We May Be Calling You – May 1997

I’m looking for a job. I got divorced a few years ago after spending many years home screwing up two children. I called quits to wedlock knowing that I had absolutely no marketable skills to speak of and that my kids would now require money for therapy as well as the usual American Adolescent Paraphernalia.

Oh yes, I can carve – that covers approximately two pairs of Nikes for a year. I also was an office manager in a midsize law firm for eight years – bookkeeping, personnel, hiring, firing, mothering, etc. But somewhere in the last decade someone decided that it took a masters degree to throw Pitney-Bowes salespeople out of an office. I worked at the Westin in my youth. I was not asked to leave, but got tired of telling Far Eastern tour groups that they had to stand in line to check out. Nordstrom didn’t fire me, but did have a problem with my honesty when it came to telling customers they looked like hell in some of their merchandise. I used to do a mean impression of Nelson Eddy, but figured there wasn’t much money to be made playing the nursing home circuit. So here I was, a middle-aged artist and basically unemployable. It was either find an old guy with bucks who was senile enough to want to take on all of my baggage or go back to school.

School seemed easier. They advised me that a woman of my age should go into nursing, dental hygiene or become a radiology tech. Well, anyone who has seen my hand shake knows I shouldn’t be probing anyone’s orifices with sharp objects, and I’ve been x-rayed myself so many times I glow in the dark, so I chose computer graphics at a community college.

I was terrified – I hated school when I belonged there. It took me two hours to realize there was nothing to fear. Go back to school. We old people are so smart compared to most of the kids, you will feel brilliant. I was the only one in class who had any idea what the word “asymmetrical” meant. Half the kids hadn’t ever heard it and the other half didn’t speak English. Now before you write, this is not a slur regarding immigration. All of these students are sent by wealthy parents from mostly Asian countries to get the American experience. They may all be brilliant, but because they can hardly speak our language, and don’t intend to stay long, one never really gets to find out. One Japanese girl told me they were sent here because in their country they were taught all the information, but Americans were taught how to really think. She obviously had never met any American teenagers.

OK, so I found myself for three long years in the land of computer types and wannabes. Not all were young. It’s very comforting to know that there are lots of unemployed old people. At least a third were displaced Boeing employees and graphic designers who woke up one day to find all paste boards, drafting tables and pens had been sucked into the nearest computer. I managed to fit in as much as I cared to, even though I didn’t wear a baseball cap on backwards. Fitting in meant I knew how to swear in appropriate places, never was better dressed than when I carve stone, and never asked to see anyone’s ill. My status really soared to new heights when one of the young guy’s caps had “69” on it and I told him I knew what it meant. He dreamt about me later, he said.

After three years what am I now capable of doing? Beats the hell out of me. Yes, I have a fair grasp of the major computer art programs including 3-D modeling, but everyone knows that to really learn how to do a job, you have to do it – not theorize about it. So I need to get a job in an industry dominated by young, unattached people. People who can make up endless commercials, games, web pages all taking place in outer space or concrete mazes. Where will I fit in? I just don’t think about robot-type humanoids zapping each other. I will admit I know the difference between a Klingon and a Bjoran, but I don’t fantasize about them. Call me old-fashioned.

I kept asking why do these themes of planets and laser guns recur so often? One word – guys. Sorry, no male bashing intended, but they got there first. Young males made the whole thing up, so that’s the way it started. Not only young guys, but engineer, mathematician type guys. Not a bad group, they just didn’t design art programs for artists.

Take 3-D modeling programs for instance. Let me digress (even further?). Yes, there are software programs that can model anything, but they cost at least $50,000 and must be run on $150,000 machines. Not available at most schools or your neighborhood Kinko’s. In the regular person’s 3-D program, if you want to sculpt a horse, it’s close to impossible. First try and read the manual. Without an advanced degree in geometry, throw the sucker out and just fiddle around. I quote from mine: “But if polygonal objects are generally considered the ‘brute force’ approach of modeling – even if mitigated by triangulation algorithms and surface normals for smoothing – bezier objects are elegant by comparison.” Maybe I missed it, but did you ever read of Rodin referring to his triangulation algorithms. (Maybe he did and I just assumed it was some disease he had.) Hence, you have sculpting programs designed by left brain people for right brain people to figure out, that have nothing to do with sculpting.

Also, because the programs are based on geometry, everything is modeled using primitives. No, not half-clad Sun God worshippers. Cubes, cones, cylinders, and the ever-present sphere. What is easiest to make out of primitives? Things with balls – in this case planets, and things with cubes and cylinders – space stations or concrete mazes. The “people” have to be chunky or round too, therefore robots. (I know, I know, there are new programs for the human form remember this is my article.)

How do I know the mathematicians who designed these programs were young males and not female? Look at the animation defaults. Those are things the programs have been designed to do with only a little adjusting from you. In the 3-D program, they are atomize, bounce, shatter and explode. That’s it. Never windblown, grow, move, etc. Do these events sound like things most women would want to be able to animate at the touch of a mouse? Maybe I’m out of the loop but the girls and I have never sat around at lunch saying “”Wouldn’t it be way cool if we could go atomize some ball-like object after we leave here?” “Yeah! How small should we make the pieces, how far should they fall, and how fast?” Sorry, I’m not being fair. Maybe we have. but “Kick” would be our action of choice.

Computer fine art would be an option, but it still scares and disgusts many people. Let me assure you, computers are just another new tool for artists. New tools were often scorned Michelangelo might have abhorred the old compressor – why use something that replaces hot young assistants? Some Impressionist who spent his/her life using a brush to make dots, probably would have thought the airbrush a bit of a cop out, and don’t forget Les Paul and his electric guitar scared the hell out of somebody, but they got over it. There is wonderful computer-generated art being created, but even so, those artists usually don’t make much money either.

So, unless there’s a Nelson Eddy revival before September, I’ll use my training in desktop publishing, computer graphics and creating web sites. The age requirements for these are a little more flexible. But if all else fails, I am not above cashing in on affirmative action. Being a “three-fer” by computer industry standards – ancient, female and hearing impaired, someone’s bound to have a few quotas to fill.