RyanHarne.com

Nik and I took a 30+ mile ride through Ellet and Catawba Valleys yesterday. I spent much of the time ignoring the scenery and instead thinking. In fact, I probably only looked up twice or thrice, catching an uncommonly green and trainquil pasture and a small brook that followed us along, providing a cool breeze as incentive for the company.

I was thinking about Atlas Shrugged and Dagny’s arrant rift with cultural and societal norms, her endless battle against stubborn values, her perpetuating dissatisfaction. It is not hard to sympathize, not at all. Yet, her saving grace, her trap door was somewhat fancifully contrived by Rand’s technological imagination, a fail-safe I cannot rely on.

As was mentioned last week during the recent tribulations, I spend (a lot of) time in the print graphics studio to relax, completing works bred in my mind far unrelated to actual class assignments. The method is soothing and methodological, pushing a brayer through paint is salve for practically any size disaster.

Curiously enough, my reading this semester is Irving Stone’s The Agony And The Ecstasy, a beautiful biographical novel of Michelangelo, originally recommended for my reading by Rianna. Even though the book is only 700some pages, my reading pace has plummeted this semester putting me at just two strides past halfway, a remarkably slow pace for me. But, it is no matter. The pace seems to keep stride with my creative self, a fortunate symbiosis for greater appreciation of the book and greater indulgence in this print graphics stuff.

Thus, I have steadily been doing outside reading on Michelangelo and the other master’s of his time. His Pietá is breath-taking, even from the Wiki image grab. In short, I have done expansive reading and studying on his style, enough to deserve an honorary Art & Art History Minor. The finalé for my print graphics course is our complete exhibition at our professor’s house, which happens to showcase a Carrara marble foyer and staircase - Michelangelo’s favorite material for composition.

There’s no way I could say that I sympathize with the whole mindset of the artist, but I have discovered the continual reaping of satisfaction from the work, in quite the most unique, tangible forms. When I complete a print, am pulling away that last plate and checking for slight errors or crinkles, I let out a sigh unlike any others I release during the week and my face relaxes from the inside-out. When I am pleased with my work, I present it to friends, however humbly I can, only long enough to share some joy of art with people who can understand and appreciate the process.

The American Red Cross has asked me to make a copy of my piece done last week in the wake of our tragedy; this piece would be added to their permanent collection, as I was told. I won’t analogize this being a commission like Michelangelo was ambitious for, but the encouragement to create is truly invigorating. It would actually be closer to therapy - a method of digesting the reality of events, which has been swept away in my return to courses and research.

Anyways. Sleep now, some more later.

In my most sincere tone, I would like to commend the VT faculty for their preparation and handling of this re-introduction to classes. Only 7 days of courses remain from today to finals, which makes new material a treacherous step for a student body experiencing this level of grief. From my impressions of returning to class, these professors are ready to handle the most abrupt change of footing. Maybe with the exception of watching and listening to some students take this whole catastrophy lightly, a sign of life-long immaturity, perhaps, the overall handling and recovery has been extraordinary. I know I am being redundant, but: I am impressed.

An emergency biking situation yesterday as well as a miraculous cycling savior who helped me fix a flat… eventually led me to a trip this afternoon to East Coasters, the motherland of my bike. On the way, I had to cross a big intersection known for frequent pedestrian and cycling traffic. I was moving straight through the intersection, alongside several pedestrians, when a car making a left turn came speeding towards us on an unprotected green light. I was closest to it, being a barrier between the motor traffic and the pedestrians. A girl walking along beside me screamed. I hit my rear brake to swing the bike for a fast turn&go. The car slammed its brakes, stopping literally inches from the rear half of my frame. Over and done in a half second - I hadn’t even a chance to have raced away were I capable of pushing off that quickly.

The guy was smirking while talking on a cellphone. He hardly took a moment to catch a breath and say, “sorry, man”. It required unequaled forgiveness to not make my helmet a new addition to hit forehead.

Given Blacksburg’s historic biker-friendly transportation setup, this is my first witness and experience to anything contrary. I hope it was a fluke.

Walking across the drillfield today, a middle-aged lady gave me a bag of cookies and told me, “We’re glad you’re back,” not knowing I had never left, not at all to diminish her courteous intentions. I was so thankful for her gesture, looked at what awaited me - two delicious chocolate chip cookies - and headed to my place. Later, I saw that there were actually four cookies in there. And a few moments ago, I now see six. I simply must get the recipe for these replicating cookies. For all I know, this could be my first experience eating cloned food.

It’s good to be back in school.

There are two goals I will pursue this, new week. Goal, the First: find friends here at Virginia Tech that I haven’t seen in some time and set aside some chance for catching up. Goal, the Second: Do everything I can to usher back in my academic spirit since most of it was summarily crushed last week.

The first goal was spawned from last night spent with old high school friends. It was remarkably comforting and encouraging to see that other people have heavy eyes, too. With graduation comes the arrival of broken ties, a figurative axe severing the future relationships or contacts we will pursue as friends, buddies, comrades. Far from apathy, this parting ways is natural and allows for new relationships to come on the scene. But, I’m still not looking forward to missing more people.

The second goal is self-explanatory. The three-option path that the university is granting us will be a significant help for me.

At the moment, in the meantime, I am taking an afternoon to immerse myself in fresh air and accelerated motion. Nik and I rode this short trip around New Year’s and a Spotlight search helped me locate the details long after the initial adventure.

Happy Earth Day, everyone.

Virginia Tech is receiving a wonderful benevolence from other universities and organizations. Columbia sent every RA on campus personalized cards and stuffed Lions, their trademark mascot. Cracker Barrel put together an enormous “home-cooked” breakfast for all RAs; to my chagrin, the only vegetarian selection was biscuits, but I was thankful, just the same. Other groups have reached out for which we are humbled.

For the continued contact from friends and family: Thank you.

Thursday I was able to spend some time in studio thinking and doing. Five hours later, I had a new print drying.

I keep that dish dryer on my desk because it is a great utility for propping papers and getting strange looks.

It was really nice to make maroon paint.

Also: I forgot to mention that I added many photos, some very old and some very not. The (newer photo) sidewalk was bloodied from Kevin Sterne’s wound in his leg; you may have heard his story on the news, but Kevin saved his life by applying a semi-tourniquet around his thigh after a bullet pierced the artery there. Some groups on campus have dubbed Kevin with the highest honors of awesomeness.

It wasn’t even 48 hours in my past, and I awoke trying to see if a routine would provide another opportunity for healing. I am usually at ABP by 7am, but today I couldn’t make it there before 9:15. And when there, apart from my friends behind the counter, I was alone.

Then, I walked to Durham to try and catch up with my professor about research things, if I would even be able to talk about them. I passed by the edge of police tape demarcating the boundary around the Norris scene. For the first time, I noticed the 2nd floor open windows and the weight of my messenger bag was too great. I remember nothing in between that moment and then discovering that I was also the only person in Durham Hall, no faculty to be found.

By the time I made it to Burchard, my studio desk, I felt as if I had been weathered by years of reluctant erosion. Doing work was almost impractical - recognizing that I was actively seeking a distraction was the switch that cut off all productivity. Granted, I was looking for comfort in the routine, a healing mechanism and not specifically an avoidance procedure; however, the reality was still too fresh.

I will speak of this vaguely, but I eventually caught up with my professor about research, but we never talked about research. There was no point.

I had imagined a few strong souls on campus would be able to press forward in light of the tragedy. But it is practically impossible. The community is alive, but in our units, our knees buckle and our breaths falter.