This time last year, I was almost an art school graduate. Soon, I would be dressed in oversized robes and an ill-fitting hat, collecting a piece of paper which stated that I had 'earned' a degree in Fine Art.
I was quite sceptical about it then, and I feel even worse now. It was three years of hard work, sure, yet I was still unconvinced on the merit of a Fine Art degree.
I believe that there had been, and are, many factors that have influenced my collegiate confusion.
One large, unavoidable reason was the current economic climate of the country in which I reside. Unemployment in graduates is higher than it should be, and more crucially, there have been major spending cuts in Arts and Culture. This has left many galleries, art institutions and other cultural organisations either unable to employ paid staff, or unable to operate at all. Most graduate opportunities and arts internships are unpaid, which means that even when you do find an opening, it is rather difficult to take the opportunity if you are not already financially well-off.
Still, I did become a gallery volunteer in the early days of my graduate life, and I suspect my dwindling interest was more to do with my own apathy, rather than for financial reasons.
I graduated art school in mid-July and moved into my boyfriend's flat in Brighton. I didn't have any money, at all. I was £2000 overdrawn and the bank wasn't willing to extend it any more. I was unable to participate in our London-based degree show, for the simple reason of not being able to afford the train fare to London. Thankfully, I have a very understanding boyfriend, who put me up for 3 months without question.
Money is a hard thing to tackle, as it's not a substantial excuse for inactivity, and we all know that it doesn't bring you happiness, but if I wanted to stay in Brighton, I needed some desperately. Brighton is a wonderful sea-side city with a thriving arts scene, and it seemed like the perfect place to start a new and exciting chapter in my life. I had spent the 3 years of my degree building up to this moment, and it had finally come.
I applied for every retail job I saw, desperate to start paying my own way and not having to rely on the generosity of my boyfriend. Of all the dozens of shop jobs I applied for, I got 2 replies. 2 replies in over 2 months of searching for a job.
One of the replies was from the well-known newsagent WHSmiths, a part-time job working alone in their hospital cafe. Easy job, kind hours and minimum wage, the perfect stopgap job while I searched for something more relevant. This was early September 2012, I started the same week that my boyfriend, our friend and I moved into a new flat in the middle of the city.
Today, it's the 3rd of July 2013, and I'm still there, still in that trusty stopgap job. I won't go into the myriad reasons why I have such a negative view of my job. It's kept me afloat, sure, but I've paid the price in everything else I do.
Being unhappy in my employment has affected how I feel very strongly. In fact, I am finding it increasingly difficult to motivate myself into doing anything I used to enjoy. It feels almost like I am being squashed by the misery of the job. I am constantly tired, lethargic and uninspired. I have an enormous amount of guilt about all the books I have failed to finish.
The only way I can motivate myself to do things is to write endless to-do lists of completely mundane, household tasks. It acts as a distraction from actually having to do something of value or credit. I'm tired of distracting myself from who I really am, of what I really want to do. I've completely lost sight of what I once wanted and worked for.
Three years of striving towards gaining a degree, and a year of diminishing interest and motivation. Where do I go from here?
baratheonpilled
prguitarman
turnnoffyourmind
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