Art Flop?

I did it. My first art venue. My artwork was featured in an art event where I had my very own venue to fill with anything I wanted. Second Saturday Art Night is put on by the Shasta Arts Council in Redding and every second Saturday of the month from 5-8pm local artists are featured at participating businesses around town. It is free and anyone can drive around town and look at art and enjoy the appetizers. I enjoyed being an observer at these events and was encouraged to be one of the artists of the month. 

So tonight I did it. I had my artwork up at a local real estate company which was located in a prime spot for the Art Hop. From 5-8pm I talked to guests and did my best to schmooze (so that's how you spell it), which is not one of my best qualities. Luckily, the wine helped bring down a few walls. Most people who came in gave me positive responses and encouragement. Everything went without a hitch. People came, ate, drank, saw, and then it was over. It went smoothly. So why am I fighting back tears? Why do I feel so discouraged? Why do I feel like I've just been intimate with someone who doesn't even remember my name? It's not like I had a bad experience. It's like I'm laying in bed naked while a stranger tells me, "hey you're pretty good kid. I'll see ya around." and then walks out the door. I didn't fail. I satisfied. Didn't I? But it was a one night stand not love at first sight. As I left the venue and headed over to meet my boyfriends family at a near by bar to listen to some live music the feeling started to sink in. Am I loveable? Am I good enough to love? I sat down at our table and I felt like I was drifting. Somber waves were coming over me. At first I didn't know what was happening. I had fun tonight. Right? Why do I instantly feel alone? Why do I feel so small? I just accomplished something. I had an art show. I am getting my name out there. I'm networking. I told myself it's not about about selling anything even though I desperately hoped I would. Wait... I did sell something, but my boyfriend's mom doesn't count. That's like a sympathy sale. I want to be loved. As my party leaves the bar I'm left alone at a big table listening to the soothing yet sad voice of a touring Swedish folk singer. I try fight the tears that are attempting to stain my face. This singer performing is trying to be loved just like I attempted. I love her. I think it would be harder to sing my way into love than just hang it on the walls. Even though there are die hard fans for singers rather than artists; The Beatles, Elvis, Katy Perry. No one buys 300 dollar tickets and waits all day crammed with 100,000 people to see a photo shoot with Annie Lebovitz... who's that? My point exactly. But singing is never ending. You don't get to hang it on the wall and be finished.

I hate the feeling that my surroundings are the only thing holding back the well that is close to overflowing. I know that once I leave the table and walk outside my body will release what small restraint it had left. This knowledge makes me stay. A small part of me wants to get the crying over with. I just want to purge myself of this emotion. I notice a tip jar on the stage. I want to encourage this artist. I decide I'll tip her before I leave. I don't know what is keeping me at this bar all alone listening to music from this folk singer who is keeping my emotions raw. Then the singer says she's had bad days. She tells us and by us I think she is speaking only to me, that her dad once told her that being a successful artist isn't how many cds you sell or how many states you tour in that it is about never giving up. Nothing could have been more perfect and horrifying to hear in that moment. I don't know why that when you are upset that those perfect words that you needed to hear make you more emotional instead of cheer you up. Now I really wanted out of there to let the flood invade my face. I waited till she was done to give her a 10 dollar tip. I didn't want to tip her that much, but I felt that I should. I knew it would be a little encouragement and that any amount of encouragement as an artist can make a difference between pressing on and giving up. I made it to my car before I broke down. It's just so hard and vulnerable pursuing art. As I drove I tried to suck it up, as if tears make you more sad so if you fight the tears the emotion will be defeated. When that didn't work I thought maybe if I just sob and heave then it will get out of my system sooner. I decided to purge, but I refrained from compounding my pain with pity using examples of how hard my life is right now; I have no money, I'm not good enough, I'm still battling an injury, I live at home, woe is I. I refused to take pity on myself. I don't want to wallow. I want to get whatever this emotion is far away from me. I'm hoping that I will run out of tears and exhaust myself into indifference. I make it home just at the peak of my despair. As I turn my car off and put my head on the steering wheel my dog, Vive, jumps onto my window. She is so excited to see me. Doesn't she realize I'm having a breakdown. As she jumps frantically around my car searching for a way to reach me my mind shifts. It feels great to have a friendly face who doesn't care about how my day went. She is just so happy I'm home. Laughter starts to permeate through my sobs before it over takes them. Now I'm just laughing. This stupid dog has robbed me of my despair. It's over. I pick myself up and walk inside. It's not about how many pieces I sell or who likes my art, it's that I never give up. I won't give up.

