Yesterday, Vicki and I, along with Emily, hung the first show I've done in many years at the regional library. Let me just say that it was an all day event. Vicki always used to say that the best you could shoot for is arranging the paintings in such a way that people didn't notice anything wrong. Vicki and I hung many a show back in the day.....shes amazing at it.
Because this is a relatively new facility, the director of the space, who I'll call "Mark" in an effort to protect his true identity, objected to the hammering of nails and hooks in to his wall like areas. The three of us had to tie the paintings to fishing wire and suspend them from hooks along a rail close to the ceiling. This involved the climbing up and down of a ladder. the good news here is that I didn't fall once. The bad news is that I managed to drop, fumble, and ultimately step on the end of all the lengths of fishing wire that Emily had just cut causing them to dissolve in to a pile of reeeeeeaaaaallllly thin spaghetti behind her. "NANCY!!!!!", "ooops....sorry Emily"
I did my time up on the ladder. I even climbed up carrying a pair of scissors once or twice, which is a clear signal to the Gods that they need to hold their collective breaths and scramble my guardian angels. "Code red, code red!!!...shes climbing with scissors!......repeat...code red!!!" I was amazingly focused in my determination not to crush either one of the ladies on the ground; "step and up......step and up...nice...and....easy.....step and up...I'm glad I shaved my pits.....step and up"
Mark entered and spent some time verbalizing. He did this frequently. I found myself wondering why my brain refused to make any sense out of what he was saying. "Yup.....he's clearly trying to communicate something. Verbal little fella isn't he". Why is his signal not coming in on my station?I am perplexed.....yes....he's difinitely trying to tell me something. I smile and nod a lot. OK.......moving on. Vicki would like to squash him like a bug. I can see it in her eyes. There is nothing hidden with Vicki. I'm genuinely surprised that she hasn't gone up and knocked on his forehead yet and called him annoying.
Gotta pee....so I enter the bathroom labeled "family restroom" I couldn't resist. Is there a salad bar in there or something? I had to know what constitutes a family style group toidy. The room is quite large in order to accommodate out of town relatives and overnight guests I imagine. There is a standard size toilet on one side of the room and a teeny weenie baby toilet on the other side.......like a gnome size toilet. I resisted the urge to use the gnome toidy and headed to the grown-up head......which happened to be situated directly in front of a sink and mirror. No one should ever have this sort of a view of their own parts and functions. I had to take a lorazepem afterwards. Who's brilliant fucking idea was this arrangement. Oh look......there's a little gnome sink too!
A mere 7 hours later and the show was hung, and with no major injuries or fatalities I might add. We looked around the room quite proud of what we had accomplished. I left the venue feeling like I have always felt with my artwork on display....sorta like a '76 lime green Ford Pinto in a Mercedes lot.
This is my life.
I arrived home exhausted and checked my e-mail. There was one from Vicki which read: "you are not a lime green Pinto...just in case you were wondering"
She knows me all too well.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
A dress for the wedding.
This week found Hilary and myself finally making a decision on an outfit for me to wear to the wedding. After suffering through those patented gateways to hell commonly known as fitting rooms, we ended up picking out something online. I'm actually grateful that I can see myself as I really am, in my own mirror, instead of in a fitting room mirror........clearly objects of the devil. Thank heavens I don't really look like that. (please allow me my few remaining delusions and refrain from pointing out my denial.....I cling to what little I have left)
Hilary and I communicated online and followed link after link to outfits she liked and ones I liked. I did discover that most, if not all things I thought were nice, Hilary condemned as being "cheap" looking. Hmmmmmm.......I'm sensing a trend here in my taste level, or the apparent lack thereof. To be all honest.....at this point in the process, I would have agreed to ass-less chaps if it's what she wanted. As it was, she found a dress available in my size and she liked it. Done and done.
