I can't get no respect.

So, the performance is over. It went well, mostly due to the phenomenal assistance of my brilliant team. I had a headache that made my noggin feel like it was being busted into like a coconut by the celestial mallet of a grumpy god, and my stomach felt like it contained choppy seas and angry bees. (Most likely heatstroke from scampering around town in the mid-day sun to fetch all the items required for the performance.) This did not make it easy to get through the evening, so I relied heavily on the folks I’d assembled to be part of the action. In fact, he whole thing would have been an astounding disaster if my friends had not rallied round, risen to the occasion and generally given their all. Bravo and kudos and one million thank yous to the men and women who made my wacky vision come to life.

I waited around on Friday to go back to the gallery to pick up the props and supplies I left behind in a frantic desire to get home before the nausea bubbled up to breaking point. All day, there was a fondue pot with crusted cheese quietly becoming increasingly gross sitting in the back of the gallery. Unfortunately, the chap who runs the joint didn’t pick up his phone until late in the afternoon. By the time I got to the gallery, the chappy was tired and cranky and kept complaining about how long it too me to scrub the burnt cheese out of the pot. I’m there, up to my elbows in steel wool and congealed Emmenthaler, and he’s bitching about how he wants to get home to lounge around and sip wine on his patio with his statuesque fiancée. Well, la di da…

It’s funny how dudes who run commercial galleries don’t really “get” all the details that go into making a performance run smoothly. Every time I had a question the night of the show about where we could store our stuff, or what to do with our set up after the thing was over, he was too busy to help, instead schmoozing with fancy-pants scenesters or selling “edgy” paintings to decorate urban loft apartments. Since I make art that has no “product” to sell, galleries like that don’t have much time for work like mine. To that crowd, it’s just a fun thing to make an opening more exciting, but the content of the work doesn’t matter in the least. I could have pulled a bunch of flowers out of my ass while singing the national anthem and it would have been fine. I’m pretty sick of having my work treated like a circus side show to amuse disinterested yuppies. Oh well, what was I to expect?

At least I had my awesome bunch of friends acting as my team to validate the experience. I send buckets of love from the bottom of my heart to everyone who was there to support me. Xoxo, my dears.