An infernal buzzing echoed through the blissful silence of my bedroom, breaking into my subconscious before I was ever really willing to depart from the comfort of my dreams. The sound seemed far away for a moment, slowly becoming louder as I reluctantly came awake. I groaned, burying my face into my pillow deeper, as if it held some refuge from the noise determined to wake me from the first decent sleep I had had in days.
It always seemed to be that way. That just when I was in a wonderful, deep, soothing sleep, that was the moment that my alarm decided 'enough of that, wake your ass up'.
Reaching my arm out blindly, my face still hidden in my pillow, I flailed my hand around in the direction of the irritating sound, looking to silence it. It would have been easier, and probably made more sense, to actually open my eyes and locate the alarm clock with other senses than just touch. Unfortunately, that wasn't something I was willing to concede to just yet. So instead, I felt my way across my night stand, knocking my box of Kleenex onto the floor, almost spilling my bottle of water, and getting tangled in my phone charger before finally finding the clock, and slamming my hand across the top.
Immediately, the room fell back into a calm silence, and I couldn't stop the sigh that escaped me as I snuggled back into my bed.
I hated early mornings. Or mornings in general, if I was being completely honest.
I knew this was a vice, and one that I would have to try and break eventually. I had been reminded more frequently in recent months, as graduation loomed on the horizon, that 'adults' generally had to get up at a decent hour and go to work. Since I would be graduating from college this year, that seemed to be the single event that was determined to throw me head first into this frightening thing called adulthood.
Granted, I was told the same thing when I started college. That I would have to take the classes required of me to complete my degree in photography and imaging at NYU, and that some would begin before the noon hour. This was the case during my freshman year, and more than once I would find myself in the back of the room, chugging coffee to keep myself awake during lecture. But following years found themselves to be easier to adjust, with class schedules easier to build around my particular nocturnal preferences.
Today, however, was the one day in my week in which I had to get up early for class. And of course, it was not a class I could skip. Especially right now, as the end of term was only a few short months away. My senior project class of course had to run at nine in the morning on Thursdays, after I worked late at the bar where I held a part time job as a bartender on Wednesdays. As if getting up at the colon of dawn wasn't hard enough for me.
I took a deep breath, desperate to hide in the comforts of my bed a little longer, I rolled onto my back, my eyes still tightly closed. I relished in the feeling of the mattress below me, the soft sheets against my skin. I loved my bed. My bed and I had an unspoken bond, a mutual understanding. I changed the sheets frequently, and bed provided me with comfort and solace when I needed it. It was mutually beneficial.
Faintly, beyond the solitude of my room, I could hear movement in the kitchen outside my bedroom door. The clinking of dishes, the sliding of chairs at the table. Of course my roommate, Mia, was already up.
I had to get up, before I actually fell back asleep. Then I would really be screwed. Today was the day our final project topics were discussed, and I needed to be there to hear all the details of the requirements. This particular professor was known for giving challenging and varied parameters for final projects, which sounds great to some, but caused havoc and anxiety in others. Depending on the topic, I had a feeling I would be one of the students falling into the latter category.
I loved my educational choice, having a fascination with imagery and photography since I was a young child. My parents had given me an old polaroid camera as a gift when I was ten years old. That was all it took to have me hooked. From that moment on, I could be found running around the yard, taking pictures of bugs, and grass, and bark on trees. I would sneak up on my family and friends, desperately trying to catch them in natural and unguarded states. By the time I turned twelve, my passion for photography was ingrained, and my parents got me my first digital camera. It was a small pocket camera, nothing special, but to me it was the key to something more.
Photography was the one medium that captured a moment in time, and preserved it forever. That had the ability to look beyond what could be seen by the naked eye, and harness an emotion, or even evoke one all with a simple click of a shutter. Some of the most iconic moments in history have been best immortalized through film, and without that, their stories and impact had the possibility to fall to the wayside.
This was there my passion lay. To be able to see a subject, and capture its story. I loved all genres of photography, from portrait to urban to landscape. It didn't matter to me the subject matter, just as long as it made me feel something. That I was able to capture the essence I felt when looked at it, and was skilled enough to project it through to others viewing it as a medium.
