I have never been as excited about my art as I was today. Last night we completed printing the last of my photos for next week's show. And, this morning I bought all the mounting board for the prints. I returned to Glenn's studio and started cutting the prints to size with the rotary cutter.
Slice, slice, slice went the circular blade. The white edges of the prints fell away and got cast aside like chaff; giant prints, exploding with color were stacked according to which rooms they would hang in at the venue. A stack for the large framed pieces that go in the storefront windows, a stack for the lounge room, a stack for the hallway, a stack for the main room—stacks and stacks of ink and dried liquid tree pulp, married as art.
One thing is for sure: I need to make some money on this show. It's crucial that I sell a bunch of these pieces, hopefully all of them. In the past year I've had great response from people who want to hang the work in their rooms—everyone loves the prints. But, nobody wants to actually pay for them. Where is my loving artist's patron, the saving angel who will fly into my life and subsidize my propagation of art and music and writing into the world?
In other news, tonight I will be clowning with the Porn Clowns in Los Angeles again. We plan to protest in some public areas, carrying flourescent–colored signs bearing slogans like fuck more clowns! and YES! and NO!
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