Archives for posts with tag: Doyle Dane Bernbach

Piece Of My Heart, Number Six

Vince Vaughn bought my daughter’s Prom dress.

He is making a movie in Atlanta. And the location unit chose the building where my art studio is situated.

I used to be in Advertising. And one of the accounts I worked on, was Orion Pictures Publicity. I am familiar with the movie business. Maybe not the production side, as this was. But I loved the hustle, bustle. The project to project. The excitement. I loved the collaboration. I loved how everyone was working toward a common goal. The hurry up and wait.

Is it possible I could have made a mistake to do what I do now? I am all alone. I see no one. Ever. I work alone. But I get ego recognition. The work is all mine.

In the movie business, you pitch in. There is not room for two egos in the limousine. With the exceptional Philip Seymour Hoffman hat sported by the guy on the ladder, the importance stays with the stars and the film company executives.

How did Vince Vaughn buy my daughter’s Prom dress? No one knew this was not an inconvenience to me. I did not attend the shooting. I did not talk to many of the workers.

But the preparation of the scenes demanded an excruciatingly long time. And, needing the money, as most of us do these days, I accepted compensation for the work done in the building.

When we lived in a quiet “In town” neighborhood in Atlanta, I used to walk quite a bit. I walked to the grocery store, which we called the Korean Market. How racist. And I walked just to walk.

A few years prior, after my job at the Ad Agency ended, I became a pet sitter, going from house to house, looking after peoples’ dogs and cats. I was attacked by a dog during one of these visits, and needless-to-say, I halted my job as a pet sitter. Why should I do this for money?

Therefore, my leisurely neighborhood walking excursions were filled with the fear of being attacked again. Around every bush, there could be a dog just waiting to attack me. And that fear bred more fear, because after all, don’t dogs sense fear?

I was leafing through a magazine one day and found an ad for a device a person could carry. It would emit sounds undetectable to humans (of course) and dogs would be repelled. It was perfect for mailmen, the ad said. And those on business having to come to unfamiliar houses.

Perfect! I would order this gray pancake-like item with little sound wave grooves on the end of it. And a button to push when a dog was near.

I carried it around on my walks. Still a little fearful. And also aware I was probably being duped. But hey, I had my gray dog repellent device and, if a boxer came near me, I would aim.

Whether it worked or not did not matter. Because I never had to use that thing. The other day, years after I had purchased this mysterious gray piece of plastic, I was cleaning out a drawer. I looked at it and with a little embarrassment, put it back in the drawer.

Belief in a dog repellent? Just like those round green termite traps that lie in our yards. Or the one inch square cut piece of sheet I own that Paul McCartney supposedly slept on at the Plaza Hotel. Or how do you know there is really a star out there with your name on it? Belief. Praying on love, fear or desire. It’s part of our psyche to want magic.

You all know about my love of fortune cookies. I blogged about it. Their meaning to me. Their potential for being correct for one’s life at a particular time.

I got one the other day that said, “IF YOUR WORK ISN’T FINISHED, BLAME IT ON THE COMPUTER!” Pretty cool. A lot of my work is done on the computer. But I get the point.

This project I am doing now is two fold. Doing the art for my solo show. Blogging about it. Allowing for a tangent, a rant. Tall order.

Blogging is time consuming. I don’t have to tell you that. But it could be looked at like this: Blogging will become my time manager.

I will have to paint. I will have to blog. I will have to paint in order to blog. Blogging will become my master. I will work for blogging.

To the contrary, the fortune cookie should have read “IF YOUR WORK ISN’T FINISHED, YOU ARE NOT GIVING THE COMPUTER ENOUGH CREDIT!”

Piece Of My Heart

Here I continue to post works of art in preparation for my next New York show.

The image above is from the Brooklyn Art Library’s Sketchbook Project. Fairly recently, I got a hold of one of the 28,000 or more blank sketchbooks issued to people all over the world and decided to make a sketchbook for the tour. And when the sketchbook tour came to Atlanta, I “checked out” my book. (These clever people have the tour set up like an actual library!) And looked at it again. Had to put it back, though, for the rest of its journey.

