We were recently in Montreal for my brother's wedding and visited the art museum for an exhibition on Chagall. In the exhibition the word "oeuvre" came up which is a word I felt I should know the meaning, but actually didn't - believing that it was related to "works" or "genre" or something like that. It refers to the "complete works" of someone - which for Chagall was extensive, moreso that I realized. He was not only a painter, but a costume designer, sculptor, storybook illustrator, and stained glassed windows creator. Throughout all his work, his style is obvious and identifiable as his own. What I love is the persistence of our own essence throughout anything that we do, which we can't seem to escape.
I enjoyed this passage from The New Yorker that I read recently:
And I knew that if I told my mother how unhappy I was she would tell me to quit. Then one day, alone in the kitchen with my father, I let drop a few whines about the job. I gave him details, examples of what was troubling me, yet although I saw him listen intently, I saw no sympathy in his eyes. No "Oh, you poor thing." Perhaps he understood that what I wanted was a solution to the job, not an escape from it. In any case, he put down his cup of coffee and said, "Listen. You don't live there. You live here. With your people. Go to work. Get your money. And come on home." That was what he said. This was what I heard: 1. Whatever the work is, do it well - not for the boss but for yourself. 2. You make the job; it doesn't make you. 3. Your real life is with us, your family. 4. You are not the work you do; you are the person you are. I have worked for all sorts of people since then, geniuses and morons, quick-witted and dull, bighearted and narrow. I've had many kinds of jobs, but since that conversation with my father I have never considered the level of labor to be the measure of myself, and I have never placed the security of a job above the value of home.
- Toni Morrison, "The Work You Do, the Person You Are," The New Yorker
Feeling overworked these past few months, the above passage was reassuring. Growing up and hearing that your work is supposed to be meaningful and fulfilling yet balancing that with the reality that sometimes a job is just plain work and you have to buckle down and get through it, can feel conflicting. How much of my life do I give to this position and when and where do I put up walls? I had been told that being a supervisor is a lifestyle and well, where is the home in that?
Enter, Glorious by Macklemore and a montage of recent photos that I like:
