Showing posts with label museum. Show all posts
Showing posts with label museum. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Artistic Supporter

It has been awhile since I posted. When last I posted, Africa had only fallen partway into chaos...

I just spent DAYS helping to jury a studio tour. It is a really cool event, and I am serving my second year on the planning committee. This is one of my volunteer roles in the community. Today, I estimated my total hours spent on this committee, and I estimated around 110 hours over the course of the event. That is a lot of hours, for no pay.

My husband asked me this evening, as I prepared for an art modeling gig, why I enjoy doing it. I spent five minutes attempting to answer his question, and finally had to give up. I thought about it as I sat still and said nothing for twenty minute blocks tonight.

I think I like art modeling for the same reason I like the studio tour. I cannot be an artist, so I am an artistic supporter. Yes, I am an artist- in performing and literary arts. (Okay, maybe it is an arrogant stretch to claim literary artist yet.) But, that is not quite what I mean.

I have always loved visual art. I remember starving myself for a 24 hour period so I could go look at art the way Hemingway did in A Moveable Feast. Granted, he was starving for real when he went to the Louvre, and I was a silly 16 year old girl looking at a summer college art show. I spend birthday money on art, and acting money, and sometimes, the Husband's money.... I attend art show openings whenever I can, and freely admit to spending part of a girl's weekend away in DC... at the Freer Gallery.

I sketch. I took a costume design class in college, and learned most of the art techniques I possess in that class. I learned how to render a human figure, mix colors, and draw clothing. It was a good class. I sketch the clothing I try to describe in my writing, and I often sketch the costumes for my theatre classes. I spent a few years (pre-baby) carrying around a pad and pencils, sketching nature, people, and objects. I would love to take a drawing class.

I dabble, let's be honest. I like it, but there are only so many things a girl can tackle, and tackle well. The last several days, I spent time discussing various artists' work with two women who ARE artists. I can see a piece of pottery and know that I like it. These ladies can look at it, and understand the skill involved, the process used, how it was glazed, if mistakes were made, etc. I learned just from listening to their critiques. And I learn while art modeling for open sessions and classes. The artists discuss their work, both the artistic and the business aspects. The teachers discuss choices or mistakes their students make, and work with them to improve their craft.

I just sit there, quiet, not moving... but listening. And I love it. Even now, as I sit here with my neck stiff and sore, with cosmetics still on my face, I can honestly admit that I might do it for free. If the right artist asked, if the opportunity was interesting enough, I probably would...

...well, unless it was nude modeling. Yeah, I don't do that, even for a paycheck.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

I took off my pants in middle of the Museum today

I have been miserably cold this winter. As in, I keep sneaking upstairs and upping the thermostat. And wearing layers. Lots and lots of layers.

Today, the Boy decided that we definitely needed to go the museum today. So, although I cannot beat this #&%$@!! head cold, I thought, hey, it is indoors. I could get some walking in, and he'd be entertained. All good.

I wore my new navy blue sweater dress. With a long sleeved t-shirt underneath. And skinny jeans. With blue tights underneath the jeans. Nice and cozy and warm, and very very cute.

We got there. The Boy was in heaven. And I was uncomfortable. At first, I thought, I am just tired. The cold is kicking my ass, and I have been up late writing too many nights. I came realize that I was not cozy warm anymore. I was pretty darn warm.

I lasted until we finished with the space hanger. We went to the restroom on the second floor. The Boy is such a big boy, he wanted his own stall, and didn't need help. Yippee. I wriggled the t-shirt out from under the sweater. I thought, wow, much better! We continued the adventure.

And I realized that I was still very warm. Like... too warm. By this time we were far away from the restrooms, almost at the spiral staircase. I thought, hell, you have tights on, just slip the jeans off. I looked around, and realized that, although no one was near us, we were on the second floor catwalk, and all eight people there would not only get to see the Concorde, but France as well... much more than they had been expecting. So, okay... wait for the elevator... the glass elevator. Never mind...

We got to the ground level. As I considered taking the Boy all the way back to the restroom, he announced that he needed a break. We sat in the chairs by the bright yellow helicopter. I looked around. No one was in sight. I stood up, reached up under my cute navy sweater dress, and started yanking my jeans down.

I had them safely stowed in the bottom of the stroller before we saw anyone.

Later, I wondered about the security cameras. Surely they exist. And, even more belatedly, I wondered why the hell I didn't just take the sweater dress off.

Oh. And check this out. Guffaw.