Saturday, February 20
the week that was
I've been nattering about how I can't quite get my head into the art space for the coming season or, more urgently, the jury season. My studio is cold, I whine. I have no inspiration, I grumble. What do they want from me, I snap.
Then, this week, a reminder of working for another, for little money, on a clock not mine.
Two concerts this week. Wednesday, the Grateful Dead reincarnated without Jerry. Last night a double-header comedy show. Both audiences had "issues", there were security problems. Last night the comedian decided he wanted an intermission at midnight after all, even though we were dizzy from fatigue and the bars had been closed and wiped down. Sure, most of the attendees at the 3 shows were fun and easy to deal with, but it's the creeps you remember because they make your day longer.
Last night, 3 young women stood at my counter, disappointed and trying to be polite. There were people in their seats who refused to move. Our staff was unable to remove them. The women wanted their money back and they wanted to leave. Management tried to think of a way to do that against all the safeguards in place to prevent such a thing.
"We bought new clothes, we had our hair done", one of them said as she ran her hand over her long, shiny fall.
They were beautiful in silver, red and teal. The woman in the silver vest over black pants had some glitter brushed over her cheeks. The lady in red wore no adornment other than the tailored tiers of scarlet that seemed made specifically for her. The teal dress was fringed from top to bottom and shimmered when she walked. I was so glad when they got their money back, but sad that all that plumage had not been appreciated enough. I hope they went clubbing. I hope they fell in love or something.
The audience for the Dead was not as festive, but I'm thinking one needs to make some decisions about which t-shirt to wear, whether to resurrect the tie dye or go edgy. Despite the 50 "no smoking" signs taped all over the theater, opening the door into the house shortly after the show started released a cloud of smoke still illegal in most States. We are still chuckling about the wild-haired guy who tried to crash the show without a ticket and, as the police escorted him out, screamed that the genie made him do it.
So, although I usually enjoy my part time job, I will truly appreciate my cold little studio today. It is mine. All the mess is mine, the pile of CD's are music I like, the remote for the TV handled only by moi. If I decide to spend 20 minutes there or 5 hours, it will be my choice.
It will be quiet. I will be alone unless Quincy comes up to check on me. But he usually just sniffs around to make sure all is well and then, satisfied, goes down a flight to nap on the bed.
I know, intellectually, that being able to almost make a living doing what I do is a blessing. It's just that every so often you have a week that grabs you, turns you around and makes you really see. OK, I get it.
And if I falter, there's a week of Sesame Street Live coming up that should really cap it for me.