I had no doubt what I wanted to study in college, and was elated when I got accepted to the Tisch School of the Arts at NYU. Not only was I learning techniques and skills to improve my skill set directly with film and digital media, I was learning to truly understand and capture the medium. Evolving my knowledge to something beyond just a girl and a camera. I had loved every moment of my studies, and had done quite well. I was one of the top in my program, and as graduation hid around the corner, I found myself excited, but also nervous.
This final project, the details of which would be divulged to the student population today, held the key to my career path. Those who did well in their final projects, a portion of which were exhibited on campus for potential employers and media to view, were generally scouted from this event. This one assignment, had the potential to make or break the last four years of my life.
No pressure, right?
A soft rap at my door finally forced me to open my eyes, squinting against the light streaming into my room.
"Lane," Mia's voice called out. "Get the fuck up. I heard your alarm go off already, so don't even pretend to be still asleep. You're going to miss class."
I pursed my lips while giving her a mental one fingered gesture, before huffing in annoyance and pulling my blankets back. The cool air of my room hit my skin, and I frowned immediately. You would think I would have learned that shorts and a tank top, albeit comfortable while in bed, would make me freeze when I emerged. Sadly, this wasn't something I had been able to grasp in my twenty one years of life. Slipping reluctantly from my bed, I groggily exited my room and into the kitchen.
Here, as usual, I found Mia. Fully dressed, dark hair pulled up into a twist at the top of her head, hunched over a textbook as she nibbled on a piece of toast from the stack she had in front of her. Across from her was an empty plate, and a glass of orange juice already poured.
The one good thing about having a room mate who was a morning person? They always made you breakfast.
Yawning indelicately, I flopped down into the chair across from her, reaching out to grab a piece of toast from the stack between us.
Mia raised her brown eyes to me. "Morning sunshine," she mocked, as she did every morning.
I nodded in response, my eyes on the table. Just because I was awake, didn't mean I was ready to participate in life just yet. At least let me finish my juice before you expect me to speak beyond grumbles.
Thankfully, Mia had learned this early on in our friendship. Her eyes returned to the thick volume in front of her, the only sound remaining between us just that of our chewing.
I brought my eyes up to watch as Mia studiously prepared for her day. Majoring in psychology, she was the ideal student. Always prepared, assignments always finished well before the due date. As with all avenues of her life, Mia was ahead of the game. Coming from an affluent family from upstate, cheerleader in high school, intriguing and enticing dark features, she was someone everyone noticed. And yet, she was the complete opposite of what you would expect from such a description. Humble, self deprecating, always the first person to see the good in others, even if they didn't see it themselves.
We had bonded our freshman year in our introductory literature class, and had been best friends and roommates ever since. Her family owned the apartment where we lived in the East Village, and allowed us to stay here rent free. Which worked out great for me, since my family didn't exactly have the means to put me up in a place like this. They did their best, my mom working as a nurse and my father as a police officer back in New Jersey. We lived comfortably, but were never the family that had everything. Never the ones everyone envied. Which was fine by me. I was never one to desire attention or top of the line items. In all honestly, the best thing I owned was my camera. And I justified that because it was my income.
Finishing my toast, I chugged my juice before standing from my chair, stretching my arms over my head.
"Is it safe to talk yet?" Mia teased, peering up at me from her spot.
Giving her a glare, I leaned down and kissed the top of her head as a thank you for the breakfast, before retreating into the bathroom.
"You better hurry up!" she shouted. "You're class starts in less than an hour!" I waved my hand dismissively as I closed the door behind myself, turning on the water for the shower.
After a quick shower, I twisted my still damp blonde hair into a knot on my head, before brushing my teeth. I stared at my reflection in the mirror with mild disinterest. The same blue eyes staring back at me. The same pale complexion, the few little freckles dotting my nose and cheeks. The same slender, soft figure. Unlike Mia, I was fairly unremarkable. Nothing about me stood out, or caught attention. Not that I minded. I figured that was another reason I was so well suited behind the lens of a camera. I saw the beauty in everything around me, but felt no desire for it for myself.
I finished in the bathroom quickly before scurrying into my room. Mia had already left, I noticed, as I scrambled around my room to get ready. Even though I always set my alarm with plenty of time on the rare morning I had to get up early, I still found myself rushing. Pulling on jeans and a white long sleeve top, I grabbed my jacket, keys and bag and headed out into the cold New York air.