Pooping Rainbows

I had my first art show. I've put my art up in Starbucks and been in a church bazaar, but nothing where I was with other artists at a venue centered around art. The show was at a local bar called Maxwells which promotes local musicians and artists from time to time. The way this came about was that a friend was talking to my sister about an art show she was trying to get together and was looking for some new artists to feature. Well my lovely sister mentioned she should include me. Fortunately, I was standing near by and agreed to it immediately.

I've always done photography and tried some art classes here and there, but never imagined myself as an artist. Artists can draw for one. My handwriting isn't even legible and if you can't draw letters what hope is left for everything else. Some people assume I can draw because I'm creative in other ways until they are on my team in pictionary and they quickly learn when you assume you make a loser out of you and me.

Anywho. Another reason I never considered an art path was because I figured if you were good fame and recognition would naturally follow. Since I'm clearly not famous (except when I'm mistaken for Megan Rapinoe) that must mean I'm not good enough. I wanted to know what would make me good enough. So as I spent some time getting to know my art professors. I realized that there is much more to art than just being naturally awesome. No one will ever know how good you are if you keep all your work in the studio. This shouldn't have come as a shock. I guess I figured I'd just be dead when my grandchildren stumbled upon my great works and they made millions with my instant popularity. So what if I want fame before I die? Well... promotion. Art is about promotion. Just like in any industry it's all about who you know. This was disheartening. I think I like the glamor when I'm dead thing more. Promoting myself requires interaction with others. Interaction with others. It's not that I don't play nice with others. It's just that I don't play nice with others. I have a low tolerance for small talk so I avoid it. This means I avoid most basic human interactions. Now you can try to analyze why I'm like this. Oh she is insecure, homeschool didn't develop her social skills, she's an elitist, just too cool for everyone, ect. I think some people just aren't social. Not antisocial. I'm not a recluse. I just don't bullshit very well. Now I'm learning that if I want to become successful I have to bullshit all the time. Now some of you wouldn't call promoting yourself or networking bullshitting, but then maybe it comes natural to you so it doesn't feel like you are trying to poop rainbows. For me networking feels like I'm working. Work where I try to convince you I'm a valuable asset to you and if we work together it will benefit you some way. For me it feels fake. I can't narrow down my interactions with people I enjoy conversing with. Now need to include everyone because you never know what or who someone knows. How does this not feel forced, fake, bullshit? How do you know if people even enjoy talking to each other or if they are just trying to sell themselves? This just doesn't seem fair. Why do some people get the naturally ability to network while others get anxiety over the thought of it?

