I’m not sure what year I am on now, but I have created new art for the San Geronimo Valley Community Arts Center Spring Arts Show every year since at least 2018. It keeps me in the game in a manner of speaking.
Besides, the SGV art center is my auld alma mater. Literally. I went to third grade in the art gallery, once part of Lagunitas School before it was decommissioned as the Spanish style building wasn’t earthquake proof. Tuesday was both Bank Day and Hot Dog Day and hotdogs cost a nickel. I saved up my pennies to buy those nitrate-laden dogs, but they didn’t love me—I remember a bout of midnight projectile vomiting.
This year, I didn’t have any free time to make a piece of art, I was jammed, as it was during the height of my poet teaching schedule—in Mill Valley and in Berkeley. Because my cousin is selling the Nicasio house, I dwell part time in Sonoma County. In order to keep my crazy schedule, I was sleeping (and not well) on friends’ couches, and working on a profound deficit withdrawal from my sleep bank account.
I was up to my cranky eyeballs in obligations. At Malcolm X ES in Berkeley, we also had a huge kid book of poetry and art due, and the new poet I was working with at Malcolm X ES, threw me under the bus with CPITS. It just wasn’t my week. Everything that could go wrong, did—missed deadlines, flat tires, swallowed fillings, toothache, treacherous poets, you name it. It felt like I had a sign on my back, saying kick me.
Sometimes with life, half the battle is just showing up. So I gritted what was left of my teeth, packed up my car with teaching gear and knickers for the week, took my big box of pastels with me and banged out a piece in the parking lot two hours before it was due. I had already conceived an idea for my art piece from a photo I saw on Facebook, I sketched it in, but I just didn’t have the time to layer it.
And I had to bring my piece in framed and ready to hang as well. I’ll spare you the part where three of the three new picture frames I brought didn’t work out as I couldn’t attach the wire to hang it. Plastic! So I cobbled them all together with an old wooden frame sans glass I had from the Nicasio yard sale. But somehow I solved the problem (it’s always Plan C, isn’t it?).
I think Larry Rippee, the curator, was surprised that I managed to knock out a piece of art so quickly. My timing sucked, I was so distressed that I was close to tears, but determined to have an entry for the art show. I had already paid the entry fee. And yes, of course I brought Plan B and Plan C pieces of landscape art to hang but Larry wanted to use the hot dog for the show because it was different and could I finish it on time? I rose to the challenge. And I don’t even like hot dogs!
Still feeling fragile, as I had a few rough days where everything possible had been going wrong, and I don’t even believe in Mercury Retrograde, I had planned on going to the opening, but the man who photographed this poster, Donn deAngelo (standing in blue sweats on the right) stepped out of his car and verbally accosted me in the parking lot and chastised me because in the poster I was holding a small postcard of the event that someone had handed me.
I asked Donn why didn’t he just ask me to get rid of it. I thought I was supposed to be holding it. He said he didn’t notice it. He railed on again, just getting warmed up. I asked him twice to stop harassing me and he still wouldn’t let go of his anger. He kept yelling at me that he wasn’t harassing me. He was also blocking me in between the cars. I couldn’t get around him to crawl into the driver’s seat of my car, so I jumped into the passenger seat and locked the door to escape his wrath. Anything to break the pattern of rage.
(See the background at the top of the poster with the deer and the horses? And the flowers in front? That’s all photoshopped in. He could’ve just photoshopped out the postcard I was holding. But he chose to use me as a whipping post. Why do people rant in threes? As if the first two times didn’t take?)
By that point I had enough of irrational people. And it seemed like the universe was dumping on me. Let’s see if she can take this too! I was having a colossal run of bad luck and was tired of being everyone’s dumping ground. It left such a bad taste in my mouth that I just didn’t have the heart to go to the opening because Donn would be taking photos of artists with their work. Mean people suck.
Feeling far too vulnerable, and again too close to tears (and I never cry), and wanting to vomit, I missed the art opening, as I couldn’t bear being around people, and I was so looking forward to it. When I went by the school, the place was jammed. So I guess it was a good opening. Then I also missed the art closing, another gallery milestone, because I got really sick, but somehow it all worked out. But barely. My friend Sam picked up my art piece for me. And I got an uncharacteristically odd piece of artwork out of the somewhat futile exercise. I think I shall call it Mercury Retrograde.
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