2007-05-30 @ 4:09 p.m.
I just got home from my Wednesday morning landscape painting class and I'm pretty tired. Not from the class, although standing out in the sun at an easel for two hours is no picnic for someone with sciatic nerve problems. But the real reason I do art, is that it transports me out of my crappy life into an alternative universe where I'm skinny, rich and pretty and men are falling at my feet proclaiming their love and my cat has finally learned how to clean her own cat box.
I let you know if that ever happens.
Unfortunately, I still haven't quite got the knack on how to paint fields and trees. I'm frustrated by them. I took the painting I had been working on last week, for another go around this morning, which I never usually don't so, since I'm such a speedy bipolar and can usually complete a whole painting in a mere two hours and worked on it again. Why? Because when my mom came over to my apartment this weekend, for probably the first time in 6 month, she liked all my artwork, EXCEPT for the landscape which elicited a somewhat prickly "meh, I don't think much of that one!" And of course, being the desperate people pleaser that I am, I immediately felt squished by despair. Because there aren't that many things I do well, and when one of them is rebuffed with indifference, I feel like total crap.
I was actually tired because I had spent most of last night in a dark, dank, stinky warehouse with Charlemagne, putting up our artwork for a show that is coming up this weekend. Oh wait, let me correct that. I was putting up my OWN artwork with the help of the Tall Skinny Guy after a painting I had supposedly secured with a nail, fell off the wall and hit me in the head.
Yeah, after a solid week of Charlemagne calling me for rides and being a general butthead (I've written like 3 lengthy entries about his butthead antics, but have trashed them, since I'm trying to take the high road), I really thought he would help me put my work up. His soul contribution? Carrying my stuff from the front door to the elevator and finally up to where our space is for the show. Woo! Good karma points coming your way Frenchie!!
I was also getting frustrated. I had reserved this large wooden panel in this dark, dank, stinky warehouse/gallery and when I started pulling out all my paintings, I started to wonder if they were all going to fit. And how was I going to arrange them. And would they look right together, especially since all I could see were a hideously fugly conglomeration of mismatched frames from various garage sales and thrift shops.
Oh? And did I mention that I had had a total and complete emotional meltdown just hours before I had left for this place? I actually had what amounted to my first panic attack in several years. It was so bad I almost called "A" since I couldn't breathe and the walls were closing in on me. I almost decided to just chuck the whole damn art show, since I was so insecure about having my stuff in a larger venue with a bunch of strangers. I mean there were going to be a couple of people from my art group, but it was mainly artists (0ver 50) from all over the area who were going to be showing their work, and who the hell am I? And I have no supports. And I have nobody to take or invite to the show. And my work wouldn't be hip and cool like theirs. And it just all came together like a massive insecurity zit waiting to pop.
I finally got somewhat under control after some zen-like breathing and a walk along the Parkway where I just happened to bump into my old boss and her husband. Fortunately she was one that I liked and I got to meet her newly adopted Chinese daughter, who was very cute and I finally calmed the frick down.
Naturally Charlemagne was late getting to the place. When is he ever NOT late? I finally got everything out. Got whacked in the head by the painting. A young Goth couple came over to offer assistance as I stood there almost crying. They were hanging black and white photos on all the support columns in the building. I had most of my paintings up by time this older guy named Ken came over and asked if he could take my picture with my art. I said yes, because I'm pretty used to getting my picture taken these days...heh (flickr humor, you wouldn't understand). He really liked my Chinese nude and took individual pictures of that. He said he'd probably have over a thousand pictures by time he got done photographing everyone. Not sure if he was the "Official Show Photographer" or just some weird guy walking around taking pictures of nudie paintings. And what was also weird was while he was photographing me, another guy was walking around filming everything. Kinda got a real Andy Warhol vibe going for a moment, which also got me wondering...hmmmm, I wonder where this video will end up?
Anyways, I felt so much better once everything was up. I even started walking around and looking at other people's work and *gasp*, even talked to some young guy painting one of the massive wooden crates around the gallery space. I guess he's going to be putting a video camera inside this huge crate-de-pseudo-TV set and film people looking in at the camera as his art.
See, I'm just too dorky too think of something cool like that. I'm just one of the bland masses....
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty