i’ve been a bit freaking out about the logistics of getting my work to LA. Crate it? Send it? Just take what fits in my suitcase? Buy frames in LA so they don’t break? Mama mia. Every artist goes through this when they have a show away from home, I know.
I realize I have a bit of a relationship with my paintings where I feel bad when I think about leaving certain ones behind. Especially when they are too big. It reminds me of a book I read when I was littler: Tales of a Fifth Grade Nothing…. or Blubber by Judy Blume. Loved her. Freckle Juice, Superfudge… and then there was Are You There God It’s Me Margaret and one that a little more *advanced* where she loses her virginity, or contemplates it at least. Remember the title?
My point being there was a story I read that resonated with me about a mother with her 2 seater corvette where she could only fit her skinny child in it. That was not my story, but I was overly tall (I’m only 5’9, but cannot remember a taller girl in my class) and most photos from about 3rd grade to Senior year I can be found bending my knees to fit in with my shorter friends. Or slouching. Ahh. And I played the trombone, which made me extra tall and gangly getting on the bus. My sister was smart enough to play the dainty flute.
I am feeling so alive these last few days in an unprecedented way (or maybe it’s just the extra coffee!). I think my work is feeling more like me. I’m mixing my teenage like doodles with painterly paint and bringing my history and memories and love of the pop and folk and color to boot. I hope you will like what I make, too.