A month ago, my head was spinning. I was days away from my first art exhibition in an age, and every detail I’d been trying to finesse into place was either going to come together as planned on November 18th, or it wasn’t going to happen at all. No matter what the event, we’ve surely all gone through this last-minute frenzy of self-doubt, focus, impatience, list-making-and-demolishing, and edgy excitement. In my long-ago backstage days, the knowledge that what was weeks and months in the making would often be a one-night stand of performance and then an all-nighter of striking the sets and packing it all away was no more intense and intimidating than this latest. But those early forays into the public eye (albeit mostly from the comfortably hidden perspectives of various stage crew or directorial positions) were likewise no more cheering when I came out the other end of the production relatively unscathed and mostly relieved—even delighted.
In the present case, I will simply say that the enormous amount of support and kindness and generosity shared with me by a stalwart group of friends, advisors, and laborers made the event a grand success.
Mind you, all success is relative. This show was planned and executed as the latest in a long series of steps intended to keep me moving forward as an artist not only in the practice of my visual and writing skills but eventually, also, as a business practice in the long term. So it needed to feed not merely my already sizeable enough ego but also the ambition and invention necessary to keep some momentum and motivate further growth and progress in my sojourn. That meant risking the investment of more than the obvious monetary expenditures that can’t be immediately recouped, the art supplies and printing, the framing and publicity, the shipping and handling, and the long inventory of other tangible and commodity-based sorts of items necessary to create and present an art exhibition on any scale. It also meant taking the greater risk that an introvert with an inborn fear and loathing of business and all of the complexities Making a Living entails must dive into if she’s to succeed in anything larger than surreptitiously showing her latest scribblings to the members of her own household.
And I am here to tell the tale. That alone is ‘worth the price of admission’ in my book.
Yes, I did make back a bit more of the monetary investment than I feared I might, with a great boost from my managerial spouse (and cashier) and the generous attendees at the show who made purchases. And I certainly gained valuables other than strictly dollar-based ones, too. The advice and physical assistance of those who helped to plan, install, pack, and move the entire exhibition were essential to this success. The attendance of friends, loved ones, and acquaintances who kept me company and peopled the pop-up gallery of my marvelous venue was a tremendous boost in confidence. The further kind encouragements of those unable to attend on the day who have so graciously nudged me onward keep me moving forward, too. All of these gifts continue to be just as valuable resources as the growing belief that I will not only be able to recoup the money spent on this single, singular adventure before I’m a centenarian but will also continue to find further pleasures in the process.
I can’t remember anymore what anthology story program on TV had the episode that comes to mind just now. The tale was that of a sleepy small town whose residents felt underappreciated—maybe unnoticed entirely—and decided that what they needed for a jolt of attention was a good ol’ natural disaster. Not a real one, mind, just something that seemingly put them in jeopardy and therefore brought the attention and (most importantly) big bucks of the agencies that offer rescue and succor to those who suffer. This tale being, of course, an entertainment and a very silly comedic one at that, the town’s geniuses made a little film documenting their tragic miseries, complete with deeply unconvincing special effects and some acting that, while it did evoke horror, did so only in the sense of its rich incompetence. The highlight of their marvel of a movie was a scene where a group of people did a stupendously fakey shaky act while accomplices waggled objects on the shot’s periphery to simulate a massive earthquake and one of the would-be actors shouted “it’s an EARTHQUAKE!” to another who looked straight into the camera and yelled, “This is really happening!” Spoiler alert: the government aid agencies being courted with this tomfoolery were not fooled.
And I feel, lately, that I might be reenacting those village idiots’ little cautionary tale myself. While I’ve been genuinely working hard and keeping busier than I can easily do on a long-term basis, and I’ve gotten a lot less sleep than this sleep-fiend ordinarily requires per night, I know that the run-up to my art exhibition is only a finite project and I’m not even remotely experiencing what any sane person would call suffering! So I try not to whimper and whinge too loudly or I’m quite certain I’ll get called on the same kind of specious pity-party as those fictional townsfolk were throwing themselves. But as the day of the show approaches, I do succumb a bit more frequently to the weaselly wiles of tired self-absorption.