To ask me if I "love" that dress is like asking a Doberman if he's enjoying the Merlot. I'm sorry...I'm just not wired that way. The list of things that mean nothing to me is growing exponentially as I age. I just don't care about clothes. I admire women who have large collections of clothes and shoes and accessories that they really enjoy pulling together. They exude that love of style and the confidence that goes with it. I have plenty of time to think of this as I'm following behind them in the mall with toilet paper trailing from my Birkenstocks.
My clothing criteria includes pieces that are the least likely to cause me to fall down. This excludes hemlines that hover around my feet, heels any higher than my Crocs (OK....so I have fallen down in my Crocs....whats your point!) and any sort of trailing or dangling accoutrements that could become tangling accoutrements. I also tend toward patterns that will not show food spillage readily. Yep........that's about it. I put ten times the time and consideration in to the purchase of a new paintbrush than I do in to clothing. Sad but true.
So I clicked my way through and ordered the dress. All that matters to me is that it's comfortable and will do it's level best to keep me on my feet. Speaking of my feet......I'm wondering if Hilary is aware of the difficulties awaiting us in the shoe department. There is a reason why Fred Flintstone was always barefoot. I'm thinking Hil is going to make me wear shoes to the wedding.
Hilary and I communicated online and followed link after link to outfits she liked and ones I liked. I did discover that most, if not all things I thought were nice, Hilary condemned as being "cheap" looking. Hmmmmmm.......I'm sensing a trend here in my taste level, or the apparent lack thereof. To be all honest.....at this point in the process, I would have agreed to ass-less chaps if it's what she wanted. As it was, she found a dress available in my size and she liked it. Done and done.
To ask me if I "love" that dress is like asking a Doberman if he's enjoying the Merlot. I'm sorry...I'm just not wired that way. The list of things that mean nothing to me is growing exponentially as I age. I just don't care about clothes. I admire women who have large collections of clothes and shoes and accessories that they really enjoy pulling together. They exude that love of style and the confidence that goes with it. I have plenty of time to think of this as I'm following behind them in the mall with toilet paper trailing from my Birkenstocks.
My clothing criteria includes pieces that are the least likely to cause me to fall down. This excludes hemlines that hover around my feet, heels any higher than my Crocs (OK....so I have fallen down in my Crocs....whats your point!) and any sort of trailing or dangling accoutrements that could become tangling accoutrements. I also tend toward patterns that will not show food spillage readily. Yep........that's about it. I put ten times the time and consideration in to the purchase of a new paintbrush than I do in to clothing. Sad but true.
So I clicked my way through and ordered the dress. All that matters to me is that it's comfortable and will do it's level best to keep me on my feet. Speaking of my feet......I'm wondering if Hilary is aware of the difficulties awaiting us in the shoe department. There is a reason why Fred Flintstone was always barefoot. I'm thinking Hil is going to make me wear shoes to the wedding.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Pedicure virgin
OK....so this past weekend was Mother's Day. Hilary, as always, gave generously of her time and attention, and gave me the most thoughtful gift of a portfolio to show pictures of my paintings and a lovely little pouch to keep my business cards in. She knows me. She knows that cut crystal vases and Limoges are lost on my Fiesta ware and Birkenstock sensibilities. She gave me a gift that supports me in my portrait business and demonstrates her pride in my accomplishments. Somewhere in and amongst her mac and cheese and one pair of sneakers upbringing, I did one or two things right.
On the spur of the moment, she suggested that we get a pedicure. Hmmmmm......never had one of those. My first thought was that my feet were sweating inside my crocs. My second thought concerned my legs. Let me just tell you that I am one of those fastidious ladies that shaves her legs twice a year whether they need it or not. This particular little thought was dismissed rather quickly due to the fact that hair growth on my legs is rather pathetic, patchy and sporadic at best. I'm sure it has something to do with friction and ever diminishing follicle stamina.
