With great anticipation and a stack of cards burning a hole in my pocket, I took the light rail to the Adam’s Mark hotel in downtown Dallas. After picking up my badge and event programs, I made my way to my first session. Several sessions were presented concurrently and as a person could not be everywhere at once; attendees had to choose what seemed most interesting.I’m not going to embarrass the speakers with identification, but as I sat listing to some of the most boring presentations I have ever had to endure, I began to seriously wonder what I had gotten myself into. All of the research papers presented during the four day conference were about the visual arts-allow me to emphasis the word visual again- yet the slide/ PowerPoint presentations in that particular session didn’t contain many pictures, just solid blocks of text. The presenters literally read their research papers to the audience. When the third out of five speakers began to drone on, I came to the realization that instead of feeling enlightened on the subject matter, I was beginning to loath it. Yes, these people, respected scholars in their field, were making me hate a topic that up until 1.5 hours ago, I had held a great deal of interest.
I possess a certain sense of courtesy that encouraged me to stay out of politeness. “After all,” I thought, “if I were on stage, how would I feel if folks left in the middle of my presentation?” But a little voice in my head was telling me that I was an adult and was allowed to leave any time I wished. I had paid no small amount to be there and didn’t feel that being read to (in the manner of a phonebook) was a good “value”. I’m from the Midwest- it’s important to get good value. The little voice won and I ducked out. As I quietly closed the door behind me, I was reminded of a line from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. The main villain had just suffered the after effects of drinking from the wrong chalice, to which the Knight stated in a deadpan voice, “He chose…poorly.”
When I checked in earlier that morning, I was informed that a student area had been set up on the 37th floor of the hotel. I went to investigate and to eat the lunch I had brought. Several years ago, I worked for the Nasher Sculpture Center downtown and knew that eating establishments within walking distance of the hotel were few and not particularly exciting. So far, I hadn’t really met anyone at the conference to talk to and sat eating my pita sandwich alone.A pretty dark haired woman breezed through the door and scanned the room. “You look friendly.” “I am.” I replied. “Actually, I’m too friendly! Please come and share my table.”
Her name was Zulma, a video artist from Virginia. She had attended the conference in order to interview for teaching positions. I was later to learn that conducting job interviews was a major function of the conference. It certainly explained all the uncomfortable looking young people in skirts and suits. She lamented that she had not met many friendly people that morning. I suggested that research types were perhaps a more reserved group of people than artists. I’m aware that was a very generalized statement, but to outgoing people like Zulma and me, reservation is borderline incomprehensible; it seemed like a reasonable explanation at the time.
She showed me her portfolio of pictures within a binder. The format made me aware of the challenges with which video and installation artists must contend. How exactly does one present quickly, easily and in mobile form something as complicated as an event or sensory experience? My own work is static- a simple photo will do, and a description of materials completes the story. Checking out Zulma’s website gave me a much better feel for her work
I gave her one of my cards before departing to the next afternoon session...
