I shouldn’t say eleventh hour. It’s more like the ten and a half-th hour. I can write that, because it’s my blog and for some reason, no one ever writes or calls to say Hey! You spelled something wrong! Or Hey! What are you? A grammatical deviant? I fear no repercussion.
I am almost ready. Almost ready for the art festival on Saturday. The last few days (week) I have required quite a bit of self-talk to keep moving (this is like the interval training I mentioned awhile ago). Painting frames, adjusting dabs and glazes on paintings (yikes! this one is too stark and dark! that one is too light and bright! This one should be tossed entirely! It’s all terrible! What was I thinking?). Adjusting in this way is rarely healthy, rarely beneficial. It’s like looking at your face with one of those mirrors that magnifies and exaggerates every feature, even every pore. What good does that do? None. Nobody’s face ever looks that big or scary in real life, unless you’re having an IMAX experience. There’s just no place in the real world for that kind of magnification. Not even when we start speaking with exclamation points.
It is late, and I am tired, and I have one more big push of a day tomorrow, setting pictures in their frames and letting them audition for position among their sisters. In the dining room, and the living room. On my knees and on my fanny, contemplating. I will like that, but I also have to figure out how to nail them into their frames without really nailing them in, and then I’ve got to paper the backs, and then I have to figure out prices and write the prices on little cards, which cards I haven’t made yet. Which pricing is a joke; either I’m loving the paintings and inseparably attached to them (I can’t sell this one! or that one!), or I’m hating them and can’t imagine anyone would want to buy them. Dreaming up titles for them will be fun, but isn’t that sounding a little bit scary? like there’s no way to get all that done tomorrow? It would be nice to have Frank’s help with the delicate nailing part, but he’ll be flying home from Montgomery.
Anyway, it’s late, I’m tired, but also restless with anticipation. I just had to post a blurb (truth be told, what I’m really craving is to settle into a long, long write about the people and things I’m bonding with on my morning jog, or about my recent banana bread and carrot cake success, or about some of the very darling quips my Grandma said when she visited me, or even about one of my evolutionary theories: evidence that the chicken is in fact a descendent of the T-Rex).
A good friend dropped by tonight with bags of produce from her garden, and made my day (no, my month) with her enthusiasm over the paintings strewn all over the dining room and living room. Thank you, thank you Suzette for your kind (and sincere) validation. It was so timely. I really am running out of steam, and all my work had started to look depressingly lame.
But I’m good now! I’m up for it. Back into a happy trot.
So please come, y’all! The festival runs from 9:30 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. this coming Saturday (July 31st) at the North Ogden Park (2650 North 500 East). Admission is free, and there’ll be other cool stuff going on besides the artist booths. Come say hello and take it all in.