The “Color: Between the Lines” show has been success. Thanks to all who were able to make it out so far, and thanks to all of you who live to far away to attend but sent me your good karma anyway.
Putting together an art exhibit is quite the task, and I can really appreciate the benefit of having a gallery handle it for you (although we were not privileged to that benefit in this case). In addition to making half of the art in the show, we’ve spent weeks preparing biographies, planning the menu and trying to invite anyone and everyone we could possibly think of. Then there was updating my web site, sending e-mails, updating Facebook, etc., etc. I may sound like I’m complaining, but really I’m not. As hectic as it is, I rather enjoy all of the prep work. And I feel very privileged to have the opportunity. It really is a lot of work, though. All in the hopes of baring your soul to the world (or rather a small circle of friends and aquaintances) and hoping to break even. What a romantic life, being an artist.
In addition to the reception, I’ve been up to the gallery space a few other times to show friends and family my work. Each time I had to take my daughters, they kind of groaned under their breath, saying “But we’ve already seen it fifty times.” Experts in hyperbole. Not yet experts in flattering their mother. Makes me wonder how they’ll remember their childhood……”My mother used to make me go sit still in the galleries where her art work was on display. We’d have to look at the same boring things over and over and over. It was absolute torture…”
The show closes this Friday. The gallery will be open Friday night from 5-8pm, so if you still haven’t seen it and want to, please come by. Thanks to T. Scott Stromberg and his wife Sammie for all of their work in pulling this show off, too!
I got a text Tuesday morning from my husband. He must have sent it on his way to work, but it was a couple of hours later before I read it (because it’s summer and it should be a crime to be up that early anyway). The message said “Happy Bastille Day!”
It was seven years ago that he and I were sitting on a huge lawn with thousands of other people from all over the world. It was our first trip to Europe, and it just so happened to be one of the most magical days of my life.
We started the day by sleeping in–a decision that I’ve since come to regret just a little. I am by nature a night owl, and it didn’t get dark there until about 11pm, so roaming around at night was just too tempting. We loved being out late in Paris, and were ever amazed at seeing all the old ladies out at the street cafes at two in the morning (my kind of gals). I guess to make up for our tiredness, we made the mistake of taking too many afternoon naps, instead of “pushing through” like all the tourist books tell you to do. For whatever reason, we never seemed to overcome our jetlag on that trip, and needless to say our sleeping schedule was really messed up.
So when we got up that morning, we turned on the TV to see what was going on to celebrate the French Independence day. We discovered there would be a huge parade traveling down the Champs Elysees, and even the President Jacques Chirac was to be there! (I think it would have been awesome to see a world leader at some point in my life). However, by the time we got up and dressed and decided to go see what was going on, we pretty much missed the good stuff. We did see the airplanes on TV, and then a minute later saw them fly right over our hotel. We rushed to the window to watch them in the small patch of sky between the hotel and the apartment buildings across the street. A quick, fleeting moment of adrenaline.
We left the hotel and traveled via metro to the Champs Elysees just to see….I don’t know what we expected, really, since we figured the parade was over. When we got there, there were still hoards of people everywhere, but much of the street was roped off and we saw a lot of security and police. Rumor had it that a gunman had tried to shoot the President! (I must have heard someone say that in English, because I never could have deciphered that in French.) Really? And we missed it? Part of me was disappointed, and part of me was relieved.
It had been less than a year since the attacks of September 11, 2001, so I think everyone’s sense of wariness was still high. Strangely, I did get to see one of the NYC firetrucks as it was making it’s way from the parade, an honored guest of the Parisians. A bizarre feeling of patriotism came over me. How odd to be in another country on their independence day (France of all places), and seeing that Americans were being honored.
After our curiosities were satisfied at the Champs Elysees, somehow we meandered around town, and eventually ended up at the Notre Dame cathedral. Not thinking about the fact that it was Sunday, we were pleasantly surprised that there was a mass going on. I’m pretty sure that was probably the first and only mass I’ve attended. And it was so surreal to me. Here I was in one of the most famous cathedrals in the world. The same cathedral I once had to memorize inside and out in an art history class. There were the altar boys, the other clergy, the music, the sculptures, the windows… and lots of French people who called this church their home. And then there were all of us tourists crowded around the periphery, just staring at it all. I personally don’t believe that God resides any more in a cathedral than he does anywhere else in the world, but that moment it seemed like he was very close to me, and that this was a very special gift from him. Really a dream come true. How could it get any better?
Well, it did. That evening, we stopped by the little Chinese food restaurant next door for some “take away” and a bottle of wine before cramming ourselves onto the metro. Actually, we waited for several trains to come though before realizing that they were only getting more crowded and that it was either walk to the Eiffel Tower from our Montparnasse hotel, or just jump on and know we were probably going to irritate the other passengers. We got there a couple of hours early, I think, and found a great spot on the lawn. We spread out our blanket, had our picnic of Chinese food and a great bottle of red wine. Then, when it got dark, we watched fireworks dance in the sky behind the Eiffel Tower, as we heard stories of inspiration about Victor Hugo over the speakers (of which I understood about 2%). I just kept thinking in my head, “This is real, this is real, this is real.”
I believe that experience on Bastille Day 2002 helped give me the faith that anything can happen. Even when you’re not really expecting it. Especially then, I guess. After that trip, I started making decisions that would effect my life and career as an artist. Increasingly, I decided to go for it. Pourquois pas?
For a while now, I’ve been feeling the need to write. I used to love journaling. I’ve got volumes of poems, prose, stories of my life from when I was a teenager (Oh, the drama!). I used my journal — a very large three-ring binder — to let out my frustrations, my longings, my ideas, my passions, and all the things that I knew no one else would understand. These writings began as an assignment from my favorite English teacher. Most of my classmates would moan in distain each time she announced a new set of writing tasks and due dates. But I relished every moment of it, and couldn’t wait to live life so I would have something to write about.
And so here I am, twenty years later. Haven’t “had” the time to slow down and write much. It has seemed like a luxury that I can’t afford. House. Kids. Job. Husband. Volunteering. Just too much to do. And then there’s this art thing. You know, I could be painting right now.
But I’m at the point right now that I don’t think I can afford not to write. As my youngest daughter, Sophie, said a while back, “I’ve got all these thinky-things floating around in my head.” As she said this, she moved her hands in a swirling motion on either side of her head. My husband and I laughed and he said, “Yes, I’m sure you do!”
I totally get that! She put into words how I feel about 95% of the time. These Thinky Things are so noisy that they pretty much drown out everything else, and keep me from being focused on anything. Even this morning as we were driving to church, we passed the art center where I’m having a show this month, and a million “to do’s” popped up into my head like spam in a trash folder. My husband, who knows me so well, heard my sigh, and said, “I can see the wheels turning. Are you thinking about all the things you need to do?”
Yep. And starting a blog was very high on my priority list. (check!) Sure, I think it’s a good way to communicate with my friends and “fans.” But more than anything, it’s going to be a way for me to put all of those Thinky Things in their place!
Julia Cameron would be so proud.
