Archive for July, 2011

Someones and somethings.

July 21, 2011

The problem with a blog, and with facebook, is that I am too cowardly and also too polite to write about some of the people and things that are really uppermost in my mind and to say what I want to say about personal matters, friends, misunderstandings, and all the juicy things that eventually become a nice bestseller.
I used to worry about my journal, the one I write in with a pen on actual sheets of paper. I once thought that it too could end up in the hands of people I had written all about and could hurt them or make them angry or burn a bridge or two. But now I know I am being quaint. Who does anything with journals anymore except carve them up and turn them into art books?
So, for this month I am going to have to write in the conventional format because the troubles I want to share are too personal to share. Good grief. How silly is that?
I shall say that all my life I have been the oversensitive sort. I always think someone or more than one person is angry at me for putting my foot in my mouth. I often think people have forgotten me when in fact they are just busy or not so great at communicating. I know this about myself and I have tried to change it. I have gotten better but like people on diets who yo yo their whole lives I have never gotten the hang of being carefree in that particular way.
So, lets just say I could use a little t.l.c. from certain people who will have to guess who they are. And of course they won’t. They won’t have any idea. All the people who always love me will respond in case they are the ones and the actual ones won’t even read this or will read it but not have any clue that it is they are The Ones.
And I am crushed by not getting a response to something I sent to someone even though it hasn’t been very long since I sent it. I am crushed but also afraid to ask what the mystery someone thinks of the mystery something in case that someone hasn’t had a chance to look at it or hasn’t had a chance to respond to it or hates it so much that to tell me would cause an unbearable rift between us and the someone doesn’t want to do that. Or even worse that the someone hates the something and is so embarrassed for me that the someone is going to pretend I never sent the something.
Does that make sense?
The one fact I can say with a little more clarity is that I have a close friend who is a curator who is not on fb nor does she read blogs. I love her and she loves me but sometimes it is more than a little frustrating to listen to her go on and on and on about artists whose work she thinks is fan-fucking-tastic even though there is room for those artists and me. Especially me because at the moment my art is on a table in my studio not making any waves or ripples or anything. It is piling up because the older I get the more driven I am to work because I might die at any moment and I don’t want to leave this world without some tiny bit of success. And by success I don’t mean beautiful family, nice enough house and all that. By success I mean a show in a museum or gallery in NYC, a review in Art In America, and decent prices for my work.
Wow. I hope that spilling of my inner self doesn’t come back to haunt me, but the truth is that as soon as I hit the PUBLISH button I shall be haunted.
Here goes…