Part of my personal mythology is the fact that it took me two attempts to get into art school when I was a teenager; I spent a year between high school and art school at community college, working in a class to make sure that the embarrassment and shame I felt not going on to art school as had been my dream for years by that point didn’t happen again. But here’s the thing; the reason I didn’t get into art school that first time wasn’t just because I wasn’t talented enough — and, in fact, I might have been talented enough all along. The reason I didn’t get into art school was also because I completely screwed up the deadline for application.
I could not, for the life of me, remember what made me check the details for art school application on the day that I did, but I do remember the utter shock and numbness that came upon realizing that the application — complete with a portfolio of finished work, and a series of submitted paperwork that I had not even started to that point — was due that very day. I remember the sense of dissociation where I told myself surely this isn’t actually what’s happening, oh no, I’ve screwed up absolutely everything by not paying enough attention and begged for the help of absolutely everyone around me to try to pull something, anything, together to submit.
What this meant in practice was that I had to fill in my part of the paperwork, get the remainder to various teachers in my high school to add their parts, and also pull together what little work I had accomplished in the past few months to make something resembling a coherent portfolio of work that would then be packaged together and taken to Glasgow — an hour or so away from where I lived — and then dropped off at the art school there, my first choice even though I knew I had almost no chance of actually getting in. In a perfect world, this would’ve taken a week or so of careful consideration on everyone’s parts, but instead we came together to hurriedly pull it out of thin air in three or four hours from first panic to leaving the portfolio in careful, if disinterested, hands in Glasgow.
I remember at the time being utterly apologetic to everyone and in disbelief that I both hadn’t known about the deadline in advance (I mean, I clearly had known about it at some point, but then forgot) and that I’d somehow, coincidentally, checked just in time to meet the deadline. I remember thinking to myself at the time, I will never be this forgetful or thoughtless about this kind of thing again, this was so stressful and horrible. That last part wasn’t true, although I’d get there eventually. When I think about how much I double- and triple-check deadlines and how anxious I get around this kind of thing now, I’m sure this is the root. It just took decades to come into its own, is all.




