Aug 28 2006

Old Pee.

Regarding the question about whether someone actually peed on my couch, I wrote about it back on August 8, 2003:


On Friday I helped a customer with a pair of Chacos. As she was trying
on the sandals she started wiggling and asked if she could use the
bathroom. Because of previous problems, we no longer allow our
customers to use the bathroom. I told her, as usual, that the bathroom
was out of order. She said no problem, I’ll just run over to the
restaurant next door when we’re finished here. She paid for her shoes
and left. A few minutes later I went over to the couch where she had
been sitting. This particular couch is actually a rustic wooden bench
with dark blue silk throw pillows to cushion the seat and two big
leopard print pillows- one for each corner. I noticed that one of the
leopard print pillows was misplaced and picked it up to put it back.
But, when I looked underneath, I froze. There was a huge, dark, WET
spot where this woman had been sitting. She had PISSED on my mother-
fucking couch and left it for me to clean up! SHe wasn’t old- she
couldn’t have been more than 60 (probably in her late fifties). She
wasn’t wierd- she was dressed nicely and (mostly)behaved properly. Why,
oh god, why did she piss on my pillow? We will never know, but I’m the
lucky one who got to bring it home with me to see if the dry- cleaner
can do anything about it. I feel so privileged.


There you go. It really happened. You want to know a secret? I never was able to get that pillow cleaned. The dry-cleaner said it would get ruined. So I let it dry, sprayed it with disinfectant stuff, and put it back on the couch. I never sat on that couch ever again. Horrible, isn’t it?
Aug 28 2006

Well, it’s something at least

I didn’t expect questions about painting, yet both questions were (I’ll get to the one other question in a moment).

When did I start painting? I’ve always been into art. My mother is an artist (somewhat) professionally- meaning that she has successfully sold stuff many times. She always encouraged us to be art-y. She used to catch bugs or lizards and trap them in jars so that we could paint or draw them from life. It was actually pretty fantastic. Lizards are surprisingly beautiful, especially their bellys. We always had access to art supplies. We always made our own stuff- cards, decorations, etc- instead of buying.

Then I went to a Waldorf school from 5th grade until I started High School. In the Waldorf school, we didn’t have pre-printed text books. We wrote and drew our own from lessons the teacher would give us each day. We did watercolor daily. We had art lessons several times a week. We knitted, we sculpted with wax, we whittled. Art was in everything everyday. It was wonderful.

Then I went to high school. The only art class I took was a Photography course my senior year. I wasn’t interested in the other classes. I don’t really know why. I was in the art club, however, and ended up with my first real crush… but that’s another story.

When I went to college I started as a Child Development major. I wanted to teach Photography to deaf/hard of hearing children. I thought that a child development background would be helpful. But it turns out that it was pretty worthless, for me anyway. So I changed majors and went into Art Studio.

I started in Photography, got bored; went to Jewelry, got bored; spent quite some time in stone Lithography, didn’t quite cut it; and then went into painting. I hated it. But it was a requirement and so I did it. Then I had to take another advanced class and so I chose painting because the other choices were sculpture (never been my thing and I HATED the teacher) or Graphic Art (which I have just the tiniest prejudice against).

Well. The advanced paiting class was an ENTIRELY different animal than intro. It was abstract life-painting. We didn’t have to use just paints- in fact, we were encouraged to use nearly anything that would stick on paper. It was challenging and exciting and the best class I ever took. So I took it again. It was different, but still marvellous. Most of the real work I’ve ever done in my life was accomplished in that class.

And I haven’t painted much since.

Partly it’s because I don’t have access to nude models often (or more like ever!). I can’t stand still lifes- Just can’t go there. And it’s really hard to paint from memory.

Partly it’s because I don’t have the time or the space. I get messy and involved when I paint. I don’t have a space in my house where that would be appropriate. My dream would be to buy a house where I could build a little studio or turn part of the house into one. Once Cole is older I may have some more time to myself when I want it. Who knows.

So, to answer the second question of when I might start painting again- For sure? I can only say: in retirement. Unless I get some hugely rich patron who pays me to stay at home and paint. Anyone? Anyone?

That’s what I thought.

I do want to investigate the process of professionally reproducing some of my stuff and selling it over the internet. Maybe. One day.

I love art and painting, but I love being with my son and not having him around the harmful chemicals more.

Wait, let me amend that second answer: I’ll paint again when Cole does. Finger paints fuckin’ RULE, man!