Well, Thanksgiving was great, truly great. A roomful of amazing people, the great Iron Chef Turkey Battle between Dave and I (a draw -- although I must say, I'm quite proud of my little pile of picked-clean bones), and of course Melody's fireworks stash for a nightcap. I meant to go down into my studio and work, but was having too wonderful of a time -- I'm actually proud of the fact that I didn't work, although I was itching to. Better to just live, for a change. How great to be in a room full of such ecclectic and interesting people. I feel pretty lucky to know the people I know. That's what I'm thankful for. Good people, who I have an abundance of in my life. You know who you are.
Oh, and haiku. I'm thankful for haiku.
24 November 2005
16 November 2005
My So-Called Fame
Whelp, the inevitable happened. An angry letter in Westword asking why they write about me so much. A part of me is inclined to agree -- why do they write about me so much? While I've grown to know the writers, it's only through their interviews that I met them. A friend on the "inside" of the newspaper industry told me that it's because "...they're lazy and you write press releases". And it's true, I do write press releases. But hell -- that's my job. I can't help it if other people don't. (And no, haven't slept with anyone on their staff. Not related to anyone, either.) And it is a fact that buzz builds on itself -- one article leads to another leads to another. No one wants to be left out of the story du jour. And like the soup of the day, I also realize -- here today, gone tomorrow.
The big irony is that I don't actually want them to write about me. I want them to write about the gallery, and the events we're doing, and the artists. I want the artists to have the press -- as far as I'm concerned, I'm not really pertinent and there's no need to mention my name. If the gallery was about me and my ego, I suppose I would have named it after myself like so many gallery owners do. But I'd rather be known for my artwork -- Capsule is my day job. It's what I do so I can feel connected to the community. And I feel real pride when I get some artist whose work I believe in their first review. That means more to me than seeing my name in print, anyday.
The aforementioned friend also said it was because "I'm a character". Another friend said, "well, you're doing stuff. More than most people are." But it's really just a function of necessity -- I've got to get the business going, and I don't have any advertising budget -- nothing works like free. With this latest thing in the Denver Post, I didn't even write a press release -- apparently the writer was on the email list. Who knew? But the results were phenomenal, and will go a long way towards keeping the doors open. And that's the goal, and the struggle.
The only time I actually care about being written about is in connection with my artwork. That's the most important thing in my life, besides my husband and family and pets. Getting recognition for the other stuff is alright, but I don't want to be hated. I had my bitter years, and I remember hating the people who were being written about. In hindsight, I know that my work wasn't ready, and I truly feel I've earned whatever attention my work has gotten. But I also know that my writer friend is right -- my years working for the Advocate taught me to write a press release, but it also taught me that writers can be lazy, or at the very least, overburdened and on deadline. Whoever makes it easiest for them to whip something out wins. And I don't have any control at all over if or what they write about me or the gallery, my job is to just put the word out. And my control begins and ends with sending the press release.
So, I guess that makes me a local celebrity. Big whoop. I still say that being the big fish in the small pond is like being the kid that gets to sit at the front of the short bus. I'd like to swim in the ocean. And I want to take as many fishies along for the ride as I can. If we all swim together, we can make a very, very big fish.
The big irony is that I don't actually want them to write about me. I want them to write about the gallery, and the events we're doing, and the artists. I want the artists to have the press -- as far as I'm concerned, I'm not really pertinent and there's no need to mention my name. If the gallery was about me and my ego, I suppose I would have named it after myself like so many gallery owners do. But I'd rather be known for my artwork -- Capsule is my day job. It's what I do so I can feel connected to the community. And I feel real pride when I get some artist whose work I believe in their first review. That means more to me than seeing my name in print, anyday.
The aforementioned friend also said it was because "I'm a character". Another friend said, "well, you're doing stuff. More than most people are." But it's really just a function of necessity -- I've got to get the business going, and I don't have any advertising budget -- nothing works like free. With this latest thing in the Denver Post, I didn't even write a press release -- apparently the writer was on the email list. Who knew? But the results were phenomenal, and will go a long way towards keeping the doors open. And that's the goal, and the struggle.
The only time I actually care about being written about is in connection with my artwork. That's the most important thing in my life, besides my husband and family and pets. Getting recognition for the other stuff is alright, but I don't want to be hated. I had my bitter years, and I remember hating the people who were being written about. In hindsight, I know that my work wasn't ready, and I truly feel I've earned whatever attention my work has gotten. But I also know that my writer friend is right -- my years working for the Advocate taught me to write a press release, but it also taught me that writers can be lazy, or at the very least, overburdened and on deadline. Whoever makes it easiest for them to whip something out wins. And I don't have any control at all over if or what they write about me or the gallery, my job is to just put the word out. And my control begins and ends with sending the press release.
So, I guess that makes me a local celebrity. Big whoop. I still say that being the big fish in the small pond is like being the kid that gets to sit at the front of the short bus. I'd like to swim in the ocean. And I want to take as many fishies along for the ride as I can. If we all swim together, we can make a very, very big fish.
13 November 2005
Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving is right around the corner again, and I'm facing a stressful situation this year. You see, every year our tradition is for all of our friends and their families to get together at a warehouse where several of the friends live. This has been going on for a long time, and it's always a lot of fun -- I look forward to it all year. But more importantly, it changed Thanksgiving for my family -- a holiday that had not been great since my Grandmother died directly following it. My family's attempts at creating a new tradition after my parents divorced and my brother moved away were, well, pathetic, to say the least. With only my Mother, my other brother, my husband and myself, we would try a new approach every year -- like the year my brother cooked the turkey in his apartment, only to discover that he'd left in the giblets and the whole thing was pretty much frozen in the center and burned on the outside. Or the year we decided to go out to eat, without checking to see if the chosen restaurant was actually open. So the new tradition of the past several years has turned the holiday around for me, making it something I look forward to instead of dread.
Not this year, though. One of the friends who has more recently moved into the warehouse has betrayed me in a very hurtful, costly, and public way. (I may write more about it later, but for now, let's just say that there was a business involved, and the situation may become a legal one. 'Nuf said.) Now, it's not enough, aparently, that she has sabotaged my life and career and stuck me with all of the responsibility and debt for our jointly owned business, but it seems that she has also been trash-talking me for quite some time and appears to be on a campaign to exclude me from the circle of friends that she met as a result of her friendship with me. I'm hurt, enraged, and frankly, a little surprised. I'm not sure what I did to her that was so bad, and she doesn't even return my phone calls, so there's not much chance of an explanation. (And since she floats down the river of denial it's not likely she'd even admit to anything.) I have noticed a strange vibe amongst this circle of friends, but I don't know if that's my own paranoia or if I'm witnessing the results of a stealth campaign against me. Either way, it's going to make Thanksgiving stressful this year, but I have no intention of skipping it. But I also don't want my friends to be in the middle, and don't want to make things awkward for anyone. All I can do is be the bigger person, and be the best human being I can. And if that isn't enough for people, then I guess I can conclude that they never really were my friends to begin with.
My classic mode of dealing with confrontation is to avoid it. Don't get me wrong -- I'm a pretty scrappy hothead, and most people who know me wouldn't believe the above statement. But it's true -- when confronted with a person that I've grown to deeply dislike (which is extremely rare), I tend to avoid that person at all costs. Since I hate a public scene more than anything, I will just act like I don't know the person when I'm in the same room with them. I'm not good at being fake, so I figure the best way is to do what my Mother taught me -- "if you don't have anything nice to say, say nothing at all". So far, this tactic has worked. (And before you get the idea that I'm some psycho that's running around avoiding people, there are really only 3 people out of the hundreds that I've known in my lifetime that I've ever felt this was necessary with. And none of them are ex-boyfriends.) The above-mentioned former friend has entered this category, but since we are in the same building every day and share this group of friends my usual strategy (which, admitedly, is emotionally retarded) will not work. But I'm not sure what to do in it's place. Do I try to smooth it over before the holidays for everyone's comfort? That would require me stuffing my considerably strong feelings into a deep, dark place and doing the best acting job I've ever done. Do I force a confrontation with this person? That would do neither of us any good, although I'd probably feel better. Is there a way to call a truce?
What's needed is someone to mediate, I suppose. But I don't think there's anyone who can. It's going to have to be dealt with, but how? How do I keep the peace with someone I've grown to actually hate? How do I get over my feelings of betrayal so that everyone can enjoy the holiday without being poisoned by all of this excess vitriol floating through the air?
There's a part of me that just wants to run away and not deal with any of it, but then the terrorist wins.
Not this year, though. One of the friends who has more recently moved into the warehouse has betrayed me in a very hurtful, costly, and public way. (I may write more about it later, but for now, let's just say that there was a business involved, and the situation may become a legal one. 'Nuf said.) Now, it's not enough, aparently, that she has sabotaged my life and career and stuck me with all of the responsibility and debt for our jointly owned business, but it seems that she has also been trash-talking me for quite some time and appears to be on a campaign to exclude me from the circle of friends that she met as a result of her friendship with me. I'm hurt, enraged, and frankly, a little surprised. I'm not sure what I did to her that was so bad, and she doesn't even return my phone calls, so there's not much chance of an explanation. (And since she floats down the river of denial it's not likely she'd even admit to anything.) I have noticed a strange vibe amongst this circle of friends, but I don't know if that's my own paranoia or if I'm witnessing the results of a stealth campaign against me. Either way, it's going to make Thanksgiving stressful this year, but I have no intention of skipping it. But I also don't want my friends to be in the middle, and don't want to make things awkward for anyone. All I can do is be the bigger person, and be the best human being I can. And if that isn't enough for people, then I guess I can conclude that they never really were my friends to begin with.
My classic mode of dealing with confrontation is to avoid it. Don't get me wrong -- I'm a pretty scrappy hothead, and most people who know me wouldn't believe the above statement. But it's true -- when confronted with a person that I've grown to deeply dislike (which is extremely rare), I tend to avoid that person at all costs. Since I hate a public scene more than anything, I will just act like I don't know the person when I'm in the same room with them. I'm not good at being fake, so I figure the best way is to do what my Mother taught me -- "if you don't have anything nice to say, say nothing at all". So far, this tactic has worked. (And before you get the idea that I'm some psycho that's running around avoiding people, there are really only 3 people out of the hundreds that I've known in my lifetime that I've ever felt this was necessary with. And none of them are ex-boyfriends.) The above-mentioned former friend has entered this category, but since we are in the same building every day and share this group of friends my usual strategy (which, admitedly, is emotionally retarded) will not work. But I'm not sure what to do in it's place. Do I try to smooth it over before the holidays for everyone's comfort? That would require me stuffing my considerably strong feelings into a deep, dark place and doing the best acting job I've ever done. Do I force a confrontation with this person? That would do neither of us any good, although I'd probably feel better. Is there a way to call a truce?
What's needed is someone to mediate, I suppose. But I don't think there's anyone who can. It's going to have to be dealt with, but how? How do I keep the peace with someone I've grown to actually hate? How do I get over my feelings of betrayal so that everyone can enjoy the holiday without being poisoned by all of this excess vitriol floating through the air?
There's a part of me that just wants to run away and not deal with any of it, but then the terrorist wins.
So, I've been busy...
...getting ready for a show.
I haven't ever talked about my art in this blog before, because I intended it as a political blog. But I'd like to use it for more personal stuff, too I guess.
So, yeah, I'm an artist. I have a show coming up at plus gallery on Dec. 8. Those guys rock, by the way. I'm excited about it, not even really nervous. It's a big departure from what I was doing before, but I'm feeling pretty happy with how it's all turning out, and running into few technical difficulties at this point. (Although, last night I was so tired I poured resin into my molds without adding the catalyst, what a freakin' mess. That was fun to clean up. Best not to play with toxic and expensive substances while suffering from a lack of sleep.)
Here's some random thoughts on my work right now:
I have an internal war going on between beauty & content, which is expressing itself in the work. I've been reading Dave Hickey & Arthur C. Danto's treatises on beauty -- which really resonate with me -- and trying to reconcile these ideas & my attraction to them with the need to express myself politically and the seething rage I'm feeling about everything. The show is a bit schizophrenic, in that sense. There are a couple of straight-out, sardonic political pieces, and then some that are just about shiny, sparkly blinged-out surfaces, which of course has it's own weird political angle regarding class, surface, greed, and any number of prototypically American dilemmas.
This show has literally hundreds of separate components. Hundreds. Each of them cast, sanded, primed, and finally, painted. (Or upholstered, or collaged, or whatever.) Yeegads. Obsessive, much?
Speaking of sleep...I have a lovely waiting husband. I miss his arms.
I haven't ever talked about my art in this blog before, because I intended it as a political blog. But I'd like to use it for more personal stuff, too I guess.
So, yeah, I'm an artist. I have a show coming up at plus gallery on Dec. 8. Those guys rock, by the way. I'm excited about it, not even really nervous. It's a big departure from what I was doing before, but I'm feeling pretty happy with how it's all turning out, and running into few technical difficulties at this point. (Although, last night I was so tired I poured resin into my molds without adding the catalyst, what a freakin' mess. That was fun to clean up. Best not to play with toxic and expensive substances while suffering from a lack of sleep.)
Here's some random thoughts on my work right now:
I have an internal war going on between beauty & content, which is expressing itself in the work. I've been reading Dave Hickey & Arthur C. Danto's treatises on beauty -- which really resonate with me -- and trying to reconcile these ideas & my attraction to them with the need to express myself politically and the seething rage I'm feeling about everything. The show is a bit schizophrenic, in that sense. There are a couple of straight-out, sardonic political pieces, and then some that are just about shiny, sparkly blinged-out surfaces, which of course has it's own weird political angle regarding class, surface, greed, and any number of prototypically American dilemmas.
This show has literally hundreds of separate components. Hundreds. Each of them cast, sanded, primed, and finally, painted. (Or upholstered, or collaged, or whatever.) Yeegads. Obsessive, much?
Speaking of sleep...I have a lovely waiting husband. I miss his arms.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)