Ugh. February in New York City was still too damn cold for my liking. Thankfully, it wasn't snowing today. It had snowed the last three days, a light taunting dusting of flakes that always accumulated just enough to make it slushy and slippery to navigate the streets. As I did every morning on my walk to class, I imagined myself signing on to shoot Victoria Secret, in sunny, warm, tropical locations, and never having to see the sight of snow again.
This blissful mental hideaway kept me occupied as my boots sloshed through the slushy sidewalks, drowning out the sounds of the city around me. Don't get me wrong. I love New York. It was a city like no other, a vibrant, exciting, captivating place that never left you without something new to see or experience. But like I said, it was too damn cold.
Finally reaching my building, I rushed inside, stomping the remaining slush from my boots and heading towards my lecture hall. As with most mornings, I was one of the last students to arrive. Taking a seat in the back of the room, I pulled my jacket from my shoulders, pulling out my laptop and notebook just as professor Murray brought the class to attention.
"Okay everyone, take your seats," he called out, glancing around the room. It of course took a few moments for everyone to find their seats, to calm their chatter enough for him to continue. "As I explained last week, today we will be discussing your final projects. I will be providing you with a topic, and I expect you to take it from there. The grading breakdown for this project is provided on the course link, and I expect you all to review it thoroughly and carefully before selecting your subjects. Preliminary images will be due to be handed in to me, hard copy only please, four weeks from today. Please note that these images are simply to accompany your project statement, and are not to be used directly in the final submission. I merely need to see a visual additive to your written submission. Your project statement needs to explain your understanding of the topic I will provide you, and how your subject relates and embodies this. No more than seven or eight images are required at this point."
Professor Murray paused, surveying the room to see if anyone seemed unsure. Sliding his hands into the pockets of his dark pants, he began to slowly pace across the front of the room as he waited. He was an older man, possibly late fifties, with receding brown hair, and piercing green eyes. He was pleasant, knowledgeable and successful, one of those professors you knew you could learn so much from. But he was also a hard ass. He was difficult in his grading, and one that was difficult to impress. Which made it even more daunting to know he would be selecting and grading our final projects.
I'm sure most of us appeared anxious, yet no one raised their hands, and he continued. "I will provide feedback on your project statement and prelim images. From there, you will create a eight image final project, submitted to me at the beginning of April. Submission dates are also on the syllabus, for those of you who haven't reviewed them yet. Please do so, because I will not accept any late submissions. From those eight images, I will choose up to five to be presented in the exhibition to be held starting one week prior, and throughout convocation week. I will point out now, most students get three works in the exhibition. If I select more than this from your work, consider yourself quite fortunate. You all know the exposure and coverage of this show, so make me want to demonstrate your talents."
The professor paused, yet again, glancing around the room. He did this often, and I found myself wondering if he was really waiting to see if any of us asked a question, or if he just liked to see the nervous anxiety on our faces. A project of this magnitude, preceding graduation, was enough to set any student in a tailspin. Counting for seventy percent of our grade, it was the one assignment during the year that we could not fuck up.
The problem was that photography, and art in general, was something that was very subjective. I had learned this early on in my program, and been reminded of frequently. You never knew what would draw someone in, or what their interpretation of a subject may be. Sometimes it may be completely opposite from your intent with an image, their minds creating a completely different spin on what they see. It was something you had absolutely no control over, which was both a challenge, and exciting.
"Any questions before I give you the topic?" the professor called out again. And yet again, no one moved. Im sure we all had questions, but none of them could be answered until we knew our topic. Until we knew what it was we were going to have to build from, to create something of worth and intrigue. To find a subject, something captivating, that would entice our instructor and our audience.
"Once I give you the topic, you are free to either use the remainder of the class to search for ideas, ask me questions, or discuss with each other. There is no formal class today, as I want you to spend as much time as possible breaking down this theme into something of your own. I will remain in class until the end of the hour, so feel free to ask me anything you feel you need clarification on." He continued pacing, his eyes surveying the front row. "Remember, I want to see variety in subject matter. Whatever you feel fits the topic. But you need to be able to justify your choice in your project statement. Make me understand why you chose what you did, and make me believe in what you see." Again, he paused as if for dramatic effect.
"Alright then," he smiled, pausing in his pacing to stand in the center of the room. "Are you ready for your final project topic?"
"Yes!" A faint voice from the far corner of the room called out, causing the remainder of the room to snicker and laugh. Even professor Murray cracked a smile, something that was rather rare for him.
"Your final project topic, is 'secrets'."