if you have been reading this blog for a while, I imagine you think this artful life is interesting and full of strange encounters?
Well, you are right. This week was no different. The studio visitor was all wild, windswept, and interesting (as well as a bit 'flappy'). I did not entertain him for long. He left abruptly, somewhat disgruntled.
Now, to be fair, I know him well. He visits regularly. In fact, his family has been guests under our roof for as long as I can remember (well over two decades). They are all intrepid, independent traveler types. They drop in, poke about and stay the whole summer.
This week, when one of them popped into the studio, the welcome was a little cold, unfriendly, possibly even, a bit, dare I say . . hostile?
It was not a good time.
These days my studio is busy. I am preoccupied, dealing with numbers. There is a lot of measuring and labeling, stacking and storing to be done, as I force myself to focus on preparing for not one, not two, but three exhibitions before the end of the year. As a result, I can't do much painting. I rely on most of my visual thrills in artfully arranging cucumber peel or lime zest over baba ghanoush. But now as the measuring and labeling, storing and stacking continues, I can actually see an end in sight. In the past, it was different. There was never any sense of completion until the work was dispatched to the gallery. At that time, my biggest failure was to keep painting until the day before the exhibition was hung, madly framing anything that didn't move. This meant when it came to hanging the show, I would have many options, few regrets, and lots to choose from. This is no way to organise an exhibition. Trust me. So, now, I am doing it differently. I am determined to do it better. For weeks now, most of the work has been spread out all over the floor. Five months out, I find myself working with what I've got until I have it all finished, framed and ready to go. I have even ordered bubble wrap. In this context, yesterday's visitor proved quite the disruption. With the sun shining, and a light breeze blowing, I had flung the doors wide open with abandon. He swoops in, with a flourish. He was all glamorous and noisy, purposeful and speedy while managing at the same time to be darkly dramatic. I was in no mood. I reached for the floor brush sweeping it about, hoping to discourage his enthusiasm for an unscheduled visit. This didn't work very well as a strategy.  Instead of getting the hint and going back out as quick as he came, he artfully avoided the messy floor by soaring above it all. At the same time, I must admit, he was making very appreciative noises (I can only assume it was about the artwork).Because my workspace is full of wet, white-painted frames, I couldn't help noticing his rigout. He was stunningly attired . . . black dress suit complete with tails, and a lovely bright orange sash to the front. As elegant as he was handsome, as noisy as he was nimble, I still urged him towards the door. But he wasn't having any of it. Eventually, tiring of us I suppose, and the artwork, he started to screech so alarmingly I feel sure the whole neighbourhood would rush in to find what the commotion was about. In desperation to see him leave, I closed the blinds. It had the effect of darkening the space. It left him one option. And thankfully he took it, leaving as swiftly as he came. For my troubles, on his departure, he endowed me with a gift of his own. During his swooping strike on this studio, he shat on the nice, clean, white frames. As it is being washed off and repainted, we can only marvel and be forever grateful that he missed each and every one of the paintings. |
