A cold night made way for a sunny day. Tiny white moths flutter around in the glimmer December sunlight. The sycamore trees bare branches reveal themselves, scattered yellow and brown leaves and a shadow, half branch, half leaf lies on the ground under the giant tree. It’s Monday, but it feels like some other day, a day not on the calendar, a new day with a new name. Crunchy leaf day or Amazing Late Fall Breezy Day, or ALFBD for short. Can a new day of the week insert itself here? On what by all historical accounts is a crazy day for many, a worry day, thinking about what to buy, what to give, where to go, when to be there. Can the ALFBD be something magical instead? A dreamy, play in the dirt, look for worms, imagine the future and the past with equal delight. My feet, forty-six years on this earth, my beautiful feet that walk on the dirt, the mud, jump on crunchy leaves. Transform my giant body into a little tiny moth fluttering around the tops of the evergreens, with no apparent direction in mind. It’s a non-stress day on a historical stress day, switched up and served. Accepted and appreciated, I like today.
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Break something, instead of “break a leg”. That is my motto. Yesterday- A glass and a painting- fall, crack turn into a new form, unusable. This happens right before my opening. I took a Portfolio to my opening, sold each piece for $25. I sold over 11. I look at pictures now, of each piece. They are like people to me. They are part of my special collection of art, the pieces that have made it through every edit I’ve gone through in my studio. They know all my secrets. I feel like I adopted them out, the paintings, like spies infiltrating new spaces, bring my secrets with them. like they were going to good homes, like they will no longer be in a dark drawer. No light, no wall. Wait to be noticed again, wait to be framed with lots of space around them. They are the pieces that carry a story, part of a series. My hidden little gems that never made it into any shows, they were too special in a way. In a way I’ve sold my most precious, unique pieces of art for $25 each. Luckily there are still more, and of course more will always be made. I didn’t sell any large pieces yet, but I had interests. Those are the daddies and mommies of everything. The framed work in the Gallery and the Notebooks are a bridge from my past to my future. They are like rocks surrounded by feathers. I am certain they will sell. I will have money for my next book project. I want to write several books; each book will include/be dominated by pictures. I need a lot of money. The photographing of my work for the books is expensive. I have the paint and substrates. I have the content. I need money for the publishing fees.
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Studio today. Cold at first, remnants from the making of my recent show, ghosts of pastel, charcoal, paint, frags, worked on new pieces, worked on new notebook pages, curated a $25 portfolio, 48 pieces on paper, unframed. Jack and Fiona just got home. I hear them calling me, “Mommy, Mommy”, I hear the pitter patter of their feet, looking for me. I’m writing in my closet, my bedroom door locked. I’m drinking a glass of wine and eating chocolate candy x-mas trees. I still have 40 minutes left before the babysitter leaves. They are snickers x-mas trees, I’m on my second one. They are so good. They go so good with red wine. I am ready for my show. I am celebrating. I am proud of myself. I just pigged out on candy, drank two glasses of red wine, worked in the studio, it’s 3:28 and I’m ready for bed! Tomorrow is December 1st, what a lovely day to have an art opening. I’m very excited, it’s going to be fun. My new book copies aren’t here yet, it will probably take three weeks to get them from the printers. I can take preorders tomorrow and mail people a copy if they would like to get an autographed copy from the artist! Otherwise it’s already available through third party sellers online. I love my book so much. I love my whole show and my range of pieces and prices, from low to high, something for everyone. I am going to bed early tonight. I am thankful.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 