We enter the salon which was entirely populated by very tiny Asian people. Hilary enters as if she were born to frequent salons catering to feminine fussing. She walks directly to the nail colors and asks me to pick one. Hmmmmm......three hundred sixty gazillion shades of pinkish red and four hundred and eighty nine bajillion shades of reddish pink.......and a bottle of turquoise. I picked a happy shade of red that Hilary quickly shot down as being "whorehouse red" Really!?!.......you're going to have to explain to me why this particular shade of red amidst all the others in the pink/red category is unacceptable!?? I took her word for it and made a blind grab for one a little on the reddish pink side. For whatever fundamentally mysterious reason.......she approved of this shade.
We were led back to four large chairs with foot baths attached and the tiny Asian lady began filling them with water after adding some blue crystals that had to be some sort of potent antiseptic anti stank potion. A very tiny Asian man directed me to sit in the chair. Hilary was in the back in the soundproof eyebrow waxing vault ( I imagine the screaming of profanities and begging for mercy is not terribly good for business) so I was on my own here. I sat in the chair and put my feet in the water wondering and sort of hoping that the two young women in the chairs to my left, feverishly chatting, texting, and rattling their sparkly rings and bracelets could actually smell my sweaty crocs on the floor in between our chairs.
Hilary returned from the vault with bright red eyebrow skin and took her place in the chair next to me. The small Asian man worked rapidly with his tiny tools and clipped and filed and de cuticled and buffed my old-assed toenails. He kept up a steady dialogue in his native tongue with the small Asian girl working on one of the spray tanned cell phone twins. Mental note: if you are going to have a pedi, it's probably best to shave off the 4 to 6 errant hairs that have a permanent residence on your legs. Salon lighting has a tendency to spotlight them like they were attempting to escape from Alcatraz. I'm surprised alarms didn't sound.
Back to my little Asian man. I swear one of my thighs weighs more than him and his entire family. As I'm sitting there, painfully aware of my hairs, I can't help but wonder what he's saying.
"Get a load of these feet! They are wider than they are long!! ha ha ha ha!!!.....with tiny little piggy toes! They remind me of Fred Flintstone's feet! You know........"Flintsones...meet the Flintstones....they're the modern stone age fa-mi-ly....from the....town of Bed-rock.......
Shes got calves the size of actual calves! ha ha ha ha!!....and get a load of those hairs! I bet she only shaves her legs twice a year!!
I put my little pinkish red toes back in my sweaty crocs and we drove home.
If you are wondering about the weirdness that follows me wherever I go.....not to worry......Hilary's foot bath overflowed all over the floor around her pedi chair causing small Asian people to come running from all directions. She is her mother's daughter.
It was a fabulous day!
On the spur of the moment, she suggested that we get a pedicure. Hmmmmm......never had one of those. My first thought was that my feet were sweating inside my crocs. My second thought concerned my legs. Let me just tell you that I am one of those fastidious ladies that shaves her legs twice a year whether they need it or not. This particular little thought was dismissed rather quickly due to the fact that hair growth on my legs is rather pathetic, patchy and sporadic at best. I'm sure it has something to do with friction and ever diminishing follicle stamina.
We enter the salon which was entirely populated by very tiny Asian people. Hilary enters as if she were born to frequent salons catering to feminine fussing. She walks directly to the nail colors and asks me to pick one. Hmmmmm......three hundred sixty gazillion shades of pinkish red and four hundred and eighty nine bajillion shades of reddish pink.......and a bottle of turquoise. I picked a happy shade of red that Hilary quickly shot down as being "whorehouse red" Really!?!.......you're going to have to explain to me why this particular shade of red amidst all the others in the pink/red category is unacceptable!?? I took her word for it and made a blind grab for one a little on the reddish pink side. For whatever fundamentally mysterious reason.......she approved of this shade.
