I dragged myself to two art openings last night, both shows I wanted to see, but after a long day, significantly exhausting. I do have photos, but no time to resize them, except for these…
My new camera has a touch screen, which is kinda cool unless you walk around with your camera poised to take pictures all the time and keep accidentally touching the damn touch screen. Then you get all these weird-ass pictures in between your carefully posed photos and you wonder how old you are and should you really be trusted with technology.
I will post the others later this week, but not right now, because I have to leave for a science thing in approximately 42 Cheerios. Or 32 minutes. Hard to tell which, because I’m still not awake. Seriously. And yes, I went to bed before midnight and no, I didn’t make any art last night, but here’s the thing about going to art exhibits: DAMN. I want to just sit on the deck today in the (hey, there’s no sun here) sun and drink tea and maybe even wine and eat fresh fruit (of which there is none in the house…I think there’s a frozen bag of berries in there somewhere), listening to music (annoying the crap outta my neighbors), and DRAWING.
Yeah. Well. Not today. And I still have to deal with my other neighbors and their desire to trim my trees right before the hottest months of the year. Dumbasses. Whatever.
This is particularly nice, isn’t it? Name that gallery space.
The thing about galleries is that they’re always in places where parking fucking sucks, whether it’s $12/hour or miles away in the dark, which when you’re a single female close to 50 is totally safe, because no one even notices your existence, let alone that you’re walking around in the dark by yourself. It’s good.
So this idea of inspiration, of how we keep the artist’s brain primed, ready to create at the drop of a hat…as I get more and more stressed about school and money and the kids coming home (only because I really should put away some of the stuff that was out at Christmas and you can’t even get down the hallway because of that damn chair, and the boychild is gonna be so pissed if I don’t clear out his room. I can see his eyebrow raising at me from here), I NEED to make art more and more. I see lines in other peoples’ work, I get random ideas bouncing into my brain, I just want to sit down with a sketchbook and draw.
But not this.
“Self Portrait with Wall”
No seriously, I think that’s what that is. I’m so artistic, I don’t even realize when I’m doing it. And I’m sitting here in my office, looking out a very dirty window (project for incoming college students!) at the tree branches hanging down that I’m sure are the ones the neighbor wants to trim, and thinking, fuck no, dude. I don’t wanna see your house. I want to see the trees…see the sky through the leaves and ignore the stupid white fence up there on the slope. I don’t want to know there’s a house up there. I want to be in the middle of nowhere…mentally, at least.
Should be an interesting conversation. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find an hour on the deck with my sketchbook this weekend, although I am having a hard time seeing that. Worst case, there are two more inspirational openings tonight, one the Feminism Now show where two of my pieces are…
I’m looking forward to seeing that.
Kathy Nida 