And then I remember that this is really happening, and soon. And truthfully, it’s been a very long time coming. So when I can snag a few hours of semi-sound sleep and get a moment to sit down and reflect while not madly framing and making art and all of the accoutrements of a carefully planned exhibition, I am in fact very happy that I chose to brave the adventure of a solo show again after a long hiatus from the scene. And I’m enjoying the uplifting responses of all who are cheering me along the way and even lending their capable insights and hands to make it go as smoothly and joyfully as possible. In honor of that kind of support and to encourage myself to get out of my own crowded little head a bit more, I took on and continued some side projects. Helps with the whole perspective thing.
One ‘side’ project is simply a longtime ongoing one in which I’ve been designing a whole group (well over 60 in number by now) of scarf and shawl designs that I will be selling. Many of these I hope will eventually become part of a line of fundraiser items for research into the treatment and cure of Parkinson’s Disease, Diabetes, and Lupus, some very real trials suffered by large numbers of people (who deserve far better, and number among them my two mamas and my beloved niece, respectively); they are available online at my Art of Where store and will evolve for their higher purpose when I’m able to recover a little from the show.
Two angel artworks came alive recently, both resembling but not entirely copying previous iterations of those otherworldly, nondenominational guardian creatures who do frequently seem to appear on my paper, canvas, or alternate substrate whenever I’m approaching both a show deadline and an exhaustion meltdown. It seemed apropos that these two avatars of support-staff excellence should serve a wider purpose than only my own, so the proceeds of their sale will be combined and shared equally as gifts to two choirs my husband conducted in different past interim positions here in Dallas.
The third and quickest project was getting to make a wreath for a charitable auction that will happen in early December. It’s a fundraiser selling one-of-a-kind custom wreaths made by local artists to raise money for a wonderful health center in town for at-risk and underserved populations. I chose to use a mental health theme for my ‘From Dark to Dazzling’ non-seasonable wreath, and I had a great time planning and making it, not least of all because it took me away from art-exhibition wrestling for a little while. Coming back to the show work again became a bit easier to face after those diversions and a few outings to see and hear great friends performing in concert and opera around here.
Coming back to the show work again became a bit easier to face after those diversions and a few outings to see and hear great friends performing in concert and opera around here. Ticking a few more items off the lengthy exhibition prep list each day doesn’t hurt. And having an evening to sit down with my remarkably unflappable spouse and work out a few of the other lurking puzzles is beyond helpful. Tomorrow seems slightly more approachable and manageable than yesterday or even today. And the Thing That Is Happening will happen one way or another, but how much better that I will be able to welcome it when the time comes!
Which time is, by the bye, next Saturday. It’s 4-9 pm on the 18th of November, 2017, at 5656 North Central Expressway, Villa #100, Dallas, Texas. And I like to think it’ll be quite the fun shindig for all of us who show up there. Betcha I won’t even have time to feel tired or distracted or worried at all anymore.
As the date of my art exhibition approaches, the task list gets strangely longer rather than shorter. But it’s still pleasing to see what little items I can tick off of the list as I’m piling new items onto it below. Two steps forward, one back, and so goes life.
At the moment, one of the tasks is to be sure I’m documenting each piece reasonably well so that I’ll have a truer record of what I did and what I put in the exhibition. But I’ve made it a little awkward for myself (longtime visitors here and other friends will not be surprised at this regular occurrence!) by doing tons of works with shiny, iridescent, high-gloss, translucent, and other kinds of colorations and techniques and media that are hard to pin down in photos. The first new painting I did for this show is a classic example.
