McM

My Irish grandmother, Frieda McM, circa 1915. I also have and wear the locket in the photo—it contains a tiny photo etching of her mother, whose name I don’t know. That’s the extent of memory.
Happy St. Patrick’s.

Borrowed Time

Should we live like we’re on it all the time? Why am I so afraid?

Ides of March

Busy weekend. Am emptying out my house of art junk, and filling up my studio. Both things feel great! Also setting up a special area in the studio where my kids can make stuff, although today they just wanted to have target practice in there (with easels…)
A new friend dropped by with a painting she was working on and we talked about what was right and what felt off. I think I was able to help. And in turn she looked at my work, picking out what caught her eye—very helpful to me.
I’m thinking about starting a figurative drawing group for women only, where we can model for each other. My other drawing group couldn’t meet last month, and am anxious for them to see my new space.
If you want to join either, please contact me!
Here’s a funny photo of my Art Orientation class. We studied sculpture, and for a break, made bugs out of candy.

Recession Hits Kloe’s House

Yeah, so I knew it was coming. The parking lot at my private school is no longer full, not by a long shot.
Last term I taught three courses there.
This term two.
Next term I was only scheduled for one.
Which yesterday was canceled.
Conversely, the student enrollment at community colleges is bursting, up 10-20%. But there’s no money for extra sections. Our classes are just fuller. And of course there’s a hiring freeze.
In fact, I haven't applied for a tenure-track position in over three years, because there haven’t been any.
I’m going to get very skinny indeed…
(student drawing)

Pray Street

I don’t believe in living with one's own art. I’ve spent the past few days debulking my house of paintings, drawings, frames, and supplies. Canvases rolled up under the bed, paintings stacked in the hallways, closets filled with stretched work (I hate stretched paintings, so easy to damage, so awkward to transport…)
All that stuff now has a home in my studio, where it can be properly inventoried, stored, and looked-through. I can begin to think straight again.
The artwork I want to live with is that of others, my friends and colleagues, inspiration and memories.
Here’s an exception, though. I did this painting of my grandparent’s backyard almost 20 years ago. I remember the afternoons I spent on the patio making it. Now their house is empty, unsaleable in this economy. My relatives still hope it’s valuable, when like all property, it’s not, and moreover, the house if falling to ruins.
But my memories of it are like this painting, dotted with sunshine, softened with a martini, sharpened with practical advice and intelligent conversation. I don’t even feel it's my painting, it has so many other meanings in it now.

Happy Birthday, Barbie

You look fantastic! So slim, so perfect, so unchanging. You were my childhood idol.
I hope I’m like you at 50.
Many kisses, always,
Your Bratty Sister

Matador

You know when you’ve seen something and you just know it's right for you? When you’ve been searching and researching, hoping to find just that perfect thing, and finally you go in a door, and there it is, in all its ruined glory? And it sort of comes on you all at once, but only later you realize that yes, it's not an illusion?
That’s what happened to me today. A perfect thing.
Now let's see if I can get it.

Studio Inauguration

Spent the first day in my studio today with crew and friends shooting videos. Have no idea if they will turn out. The light in the studio is quite good for filming, but I underestimated the ambient street noise—my studio is on a busy urban corner.
Have been so worried about multiple things lately—slept badly—and therefore wasn’t at my best for the shoot. I don’t think I’ve talked about it on Kloe before, but I’m making drawing videos to teach online. A sort of fallback if the academic gig doesn’t work out (read: sarcastic understatement).
Now I need an agent. Got any ideas???

Kloe Likes to Party

I know it may look like I’m at a bar, drinking scotch, but it’s really an art opening/event, that only took place at a bar…
And yes, I’m celebrating metaphorically, as I’m now officially moved into my studio! Going to do my first work, a video shoot, this weekend!

Don’t Hate Us

This is what our urban community garden looks like now.
In my own little garden I’m growing arugula, romaine, parsley, anise, beans, and radishes. Flowers are out because of the rains, but the snowpack still isn’t up to normal, so the California drought continues. Hard to appreciate when the weather is so utterly beautiful.

Marching into March

This is quite an amazing little discussion (dated Feb. 28, see comments, too). Good for my town, normally so complacent.

Whoo Hoo!

Painted floor today, a lovely chocolate brown! Now the space is empty potential, waiting for all my supplies and paintings.
Start of a new chapter!!!

