Archive for June, 2010

Two Things

June 24, 2010

My life is like a game show in the sort of dystopic novel young adults like to read. I have to do everything in fifteen minute to two hour increments. When time is up, I have to pick someone up or drop someone off, make a meal or clean something.

This afternoon Casey Afflek was talking about a new movie he is in called The Killer Within Me, or something like that. Of course it’s EXTREMELY violent and of course, this extreme violence is directed at women. Also of course this is because the director has an unflinching idea of what his movie should be and if people can’t take it, well too bad. People have been walking out of the theater and closing their eyes, etc. I think I’ll skip it, but the premise is about a stand up guy who is actually a serial killer. My question is, how does he have the time? How do you have a full time job and also manage to torture and kill people. And, where does he do it? Is clean up necessary? When does he sleep? If I were interviewing Casey I might have asked those questions, but Casey being the young man he is probably would think I was a lunatic, not worth answering.

I would like to see a movie about a woman who has to do a million pointless things all day long, things that amount to nothing at all but still are essential and somehow she manages to experience success at something wonderful like being an artist or running a bookstore or writing a novel. I can’t think of a single reason to go and watch a movie about a guy who has a full time job and kills and tortures women after work.Whatever is the point??

The other thing on my mind (well, there are so many things, but I won’t list them all), is what I would I  do now if I could do absolutely anything, and being an artist was no longer the route I chose to take. The disturbing thing is that I have no idea at all. The closest thing I can imagine in a fantasy is being a writer, and wouldn’t that be pretty much the same as what I do now? I can’t imagine what success looks like. I can’t imagine being anywhere near the top of my game at anything, and at times I think I would have been happier if I had just gotten some retail job someplace and rose to be manager (or the owner) of a shop. I have always loved stores. Especially eclectic shops with all sorts of objects loved by the owner, like the shop Curatorium in Providence. My parents always poo pooed any retail job because the pay is low and you are tied to a store. But what if that had been my destiny? What if I wanted to be tied to a store? I can see myself in just such a shop, my art work hanging on the walls and a little doggie by my feet to say hello to the customers. Clearly the art thing isn’t happening and I might be better off in a shop, dusting shelves and ringing a cash register. I think that sounds lovely.

worries

June 15, 2010

I don’t want this blog to be a whiny sobfest. It’s just that right at this point in time, both in the world at large and my own personal orbit, it’s difficult to pretend that all is well.

In the big picture, there is the oil spill and all of the hundreds of sad offshoots of that catastrophe. Not just the hundreds out of work, the children there who’s parents are facing financial ruin, the destruction of beaches, wildlife and waters. But also the puzzling behavior of our president, who seems strangely and uncharacteristically incompetent. I don’t want or need him to show rage. I wish he would have immediately gone to the area, even if at first everything seemed less disastrous. I wish he would help the local businesses force BP to cut through red tape and issue these people checks immediately. They have the cash. They are not a poor company, even with this spill. There was a heartbreaking interview this morning on NPR about a local restaurant owner who put in a claim for April, for $35,000.00. A drop in the bucket for these people (BP). So far, and this is mid June, he has received $5,000.00. He has staff he has had to let go, the restaurant is failing, his three year old wakes him to go look for tar balls. I mean, that’s so wrong. And there must be hundreds just like that guy. His name is Matt.

There is the war in Afghanistan. Yesterday Chris Matthews showed a horrible clip from reporter Richard Engle of soldiers being attacked after a memorial service for a downed comrade. But the thing that upset me was that Chris, whom I adore, said that he wondered if any American’s even cared what was happening to the soldiers there. He said nobody seems to want to see the war movies ( the Hurt Locker) and people are talking about it. Well, news flash Chris, I think about it all the time. What am I supposed to do??? I voted for a president who said these wars would end. He’s buffered the troop size instead. What the hell can I do about that? Cry? How would you know what I think, or anyone else I know? So, I didn’t go see the Hurt Locker. I didn’t see Sex & the City either. What of it?

Then there are the little annoying stories. Like the fact of Sir sellout Elton John taking a cool mil from Rush Limbaugh to play at Rush’s (4th) wedding to some child bride. Ick! And James Carville was there was well. What is wrong with these people? It’s not like it was Crystal Bowersox, who could use a million bucks. It’s Elton John!!!! He doesn’t need a cent. And James Carville? Well, that’s horrible on too many levels, but now I understand his marriage to Mary Matalin.

As far as my life, my double vision is more than a little scary. I can’t seem to progress in any area, whether it be my art ‘career’ or getting work done on my house or my jogging mileage. It just stays the same.

So, what to do? I guess I can be more pro active about my own life, though honestly, I’m not quite sure what to do. I’d like to be more goal oriented, but at this point, my main goal is to have more time to do my art. Anyone who has any ideas, feel free to chime in.

I do have a sense of humor, really I do. But the weight of the world just keeps getting heavier.

ciggies

June 7, 2010

Right now I wish I smoked. I don’t want the disease part of the cigarette, just something to do, something to hold and use and finger that is non caloric.I want to look like I feel. I want to look moody and wasted, thin and pale, forlorn. But I don’t smoke.

I went to my Boston gallery today to show new work to the owner, JC. I brought five more in a series he’s seen and is holding back from the public (this, I just found out today) for an eventual show. I brought two that are part of the series but not like ones he’s seen, because they are much larger and on a brown/tan paper instead of the whispery thin translucent vellum with a red graph I use for the smaller drawings. One of the large drawings took months. The other took a long time, but wasn’t as complex. He was clearly underwhelmed. He liked the smaller pieces as much as every, and added them to the folder set aside for the others. But the two large ones, the ones I hope would make him gasp, brought nothing. Barely a remark.

We talked a while. I felt like I was talking to a boy who’d just dumped me, pretending to be non-chalant and light. Inside I felt just plain sad.

I went to his back room to look at drawings by a young transgender boy, who did a series of self portraits, one of which is being purchased by R.I.S.D. They are amazing and beautiful. Simple, beautifully rendered and incredibly sophisticated. This kid is going places. I sunk lower inside.

I had brought another series to show J.C. but I decided not to mention I had other drawings with me. I love them too much. They are my sweeping woman drawings, based on Muybridge photos of a woman sweeping. If I had put those out, and gotten only a cursory glance, I would have felt angry and crushed. So, for once, I kept quiet.

I had lunch with an old friend. We talked and I almost cried, not because of anything in the conversation, but I am in one of those moods where almost anything can make the tears flow. I hate it. I managed to hold it in, got in my car for the drive home. There was a ferocious storm. It was moving west to east. In the west it killed people. For me, it was only dramatic and I was grateful to be driving away from it, and not towards it. The rain came down in buckets, but only briefly. In R.I. it looked like something was coming, but, as usual in this stupid state, nothing did.