I hate it when people ask me if I’m an artist.
You know, in real life. Its fine on the internet when I don’t have to look the person in the eye and be all…
It feels so arrogant. Sure, I can brag all I want online….while I’m sitting in cut-off shorts and fuzzy house boots and no make-up and my scarf.
But it is way different when I have to say things out loud.
I majored in Studio Art in college.
For 52 days….
There were a lot of reasons I couldn’t take it. For starters, I didn’t want to be there. I am NOT a good school person. I loathed my
EEEEVERYBODY was an “Artist”.
It was so hard to have a serious discussion with someone about their passions when their work blew chunks. I know, I know, its all subjective. (Or is it objective…..? Another reason I didn’t make it….)
They drove me nuts, bottom line.
And I’m vaguely anti-social anyway…..
There were other contributing factors to my crash and burn.
I didn’t have a car and my home was across town so I was at the mercy of whoever could give me a ride.
There were days when I waited for hours….
I also had a stressful job working at a plasma donation center. I had to prick fingers and spin blood and REMEMBER NUMBERS. And it never failed that some big homeless guy who smelled like toe-cheese would come up to the counter with his nasty bottle of peach plasma and as I was about to give him some money he’d barf and pass out and I’d have to dive over the counter to catch him.
But, really, those are all excuses. There were other major reasons why I didn’t do very well….
What was I talking about?
Oh yeah, the “Artist” thing.
So I went to Hobby Lobby to get a couple of paintings framed. I really hate taking my paintings out in public. I feel all dramatic.
And when I make eye contact with someone who was just staring at my work, I feel all…
I KNOW that’s what they think I’m thinking.
And there are always lurkers. Not necessarily impressed, just nosy.
And then comes the real confrontation. Yesterday, it came in the form of a 20-something girl.
I could feel her breathing on my painting.
And then of course she had to say words at me.
And I had to give her a pompous, smug answer.
But it wasn’t enough.
Um… no? Maybe? Sometimes? What do you mean by that?
WHY MUST I STATE MY INTENTIONS ON THIS EARTH TO YOU STRANGE WOMAN?!?!?!?
Sorry, I suddenly got unusually bored with this particular post.