A Friggin' Great Week.

Oh, the dizzying excitement of Intern and Docent Program Management! I must say, this week was quite busy in terms of all my little projects and events, and it felt all so Smithsoniany.

So: working for a large museum really does seem to mean that you're going to be rather constrained to your own department, but fortunately my position inherently requires interaction with every department and every supervisor. I tried to work that angle this week; I invitee our Exhibitions director in to talk with the interns about her position with NPG. I was absorbed by both her description of her tremendously huge and complex job, as well as amazed by her career path -- she began as an admin assistant, and earned a degree in Arts Administration (!) only four years ago.

That was Tuesday. On Wednesday I attended a pan-institutional panel presentation about strategic collaborations. Although it wasn't perhaps the most accessible speech, what I found intriguing were the audience reactions to the top-level presentation -- "strategic collaborations" are clearly important and necessary in the big picture, but I was reminded that within an institution as big as SI, the mere feat of accomplishing museum-museum collaboration is itself both daunting and the daily reality faced by the majority of museum employees.

I also attended the Folklife Festival (Welsh poetry and pints on the Mall!) right after using up my weekly IMAX ticket (Deep Sea 3D). The Folklife Festival is as much as it can be. I'm not critiquing it too much; I'm just saying that I have a newfound respect for myself and my former FAIS staff, because quite frankly we were able to put on a pretty comparable event without the benefit of a $------- budget. I guess I was hoping for more than a handful of tents where groups of tourists awkwardly stood around an artisan, but in terms of a program model that facilitates a cultural education event for thousands of transient tourists, in 90 degree weather in the middle of a dusty, unshaded field ... well, I guess they accomplish their goals. And it's cool to see traditional artisans being supported and all that. I guess there's just no substitute for the real thing, which is a fairly insurmountable challenge.

Oh, and they're filming a Paul Rudd movie in DC, and they were setting up a film shoot outside my happy hour on Thursday. But Paul didn't appear. Why must he play with my heart?

But the more important thing I should document about Thursday (pre-Happy Hour) was the Smithsonian Intern Networking Fair. Kassia: thank you. Thank you for the AAA Symposium last Spring, in which I took cheesy workshops on networking that -- holy cow! -- PAID OFF. I networked like a muthaf*cka and came home with about six business cards in my pocket. And, adorably, my undergraduate interns clung to my side like nervous little lambs, so I gave them an impromptu "go get 'em" talk about elevator speeches. Me, telling people how to benefit from a networking fair. I tell ya, if I hadn't attended last Spring I too would have been nervous and self-effacing. But now I'm a beast! A beast!!

I had a chance also to visit the National Museum of the American Indian (it's true, the fried bread is amazing) and the National Gallery of Art. NMAI deserves a trip back; sadly I only had time for one floor, but I rather loved its honest and to-the-point presentation of how badly Natives have been screwed by a lethal combo of guns, bibles and disease. It's truly an amazing and brave exhibit -- geez, and there are still three floors to visit!

Oh, National Gallery. I love you so much. I love your European art, because that's what I've studied and lovelovelove. So pretty. Oh Vermeer, and Leyster, and El Greco and Boucher. Everyone who got an internship there pretty must have began studying art history whilst in the womb, I guess; they'd better appreciate where they are. Again, I only had an hour, but I happily devoted it to 16th century Italian/French ornamental sculpture and ceramics. So intent was I studying some plates that illustrate scenes from Ovid's Metamorphosis that a security guard came over and asked if I am studying them in school. No, teaching them, I said. "Wait, what? How old are you, girl? You can't be a day past 21." Hee hee!

I next attended Jazz in the NGA Sculpture Garden for 45 minutes, which is insane given how hot and sweaty the earth gradually became... but it's fun to sit beneath a giant rabbit sculpture and listen to Georgetown types talk about their upcoming weekend "on the boat." I considered powering on to finally visit Artomatic tonight, an artist's co-op with some good buzz, but in the end nature chased me back to my dorm room with a wind-whipped frenzy of hail, thunder and lightning. Weather here be crazy.

Tomorrow I'm really serious about getting into free Saturdays at the Corcoran, but I have also neglected the shops of Georgetown for far too long. And there's that whole Vietnam War Memorial to find, and I just learned that there's a mall near the Pentagon. I've got a lot of mixed up priorities.

Oh yeah, The Internship

I'm safely into internship zone, and what an interesting zone 'tis!