OK. Back on topic. So promoting myself is a challenge. I'm trying to stay humble while convince you I'm awesome... because I am awesome (shameless promotion through blog). Over the past few months I've tried to "promote" myself, which has lead me to this art show. Well technically my sister promoted me, but thats what networking is about... right? After I got secured as an artist to the art show I've been preparing all my work. Picking out new pictures to get printed. Buying new frames. Learning how to build my own frames, cut out mattes (ruined 3 before I just went out and bought the right size), and how to hang a piece. Then a week before the show I get a DJ gig. It's always like that. Every weekend is free then two events on the same night. Now it was art show or DJ gig? Both! I had a feeling I wouldn't make it to the art show and I was secretly relieved. First there's no feeling like no one is buying your art. Second socializing. It was my two greatest stressors together and I wasn't going to be too upset if the DJ gig went too long. So the morning of I set up my art. There was 3 of us and it still took 2 hours. Now off to the DJ gig where I attempted to promote myself... "ummm can I give you some business cards?" Ya real confident. Now for this wedding the couple had a strict play by playlist going between their Ipad and dvd player. Most people don't realize that what you want to hear in your house or jamming in your car isn't always what you want to hear on the dance flour. During the 30 minutes of live Bruce Springsteen playing on the dvd player people started to complain. Now I had a feeling this would happen, but I always want to respect my clients wishes. Well they threw out their wishes and gave me a please fix it plea. Unfortunately, all I had was their iPad and my iPhone to work with. Luckily I'm a damn good DJ and I was able to hurry and put together all the dance music. You say you don't like Michael Jackson, but then you hear it on the dance floor and notice everyone else dancing and then you just happen to know all the words to "Beat It". The party at first looked like it was winding down and I get out early and make the art show. Thank you Springsteen. Then my awesomeness intervened and I went past our scheduled time. It's a pride thing. If you are dancing then I'm doing my job and let's be honest, how sad was I really going to be for missing the awkward art show. Even though I did want to see my art up on the wall again. It looked pretty darn good. Oh bummer I didn't make it. Nothing sold, but at least I didn't have to be there hoping some big art connoisseur was going to join the party during the last 30 minutes. Also, none of the other artists sold anything either. Well hello misery so glad you could join us. I have a couple more things lined up, but I'm afraid discouragement is going to kick in soon. Tell then I'll just keep trying to poop rainbows.

Elder Abuse?

Do you remember that scene in "Happy Gilmore" when Happy's grandma gets put into a rest home where they use the elderly as free labor and one of the "nurses" (Ben Stiller) continues to berate and belittle everyone. Well it's not exactly like that, but close. Close enough that my heart hurts from the way that my grandma is being treated. Now she isn't forced to knit sweaters or run a hamster wheel, instead all her dignity is stripped and she is left immobile in her tiny apartment only to come out when it's feeding time. She used to live in her own house with a yard, living room, two bedrooms, a kitchen, backyard, in a small community where when she walked her dog friendly faces would wave at her. It was my uncle's idea to move her. He said that she wasn't stable enough to live on her own. Regrettably she is losing her memory. She isn't forgetting places or faces, but short-term conversations. She will tell me the same story 3 times within 10 minutes. I just let her tell it. Or I'll help her finish it. Or say what a great story it is. I have an overwhelming amount of patients with my grandma. This should be considered normal to some people, but sense I have absolutely no patience for anything else it is my only time to see this virtue at it's peak performance. Back to gma. I completely understand being concerned for your ailing parent. You don't want to worry that she will fall or something will happen and no one will be there. So you would think that the "retirement home" (old people hotel) would have nurses on staff or a daily caretaker, or someone around to check on her, making sure she is taking her pills, coming to meals, keeping up with hygiene. Otherwise what is the point of moving her all the way across town! Further away from the only grandchildren who visit her. Further away from town. Only closer to death. Not only did my uncle move her without my consent he did it without my mother's. Unfortunately, before my gpa died he assigned my uncle as my gma's caretaker. Supposedly he has last say. Not sure if it's officially documented somewhere, but for his sake I hope it is. But for now he moved her into this small sterile retirement center as far out of town as it could be while still being in the same zip code. Before it would take me 10 minutes to get to my grandma's and then another 10 to take her into town. Now it takes me close to 30 and another 15 to get back into town. I know what you might be thinking, "shouldn't I be glad that there are people around her to take care of her so I don't have to worry?" Well I would be comforted if that were the case. But no one comes and checks on her. She doesn't have a weekly or monthly doctor that gives her checkups. If she misses a meal no one goes to see if she is ok. If she falls or hurts herself no one will know. I'm more worried about her now than I ever was. Before she was always eager to get out of the house. We'd go out for lunch or we'd cook dinner or cookies. Now all I can do is bring a take n bake pizza out to the only over in the facilities "activity" room. Due to what they are feeding her she is putting on weight. She just sits in front of the tv and waits for meal time. How is this the way to treat your mother?

