Show Pony

Hey people. This is what it looked like when I got to the gallery Fri afternoon. I was very worried about not having enough work, but as usual gallery staffers worked their magic and everything looked great, and somehow filled the room.

These things are just SO bizarre. Everything I do connected to my creative stuff is very private. I work all alone every day, often not seeing another human until Trusty Pam shows up for our evening ride or run-- which is usually not super conversation filled. The main thing is-- no one is ever watching. I think of ideas, I weld, I dorkily jam-out, I get mad and throw shit around, but no one ever sees. At these things, EVERYONE is watching everything I do. It is so completely weird.

At one point the gallery owner asked me to sign my name on the wall for the show in chalk. She brought a little stool over for me to stand on so I got up there, and of course several people gathered to watch me sign my name-- (how weird is that?) I scrawled it out in my usual way- making little horizontal dashes for the "E's", trying not to feel like a giant ass. I got done and someone (probably totally innocently and unrelated to anything) made some little noise behind me, and that was enough to make me second guess MY OWN SIGNATURE. I hastily made the little down strokes to complete the "E's", and as I was doing this someone else behind me goes-- "Oh... You ruined it." So now two of the "E's" have vertical lines, and the last one doesn't.

I should just hire someone to go be "me" at these things.

Here is a really cool woman-- a friend of a friend, who I could become friends with too if we spend more time together. She bought one of my favorite pieces ever. Remember Jezebel? She bought her. This makes me feel very good. She's going to a good home, where I may even see her again someday.

Here we are talking before she'd made up her mind. BTW-- I was a total fashion fail at this thing. I did not feel at all comfortable in my grown-up lady costume. See that look on my face? Yeah, whoever I hire to be me would be WAY more sure of herself. Look at the guy behind me-- the gallery owner's husband. Funny huh? At one point he chewed my ass a little for talking to my friends over on the far side of the gallery. "People are here to look at your art-- and YOU. Get back over there show pony." (okay- this was not word for word, but it was the gist.)

These are the shoes I started out in. They are the effing shit no? LOOK at these babies...

On the backs they have these satin bows. Meow. Yeah, I lasted exactly an hour and had to bust out these other much uglier boots that transformed my already shaky fashion fail into complete frumpwear. There are supposedly all these rules about how women over 40 are to dress and look and I just don't fit any of it.

These were my second runners-up (not the ones that wrecked my already bad outfit), what I call my "Acht-tung baby" boots. They are super badass, but I felt like I should have a riding crop to go with them, so the bow shoes won-out.

Also, once again my hair was totally uncooperative. All I can say is "woof." (And I'm totally getting my hair cut different on Tues.) Oh well. It was one night and it's thankfully over.

The cool part of it was talking to everyone who showed-up. Some friends came, some I was surprised to see and some that always come to my shows. Seeing friends at these things is like someone tossing me a lifeline. "Whew-- I am still just normal old me. Don't freak out Sue."

There were also clients--- some blurring over into friend territory I've known them so long and they've been supporters of my work for so long. (Hello veryniceunitarianwisconsinites.) They are fun to talk to and reconnect with.

It's always nice, but very surreal when people like art professors or collectors want to talk to you and shake your hand and ask you things about big capital A art. I didn't go to art school, or much of any school actually. Weirdly, once they hear this they become more impressed. Now I am an exotic of some kind, imbued with strange powers to somehow conjure the art. This makes me want to go hide in the bathroom even though they are trying to be nice.

As usual, one of my favorite people was a guy who got dragged to this thing by his wife. He shyly approached me, probably sensing my own discomfort, and grinned and shook my hand and said, "I just wanted to tell you I really like looking at your artwork. I'm a boilermaker, and your welding is really good." Then we had a laugh about how a couple of my pieces are made from old water heaters.

I also got to talk to lots of just nice seeming regular people, out for a fun night. At one point I got to discuss structure and natural forms with a super handsome architect. That was fun but I could never be with someone like him. I have to be the pretty one I guess. Dan lets me feel that way even when I don't believe it most of the time. (He just came by and saw me typing all this in my fishnets, badass boots and a T-shirt with no make-up on and wild homeless woman hair. He says, "THAT'S what you should have worn," and leered at me. Thanks baby.)

This week I have to get back to being me. I haven't been in the woods for about 2 weeks, and besides doing that crazy ride last Sunday haven't taken any time off or seen any of my family or friends for a while. I still have a ton of work to get done for next month's show, but I need to get rebalanced over here.