When I did this Ella Fitzgerald portrait, I did my usual hybrid of drawing and painting on canvas, layering individual colors and small sets of them at a time and letting some show through windows in subsequent layers and others, merely by virtue of not being blocked out by the next layers’ transparency or thinness. Which suits my approach fine, but as a finished product makes for something that looks different in every light and from every angle. I made a tiny video clip just to prove my point, and even video doesn’t seem to get the whole of the thing. Obviously I’m not going to be having any exhibitions of my work either as a rock-solid documentarian or a filmmaker!
But I’ll keep doing what I can. I’d like to have a catalogue at the end of all of this that at least works as a souvenir—shareable in print as a book, if I’m lucky—and perhaps even as a portfolio of sorts. After all, I do like making books of various kinds. Of course, that leads me back in some kind of infinity loop to cataloguing all of my publishable images, or at least the thousands of them that are in printable formats. Trust me to find endless ways to make more work for myself.
Good thing I enjoy my work! Not that I don’t like sleep, too, and other life activities. Not very good at setting boundaries and finding the exact life balance I want. I hear that’s a common disease among the self-employed and artists and all others of my ilk. But it’s a trick to get my inner eye closed and my brain silenced for the night when they want to keep springing new ideas on me without much regard for the hour. I’m hoping that it’ll abate for a while after this exhibition is packed away again.
Because I’m nothing if not a fantasist. Oh, you noticed.
One month from this date, 18 November 2017, I’m crawling back out of my chrysalis. It’s been nice in here, curled up in my artistic bubble and reinventing myself yet again. With masses of support from spouse, family, friends, and community right on through, of course, I’ve found productivity and a few adventures and plenty of novelty in untested or forgotten media to charm and challenge me. Besides which, nothing’s more motivational than having a deadline. November the 18th.
And not having participated in an art exhibition in approximately a decade, surprisingly, is a fair catalyst for setting a deadline to, you know…have an art exhibition. Yep, highly motivational. Oh, did I mention that despite the longtime plan to have a show and the subsequent immersion in art-making, the show itself is essentially all on the fly? Story of my life as an artist. My life in general, perhaps. Good thing I’m surrounded by such richly (perhaps weirdly) supportive people.
Now, finding a workable date was one of the first stumbling blocks. So many of the same friends and loved ones who are always on hand to cheer me on have such busy lives—foremost among them my conductor spouse—that it’s a trick to merely find one date when less than 90% of them have a concert, a rehearsal, a gig, or any other impediment to their at least getting to see the stuff they’ve, however foolishly, encouraged me to create. From the date-setting part of the adventure followed the inevitable cascade of logistical hoop-jumping and list-making and head-scratching that make every art exhibit similar to every other limited-edition event I’ve seen in the planning and execution. I guess I should just be glad that a literal execution is not what I expect awaits me on the day of the show.
And before you say “huh?” to that last item, I will confirm that this is not only a one-day reception but a one-day, pop-up exhibition. As I’ve never sought representation by or an affiliation with an agent or gallery or shop in Texas since moving here, I knew from the beginning that I’d be lucky to afford a single day’s showing. And I’m luckier than I even dared to hope because a very clever friend with excellent connections found a perfect venue for me and convinced the owner I was a worthwhile risk.
Now it’s my continuing task to prove him correct. Did I say Motivational?!
This’ll be the first time I’ve shown any of my digital artwork in the real world. It’s the first time I’ve seriously revisited painting in many years. I’ve adjusted and edited a number of the graphite drawings I’ve made in my years of blogging here and during the non-painting time in general so that I can make limited edition prints of some of them and sell the originals of others. My forays into designing patterns, styles, and finishes for clothing and furnishings through online wholesalers and retailers will get a first physical airing, and the seven of the eight books I’ve put into print will be in the space as well.
Thus far, I’ve been scrambling to separate more clearly what is, or isn’t, going to be included in the show not only so that I can push to insure that all the Yeses are framed and ready to hang and the Nos don’t get in the way of that deadline which will now be officially looming, being a month away. Things to do, places to go, people to see, and yes, a post or two to get my blog in gear enough for me to clarify in my own mind just where all of this is headed.
