My soul was stirred by all the art talk lately and since I had already eaten lunch, I decided to become an artist this afternoon about 1:30. I don't look for work around the house needing to be done, so why not. I figured it would take an hour or so, and then I would have my work in the MOMA or the High or the White House instead of the Outhouse....to my practiced eye it looked easy enough. Just wind some wire around a vase, bore some holes in the sides and cut the bottom at an angle so it tilts but not enough to fall over. I hit that sucker with a cross peen hammer, raked a pie crust cutter over the neck and added the coo-dee-grass to the body with some left over roofing tar. Altogether, a nice piece of fine art. Like the lady at the craft show said, "honey you can make one of these in your spare time? It's silly to pay this man for a simple bowl"..... I just knew I could make some art myself.
Well, I figured my art was supposed to send a message, so I decided to use my world view on the meaning of life, since the theory of relativity had already been taken and I wasn't really up to snuff on the NCAA bowl championships. Some say that real artists are good craftsmen so I finished the bottom real nice with sand paper and red rouge...up town, if I do say so. I still had some time left before my 3 o'clock nap, so I decided to see if there was anything else to learn about art. Lucky I did because I found out that my vase had to be emotional. I couldn't decide between fear or rage... two I emote often, especially in traffic. I finally settled on confusion and tears.. favorites that I always eexpress with authority while standing at my lathe. I didn't forget about aroma-art so I sprayed the vessel's interior with foot powder. I think that's a subtle nuance...and not overly emotional.
I am a reasonably humble person and I never seek accolades, so, of course, I asked my wife to critique masterpiece #1 and maybe suggest a starting price. (which we artists call a bid) I certainly wasn't prepared for her response. I would have thought a college graduate would know all about fine art. She doesn't, and if she had already cooked my supper, I would have risked showing my surprise. I thought it best to keep my superior knowledge to myself, since I like to eat. I had heard about unknown starving artists, but I decided to skip that stuff and move right into the success phase.
Can you believe it? She actually thought that the forlorn fenestrations were holes, the surface distresses were catches and the angry walls were due to poor tooling. I was a little taken aback when she asked if I had forgotten to sharpen my gouge or had misplaced my glasses. She thought I had caught a piece of wire on my objay dee art while trying to burn in a groove. What really gave away her ignorance of art (we artists term it 'cognitive deprivation') was when I asked if she felt any emotion on viewing my vessel. I suppose _DISGUST_ is an emotion, but I had hoped to call forth a more lofty aesthetical perseceptivication. (that's artist talk). I explained that my objay must have a name and asked for her suggestions. I wish I hadn't. This being a family ng, I won't repeat them. Oh well, I guess since I'm on the leading (honed?) edge of wood art, I just have to expect to suffer a few cuts. Except for the honor involved I'd give up art and take up the crafting of nice bowls.
Chow, from another artiste newvough, (more art talk) Arch
Fortiter,