Playing with Paints and Facing my Fears

My friend Sam asked if I was going to blog about today, and I decided the answer to that question is yes. Yes I am. I suppose it was a pretty ordinary day, but why not?

Today started, as so many of my days here seem to start, with me being late. 

Just as I walked out of my front door this morning, I waved goodbye to the bus that I needed to catch to make it to my 9am Australian Art History class. It was three-minutes early today. 

Because the buses are almost always a bit late in my area, it seems like a massive injustice when one decides to show up on-time and leave all the people like me (who were counting on its tardiness) behind. 

But when it shows up early? Not cool. 

Anyway, I arrived about 20 minutes late to class, just in time for it to finally start. Today we were learning about Aboriginal Art, as well as some of the history of the treatment of Indigenous Australians since European colonization of the continent. 

Thinking—and I mean really thinking—about such topics is one of my favorite tricks to do with my brain. When presented with the story of people who operate in an ontology almost entirely different than your own, you have to not only train your thoughts to try to occupy that world, but you also have to be able to reflect on the logical structures, language, ideas and symbols that constitute your own world. You have to be able to then question what you have known to be absolute, stepping outside of your own "culture" and your own head. At the the same time, you must acknowledge that you probably can't  step entirely outside of it at all, and the most you'll ever be able to do is speculate. You realize, then, that you have to step down off the pedestal from which you can easily look out upon other worlds and other people and "figure them out." When you're off that pedestal, you stand face to face with those who are different than yourself, and hopefully come closer to something like real empathy and respect. At least that's how I see it... 

So anyway. After I sat in my desk and did that for a while, it was time to play with paints! 

Our class was given little black pieces of paper and oil paints, and then we were instructed to sit on the floor and try to paint a story using the techniques of Aboriginal artists. We were also warned that oil paints won't come out of the carpet nor our clothes, so we should be extra careful. 

It was a bit like being back in elementary school. 

Here's some of the finished products: (mine is the bottom-left one)

I really have enjoyed my time studying at UC Davis, but after four years of sitting in lecture halls taking notes on dense theories written by old and/or dead guys (and only occasionally old and/or dead women, too), it was nice to sit on the floor and actually do something for class. I'm not too old nor too educated to play with paints; and I learned a bit about Aboriginal Art in the process!   

After class, I went with some of my classmates to Manly Beach (missing a bus or two along the way, of course). It was as we were walking from the wharf to the beach when Sam asked if I was going to blog about today. I laughed and said maybe I would... 

He was sort of making a joke, because a link to my blog was recently sent out to all of my classmates as an "example" by our campus study abroad office—and I was a bit embarrassed. I guess it's not a bad thing if a few extra people take a look at my writing... I don't know why I would post my thoughts on a online public forum if I didn't want people to read them. 

Anywho, a few people went to visit the Manly sea life aquarium, and my friend Tim and I decided to go for a walk along the water and then go for a swim. 

Swimming in the ocean is a big deal for me.

When I was a kid, I got caught in a rip current at a San Diego beach and nearly drowned. Whenever I get in moving water now, I remember what that felt like, and I panic a bit. That fear is something I've been hoping to overcome while here in Australia—and so far it's actually going pretty well. I've been kayaking, spent a whole weekend surfing, and I've been slowly learning how to enjoy the water without panicking. 

This particular day at the beach, Tim taught me how to dive under a wave. I realize now that it's not really a big deal, but at the time it seemed really intimidating (because of that whole aquaphobia thing...). After chickening out on two or three waves, I finally did it. 

That's one small step for Erin, one giant leap for.. Erin. It was pretty neat. (Thanks Tim!)

I'm learning to really love the ocean again here. Every time I go in the water, I'm replacing that vivid memory of the rip with different memories—memories of things like swimming with friends or learning to surf. 

Interestingly enough, of everything I'm learning in Sydney—from my classes, internship, travels, etc.—I think that learning to face my fear and enjoy the water again is the most important to me. Most things in life are better when you're not afraid of them. 

Eventually, the whole the group joined Tim and me at the beach and we hung out in Manly for the rest of the afternoon. I walked home that evening with paint on my hands, salt on my skin, and sand in my hair.

It was really really good, remarkably ordinary day. And I'm glad I decided to write about it.