Continuing education
on learning, unlearning, and finding my way back
“Life is short” was a phrase I held onto for a while. In 2017, I even used it as the title of my coloring book.
It might have morphed from a page in an old sketchbook, where I’d scrawled life is too short (in large bubble letters) for the bullsh*t (a smaller line in all caps right below). This later became a design on a round sticker that my 20-something homies and I stuck up around bathroom walls in bars around the city.
“Life is a beautiful struggle,” I’d typed into my online profile’s status, echoing Talib Kweli’s lyrics; this was way way back in the day, in high school, where posting poetic, coded away messages on AOL Instant Messenger was one of my favorite hobbies. (In my defense, all of us budding Millennials did that to spice up the pared-down software of the time. It was a behavior that continued well into the early Facebook aughts, where we all posted statuses for the general public that were often not-so-subtly aimed at a certain someone.)
I started this post thinking about that silly little phrase and how it’s continued to change shape for me on my journey. While waiting at a train platform a few years ago, one of my besties, a Scorpio, confidently stated her own outlook: “Life is… unpredictable.” Hearing that felt profound to me at the time although it was well past my Life-is-too-short-for-the-bullshit era. Her statement reflected a grand openness for whatever’s to come, rather than my simpler proposition to savor the little moments before they’re gone.
In July, I was let go from my full-time job—a true blessing, best for my mental health, and an opportunity to not only fully enjoy the summer, but to reevaluate my next steps. I thought I’d spend my days working from the Pakistani cafe in my neighborhood, as I am now; writing consistently for myself and for this Substack; drawing more; submitting cartoons to the New Yorker every week; etc, etc. Early on, I signed up for a Continuing Education class at the School of Visual Arts (SVA) that would begin in the fall, and of course, I went on my pre-planned, magical two-week trip to Guatemala.
I thought being unemployed meant I’d have time.
I thought that life would slow down for once.
Instead, it feels like I haven’t stopped running.
Days after being let go, I jumped into a freelance gig as an artist’s studio manager. Freelance has always seemed like the dream, but the reality is, you work around the clock—it easily eats up free time when you’d otherwise be resting. The artist, Roger, is wonderful; he doesn’t have unrealistic expectations for overnight success and doesn’t push me at all. Rather, he sees our work together as a collaboration, and knows that my support will help his artistic career in the long-term. Yet when I’m not putting many hours in for Roger, I feel guilty. And I enjoy the 1:1 work, which mimics what I’ve always done for artists in the gallery setting. But at the end of the day, this role isn’t just providing a service—I’m a strategic and collaborative partner, which requires a constant seeking-out for ways to boost his work.
My ongoing gripe remains: working for someone else still drains my limited creative energy, even though my funemployment schedule is much better. I structure my days by starting out with an invigorating walk to Central Park, followed by a nice at-home session of yoga and stretching. (Morning walks have been replaced with reformer pilates as it’s gotten colder.) Then, I jump on the computer to answer my emails, apply to any jobs, and work on strategies for Roger. On any given day, this takes several hours before and after lunch. At 4:30 or 5pm, I’m showering and dashing out for the evening’s social plans, which usually means heading downtown to gallery or museum openings, and returning home after 9 or 10pm.
Each time another project gets thrown on top of my usual studio manager work and job applications, I’m even farther from my vision of cozy cafe writing and self-reflection. The days fly by, even when I shave down my daily yoga or speed up my morning walks. When I worked on my latest mural on 125th Street here in Harlem—painted in 10 sessions over 2 weeks at the start of September—my days were stacked so tightly it felt like I was back to school, racing from class to dance practice without a breath in between.
The class I signed up for at SVA began in September, too. Every Wednesday from 6:30–9:30pm, I met with instructor Kelli Anderson and my fellow illustrators in the RisoLAB, where we learned new techniques that incorporated the risograph printer into our animation process. Totally cool. I created a bunch of fun motion graphics, including this one for this very Substack:
Then, in October, I finally began a new gig working part-time at a gallery. Though we’re starting at just two days a week in the Tribeca space, I’m now committed to another job—albeit one that I enjoy and want to excel in. I love my new boss; I appreciate her taste, hard work, and experience, and I truly want to deliver results for her (read: making sales and securing press) and the artists alike. The pressure’s on to prove myself and do well, both for her and my own professional reputation in the industry.
I’m good at what I do and believe in this work.
But as I continue on this path, I wonder if it’s the right one.
If I’m always pouring my energy into other artists’ careers and never my own, will I ever feel fulfilled? Or more specifically, do I need to find a better balance by spending more hours of my life on creative projects, honing my artistic skills? Waking up extra early to go paint the mural or hustling over to Chelsea for class late on Wednesday nights never felt like a chore. It was fun, it was invigorating, and it felt like time well spent.
One night at the School of Visual Arts this past fall, I met the director of a graduate program in the lobby before heading up to the RisoLAB, which he happens to be one of the co-founders of. He told me a bit about the MFA, introduced me to alumni of the program, and even offered to review my portfolio on a Zoom call. It got me thinking: is this graduate program the structure I need to reach my artistic goals? Is this moment my chance to go all in on myself, and give my work in illustration, animation, and writing a real try?
Back in 2007, the summer before I started undergrad at UMass Amherst, I completed a three-week Pre-College Program in graphic design at SVA. I had my first-ever art exhibition in the school’s gallery on West 23rd Street, and the following year, they used my exhibited piece on the cover of the pre-college brochure. Over the years, I took continuing ed classes there and loved them. Much later, in September 2023, I was invited to hang my work in the display cases that line the lobby of SVA’s East 23rd Street building. SVA was always my “dream school,” but work got in the way of pursuing a graduate degree; NYC’s gallery world swept me up into its fast-paced whirlwind, and time just kept moving.
This month, at age 36, I began my application for an MFA program at the School of Visual Arts.
These days, I don’t profess any certainty about life, except I do still agree it’s unpredictable, that it’s a beautiful struggle, that it feels too short—and I have little patience for any wasting of it.
Vamos a ver. A year from now, I’m not sure where I’ll be.
My journey is unconventional.
—a late bloomer