We were led back to four large chairs with foot baths attached and the tiny Asian lady began filling them with water after adding some blue crystals that had to be some sort of potent antiseptic anti stank potion. A very tiny Asian man directed me to sit in the chair. Hilary was in the back in the soundproof eyebrow waxing vault ( I imagine the screaming of profanities and begging for mercy is not terribly good for business) so I was on my own here. I sat in the chair and put my feet in the water wondering and sort of hoping that the two young women in the chairs to my left, feverishly chatting, texting, and rattling their sparkly rings and bracelets could actually smell my sweaty crocs on the floor in between our chairs.
Hilary returned from the vault with bright red eyebrow skin and took her place in the chair next to me. The small Asian man worked rapidly with his tiny tools and clipped and filed and de cuticled and buffed my old-assed toenails. He kept up a steady dialogue in his native tongue with the small Asian girl working on one of the spray tanned cell phone twins. Mental note: if you are going to have a pedi, it's probably best to shave off the 4 to 6 errant hairs that have a permanent residence on your legs. Salon lighting has a tendency to spotlight them like they were attempting to escape from Alcatraz. I'm surprised alarms didn't sound.
Back to my little Asian man. I swear one of my thighs weighs more than him and his entire family. As I'm sitting there, painfully aware of my hairs, I can't help but wonder what he's saying.
"Get a load of these feet! They are wider than they are long!! ha ha ha ha!!!.....with tiny little piggy toes! They remind me of Fred Flintstone's feet! You know........"Flintsones...meet the Flintstones....they're the modern stone age fa-mi-ly....from the....town of Bed-rock.......
Shes got calves the size of actual calves! ha ha ha ha!!....and get a load of those hairs! I bet she only shaves her legs twice a year!!
I put my little pinkish red toes back in my sweaty crocs and we drove home.
If you are wondering about the weirdness that follows me wherever I go.....not to worry......Hilary's foot bath overflowed all over the floor around her pedi chair causing small Asian people to come running from all directions. She is her mother's daughter.
It was a fabulous day!
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Wedding outing
As we all know, I am the essence if crap-tacularity when it comes to helping my daughter with the endless twists and turns and dramas involved in mounting a wedding these days. If it were not for the fact that she is a compulsive list maker, her wedding day would climax in one giant, blinding spark of static electricity thereby allowing chaos to ensue.
Tonight she called because there is some sort of problem mailing her wedding invitations because they are square. Evidently square envelopes cause the United States Postal Service to have cluster panic attacks that can only be alleviated with an extra 20 cents per piece. If the envelope wont fit properly in the machine due to it's unusual, clearly communist and radical shape........square.........the machine operator will be forced to take a leave of absence where upon he can foam at the mouth and consult his union liaison regarding working conditions.
This is just one of the little hurdles that brides in the 21st century are forced to deal with. There are at least thirty thousand individual decisions that need to be made in order to get to the big day. Poor Justin has reached his decision saturation point and would readily agree to a string quartet of homosexual Romanian dwarfs to play "Having my Baby" during the cake cutting portion of the evening. Yup....he's done. I'm surprised he can still decide what he wants for breakfast at McDonalds.
Hilary soldiers on, picking chair covers and centerpieces and napkin rings, and trying to make everything look cohesive in a venue painted burnt orange. You would think that I could find a way to be some help to her....aside from managing to walk her down the aisle without an ambulance needing to be called. The jury is still out on that one.
This past weekend, I went with her to Joann's fabrics because she needed fabric for.......uuuummmmm.......uuuhhhhhh........ok...so I'm not really sure exactly what she needed it for, but I did help by pointing to various bolts of fabric and saying "that's nice". Just for the record, no....I do not smoke crack. We then went to look at stackable boxes for ........ummmmmmm..eeerrrrr......ok.....so I'm not really sure exactly what they're for, but we did look for paper to cover them, and I did help by pointing to various papers and saying "that's nice". I did answer the crack question, didn't I?
