“There’s an art to conversation.”
This is what my friend Laurel said as walked to a Polish restaurant in Berlin a few years ago. She had been talking about how she much she valued face-to-face conversations. Laurel had a cell phone, but she rarely used it. She had a computer, but she wasn’t attached to it, and she spent more time listening to vinyl records than watching TV. Laurel believed that certain aspects of the digital age, (particularly texting) were changing our ability to hold real conversations.
“There’s an art to the ebb and flow of it,” she said, “and you just can’t get that from typing.”
The women I met in Europe all shared this certain, graceful quality. Maybe it was the environment. All those cities with cafes everywhere, fostering the sit-down-and-talk, encouraging shared, social topics, encouraging active listening.
In honor of friends who truly know the art of conversation, I’d like to take the time, to highlight some recent conversations that I’ve had. It’s been a social six months, and for this I am grateful. I am also way behind with my blog writing and I need to catch up, so here goes…
In January, Irina came to visit us for a long weekend.
I’ve known Irina since 2002. She was my student in an Proficient ESL class, though she really didn’t need to study. Her command of English was excellent. She had moved to Chicago from Russia, and she wanted to make friends and practice conversation. During my two years working at Intrax International Institute, I had truly diverse classes—-students from Russia, China, Spain, Germany, Japan, Argentina, Thailand, Poland, Venezuela, Korea, and Cameroon, to name only a few. I fell in love with them. We held weekly Cafe Conversation sessions at the various coffee shops in the Loop. Apart from classes and cafe gatherings, my students would meet and have dinner at each other’s houses. They went on road trips together, and we even went on a hayride through a haunted apple orchard. This was one of the best jobs of my life, and it was meeting Irina that made it even better.
She’d come over to our apartment and sip vodka with me. At the time, our dining room was my studio, and I had my graduate thesis art projects strewn everywhere. Irina asked me questions about my work and about trends in American art. She asked me to read my poetry to her and share with her some of my favorite poets. I asked her about Russia, Russian poets, what she had studied there, and what she was fascinated by. She loved films and literature. With her, the art of conversation came easily.
After Benjamin and I left Chicago and began our restless moves everywhere, it was Irina who most consistently visited us. She came to North Carolina and D.C., and I was so excited to see her again in New York!
We met at her hotel, immediately ordered coffee, and began catching up. We kept talking through a lunch of delicious seafood tapas, and then we decided to go to The Algonquin for martinis. I love my friend for indulging this literary dream of mine. I have always wanted to go to The Algonquin to soak in the atmosphere that was once graced by Dorothy Parker and her crew.
What a lovely, lovely place!
When we walked in, I asked the concierge to direct me to wherever Dorothy Parker had a drink. “Oh honey,” he said, “Ms. Parker got drunk all over this place, so really you could sit anywhere, but you might enjoy the Blue Room.”
Irina and I took his advice. And wow! I highly recommend the Blue Room for an afternoon sip and conversation.
My friend and I talked about Russian poets and writers. She shared her theories on Russian politics. I spoke about the positive and dangerous nature of the American Dream. I love talking with my friend, because while she sees the political movement (or stagnation) of the world, she sees this holistically, in terms of the art that cultures make (or don’t make) to reflect the events of the time. I love how she measures our progress (or regression) by how we respond creatively. I learned more about her grandchildren, her son and daughter-in-law, her parents, and her youth. I shared stories about my family.
It was a lovely exchange. As we sat there enveloped in the blue light of an historic bar, I felt that back in Berlin, Laurel would be proud. I felt like the spirits of Dorothy Parker and the Algonquin writers were smiling, and most of all, I felt at home, sipping a martini and talking to one of my most beloved friends.