Because I plan to make a video animation of its artwork someday, I had it photographed. While my sketchbook was tooling around for others to see, I had the opportunity to alchemize it. I love to recycle ideas and extend projects.

Since I will never be able to touch the sketchbook again (It returned to Brooklyn with the other thousands of sketchbooks) and I will never turn its pages or mark it to make it different, I had no choice but to bring it out of its virtual world. And into the world I can alter.

The beginnings of this new series of work start with inkjet printed pages of the sketchbook. Bringing the work once again back to me. To look at and make different.

Piece Of My Heart

Here I am again. It has been a long time since I posted anything on a regular basis.

I am beginning a new series for my blog. I like to group things. I like projects. It was that way with “Afloat: An Installation”, my online exhibition here on WordPress. 100 collages, a day at a time.

The online show, “Afloat”, a continuation of the actual installation, shown in New York six months prior and reviewed by the Entertainment Editor in the Atlanta Journal/Constitution! The editor liked my commentary as much as he liked the images themselves.

Although I am not doing this blog series as a continuation of an actual exhibition, as I did the last time, I probably will do the same banter and stream of consciousness stuff I did before. This brand new project will be different in its visual content however. What you will see is a “working toward” another solo show in New York sometime in the next year or so…..process, finished pieces, drawings for finished pieces and things like that.

I hope you enjoy it. Please, feel free to comment. That is what makes doing these entries so much fun for me! And hopefully, for you as well.

Deluge

New Work.

Following the Holiday Season, and after it becomes 2014, I will be posting my new work. I have established a theme and visuals. I actually cannot wait to get back into this blogging business. The most fun of my last show! (“AFLOAT: An Installation”)

This piece above was done in mixed media. It is 8″ x 8″ and is on 2″ board. I am showing it at Ceres Gallery’s 30th Anniversary Group Exhibition, opening January 14, 2014. I just finished it last week. It is not framed, but I sent it to Ceres anyway, because the deadline was approaching. The reception for this show is January 16th!

I hope you all have a wonderful Holiday Season and try not to expect too much. That’s when things get to be tense. Just look around at the lights and the glitter and be happy!

Article In Atlanta Journal/Constitution

“Afloat” Image. Ceres Gallery. New York. Solo Show.

A short article ran in The Atlanta Journal/Constitution about my virtual exhibition!

Day One Hundred/Image One Hundred

“Afloat” Image. Ceres Gallery. New York. Solo Show.

This a story of a prophesy.

The night of my opening, “AFLOAT: An Installation”, it snowed. Not many people came to the reception. Kris, my best friend from Rippowam High School in Stamford Connecticut, came! Big surprise!

We used to cut school together to go into the Village. We wanted to see what the real Village was like, during the week, without all the suburban kids (like us) hanging out. That Kris came to such a wonderful, big event for me, meant so much to me and made up for the scant turn out, due to the weather.

She lives in San Francisco now.

The shadowy installation with its rings and collages scattered over the walls like wreckage from a flood made it more obvious somehow that there were not many people there.

A man walked in. Reminiscing with Kris interrupted, I jumped up to greet him. He was dressed appropriately for a retirement community in Texas. Dark blue cap. Light weight, dark blue wind breaker jacket on.

My guess was, that he was an artist. He spoke with such authority about my work, the way male artists of a certain age do. They tend to barge in and expect you to listen. He went on and on and I asked him what his name was. An occupation? He said it did not matter. Just listen to him.

I glanced over to where Kris was sitting, aware that the next day we would be leaving for two separate cities and that we had little time together.

The man kept barging and talking to me, circling me and gesturing to the work in the room. He said, “As you get more successful, and you will, think of yourself rising up to the top of a pyramid. You are going to lose support from the people you know.” Then he glanced over his shoulder at a non-existent person who was supposed to be sitting at the gallery desk and said, “Be nice to this girl. She is going to need it!”

