Ari Rankum
NAFO Karting Champion, 2012
I spoke at NAFO about the importance of having mentors and gratitude. Here's a note of thanks I wrote to one of my mentors recently:
I think our exchange has come to a transition point. It must, I think, in order for me to be able to meaningfully give back.
I prefer to speak in metaphors, probably for the efficiency of getting 1,000 words in exchange for a mere picture. Often, it's possible to paint something meaningful in far fewer words than that. That's the challenge, and this gets back to what we've discussed about the inherent tension that a professional artist faces between what she would prefer to create, and what appeals to the masses. It's possible that what you create that you most love is understood by no one else. There's probably a strong inverse correlation between your own thoughts about the beauty of what you create and the thoughts of those who consume it; the more you generalize it, the less you love it. In writing, the risk is the same. Nonetheless, I think you'll get this. Here is a vignette.
I'm back in high school. I walk down the hall, seemingly oblivious, but really just distracted because I'm kicking myself. I don't know why the memory of last Friday's algebra assignment just popped into my head with crystal clarity now, at 5 minutes to noon, its due date, and not last night, when I could have done something about it. Oh well, another zero.
There are a few more kicks in the pants that I can deliver to myself before I make it to classroom 101, so I'm not really noticing, at all, the phrenetic activity of a bunch of other self-absorbed adolescents in the hallway. I round a corner, and there you are, floating, four feet off the floor. I stop. I stare. My eyes grow wide. You meet my stare. For a long time, I stand there, staring. You smile, and you mouth the question, "what?", still smiling.
I continue to stare, only now, at the incredible space between your feet and the floor. I look up again to catch you looking right at me. As I stare, people are walking up and shaking your hand, or kissing your cheek, or giving you flowers. While receiving these gifts, you are smiling and gracious, but your gaze does not waver. Finally, out loud, you speak. "Why are you looking at me that way?"
I point, and I say, "You're levitating.".
Just then, someone passes through our gaze, walks directly up to you, and gives you a warm hug that you visibly prepared yourself for as if you knew it were coming while continuing your gaze. He whispers something into your ear. You are both nodding, but your gaze continues in my direction and you say, "We both are."
I look down at my feet, firmly planted on the ground. I look back at you, still staring, then down at your feet, still four feet off the ground. I look up, over my head, and I see an enormous blue question mark, floating there. I look back at you, more than a little afraid, and you just smile and nod.
The bell rings and I and my assignment are now late for class. But the building dissolves into nothing and you disappear. I'm standing on a low grassy hill. I have no bearing. I look up and, incredibly, the enormous blue question mark is still there, gently oscillating. I stare to the horizon and see a small town nestled at the base of distant mountains. It invites me. I look behind me and see a large, bustling megalopolis. It invites me, too. I look in all directions and, everywhere I look, something calls to me from the very limits of my gaze. I'm surrounded by limitless opportunity.
I contemplate the question mark. I discover what it is. It is a piece of the creator, del Creatore, d.c. I realize that question mark is an unfortunate name for the banner held out by all enigmata; it's a name that masks its purpose. It is not a question mark. It is the transformer, and the transformation, my transformer and my transformation. It is, as I am, an exclamation point not fully in bloom.
I decide. I go.
I'm walking down a different hallway. It vibrates at a frequency I can feel, because I create it. I come to a corner, and I know what's around it, so I begin to smile. There you are, floating above the floor, staring down the hallway. I walk straight up to give you a well-deserved hug. As I do, I whisper into your ear, "I'm levitating."
I can feel you looking off at something over my shoulder. It's okay, because I, too, am distracted, having just noticed a new friend of mine while walking up to meet your embrace. It's clear you heard me, though, when I hear you say, "We both are."
I think our exchange has come to a transition point. It must, I think, in order for me to be able to meaningfully give back.
I prefer to speak in metaphors, probably for the efficiency of getting 1,000 words in exchange for a mere picture. Often, it's possible to paint something meaningful in far fewer words than that. That's the challenge, and this gets back to what we've discussed about the inherent tension that a professional artist faces between what she would prefer to create, and what appeals to the masses. It's possible that what you create that you most love is understood by no one else. There's probably a strong inverse correlation between your own thoughts about the beauty of what you create and the thoughts of those who consume it; the more you generalize it, the less you love it. In writing, the risk is the same. Nonetheless, I think you'll get this. Here is a vignette.
I'm back in high school. I walk down the hall, seemingly oblivious, but really just distracted because I'm kicking myself. I don't know why the memory of last Friday's algebra assignment just popped into my head with crystal clarity now, at 5 minutes to noon, its due date, and not last night, when I could have done something about it. Oh well, another zero.
There are a few more kicks in the pants that I can deliver to myself before I make it to classroom 101, so I'm not really noticing, at all, the phrenetic activity of a bunch of other self-absorbed adolescents in the hallway. I round a corner, and there you are, floating, four feet off the floor. I stop. I stare. My eyes grow wide. You meet my stare. For a long time, I stand there, staring. You smile, and you mouth the question, "what?", still smiling.
I continue to stare, only now, at the incredible space between your feet and the floor. I look up again to catch you looking right at me. As I stare, people are walking up and shaking your hand, or kissing your cheek, or giving you flowers. While receiving these gifts, you are smiling and gracious, but your gaze does not waver. Finally, out loud, you speak. "Why are you looking at me that way?"
I point, and I say, "You're levitating.".
Just then, someone passes through our gaze, walks directly up to you, and gives you a warm hug that you visibly prepared yourself for as if you knew it were coming while continuing your gaze. He whispers something into your ear. You are both nodding, but your gaze continues in my direction and you say, "We both are."
I look down at my feet, firmly planted on the ground. I look back at you, still staring, then down at your feet, still four feet off the ground. I look up, over my head, and I see an enormous blue question mark, floating there. I look back at you, more than a little afraid, and you just smile and nod.
The bell rings and I and my assignment are now late for class. But the building dissolves into nothing and you disappear. I'm standing on a low grassy hill. I have no bearing. I look up and, incredibly, the enormous blue question mark is still there, gently oscillating. I stare to the horizon and see a small town nestled at the base of distant mountains. It invites me. I look behind me and see a large, bustling megalopolis. It invites me, too. I look in all directions and, everywhere I look, something calls to me from the very limits of my gaze. I'm surrounded by limitless opportunity.
I contemplate the question mark. I discover what it is. It is a piece of the creator, del Creatore, d.c. I realize that question mark is an unfortunate name for the banner held out by all enigmata; it's a name that masks its purpose. It is not a question mark. It is the transformer, and the transformation, my transformer and my transformation. It is, as I am, an exclamation point not fully in bloom.
I decide. I go.
I'm walking down a different hallway. It vibrates at a frequency I can feel, because I create it. I come to a corner, and I know what's around it, so I begin to smile. There you are, floating above the floor, staring down the hallway. I walk straight up to give you a well-deserved hug. As I do, I whisper into your ear, "I'm levitating."
I can feel you looking off at something over my shoulder. It's okay, because I, too, am distracted, having just noticed a new friend of mine while walking up to meet your embrace. It's clear you heard me, though, when I hear you say, "We both are."
:crazy: :dntknw: :alcoholic: :fie: :slow: :sicksmiley02: :russian_roulette:
