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2004-11-09 @ 11:09 p.m.
there has to be some mistake here...ummm

Int: Wittykitty bedroom.

Extreme close-up of a cursor blinking. And then the camera pans to the right to some text on a computer screen:

Your Painting Has Sold.

Where Should We Send Your CHECK?

Medium Shot: Wittykitty looking at her computer, mouthing “WTF??????????????”

Cue music: “Hallelujah chorus” by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

Quick successive cuts of fireworks exploding over the Statue of Liberty, wittykitty rising up out of her chair in slow motion and jumping up and down screaming, and trains going into tunnels, and Guardcat hanging off the ceiling in total anxiety, and trains going into tunnels and wittykitty running out into the living room and doing an elaborate Super Bowl end zone yamma lamma victory dance and trains going into tunnels.

Hey, its my movie sequence, and if I want a train sequence during my happy “because I just sold my first piece of artwork” dance, than so be it. This may only happen once, and I’m directing, and since the guy I voted for last week didn’t win and I’ve been incredibly grumpy ever since, let me have my fun, ok? Good! Fine!

heh, heh. Well, this may be my first and last piece of artwork I ever sell, so I am going to celebrate it. It was the abstract painting from that last show at the cool art gallery in town. It was the piece that I had looked at a month ago, in its art gallery setting, and felt nearly suicidal wondering why the hell I had chosen to put it there. It was the one which had caused me to cry all the way home in my car, thinking to myself, its crap. It’s embarrassing. Why did I bring that one to the show?

It was the one, which at the official opening, my friend had commented on how much she liked “the frame”...thus eliminating the importance of the (ahem) artwork itself tucked inside of it. I, of course, had to agree with her. Yeah, the frame is great. Like way better than that piece of shit inside of it. I didn’t say that aloud of course, but I was sure thinking it.

The frame, amazingly, did have some significance. My father had given me a painting done by his filipino mail order whore. She was an artist too. A con artist it seems, but that’s beside the point now. The painting had been a rather insignificant water color of a rather plump blue heron. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a blue heron, but they aren’t exactly shaped like (cough) penguins. But the filipino mail order whore’s was, poor dear. So I had never hung it up.

And then one night, in a fit of rage over my Dad situation, I had ripped it out of its frame and tore it up into about 407 pieces. Rip. (I) Rip. (Hate). Rip. (You). Rip. (You). Rip. (Sleazy). Rip. (Gold-digging). Rip. (fucking) Rip. (Whore). Ripripripripriprip!! I mean she still got like a half million of my Dad’s money and I got nothing, but there was still a certain visceral pleasure in ripping up her sad-ass heron-penguin thingie, which she had probably worked really hard on and throwing the pieces up in the air, dancing around under them as they fell and then stepping on them a few dozen times. (am I mature or WHAT??) I actually kept the pieces and still have them in a baggie. Is that stalker-like? I would really like to send them to her in the Philippines, if only I knew where her skinny little rich ass was hiding.

But it did keep the stunning gold leaf frame the drawing came it. And in my own little insecure self, I kept saying, THAT’S what somebody bought...the frame. Ok, stop it witty. It was your awesome painting. Definitely. Oh, ok.

And then I got the weirdest feeling that maybe somebody I knew bought it. “A”? He knew I had a show going up there. And he likes abstract art. And he might do something like that to indirectly help me. Of course he couldn’t hang it in his office because then I would know he bought it and it wouldn’t count. I mean I would still take the money of course, but it just wouldn’t be a real sale if a friend bought it. And then I thought maybe my friend “G” down in Manhattan somehow arranged to buy it. He buys art on a regular basis. But I think he buys art that is like thousands of dollars. And then I even got the fool idea that Married Guy bought it to get back in my good graces. That was really a CRAZY idea. Ha! First of all, he is cheap as hell. And then his wifie is an artist. I could really see him putting it up at his office and her asking him, where the hell that came from. Because, as you might guess, her work is throughout his office. But, besides “A”, he was the only person who knew that I had a show at the cool gallery.

Argh. I guess I just can’t accept the fact that some stranger just came along and actually liked my work (and NOT the frame) and had to have it, and got out his checkbook and wrote the art gallery a check. I did price it awfully low. A mere $75. But considering I got all the art materials for free at the Crazy Crazy place this summer. And the frame was free (minus the loss of a 1/2 million dollar inheritance, but bygones). And it only took about an hour to paint. I guess the profit margin is sufficiently high, and my bank account is sufficient low, and my triple electric bill is sufficiently high, so I guess I’m pretty damn happy about the whole damn thing.

Artists are so cool...especially when they’re solvent. :-)

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty