When my girlfriend and I were on vacation last May, we walked into an art gallery full of watercolors. I really liked them. But I was a little puzzled as to how they were done, as they didn’t mesh with what I learned watercolors were from my elementary school days. Remember those little purple cakes that had no actual pigment? So you could draw a faint cirlce with two dots for eyes and call it “DADDY” and hang it on the fridge?
So curiousity got the best of me, and my girlfriend and I decided to become artists that weekend. Within a few weeks, were spending a king’s ransom on grownup paints, brushes, and instruction books. It became the obsession of 2005 for both of us. Year of the paint.
So anyway, 5 months later, the HR department at work sponsored an event where employees who were hobbyists in painting, sculpture, clothing design, photography, singing, whatever, could display their works in a makeshift gallery. I decided that I didn’t suck too too much, so I entered three of my paintings.
So people saw them, and were impressed! I got a lot of positive feedback. People asked me if I’ve been painting my entire life. When I said it was just 5 months, their jaws dropped to the floor.
They like me! They really really like me!
Life sucks and you all stink. (I’m trying to develop an artist’s temperament. )
Figures you don’t understand my post. No one does.
From years of being a classical musician, I have the cigarette hanging out of the mouth in a snooty Eurotrash way thing going on, though. And from my days as a jazz musician, I have the “I’m better than you” while being falling-down-drunk thing under my belt as well.
I’ve got the arty beard already. I should have shown up at the artists’ reception wearing all black, beret and sunglasses included, with an espresso and cigarette. And I could have tossed the espresso at someone else’s work, then stormed out. That woulda been kewl!
)
