The Diary of Queen Mothy |
Movin' Out written @ 4:18 PM on May 07, 2004 After breakfast this morning, I left the dorms and headed for home-- my car nearly overflowing with crap that I own, i.e. half of my lifestyle. Honestly, I was lucky I was able to see out the rear view mirror. And that was only Trip #1. Dad is helping me haul my big canvas artwork on Sunday, making Trip #2. Trip #3 will come Tuesday or Wednesday, when I move the last of my stuff out of the dorms for the summer. Everything seems hunky dory as far as my planning goes, doesn't it? Sort of right, sort of wrong. I still don't know how I'm going to get my five-foot steel sculpture into Esmeralda and all the way home. There might need to be a Trip #4. I swear, my next car is going to be a big-ass truck. Upon reaching the good old W.C., I commenced unpacking... It took me two and a half hours-- and that was just the shit in the back seat. Believe me, I know I need to simplify my life. I need to trim the fat, remove the fluff, what have you. But the problem is that whenever I get rid of something I figure I won't need anymore, I end up needing it about a month later for some miscellaneous project. Hence, this state of paranoia has led to my outrageous pack-rat habits. Artists are natural scavengers. Yes, my mother hates this. Speaking of Mom, she's having a yard sale tomorrow and she's drafted me to help. So... I have to help, if to make sure she's not selling anything that belongs to me or family heirlooms. For instance, she pulled up an old rocking chair that she had as a child and I had as a child and put a price tag on it for, like, $5 or something! Boy, I put my foot down on that one. She's putting it in my Hopeless Chest. Yes, Hopeless Chest, as opposed to the hope chest. "Hopeless" because this is me we're talking about here on many different levels-- "hopeless" because chances are I'm never getting married, which is okay by me. Mom began my Hopeless Chest a few years ago when my grandmother began giving her antiques that belonged to my great-grandparents, who lived up in Central Falls, Rhode Island. She has some very nice turn-of-the-last-century pieces from China and Japan she keeps in the dining room cabinet or hung on the walls, hence the pseudo-Asian make-up of that half of the house. Mom also inherited some enameled antique dishware, fine linens, and other objects I don't know about. She intends to give them to me in her old chest on the unlikely occasion that I get married or-- most likely scenario-- when I've graduated from college and have moved into an apartment in the city someplace, be it Cincinnati or, more preferrably, back in the Northeast. Yankee is as Yankee does. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the yard sale. Mom advertised for the yard sale in the local paper, so we're expecting the yard sale psychos in the wee hours of the morning. My job is to stand guard. My ulterior motive is to hide things that I want to keep, such as a vintage-esque tin can that we used to hold kitchen utensils when we lived in Pittsburgh. The artwork on the front of the can is the Victorian Gibson girl style I happen to fancy, so hopefully when Mom's back is turned... I can bury it at the bottom of a box or something. In the meantime, I intend to make my plans for the summer. It's going to be a busy one, indeed. Hopefully I can get some more commission work in the area to make some extra money. Otherwise, I'm working in the theatre this summer, as a scenic designer/artist and props designer. In my spare time, I intend on knocking out a few paintings. I'm coming upon a crucial year as far as my artwork goes because next spring I'll be getting reviewed for BFA degree status in the art department-- and they like to instill the fear of God in you. Gotta keep on my toes. I think I'm going to try landscapes.
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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