We walked back and forth across the store as Hilary's mind buzzed and hummed like a well oiled wedding machine, looking at papers, and then ribbons, and then more papers, and glue options and silk flowers, all with a finished product goal firmly planted in her head. We left the store an hour later with me having purchased 2 canvases and a bottle of gesso, and Hilary having purchased 4 cardboard boxes and a Twix bar.
....and I only fell down once.
It was a good day.
Tonight she called because there is some sort of problem mailing her wedding invitations because they are square. Evidently square envelopes cause the United States Postal Service to have cluster panic attacks that can only be alleviated with an extra 20 cents per piece. If the envelope wont fit properly in the machine due to it's unusual, clearly communist and radical shape........square.........the machine operator will be forced to take a leave of absence where upon he can foam at the mouth and consult his union liaison regarding working conditions.
This is just one of the little hurdles that brides in the 21st century are forced to deal with. There are at least thirty thousand individual decisions that need to be made in order to get to the big day. Poor Justin has reached his decision saturation point and would readily agree to a string quartet of homosexual Romanian dwarfs to play "Having my Baby" during the cake cutting portion of the evening. Yup....he's done. I'm surprised he can still decide what he wants for breakfast at McDonalds.
Hilary soldiers on, picking chair covers and centerpieces and napkin rings, and trying to make everything look cohesive in a venue painted burnt orange. You would think that I could find a way to be some help to her....aside from managing to walk her down the aisle without an ambulance needing to be called. The jury is still out on that one.
This past weekend, I went with her to Joann's fabrics because she needed fabric for.......uuuummmmm.......uuuhhhhhh........ok...so I'm not really sure exactly what she needed it for, but I did help by pointing to various bolts of fabric and saying "that's nice". Just for the record, no....I do not smoke crack. We then went to look at stackable boxes for ........ummmmmmm..eeerrrrr......ok.....so I'm not really sure exactly what they're for, but we did look for paper to cover them, and I did help by pointing to various papers and saying "that's nice". I did answer the crack question, didn't I?
We walked back and forth across the store as Hilary's mind buzzed and hummed like a well oiled wedding machine, looking at papers, and then ribbons, and then more papers, and glue options and silk flowers, all with a finished product goal firmly planted in her head. We left the store an hour later with me having purchased 2 canvases and a bottle of gesso, and Hilary having purchased 4 cardboard boxes and a Twix bar.
....and I only fell down once.
It was a good day.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
A brave new world.......kinda
The reality here is that I'm just beginning to understand that the world I've grown up accepting as true and stable and undeniable is, in fact, no longer in existence. The world of my father is gone forever. I'm sorry to see it go because in that world....a person signed on to a "parent" company who supported you and cared for you. And when you could no longer function at optimum efficiency....you retired with a pension and took up golf or some such thing.
As old fashioned and obsolete as that world sounds today, it is in my DNA..it's what I know. Here I am in middle age, finally grasping the concept that I need to make my own way......and not just as employee of the month. Even as I'm free-falling, I'm waiting....no....expecting, someone or something to reach out and save me. that's the way it's supposed to be, right? It was only when I was way close to the bottom, that my little internal voice said ....."umm......Sparky?......ya may wanna consider grabbing hold of FUCKING ANYTHING!!!!"
Thank-you little voice
I reached out for creativity and as always, it saved my sorry ass yet again. OK.......so my relationship with Art has not always been without conflict. Well.....it's never been without conflict. I've frequently felt flung forcibly to the ground and asked "do I have your attention yet?" but it has never failed to provide the impetus to improve my circumstance and myself.
So here's how my little internal dialogue goes:
"Um...Nancy...I think it would be in your best interest to look at this and really see it.
"Nope.........uncomfortable......run away run away la la la la la"
"Seriously......a little uncomfortable at first because it's unknown, but much better in the long run"
"hmmmmmm......amazing little things, Funyuns. I wonder what the look like before packaging...like some giant Funyun forest full of funyun trees"
"Nance....a little focus here"
"OUCH...goddamit...I can't believe I just stood here and watched the dog drop a freakin' 5 pound femur bone on my freakin' foot!!