Now for the worst part... my Aunt. She is my uncle's second wife that he married secretly because he knows how much the whooooole family hates her. Detest might be a better word. You know that teacher in Harry Potter that worked for the Ministry. Professor Umbridge I think it was. She would show up in her pink tweed outfit with her high pitched giggles and cat portraits and terrorize the students. That's this lady. Her outer demeanor might seem genuine if you are either an idiot or a Death Eater. The worst part is that she calls my gma mom. This demon calls my gma something only saved for my mom and the few daughters-in-laws that have earned it. She calls her mom, but then treats her like a child. A slow-witted child. She finds away to take away all my grandma's independence and dignity with a smile on her face and a concerned tone. For example, my gma gets her hair done at JcPenny's ya they have a salon in there. Well instead of letting my gma pay for her new do when she is done the witch tells the salon worker's to wait for her supervision before my gma can pay. I mean how could she mess up handing over someone a credit card. So they summon Lord Voldemort over to take my gma's credit card and hand it to them. Really? Then last week my gma passed out and was taken to the emergency room at noon. My mom wasn't called till 5pm. Now if you are 20 and you pass out you might not call everyone to scare them, but when an 83 year old passes out something could be fatal. I understand my mom's rage when she found out. Even though my mom tried to calm herself she was obviously upset when she said that she needed to be called immediately next time. Acceptable I'd say. Well Ursala says to my sister, "oh wow does your mom nag you all the time too?" So you might be thinking... Aspergers disease? I mean while else would she think she could talk shit about my mother to my sister. So maybe she is more like those dumb laughing hyenas in "The Lion King"*
You might be wondering why this women is always around harassing my gma. Well did I mention my gma is rich. I don't know how rich, but rich enough to start checking my gma's pills to make sure nothing deadly is slipped in Sometimes my family will call and Jiffar answers the phone and says my gma isn't feeling well and to make it a quick conversation. I've even seen a note that Scar left by the toilet that read "Wipe from front to back -Love Lucifer". The first time I saw it  I immediately ripped it down and threw it away. How degrading is that? I wish I could wipe my ass on that women's face. Well the next time I was there the sign was up again. "She who shall not be named" took it out of the garbage and posted it up again. She didn't know it was me that took it down. My gma could have been disgusted and embarrassed and took it down herself. Where is the decency? So this time when I ripped down the side I peed on it. Wiped with it from front to back... cause it really is the only way to wipe. Then I threw it away uuuughain. Then today there it was again sitting on the sink. With my pee stains all over it. I just had to laugh. Laugh cause Satan touched my pee and probably didn't wash her hands before eating. My pee is in her mouth. I did wipe my ass with her face. I didn't have a bowel movement coming so I just threw it away again. Even though it was my own pee I still picked it up with a tissue. Gross.

 Ok this is the last thing. Big thing. Today I went to take my gma shopping and out to dinner. I know she likes JcPenny's. Gotta love those bargains. I even had picked out a nice restaurant for us too. I was excited. I get to her prison and she can't find her credit cards. Sinking feeling. Not just cause my gma usually insists on paying for dinner, but because I knew it had reached a new stage of dependency. Sure enough she calls my uncle to ask where her cards are and I can hear him tell her that he just gave her money. So I guess the new system is that he gives her a $20 every now and then and holds on to her credit card. Yep. Now the dream team has total control over her finances. She can't even go shopping. I'm livid. How does this guy with his devil wife get away with this? The worst part is that they have made her feel like she can't handle it and that they are doing her a favor. Oh "mom" we will hold on to your credit cards for you so you don't lose them when you sit on the couch watching tv not allowed to go anywhere with your grandchildren. Besides btween the couch and the bathroom where you wipe front to back you might unintentionally donate all your money to the Obama's.

Can something be done? I still take my gma shopping. I mean it's JcPenny's even I can buy her something there. Of course she is no longer in the mood to shop like most people are when they realize that their wallet has just been stolen. I buy her some See's candies and we combine her $20 allowance with mine to get some decent dinner. No one will stop me from enjoying time with my gma, but someone is taking away her joy and I don't know what to do. I tell my mom to step in, but she get's too emotional. I hate this. I hate it when people no longer fend for themselves. When they let go cause others have told them that they can't take care of themselves. I hope some day soon that... ummm... darn I'm running out of evil villans... Darth Vader's spawn throws her into a nursing home to wither and mold while someone with bad breath and cold hands changes her burlap diaper.





