blackbird.jpg (30437 bytes)

2005-02-09 @ 12:50 a.m.
attempting to find the alternate universe where art gets you laid

Well, its official, the all time weird Google: Vomiting, Fainting Yorkie.

Sorry, no accompanying pictures.

So this morning, it was once again time to meet with the ever effervescent and slightly curly headed "A", champion of the downtrodden and slightly daft. I always enjoy looking at his Diego Rivera artbook in his waiting room, so pssst, if its ever missing "A"....I may have possibly borrowed it, OK?

Today I brought in two of my three drawings I am going to submit to our art show in March. Its been over a year since I last tortured showed "A" any of my drawings, and I cringe to think of the stuff I showed him then. It was drawings from my first week in art class and they like totally sucked.

Oy? What was I thinking? How embarrassing!!

But he seemed to like the work today. I told him I couldn't bring in the third one because it involved the "P" word. And he looked at me strangely and said "what?" and I said, You know...(whispering "penis"). I did tell him the date and location of the show, so if he was so inclined to look at my drawing of the male member, he can drive his SUV over to the University and take a gander. I'm sure it'll be on his agenda for the month of March. Definitely.

But then we got into an intense conversation about art. He knows a lot about abstract art which is my favorite kind and with his ever present laptop in his lap, he started punching up his favorite paintings and showing them to me. Although that thing you said about Pollock being "feminine", "A"? I have to disagree with you there, good buddy. Pollock is a manly man.

But then the conversation took a more whimsical turn. Well, first of all, let me mention, that I told him that I wished that I had been able to go to NYC this weekend and just walk around the Museum of Modern Art all day for my birthday. That was my big dream. But then when my car did its charming smoking diva act last week, my entire bank account was gobbled up and I was unable to do it. And he looked at me and said, "Well, how much would it cost to go down there?"

It always makes me nervous when "A" gets that maniacal glint in his eye, because for a split second I almost thought he was going to whip out his wallet and hand me the money. Because there have been other times, when I said the words "I wish..." he has done stuff like that. Like say 14 months ago, when I wished I could go to a certain art class, but didn't have the money, so he whipped out a ten dollar bill and said the class was on him.

So I gingerly said, oh, its ok. I don't need to go to NYC. And he said, well how much is it. And I said, Well the bus is $78. And he said, "The bus?? You should definitely take a train." And I said, "Well, the train is $74 one way. Thats okay, I don't need to go to NYC, really."

And then he said, well what if I pay your way as a down payment for a painting I commission you to paint for me?


Its never good when the shrink is crazier than the patient, so I was like "No, you don't want me to paint anything." And he was like "Sure I do! I want a large abstract painting over the back of my couch! I'm sure you could do it." And I was still like "No. No way". And then if my memory serves me correctly, I think he assured me that I could do it because I was "hip and artsy."


Yup, that's me. Hip and artsy. Always. Even when I'm sleeping. He also said I should do it because a lot of people would see it and then I would be famous and would be able to get dates....

Oh "A", you kidder. Since when does art get you laid? Do we have any scientific proof there, shrinksy?

The main thing he kept saying was "You have nothing to lose." Well, except for my sanity perhaps. I would love to do a large abstract painting, but first of all...Where? I have a very tiny house. I have no place to work. I barely even have enough space for the catbox.

And then I thought, hey, I know, maybe I can call up Married Guy's wifie and ask her if I can come paint in the large, sunny studio Married Guy built her. Yeah, there's a good idea. Think she'll notice?

Ok, never mind.

And secondly, he said he would be cranky about its content, you know, as in he wants what he wants. Well, ya know, artists don't exactly like to be constrained. Restrained, maybe (heh, heh), but not constrained.

And thirdly, crimany, ya mean I'd have to look at that 6 foot by 6 foot monstrosity every time I walked into your office? I would probably need a clonopin just so I could sit there and discuss the usual stuff like why spiders from Mars are conspiring to encase my house in giant vibrating webs that draw in microwave signals from Evangelical radio stations hosted by guys named Jeff.

But wait, please, lets go back to the part where art gets you laid. Really? When? Can we document that? I mean I've tried nearly everything else. We all know how free artists are. Right? Or are they? Or maybe, and stick with me here friends, they only express themselves when they're doing art and then the rest of the day, they're laying in a fetal position wondering what life is all about. I actually think that is a little more accurate. Sad, but true.

But I will agree with you on one thing, "A". People do think we are cool. No doubt. Today, for instance, after I left your office, feeling all properly jazzed because you wanted me to paint you a painting (yes, it did make me feel good), I had to go into my office.

We have two receptionists. The morning receptionist, who is a really cool African American woman. Extremely lively, great sense of humor, fabulous voice (she sings around the office a lot, but has a great voice, so its ok). And then we have the afternoon receptionist. I don't know her very well. She's a lot more reserved and business like and I kind of get a church-lady vibe from her, I guess.

Well, today when I went in after my appointment with my client, the phones weren't too busy so she smiled a big smile at me when I walked through the office on the way to the color printer upstairs and said, smiling, "I heard you're quite an artist!"

(gee, I wonder who my press agent is right now, because whoever it is, they're doing a bang up job. I mean with job offers and people saying "you're quite an artist". What next? A Chair on the Board of MOMA?).

So I shyly said, "Well, I don't know about -- quite a --, but I am an artist, yes. And then she said, smiling, I've heard you do really good work (I guess my boss has been singing my praises since I've been doing flyers for our department). I thanked her. And then she said, smiling, well, maybe you should bring some of your artwork in and put it up in the office. And I said, well I don't think so. And she was still smiling when she said, "Why not?" and I leaned forward and said, "Well, I mostly only do nudes." And she was like "what?" squinting slightly. Me: "Nudes". And then the smile totally disappeared and she looked at me like she had just spotted Michael Jackson at Toys-R-Us. "Oh"

So I don't know if they knocked me out of the cool category directly into the perv category or whether I'll just have some kind of mystique for, (whispering) oh there goes the girl who draws nude people.

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