I am the Assistant Docent and Intern Program Manager for the A Certain Portrait Gallery*. This does not imply that I am in the museum, though. Sadly -- yet not untypical of many SmAthsonians* -- the actual administrative offices are located in the Victor Building, about a block from NPG. I get over to the museum for my lunch breaks, special events, and after work (museum open till 7 pm!!!). I knew this would be the situation prior to arriving, but I have to say that my particular position is not terribly dependent with being up-to-date on every event in the museum, which is not exactly what I expected. I guess I pictured museum life to be so ovelry infused with glorious art, fascinating research and exciting public programming that you it would be completely inescapable. But it's actually a business! Where things must get done so that visitors can enjoy all that glorious art!!

So, I'm fine with contributing to the behind-the-scenes network of an art world (shout out to my homeboy Beeeeeeeeeeeeeecker, boyz!).

And really, I have a very considerate supervisor. She hands me great articles on museum management, accompanies me to symposiums on museum education, and is all about supplementing my daily tasks with additional projects that will give me new skills. Moreover, I am only now beginning to exploit the power of being Intern Manager -- it occurred to me that a field trip to the American Association of Museums would be cool, so I emailed them and ... well, they emailed back with a very positive response! Hopefully I can set that up in July -- omg! Meanwhile, I guess I'll make do with the SmAthsonian* Intern networking fair, the brown bag lunch with the Exhibitions director, our tour of the PG painting and sculpture storage facility, and Thursday night curator-led talks about pieces in the collection. Oh, and spying on the Youth and Family coordinator's amazing program, which began today... and keeping tabs on PG's grasp of social networking, of course. And one of these days I'll grab a show at the IMAX.

Yey for A Certain PG*!!! :)

*Clever retroactive editing in an attempt to foil Big Brother; see July 1st post.

Trader Joe's: Sponsor Me

I feel like a whole person only when I have curry simmer sauce, black beans, Quaker Oatmeal Squares, and a freezer full of frozen vegetables. Thank God, therefore, for Trader Joe's.

Grocery shopping in DC is not pleasant. The lack of legitimate grocery stores, the bewildering likelihood that Safeway has sold out of sandwich meat, 15 minute checkout lines and a lack of basic produce has thus far been the source of my ever-present, cavewoman-like anxiety about basic survival. My friend checked two stores on Sunday -- no mint! Who doesn't have organic fresh mint, I ask you? How in the hell do people make mojitos??

I therefore am all the more quick to count my blessings due to the proximity of a Trader Joe's (I think seven blocks away or so; pretty much nothing unless you buy both laundry detergent and wine -- then it feels much farther). Food is important. A quality diet is even more importanter. I finally have my shallots, my multigrain pilaf, my rose salami and apriums. Such good stuff!

Even more exciting is trying to fit all of this into a dorm mini-fridge! The top of my clothes-filled dresser has converted itself into my TJ pantry. I have been "marketed like a bitch," as Chris would say (thanks, Chris). But tomorrow I get to have a spinach salad with feta vinagrette, as well as apple smoked chardonnary sausage, for lunch, and I'm going to sleep better for it.

That said, I guess I'll grant that high-quality, plentiful food is truly a shining gem in Oregon's crown, and hardly something I would have expected to have to scramble for in the nation's capital. The Safeway located in the Watergate's basement (yes, The Watergate) feels like a trip to a nihilistic third world nation. Trader Joe's is a beacon of affordable normality.

That's all I'll say about food for now. :)

Week One: Blood, Art, and Databases

My first real week is complete, and my narrative begins with the odyssey of my First Horrific Day.

Fresh from my hideous trip into the city, I began my jaunty walk to work -- a quick ten blocks -- wearing a nice little suit jacket and my vintage Italian heels. Starbucks in hand, I felt I was blending in well with the purposeful natives.

Until about one block past the White House. My right toe began to feel suddenly so... well, flayed. Terribly, roughly, inescapably stripped of its flesh by my darling leather shoes. Thinking myself prepared, I sat down and affixed a bandage (!) and began to limp down the street, only six blocks to go.

It turns out that the bandage was too floppy to help and in fact aggravated the right-foot-situation. This became evident when I was at least three blocks from my first day on the job, because the pressure of limping caused my LEFT foot to blow out -- same toe, opposite foot, same neon pink bald patch on my defenseless tiny toe.

I essentially met my new boss in the infirmary (conveniently located in my building's basement!), and her reaction to the situation confirmed that I'm in a good place. She re-scheduled my day so as to avoid walking (!) and arranged for me to take my first-day tour of the Portrait Gallery... in a wheelchair.

My first time in a wheelchair, mind you. Very humbling experience, particularly as this was also the first chance I had to meet my fellow interns. Yet again, people's true natures seem to come out in the most painful situations; I was pushed around by a very kind intern named Lee-Ann. Yey for Lee-Ann!

And yey for new experiences. Although it may sound cheesy, it was so insightful to take a tour in a wheelchair. I experienced my visit in a completely different way -- noting the signage, the height of the artworks, the difficulty or ease of getting around, and the behaviour of other visitors towards me. Anonymity was impossible, and asking for help was inevitable. This comical situation ultimately produced one of those "learning moments" that are supposed to be a hallmark of the internship experience...

Since then, I've settled into my cubicle and am free to run around the office, as per usual. I'm putting those organization/project management/research skills to use like crazy; and although my particular position is less connected to the actual art world of the museum then I'd prefer, it's clear to me that it'll be up to me to pursue those connections -- whether by attending art talks on Thursday nights (last night: Brian O'Doherty's talk on his portrait of Marcel Duchamp), by eavesdropping on the curatorial staff, or by volunteering my free time (Warholpolooza this weekend).

Upside of Washington DC: the chance to attend a museum educator's roundtable discussion of the Center for the Future of Museum's report on Thursday (held at the NM of the American Indian). What an amazing opportunity. I'm a total nerd.

Welcome to the District of Columbia.

Oh, the anticipation! The planning, the packing, the Google mapping... literally, this internship has been nearly a year in the making. Will it be worth it? Can I live up to my own hype? Such profound questions can really only be answered with thoughtful blog posts, made available to my dear friends and total strangers.

Let's begin by establishing a framework, dear reader(s?): I've travelled and lived abroad, I speak three languages (sometimes five), I write, draw, cook, exercise, etc. I'm from Portland, Oregon, an amazing city where the hills are green and full of artists, musicians, bohemians and bikers. All in all, I've had a pretty awesome life. So why mess it up? Why am I spending my summer in a dorm room, surviving on minute rice and instant coffee in our nation's capital? Why do I have student loans in lieu of a decent paycheck?

All valid questions. The long answer includes my childhood desire to be an artist (flattened by the standard kin denial of dreams) and the short answer is the fact that, if I have to be a responsible professional woman, I'd damn well better be doing something I like to do. I gave education a good try, but all those people who "love children" give me the heeby-jeebies. Whatever happened to loving learning? Embracing the human condition? Improving our lives through beauty and art and culture? Frankly, the more lesson plans I wrote and meaningless grades I assigned, the further I felt from the things in life that have always sustained me.

Administration -- becoming a bureaucrat -- became my unexpected lifeboat in the sea of professional identity. I know this sounds weird. But hey, I'm not the freelance type, and I never will be. I like people, I like projects, I like colleagues. I'm organized and efficient, and it's awesome to put my skills to good use about things I love -- the French American International School, for example.

Yet I needed a change, and I believe I deserve every opportunity to succeed. So, I began the Arts Administration program at UO. That's a whole other story.

I've wanted to intern at the National Portrait Gallery since the Spring of 2008, when I visited a college friend who has adopted DC as his hometown. I had no idea I'd be so impessed -- from a NW perspective, the idea of DC always brought to mind images of hideously dressed worker drones (Chico's, khaki tones and an overly thriving button-down shirt industry). It smelled like self-obsession and career-heads. I wasn't supposed to like it at all.

But oh.... the museums.

Museums are such wonderful places. I wander around them, grinning like a fool, and completely lost in the experience. We have two in Portland. DC has, like, a gazillion. And they're free. And in Washington DC there are farmer's markets, and excellent restauraunts, and perfectly nice people who aren't perhaps dressed very well, but who are at least educated and trying to do something cool with their lives. There are some fun neighbourhoods, even, and I think there might be some artists around -- I mean, there's no way this will ever be Portland, but it's not bad.

So the point is, I learned that I liked DC /DC was full of museums / museums are a good place to combine arts and administration / I therefore dedicated four months to the filling out of applications to major museums in DC. I achieved something like four offers, but I chose NPG for sentimental reasons (I could be perfectly content as a security guard, so long as I like the museum).

So, DC. It took me five hours to fly here, and four hours to travel from BMI to 19th Street NW, at which point I nearly lost my sanity in the back of a Super Shuttle. I was delirious with fatigue, excitement, jet lag and the brand of claustrophobia unique to small metal cabins.

And that's the weight that arrived on my wee shoulders!