*the reason all my examples are from movies are:
1. I love movies
2. my bf says my analogies are usually terrible so when I use them I try to stick with what I know

Surviving

Every time life lifts up my head to grab a few breaths something dark and unknown comes and dunks my head under water. I'm back to gasping, flailing, sinking. All I want is a deep breath. To fill my lungs with fresh air. To my chest expand as I take in my source of life. Why most I thrash in dark murky waters fearing what is lurking underneath? This is my life as an artist.

It's Friday and I get a call from a frantic friend who just got screwed over by another friend she hired for a promo video she wanted. He didn't tell her his fee till 2 days before the event and it was way outside her budget and outside what the guy deserves. She needed a videographer tomorrow! Of course being the kind of person that hates to see others sink in the same pool of anxiety I agreed to help. She couldn't pay much, (but enough to pay this months bills) and it was for her wood-fire pizza catering.... soooo free pizza! This was my first little breath. The video shoot went great. Best pizza I've had since Europe and the video turned out pretty good as well. The next day I edited it and kept on working on it all week. I was also setting up my pictures at galleries and getting ready for an art festival. I was finally doing it. I wasn't making exactly the money I wanted yet, but I was still surviving. I was afloat. 

Then somewhere in the dark deep waters something started moving. I felt something brush my leg. I couldn't tell what it was. It was such a good morning. I was taking breathes, not full breathes, but enough to satisfy. I dropped off my boyfriend at work and then was headed to the river trail to walk my dog then visit my grandma. I was in a good mood. Then there it was. The shark. I saw him too late. I was headed straight for him. I tried to slow down, but it was too late. Red and Blue lights were flashing and the sound of the enemy was blaring. All hope was lost. Motorcycle cop. My breath had left me. I'm gasping. I'm going to suffocate. How can this be happening? I was doing so well. Things were finally looking up. As I'm trying to calm myself I also having to keep my dog from growling. Nothing I did or said helped soften to beasts heart. Not even my puppy who went from growling to panting and being pet by the evil one. I just sat in my car and cried. Cried for what I had lost. Cried for a slip in judgement. I know when I'm trying to speed, but this time I had no where to be. Just a carefree day. I couldn't believe I was going as fast as he said. I tried to understand. If I was in my own car and not my boyfriends would I have been going that fast? I drive a stick and it takes me a little longer to pick up speed. If maybe I had pleaded and apologized more to the creature on his black horse. If my puppy hadn't growled at first. If... if... if... it was too late. I had the ticket in my hands and the discouragement in my heart. Why?!! I've never seen a cop there before. I'm hardly driving this car. All is lost and I should just give up. I've never cried getting a ticket before. Mostly I'm just pissed. I usually get over it and move on. But sometimes you are in this place where you are so close to the edge that anything might send you over. You are stranded in the ocean and you are finally gaining your strength back from your last crash to keep your head above water. It's just when the waters seem to calm that another wave comes crashing down on you. It hits like a car crash. You don't know which way is up. The whole time you are wondering will I make it to the surface before I drown. Where's the surface? My arms and legs are moving, but I'm not going anywhere. I'm drowning. 

Even though my mind has given up my body takes over and refuses to quit. I can't control it. My lungs are telling my body what to do. Swim. Swim. I notice that the water is getting lighter. That must be the top. It looks so far away. Breath. I survived. I'm exhausted. I can hardly stay afloat, but that little breath was enough to keep me alive. This is my life as an artist.

DJME

Wicka What?!

