, talked politics, and hugged people that somehow didn’t end up feeling like strangers.  I devoted myself to these people who wanted to talk to me, because I wanted to talk to them so much, too.  Some, I spent ten minutes with, others I spent forty. It all depended on the moment, and how long they wanted to be with me.

I was very honest with my palm reading.  It was the first time I’ve ever done it.  Oddly enough, I was praised for being creepily accurate.  I think there is something very real and committed to holding someone’s hand.  There is a barrier that is being crossed where you’re allowed feel someone else’s presence and (for me) luckily saw blindly who they were.

 Because this, like a lot of my work, was a social experiment, I needed to have some element of identification.  In order to document this experience, I took photos of my visitor’s faces, hands if they were shy, and wrote names to connect and remember.  With my horrible memory of names and faces, I surprisingly remember almost every one I met today.  Here, I chronicle the people I read starting from the very first hand.

 Kyle

Megan

Abbey

Adam

Eric

Drew

Maurice

[Unpictured, Minani]

Ahna

Jackie

Ben

Gabby

Ellie

Said

Toni Jo

Mike

Maureen

Eric

Astrid

Iva

Alex

Additionally, while I wanted to really badly to record all of my readings in audio, I didn’t.  I consciously decided not to because of how personal and fleeting each reading was.  The only one I recorded was Ellie Ga’s.  I justified it because she also recorded it.  Maybe one day I’ll upload the audio.

I often find myself feeling like I’m always left behind.  It’s really difficult to connect with someone because we’re all these self-conscious, emotional bodies, and no one wants to sacrifice their ego to reach out to someone else.  I felt like for a few minutes, I gave people a more communal loneliness when I held their hand.  Somehow, we were all connected.

This is a bit of an unconventional post for me here on this blog, but I wanted to address the terror that I feel nearly every minute of my life right now.  I am wounded and winded every time I think about this:

I am a college educated, graduate school bound person, who after I come out of this expensive nearly two decade long education, will have a mountain of loans that I will do anything and struggle to pay off, but will likely be unemployed, stricken with debt, and without a home or permanent residence.

I could go and say, “Worst off, I majored in art, and am going to an expensive private art school for graduate studies.  I’m never going to make a living.”  While that in itself is also true, I know I’m not alone, and it really doesn’t matter what my degree is in.  We’re all screwed.

I have friends who studied hard sciences, math, and engineering and they’re “gainlessly” unemployed.  I’ve been waitressing, etc. for several years, and I don’t mind doing that for many more, but that is starting to not cut the mustard, so to speak.  In fact, I could work 80 hour weeks for the next 20 years, very possibly never finding a job in what I studied in, and still not be paid off in student loans.

I know this sounds pessimistic, but I’m just being realistic.  I am part of the generation that is plagued with unemployment, but my parents are the ones who are part of the generation of never ending domestic care for their children.  I’ve racked my brains with months of near sleepless nights, stress mongering, and tearing down personal relationships with my anguish for my own personal ticket out of this mess, but I’ve come up with nothing that will gain positive results.

I’ve dichotomized my two options:

Option 1- Go to grad school.  In this option, I travel 1400 miles away from everyone I know, gain a ton of exposure to new people, places, experiences, art practices, etc and work hard for two months of this summer, before coming back to Missouri to finish out the non-residency part of my low-residency MFA program.  From there, I’ll still continue to work hard, but will basically be freaking out about how I will afford to pay back my $30000 a year tuition.  As an artist, I may gain exposure from being in New England, but as a professional, this degree may not serve me well at all.  I might not get any type of job.

Option 2- Don’t go to grad school.  If I don’t go to grad school, I’ll just be working off the debt that I’ve accrued from undergrad.  I can continue making art, without a professional degree, possibly living with less stress in the long run.  I could apply to a local school in the future, if I want to get an MFA later.  While paying for loans right now is daunting (without a job), I know I could find one.  It’s just a matter of time.  It probably won’t be in my area of interest, and it more than likely will be just an hourly wage job for a while, but I could at least get by.  But I would be missing out on a wonderful opportunity to go to a great school with new exciting experiences.

So basically, I’m at a standstill in what I can do.  I have until the 12th to decide my POA that will affect me for the rest of my life.  If anyone reads this before the 12th, please give me some words of advice.

Thanks.

Sincerely,

Joyce Wong

Hello!

I am working on a project that requires old, unwanted, or no longer needed crayons.  If you have any crayons, please send them my way to:

809 E Pierce St.

Kirksville, Missouri 63501.

I can reimburse shipping to you (so long as you include a return address) and maybe even a little treat!

Thanks a lot!

Please only send crayons!