Friday, November 16, 2007

Look Within Without

I have two opportunities brewing and an upcoming show. The show is organized by the PTO, so I'll be relaxed and will hopefully have enough "wow" to make 'em stop and exclaim, "What a wonderful gift THAT would make!" I'm re-working my drawings/illustrations right now. Which is it? What do I do? I suppose a drawing could be considered a sketch or artistic expression, where an illustration definitely depicts a subject, story, or character. OK. They are Christmas illustrations that can be personalized. It's a bit corny, but it's appropriate for the time being.

There is a larger picture I would like to become a part of, and I had better get my skull on right if I want to jump in! I had previously mentioned The Wallkill River School and their kick-ass, up-my-alley classes. Well, the latest is they are opening up a juried artisan gallery; a haven for local arts and crafts. My good friend Janet Baskerville was the first to post this good news to me. The Grand Opening is this Saturday. I have to get my ass in gear if my works don't want to remain homeless.

12/4 ~ Well, I did well enough at the PTO show. It was a bit what I expected, but I was able to sit at my table and be Contented Artist while I colored my drawings and penned in personalized requests. My biggest fans were nine year old girls who hovered around me to watch. I'm just glad I didn't bomb. The unfortunate thing about it was the OVERWHELMING direct sales folks. I have nothing against them, but I had Pampered Chef to the right of me and Home Interiors to the left. Avon, Tupperware, Mary Kay, etc. Next time....more crafters, more advertising, more atmosphere!

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

C'mon Baby Finish Whatcha Started!

I'm being haunted. The spirits usually startle me when I'm walking through my basement. Just before I head toward the stairs, their persistent presence glare at me and encompass my head with deafening shrieks, "What's wrong with you! I should be finished by now!" Among the shadows along the wall, my horde of wood frames are waiting to be released from prostrate agony as they sigh and moan toward me; I struggle to pass, carrying packages of groceries. Shivers coarse down my spine as I catch a horrible glimpse of another positioned pile of mache boxes rolling around in their plastic, not yet torn away from whence they came from. Taunting me over and over. "Get your ass over here and give me some paint! Give me some paint!" Piles of colored paper telling me, "Cut me up! Cut me up!" Partially painted canvases, "Finish my hand, Artist B***ch! Figure it out!" The more I run away from them, the louder they become. Someday I'm going to keep running, and someday, they will never call for me. That is by far the most frightening thing that could ever happen.