Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Sansculottes


Tonight I attended a fundraiser for the Sansculottes Theater Company. A friend of mine is president of the board and had asked whether I could donate a painting for the silent auction. I did, and for this got to attend for free, which is always nice.

The event was held in a very large art studio near Ravenswood and Irving Park, and was well attended. There were lots of interesting silent bid items, including a color photograph called “Big Day,” which showed a woman in a wedding gown prostrate and unconscious with her head in an oven. I know this sounds macabre and awful, but it was more engaging and funny in its treatment than it sounds.

I had a cup of wine and saw another woman I’d met through my friend. She’d bid on a piece that I also loved, an acrylic-on-wood painting that was an original illustration for a book that the artist is trying to find a publisher for. I spoke with the artist, and he mentioned that in addition to planning to print a few volumes of the book himself at first, he also has a strong concept for another, children’s, book that he wants to shop around to publishers once he gets some samples for it put together. I mentioned that my best friend’s boyfriend worked for a children’s publisher (yes, A.N., that’s you), which naturally got a lot of interest, so we swapped cards. I’d really like a copy of one of his early books. I love his illustration style.

My piece had also gotten a couple of decent bids, so I was happy that it was doing its job. I’d gone with an abstract because that seems to be the safest bet for these things. (One of my paintings, “Commute” was frequently referred to as “the flying girl,” or “the jumping girl” when it was shown; people commented on how “cute” and “fun” it was. When pressed to explain it, I’d clarify that it was actually a young woman being blown sideways by an explosion. Things would get awkward and silent after that.)

Of course the piece that got the most bids was a metal waste can decoupaged with girl-on-girl porn. (“Trash.” Get it? *sigh.*)

I hung around for a good while and then made my way back home. I’d neglected to perform the day-before starting rite that would assure my car ran this evening, so it was out of commission. I’d taken two buses to the event, but on the return just walked to Clark and caught the 22 home. The weather is gorgeous so the walk was very pleasant, despite a subtle fear that predators could tell I was seriously buzzed on my one glass of wine (this is a common side-effect, and it’s very annoying). All in all, it was a lovely walk, and now it’s time for bed.

2 comments:

Suffering Daily Abuse said...

Ok so I have learnt something new. You are an artist. I brought this up this morning (SP will tell you that it was brought up at an inappropriate time), and questioned why I hadn't heard of this before.
I assume the one pictured on your blog is yours and looks fab! So talented!

JC said...

I assume the inappropriate time was was when he discovered Dermalogica Down Under.

SP would not call me an artist, because he hates my stuff. Oh, wait --, no, as he puts it, "I dont' hate it. I just find it hideous."

Thanks, SDA! Be careful about admiring me too much, though; you know how he is. Idi Amin was a paragon of confidence and trust compared to that one.