Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Apparently, sleeping just isn't something I do anymore.

I was getting close around three a.m. Then Jon somehow managed to knock a glass of water off of his night stand, which is piled so high with books and old receipts and change that there's barely enough surface area left for the standard juice glass.

Unsurprisingly, the impact of the glass with our bed frame aroused me from my (almost) sleeping state. Lights were turned on. Words were exchanged. That was forty minutes ago, and here I am, almost four a.m., wide wide wide.

We hung the show tonight, Sarah and I. It looks good I think, assuming that the viewer thinks that these are pieces that should be shown in public. It's a point that I'm wavering on, but of course that's based almost entirely on nerves. Honestly I think it looks good. Honestly I feel we did a good job. Honestly I wonder if, even in the case that any viewer finds the work exceptional, I'll ever hear about the opinion.

The idea that right now I have 19 paintings/photographs hanging in a public space is, frankly, terrifying. See, tonight when we were hanging, sure the shop was open, but it was really just three employees, an employee boyfriend, and like one or two passersby. Tomorrow, though, it's a whole new ballgame. Tomorrow it's an Art Show at the Coffee Shop, to be viewed not by the loving eyes of me and my cronies but by day crew members that I've probably never met, and by East Village/Bowery people who will (ok, might) pass judgment - Coffee shop tripe? Or actual Art?

I know, I know, I know. I make art because I can't help it, because these things are in my head and I need to get them out; I make them for me as much as anything else and probably a good deal more. And this particular series and subject matter deals with a huge life-changing event with national and global significance. No opinion can touch that. Seriously. And the fact that my stuff is hanging on the corner of Bleecker and Bowery right now in a highly visible space, across the street from where CBGBs used to be - that's kind of a big deal, regardless of how I got it in there.

None of this, though, stops me from wanting other people to like it. Like, yeah, my mom thinks I'm talented. My fiance is extremely supportive. A handful of my friends will usually show up and smile when I do something in public. But I have this suspicion that they all might be just the tiniest bit biased. I'm curious to see how New York reacts - if they react at all. Of course, knowing me if I do get a reaction of any consequence I'll find a way to blame it on everything but me and my work. "Oh, it's just because it deals with Katrina." "I only got to do this because I work here." "They're just taking pity on me because I lost my house." I'm really talented at this - you should hear me explain how my college degree doesn't count.

Like as if other people who've made something for themselves didn't have some kind of leg up, some kind of edge. Isn't it one of those largely griped about gripes that ya gotta know somebody? That you can be talented as the day is long, but unless...? (At this point, I'm just defending myself against myself. So far, and really to my knowledge ever, I am my one and only naysayer.)

I'd like to go to sleep. At this point it's well after four. I haven't had a bout of sleeplessness like this since high school - at least these days no one's forcing me to show up at prison every morning for 7:25 a.m. But still. I don't think this is the best for my stress levels or my productivity.

Damnit. Now I'm starving. Bodies are so damn demanding. Sometimes, when I watch Futurama, I start to think that head-in-a-glass-jar setup wouldn't be so bad after all.

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