OMG, somebody just found my blog by typing “Sarah Palin’s shoes”. I feel so…so… dern tootin’ naughty.
Anyways, have I ever mentioned that I write much better than I talk. Yes, its true. And I’ve really been noticing that a lot in the last couple of weeks. Being out of the work force, I really don’t have to talk much anymore, I mean other than in my car, where I talk incessantly about all the wrongs people have done to me (and YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!). I guess that has been replacing my shrink appointments, since I haven’t seen “A” since July. Plus my Subaru doesn’t tell me to date losers from sMatch.com.
But this small talk thing has always been confusing to me. Where have I been experiencing this? At four art shows in the last eleven days.
Now the Goth art show wasn’t too bad. You just sort of dressed a certain way, rocked your head enthusiastically to “Black Sabbath” and things were cool.
My next show was at my old work place the following Tuesday. I had talked to my old boss the day before and told her I was bringing some paintings and needed some wall space. So where did she put me? In front of a window, with no place to hang my artwork. So I had to transfer everything upstairs to the much less desireable forth floor…in a corner. All the other arts and crafts people were facing away from me. I kinda felt like a Democrat at a Bingo for Jesus Rally. I also had to practically trip people to tell them about my fabulous solo art show over at the community center, because shall we discuss that for a moment?
Its been there for a month now, and yet they are still advertising the previous art show on their website, which closed in mid-August. Yes. I am truly thrilled about that. I did see my name in the Sunday paper. I guess I was supposed to have another reception Thursday night….NOT.
Anyways, back to my spectacular corner location. So I was sitting there with maybe one customer an hour, when suddenly I see this vaguely familiar woman coming towards me yelling “Witty McGiver!!! Witty McGiver!!!!!!!” Now I always get nervous when anyone says my entire name in the middle of a public place. So she arrives breathlessly at my table and says, “You’re Witty McGiver aren’t you????????”
I was going to say: “Naw, its that Eye-talian looking guy over there”, pointing to my friend “J”. But then she said the most incredible thing. “My friend bought your Zombie painting Saturday night. Wait, let me call him and let you talk to him!!!!!!”
Me: “huh?!?!?!” (now truly wanting to dive under my table).
So she dials someone up and excitedly tells them: ‘WITTY MCGIVER WHO YOU BOUGHT YOUR ZOMBIE PAINTING FROM IS STANDING RIGHT HERE. HERE. TALK TO HER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Me: (nervously taking the phone) “erk. Ehhh. gahhhhh” Like what the hell was I supposed to say? “Sucka! So, how did that awwwwesome Dollar Store frame work out?” I really don’t remember much of the conversation except that the guy’s name was John and he said not to tell the woman how much he had paid for the painting. Its NOT a painting, people, its a photo! Sheesh! That was a little too freaky for me.
My next show was at the Factory, courtesy of Charlemagne. Since I had 18 paintings at another place, I really didn’t have much to put up but since Charlemagne is Charlemagne and kept calling and writing, I finally dug out 2-3 of the naughtier paintings I couldn’t hang at the community center, like the George Bush and the devil one and the “Nuns arouse me” one, which Charlemagne is convinced is him.
The Factory is a big, old smelly (mold) former airplane engine factory converted into a pseudo Soho art place. Anybody can bring their stuff. People from my art group sort of hung out in Charlemagne’s corner. I did have a lot of people stop at my paintings to snicker. Yes. They’re supposed to. They’re funny paintings. In fact earlier in the week, at my drawing class, some young kid about twenty had looked over and told me I should work for a newspaper. I looked at him perplexed and asked why. He said, “Well, your drawings look like cartoons.”
To be honest, I still don’t know how to take that.
Anyways, I was there with a girl from my former work place. I don’t know her that well and she’s new to art but I thought I’d be her art mentor and give her a taste of schmoozing with the artsy crowd. Soon though, she was trying to fix me up with all the guys looking at my art. Unfortunately I don’t think she realizes that I’m 50, since she kept wildly gesticulating at guys in their mid-late 20’s behind their backs and mouthing, “Go…talk…to…them….witttteeee!!”
Oy, another Yente! Interestingly, 99% of my friends on the East Coast are Jewish and they all want me to have a boyfriend for some god-forsaken reason. So “A”….your life’s quest continues without you.
There was one interesting guy named Dash though. He was a little closer to my age, by like 3 decades. He wasn’t much taller than me, maybe 5’5” but he wdressed very nicely and had a thick European accent. In fact he introduced himself as “European”. Ha! Anyways, he stood and looked at my apparently cartoonish paintings and went into this extravagantly long spiel about how passionate and fluid my work was and how it was reminiscent of Suerrat (what-t-t-t???) and how he hoped I could understand his accent….and maybe if I leaned in closer I could undertant heez accent mon’chereee. Ok. He didn’t say that last part. I did tell him about my other show, as I did everybody. I even gave out business cards, although not to him. Yeah, I know. He was probably my future European husband who owns Exxon or something.
My last show was Wednesday night. It was my own art group’s show. I had helped set it up Monday night. I am so out of frames right now, plus I had broken the glass in two of my nicer frames this last week. I was really getting frustrated, but I did manage to bring in two drawings for our show, including this one….
I decided to get really dressed up for the show. No more low rent black sweater and tight jeans artist thang. I wore what I wore to my job interview (which I didn’t get Azweepay. Thanks though). Had on the Donald J. Pliner designer shoes, which pinched like hell. Left my orange paisley shirt unbuttoned down below my black lacy bra. Mrow! I’m sure absolutely no one everyone was checking out the witty chestal area. Even brushed my hair…OMG, call CNN. I think I looked pretty decent.
Naturally I got there early and JS said I looked “Pretty”. Wow! How often do I ever hear that. Like the fifth of never. It took about an hour for our venue (a fru-fru hair salon downtown) to fill up, but it finally did. The show looked really nice. I had invited “J” from my old job, but AGAIN he neglected to show up. I guess last year’s cornucopia of pastelly naughty bits must have just been too traumatic for him. Right “J”?
Also again I was attempted to schmooze. I talked to the owner of the salon and I think I might be moving my solo show there after our show ends November 29th. Yay me! At least there I won’t have to worry about young thugs ripping off artwork from what basically amounts to an unlocked, unsecured building where anyone can walk off with stuff.
Soon we were all taking photos of each other. Me. Zue. Professional Art Guy. I’ve been talking to him more lately. I had visited his studio when I had my job interview. I think I scared the hell out of him when I just walked in that day. I do like to tease him though. And he apparently likes to be teased. Like when we were putting up the show there was some Spanish music playing and I told him he had to translate all the lyrics as the singer was singing them otherwise he’d have to leave the building immediately (!!!) He was all grinning. witty’s teasing me. Hee hee.
Afterwards when about 7-8 of us were out of the sidewalk saying goodbye, Sci-Fi Guy went to kiss me goodbye. We have a little social kissing thing going on. Nothing serious. I’m an adult. I can kiss men. And then Professional Art Guy decided to hone in on the action. We DON’T have a kissing thing going on, but he kind of told Sci Fi Guy that they were going to tag team me, so suddenly I’m in the middle of an Artist Sandwich, squished between Professional Artist Guy and Sci Fi and the only thing I could think to do was sing the lyrics from Cabaret’s “Two Ladies” (about a menage a troi). “Onesies beats twosies, but nothing beats three!”
I think THAT went over way better than I imagined. 😉