reno ain't so shabby after all.
so much about being in a place is about being and existing inside the in between moments. the collection of them.
the build up.
the clean up.
so much about being around artists is about being around artist's egos. backing away when she's about to blow, closing in when the time is right. it's usually about working together for a common something. a common good, a common being, a common space that is so extraordinary that it's never been perfected.
everywhere i've ever worked... and by worked, i mean created art... there's been a common theme of betterment. whether it be by the simple recreational re-purposing of a piano, the improvement of the facility property, or a desire to better the surrounding community--from 4th street to wrondel to dickerson to icehouse there has been an effort to positively reach out creatively. thankfully, in all the places i've been the last five years, i'm not the only one who feels that way. there's a like-minded-ness and it feels good to be in the same room with it.
for the most part, goals are met, decisions are made, idea has become reality in some fraction of the sense. things are happening (and by things, i mean ART).
from birth of the idea of the original 4th street salvagery to the today's cousin, the generator--i've loved bearing witness to this evolution. in their own right, and you know who you are, each establishment and it's kin/cousin/friend/rival has been a success in building a ladder for this community's artists to climb upward.
sometimes reno ain't so shabby after all.
and then some mornings you inexplicably wake up with the song from pocahontas in your head.
before coffee, before shower, before dog belly scratches--i'm up stumbling and humming along to how high the sycamore grows and don't cut it down or whatever. it's streaming inside my brain on malicious repeat. no,
not that shitty vanessa williams version--the one from the hit animated disney movie of my young adulthood.
it's been a long couple of weeks and i have little to say cuz my brain is fried from awesome.
my tarot project is going great--the gofundme is moving along nicely and people and friends are donating toward the most great dream ever.
i'm fully cubbied at the generator, i've got the gopro (which i'm still learning how to use), and i'm gonna start time lapsing this week.
i've lost 8 pounds on accident over this project.
my old dog otis is getting older and sicker by the day.
i'm officially the poorest i've ever been in my entire life.
i hardly see my boyfriend.
the skin on my hands is red and worn and falling off.
there is no light at the end of any tunnel...
and yet, i'm pretty fucking happy.
panty twitchin goodness
it's coming along. slowly. respectively and with discipline, i'm getting around to my favorite part of shit--actually doing the painting. ripping a bunch of new music my friends think i should hear, brewing several pots of coffee, guitar and dog by my side and just fucking painting.
i've launched the campaign which is steadily resting at the 45ish% completion mark and i've built my space at the generator. now i just need to buy some more paint and a few more detail brushes.... and the rest of the hardboard....and the framing....
a bunch of other shit and i'm on my way to making a series of paintings that'll make this city's panties twitch.
(you can quote me on that)
where i'll post the in's, out's, tween's, and twixt's of my world of art mixed with pictures, links, opinions, and rants. (oh, and curse words. lots of curse words)