Unlikely Artist
About a year ago, I sat sunk in gloom, staring moodily at the far wall in my living room. Never mind why, multiple reasons, but at that moment I focused on a picture of an apple hanging on the wall. I'd taken it a couple of years before, liked it, and printed it out on a desktop printer. That night, I decided I wanted the damn thing properly printed and framed. I wanted it big, hanging on my wall, daily evidence that occasionally I did something worth doing.
When I got it framed, the gallery owner said I should put it out as a limited-edition print, and that I should do a similar series, and maybe it could be a show. That didn't seem quite real to me—as much as I've always liked photography and the visual arts in general, I've never even dreamed of doing things in the fine-arts world. But I was pleased and flattered, and flirted with the idea that I had some real artistic talent lurking untapped in me. And just for fun, at least in the beginning, I fooled around some more, and a picture of pears in particular turned out well, so I got that framed too. And the gallery owner said put together 10 or 20 like it and we'd do an exhibit in a year or so.
And the show is happening in two days. I still don't quite believe it. I just don't see myself as an artist, really. But I'd better learn how to, I think, or I'm going to be standing around at the reception smiling abstractedly to myself like a mental patient at how funny life can be. From that one evening a year ago, alone and depressed, what comes? An evening two days from now in which your honored servant will kinda sorta be the center of attention in a room full of light and warmth, people coming and going, wine and cheese, all that. Very, very strange, the way things happen, don't you think?
When I got it framed, the gallery owner said I should put it out as a limited-edition print, and that I should do a similar series, and maybe it could be a show. That didn't seem quite real to me—as much as I've always liked photography and the visual arts in general, I've never even dreamed of doing things in the fine-arts world. But I was pleased and flattered, and flirted with the idea that I had some real artistic talent lurking untapped in me. And just for fun, at least in the beginning, I fooled around some more, and a picture of pears in particular turned out well, so I got that framed too. And the gallery owner said put together 10 or 20 like it and we'd do an exhibit in a year or so.
And the show is happening in two days. I still don't quite believe it. I just don't see myself as an artist, really. But I'd better learn how to, I think, or I'm going to be standing around at the reception smiling abstractedly to myself like a mental patient at how funny life can be. From that one evening a year ago, alone and depressed, what comes? An evening two days from now in which your honored servant will kinda sorta be the center of attention in a room full of light and warmth, people coming and going, wine and cheese, all that. Very, very strange, the way things happen, don't you think?
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