More to come; for now, I’ll just hand you a pair of the invitational materials so you can join in on the countdown with me. Come along, if you’re up for it!
In case you wonder where I’ve wandered off to for the last couple of years instead of sticking to my daily blogging!
I’ve been producing, refining, updating, and otherwise detailing hundreds of my artworks, from photography to drawings, paintings, prints, digital illustrations, collages, poems, essays, book designs, and more. Many of these have already gone up for sale online at Zazzle and Art of Where (prints of artworks on paper, canvas, acrylic; household objects like cups, plates, lampshades, pillows, and the like; and clothing—T shirts, aprons, scarves, shawls, and more) and as books of my writing and visual arts at Amazon and Blurb.
Most importantly, I’ve been enjoying the process of getting back to my art roots and producing and editing my own work just for the love of it. I am immensely grateful for the freedom to pursue this vocation, and for the many friends and loved ones who support me in the craziness!
And in case you can’t tell, since I’ve become a silent lurker 99% of the time, I do still love visiting my friends’ blogs and reading and viewing when I can!
In a world of seeming absolutes, Nature loves nothing more than to surprise us. Ice is always cold, except when it burns. Drugs, whether entirely from a single natural source or concocted in recipes of great scientific ingenuity, can heal, though the very same dose of the very same medicine makes one person miraculously hale again and kills another on the spot. The supposed Dead Sea has richer and more varied life forms than a multitude of other lakes and seas, while the so-called Sea of Tranquility is often enough a seething mass of storms.
And we gullible human beings, here in the thick of things, study deeply and grow wiser, yet can rarely tell the honest truth from a preposterous lie. May we learn, if nothing else, to know our limitations better and to show consideration for those whose ignorance is only naturally different from our own. And may we all remember our own imperfections before we devote any energies to defining and rooting out any others’.
I wrote the foregoing paragraphs quite a while ago, but am struck anew by the thought as yet another would-be Statement-Making evildoer commits an attack on innocents, this particular one today in Stockholm. How killing other innocent people, and usually in a barbaric fashion, is going to bring back the killer’s lost loves and goods, going to win hearts and minds to anyone’s cause, or even remotely change the world for the better for the attacker or anyone else, is absolutely impossible for me to fathom.
Throwing red paint on a fur coat wearer is going to make her say, “Heavens! It never occurred to me that a fur coat might offend anybody, let alone hurt the animal I took it from! I shall henceforth devote my life to protecting animal rights and the activists who promote them.” Really? Shouting epithets at anyone will make him think, “Good grief! You’re right! I will stop being brown/disabled/bisexual/elderly Right This Minute. What was I thinking?” Yeah. Just as easily ask the shouter to stop decrying Otherness. It’s natural for us to question, fear, or even dislike things that don’t fit our worldview, but why any of us would think it either our job or our right to change things that are intrinsic to who others are by birth or perforce is entirely beyond my comprehension.
You see me as dyslexic, as having Spasmodic Dysphonia (along with mitral valve prolapse, clinical anxiety and depression, hypothyroidism, familial tremor, and perpetual hot flashes), never mind all the others who have unspeakably more difficult and complicated conditions and experiences all the time—and you think we do this stuff by choice—for fun and entertainment? We take the meds, we do the therapies, we study and we pray, just as you say you do. As logical asking us to stop being this stuff as us asking you to stop wearing skin, to quit that wasteful use of resources when you insist on taking drinks of potable water, or to love the taste of cyanide.
I’m pretty sure that if there were a solution to this persistent, pernicious problem of human nature, any of the far wiser people than me would long ago have discovered it and the rest of the world embraced its practicality, if not its inherent goodness. Sorry to say, we are all broken and will continue to be damaged goods as a species as long as we have any kind of free will at all. But that doesn’t mean we should just stop trying to be better. It certainly doesn’t mean we’re off the hook for attempting decency and the simplest—if also most difficult—bits of compassion and insight we can manage in the here and now. I hope with all my heart that we can commit to at least that much.
Peace be with us all.