I finally did my first solo DJ gig. I was so nervous. My biggest fear was technical problems that I wouldn't know how to fix. Doesn't matter if I pick all the best songs and mix them well that even Grandma Mimi is dancing if the speakers fail and the music stops. When me and the DJ I worked with met with our client the week prior he brought the equipment for me because he wasn't going to be able to make it to the gig due to a family death. We set up the equipment in my dad's shop and I recorded where every plug went and what the vital buttons did. I had spent the days leading up to the gig downloading music. I made sure I had the specific songs; processional, recessional, first dance, cake cutting...ect. The bride music preference was slow rock or easy listening... No one can dance to that. Even though I did my best to clutter my iTunes with her long list of elevator music I hoped that once everyone was dancing she wouldn't care to hear Third Eye Blind or Matchbox 20. Also, she was a country fan. Ugh. Other than heavy metal country is my weak spot. So I spent a couple days jammin with Swift, Chesney, McGraw. If you don't know who that is then lucky you. I guess it could be worse. Screamo wedding? I would have to double my price.

So I downloaded hundreds of new songs... and by download I mean pirated. Did I say this was my first solo gig? No way can I afford to buy every album. I was excited for the wedding. The day of the event I got help setting up the equipment. The wedding was upstairs and even a buff chick like me could use an extra hand, speakers aren't light. The wedding went off without a hitch. Everything sounded great, no technical issues, and I got everyone on the dance floor. I love seeing people sing and dance along to songs they enjoy. My next favorite thing about being a DJ is when I'm packing up people of all ages let me know how much they enjoyed the music and how I would mix it up between new songs and oldies they grew up with. However, I still got to work on my MC skills. Next on the list is to pick a DJ name.

Training days

You know those days when you open you're eyes and you are overwhelmed with fatigue and it stays with you all day? I was dreading my long day and the struggle my eyelids would have against me. Just stay open for 10 more hours. I love busy days, but right now I'd kill for tomorrow to come sooner. Kill.

I was so prepared for a bad grumpy day, but was sleepily surprised. My first stop of the day was to check on video camera. Very knowledgeable guy gave me all the info I need well except how to afford them. For a Canon 5D the body alone is $3,000. What's so special about this camera you might ask. Well since I've been educated let me tell you. The Canon 5D has become the standard for filmmakers. I mean Spielberg isn't using one, but the directors of the show House are. What's great about this SLR (single lens reflex) is that it not only takes pictures at 28 megapixels, but also HD video. With the add on lenses you have control over your depth of field unlike in a standard video camera. There are 2 problems with this camera. One is that the internal microphone is useless. You have to buy an external mic which aren't cheap either. Second problem is with the auto focus. It doesn't have one while filming. So if you're recording and your subject moves out of focus you have to focus them manually. This can get really tricky if you are shooting wildlife, sports, or documentaries. It is rumored that Canon is coming out with a new camera in a month or two and possibly the focus problem will be fixed.

I guess I'll just wait for the new one that comes out the decade I can afford it. When I walked into the store I thought maybe $1,500 or the most $2,000 was what I had to save up for not $3,000 plus an extra $1,000 for some lenses and a microphone. Who is buying these? No wonder they are being used in the film industry because no average hobbyist could afford it. Including me.

Here is what the lovely camera looks like. Isn't it beautiful? If anyone wants to donate some money to my camera cause I will humbly accept. Or if you are one of the lucky millions that has one and is tired of it not being put to use I will gladly take it off your hands. Or you can make an investment and I will make you a beautiful video.

Countdown

30 days left. I've chosen a path. I don't know what this path looks like. I don't know where this paths leads me. I look at this allusive path and it's dark. It's scary. But its mysterious. It looks like adventure, success, pain, doubt, but freedom. Freedom for the average. I've decided to be an entrepreneur. No more job interviews. No more being controlled by the man. Freedom. So here is what I'm doing.

I'm moving towards something. I'm not sure what. I'm moving slowly, but anything is better than stagnant. So far I've taught one tennis lesson, put up my art in a gallery, had DJ beat matching lessons, and filmed a promo. Only 2 out of 4 have income, but I'm hoping to bat 1000 in the future. It's amazing how expensive life is. I need about $500 a month to survive. But I don't want to just survive. I want to live, invest, enjoy freedom.