Who was this guy? His talking to the unmanned desk made me think he was a ghost.

Then I swear to you, he was gone.

Unfortunately his predictions came true. But, happily, I made new friends, more true. Less exploitive. I did feel the lack of support for a short time, but I felt like I was making some progress in the world.

Who was this guy? Where is he now? He could tell me what is coming next. He could be my reader and advisor!

Thank you, everyone, for coming to my virtual show! I really did post one hundred collages. I made a mistake, early on, and I counted two collages with the same number!

Day NInety-Nine/Image Ninety-Nine

“Afloat” Image. Ceres Gallery. New York. Solo Show.

Installing “AFlOAT: An Installation” was a work in and of itself. Positioning, measuring, art and design skills were involved. (And balancing on a ladder.) An installation is just that. It’s the entire gallery up for review. Not the individual pieces. I had to install the one hundred slightly deflated rings as well as the one hundred collages on the gallery walls. I wanted to convey a feeling of a flood. Of jarred materials bumping up against the shore. Each element had to be positioned just right.

I forget how long it took. I do know my husband and I worked tirelessly, late into the night in the gallery in Chelsea. The gallery is located on the same side of the street, very close to the club of dubious distinction, Scores, a hangout for businessmen and scantily clothed young women.

Scores did not make a difference in the hanging of this show, but I got the key to the gallery one day, and had to have the work installed forty-eight hours later. It was either sleep overnight in the gallery both nights, or leave very late, walk quickly down the street to Eleventh Avenue. Catch a cab and eat out of our hotel’s vending machines for dinner. You know, Snickers and Fritos make for a good dinner at three AM. The other night I remember eating something slightly more nutritious. It was something. But the hour was later, and I don’t know what it was we ate.

I remember that leaving the gallery later was better than leaving at one-thirty. Leaving at two-thirty or three when all the men were catching cabs outside of Scores made us feel safer walking to Eleventh Avenue.

As my friend and collaborator on “Bread In The Sky”, Vince Wiggins would say, paraphrased from David Byrne, you really don’t want to know how the sausage is made, you just want it next to your eggs.

Day Ninety-Eight/Image Ninety-Eight

“Afloat” Image. Ceres Gallery. New York. Solo Show.

Tonight I am going to a Holiday business dinner. I imagine these types of parties are going on all over the world at this time of year. Probably on this Saturday night.

My husband is in the transportation business.The people who will be at the dinner are truck drivers.

I am looking forward to it.

I went to one of these parties years ago. I have never been to a event before or since, where I was with a group of such self aware people. The drivers were at ease with themselves and calm. We don’t get to experience calm in people or places anymore.

I have a theory about this. The average person today is under assault all the time. If we are not checking emails, texts or answering our phones in traffic, we are on hold while some obnoxious advertisement for the business we are calling is blasting in our ear. Then the screechy music and “We’ll be right back; thanks for holding.” The loop starts all over again about their business. In our ear. While we are waiting to talk to a more “personal” voice mail of the person we called.

The pharmacy like all other buildings has banned silence. Sixties and Seventies music. (I guess it is assumed that the demographic is the boomers getting their laxatives or prescriptions filled!)

The grocery store now has a quota the checkers have to meet: How loud and fast they can squish the cans of chili into the prebagged lettuce. This sort of thing has given me heart palpitations.

What happened to quiet? People have to go to hot yoga to detox from all the noise and anxiety in our society!

Not so with the truck drivers. They have time, free from incessant head banging, being able to think their own thoughts. They can listen to books on tape! They drive deep into the night, with quiet or noise (of their own choosing.) Contained in their pod. Their eighteen wheeler acts as a space where, although they are constantly aware of everything going on around them on the road, they achieve a sense of themselves that is necessary to their job.

I look forward to being with this refreshing group of people tonight!