"Heeeelllooooooo"
"What do you mean I still owe $5000.00 on Hilary's education!?!.....I fucking paid that!!! What do you mean I paid it forward!?.......What the fuck??
"Nancy....you're really starting to annoy me a little"
"Four new tires cost What!!??...they're TIRES!!!....yanno.....rubber??"
"OK.....have it your way but just FYI......you're about to walk off a cliff. I strongly suggest that you open your eyes and alter your trajectory"
"WHOOSH............AAAAAAARRRRGGGGG......FALLING!!!!!
"Need a hand there Sparky?"
"yes please"
"Eyes opened?"
"yeah.....alright"
This is my relationship with Art. Those of you who are not afflicted with this particular proclivity may not understand how this is possible. You're gonna have to trust me on this one. Art for me has always been the way and has never been easy or even remotely comfortable. Art is eyes open. Seeing is always better than not seeing but never as easy ....and infinitely safer in the long run.
So here I am.....painting daily and making a little extra money. Improving my skills and turn around time. Do I worry and fret over the meaning?.......nope. Do I doubt my ability to pull off a painting?........nuh uh. I know I can pull off the painting. Confidence comes with eyes open.
Didn't see that one coming.........la la la la la
As old fashioned and obsolete as that world sounds today, it is in my DNA..it's what I know. Here I am in middle age, finally grasping the concept that I need to make my own way......and not just as employee of the month. Even as I'm free-falling, I'm waiting....no....expecting, someone or something to reach out and save me. that's the way it's supposed to be, right? It was only when I was way close to the bottom, that my little internal voice said ....."umm......Sparky?......ya may wanna consider grabbing hold of FUCKING ANYTHING!!!!"
Thank-you little voice
I reached out for creativity and as always, it saved my sorry ass yet again. OK.......so my relationship with Art has not always been without conflict. Well.....it's never been without conflict. I've frequently felt flung forcibly to the ground and asked "do I have your attention yet?" but it has never failed to provide the impetus to improve my circumstance and myself.
So here's how my little internal dialogue goes:
"Um...Nancy...I think it would be in your best interest to look at this and really see it.
"Nope.........uncomfortable......run away run away la la la la la"
"Seriously......a little uncomfortable at first because it's unknown, but much better in the long run"
"hmmmmmm......amazing little things, Funyuns. I wonder what the look like before packaging...like some giant Funyun forest full of funyun trees"
"Nance....a little focus here"
"OUCH...goddamit...I can't believe I just stood here and watched the dog drop a freakin' 5 pound femur bone on my freakin' foot!!
"Heeeelllooooooo"
"What do you mean I still owe $5000.00 on Hilary's education!?!.....I fucking paid that!!! What do you mean I paid it forward!?.......What the fuck??
"Nancy....you're really starting to annoy me a little"
"Four new tires cost What!!??...they're TIRES!!!....yanno.....rubber??"
"OK.....have it your way but just FYI......you're about to walk off a cliff. I strongly suggest that you open your eyes and alter your trajectory"
"WHOOSH............AAAAAAARRRRGGGGG......FALLING!!!!!
"Need a hand there Sparky?"
"yes please"
"Eyes opened?"
"yeah.....alright"
This is my relationship with Art. Those of you who are not afflicted with this particular proclivity may not understand how this is possible. You're gonna have to trust me on this one. Art for me has always been the way and has never been easy or even remotely comfortable. Art is eyes open. Seeing is always better than not seeing but never as easy ....and infinitely safer in the long run.
So here I am.....painting daily and making a little extra money. Improving my skills and turn around time. Do I worry and fret over the meaning?.......nope. Do I doubt my ability to pull off a painting?........nuh uh. I know I can pull off the painting. Confidence comes with eyes open.
Didn't see that one coming.........la la la la la
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