The Diary of Queen Mothy |
Getting My Man Hands Back written @ 9:40 PM on January 16, 2004 When we got back from winter break, Christian said, "I need to buy you a Christmas present." "Okay!" I said. I used to feel guilty about accepting Christmas presents from anyone until I reached college, and then my primitive animal-like opportunistic side fueled by lack o' moolah reared its ugly head and demanded subconsciously, "Gimme!" But Christian had his reasons. Back in October when I visited his hometown in Columbus, Ohio, I met his adorable dog who had seen brighter days. The dog must have been pushing thirteen, fourteen, older, or some ancient age a dog of her breed rarely saw. It was in the middle of autumn when the city of Columbus was awash in color, and because I was feeling inspired by the seasons as an artist, my intuitive side was in high gear, and I thought to myself as I looked at his loyal pet, "This dog has about two months left in her." Of course, even if you pick messages up from spirit guides and guardian angels on a regular basis, you don't voice such a sentence. There was nothing I could do for Maggie, and even though Christian was conscious of how old his dog really was, I don't know that he ever estimated how much time she had left on this plain of existence. Two months later, December, I gave Christian some black and white photos I made via my photography class of his dog for Christmas. When I came back from break, he told me that the pictures meant so much more to him and his entire family because they did end up putting Maggie down over the few weeks we were off from school. His mom gave me a very nice thank-you note for developing the pictures. So then Christian felt obligated to buy me a late Christmas present. He told me he was looking on-line and found a neat unicorn pillow he figured I might not have, and he sent away for it. Then when he got the package he realized, "Oops, this is a sewing project. I'll have to sew this unicorn pillow together for Sam." But with final exams coming up shortly, he didn't have time to do it before we left for break, so he figured he would sew it over the holiday. Well, when he finally opened the package, he discovered what he bought was not a unicorn pillow at all-- but a five-foot unicorn quilt. Even his mother was perplexed as to how to assemble this thing, so Christian decided to go for the next best gift for me: a huge-ass canvas from the art store, the kind you never buy because they get so expensive and so big. He bought me this monstrous 48x36-inch canvas tonight, and it was a comical moment when we tried to fit it inside little Esmeralda. Now I know what you're thinking: Does Christian have a crush on me? That's been an affirmative since about September. My boy-dar is that sensitive, and he's getting more blatant about it. This evening as we perused the grocery store down the street from the school, we passed a Valentine's Day display and he asked silkily, "Soooo, what are you doing for Valentine's Day, Sam?" "Valentine's Day? In my world, it's Singles Awareness Day," I said dryly. "Yes, but isn't Singles Awareness Day everyday for you?" "Yes, but February 14th makes it especially festive and colorful," I replied. "Now surely there is someone you can spend the day with!" he proclaimed somewhat theatrically. "Nope. Just another day for me." "Oh, c'mon. Surely there is some guy, on the NKU campus no less--" I cut him off sharply with a mocking laugh and changed the subject when I saw the sugar-covered donuts. What's the point of this story? My sixth sense is telling me there might be an unwelcome surprise come Valentine's Day. Stay tuned... *** This has been a long first week back to university, but also quite exhilarating. My classes, some of which promise to be a pain in the ass, are otherwise rather enlightening and interesting. They better be: they're all for my two majors, after all. As it turns out, it seems Christine actually earned one of the lead roles in The Imaginary Invalid, the last show of the semester. To be honest, I was relieved when Brian told me this bit of news-- for my sake and hers. *lol* I've been busy in theater all this week, what with auditions, my set designs for the second show of the semester, and working on the artistic execution of all the performances. I began work in the scene shop yesterday afternoon by breaking out the primer paint and taking care of the facing to some platforms. After my classes and TGIT this afternoon, I continued in much the same fashion until dinner. My muscles are so sore now, and there are blisters and the promise of calluses on my hands. I think I may have pulled a muscle in my wrist, but these slight injuries are only due to the fact that I haven't painted that intensely in the shop since summer. I talked to Mike, the director of my show, after the TGIT presentation because he had heard through the grapevine that I already have sketches and a materials list for A Piece of My Heart, and there hasn't even been a production meeting yet! He asked what I was up to, and I explained a little bit of my concept for the abstract platform epic I had in mind, plus how I thought of using military cargo nets flanking the back scrim and a new audience seating arrangement. "Of course, none of this is set in stone, and I need your input and what you have in mind. All these ideas I have were simply what I was playing around with on vacation," I said. And then I felt myself turning red. I always blush when I talk about my artwork for some reason, and it's something I've only noticed lately. I think this time it had to do with my eagerness to please, and perhaps what I had in mind might be contrary to what he wants. I added sheepishly, "And then I thought, in stead of using bamboo benches like in the script, we could use Red Cross supply crates..." He grabbed my hand and shook it. "We are on the same wavelength!" he exclaimed. "How wonderful." "Well, I'll show you what I've come up with on Tuesday at the meeting," I said, a little encouraged. When our conversation ended, I swallowed thickly. I realized that I had thought out my design work completely and it would throw a slight wrinkle in my schemes if he were to blankly alter an aspect or two of my work. The sketches I have now are balanced in terms of content and composition. If he wants something more, or something else, I hope he gives me some clear direction as to what exactly he's looking for in the set, instead of saying, "I don't like it." While I go through my weekend, I'm going to have to rehearse what I'm going to say as precisely as possible if I'm to sell my ideas. I'm nervous. I feel like the fate of my scenic design work for the remainder of my college career is going to rest on how I execute this one. On the other hand, I'm going to try not to think about it too much. If there's one thing theater has taught me, it's how to think on your feet when under fire, and I've channeled that lesson into fiercely justifying my artwork-- whether it be in the studio or on stage.
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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