Today was full of contradictions.

I got called into talk with one of my bosses cause I got a “less that favorable” student evaluation. I almost laughed. She may have sensed I didn’t take it seriously, but really, a few failing students say I’m a bad teacher, should I care?
I graded my art history test. Several students got perfect scores, but many more got less that 20% correct. Does that mean I’m a bad teacher?
Anyway, what I really want to say is that my studio floor is in! And the landlady paid for it!!! Yeah! Tomorrow I’m going to paint it, then I can move in.

Student Work on Steroids

Sometimes a student goes so far beyond what I ask for I am stunned into silence. The other students aren’t even jealous, they just stand in awe.
One-point perspective “Retail Space” assignment.

Studio Still not There

Still no doors. Defective windows have to be replaced. Floor turns out to be sub-flooring, and I have to put in my own (am I supposed to take it when I move out??). Got a quote for plywood, but will look into linoleum tiles.
Dang.
Loved this show of photos by Lee Materazzi: funny, naughty, scary. A Francesca Woodman for the 00s. Feel like doing just this right now.

Kloe Talks Sculpture, Sometimes

Daniel Ruanova’s sculpture “DEFEND” is a shiny crystalline structure welded together inside a small gallery. It barely fits in there; you have to duck to get around it, and the wall is scratched where the metal scraped white paint.
The work is supposed to be about violence, “a monstrous, multi-spiked barricade…bomb frozen in mid-detonation,” especially in relationship to the American/Mexican border. I found it more comic book, a phallic explosion rigged by some crazy frat boy in the middle of the night in a professor’s office. Cool and silly, not scary. I don’t think it would read as well in a large space, it needs confinement.

Cupcakes!

Fun little show by Jennifer Bennett. I love how flat the paintings are, surface and form. She is mostly interested in abstraction, but sometimes we all need to paint something sweet and silly. And because they are small, she selling, quite a feat right now.

I promised I wouldn’t complain.

I did.
My legislators are locked up trying to cut thousands of state jobs, and it’s very real I might soon have time on my hands.
But today I was stressed. I taught four hours of linear perspective, hopped in my car for a half hour drive to my next school, eating en route, to teach another three hours on the same subject. Which, if you’ve ever tried it, is hard to learn, let alone teach. Vanishing points, cast shadows (did you know that sun and artificial light function differently when rendered in 2D?)…
So I’m taking roll in my afternoon class, and notice a student absent for a second day. Maybe he’s dropped. I call his name to make sure he’s not there. A moment later another student comes and whispers in my ear that the absent student died last week. Some kind of accident. He was 18.
And then I had to continue to teach the class in a shock at the loss. Sort of put things into perspective.

Not-Quite-White Studio

My studio is almost finished. I’m pretty tired of being in the downstairs space, totally exposed, no heat, no light. Details remain: no door or jams yet, no screens in the windows, worklights to be installed. I’m going to stain the floor.
I was surprised a few days ago to find the walls painted tan; I’d assumed they would be left raw and I’d do white both for looking at artwork and for easy touch-ups. But it’s too late now, I’ll just repaint when I can.
It’s a scary thought to take on such expense in this economy, but I’ve needed a space to make art for years. If I can’t handle the rent I’ll sublet one of the rooms.
I’ve so many projects to finish, start and store, I just wish I could be in there, tomorrow…

Short Blogger

The other day I met a friend at an opening. He’s been reading Kloe, and it helped him to start his own blog about art and stuff, something he’d been meaning to do. But after his initial post, which was great, he found himself intimidated, thinking each entry had to be perfect, well thought-out, and lengthy. I murmured that some blogs, like mine, are more like twittering, little ideas about what I’m thinking or doing. I told him I like blogs where the writers post often and regularly, if sometimes cursorily.
My friend complimented me that I write about so many different topics, but may have just been being polite…
However, he got me thinking about my “lack” of long, in-depth posts. I used to believe I could be an author, that I enjoyed writing and had something to say. Keeping Kloe for the past two and a half years has cured me of literary aspirations. I don’t care about words enough—I often find them burdensome.
What Kloe has helped with, whether I have readers or not, is clarifying the important threads weaving through my life…

Blurry

I had a dream that my grandmother came back to us as a physical spirit. My mother, aunt and I waited for her in a house, and heard her walk up to the door. We opened it to find a woman, about the right height, with little glimmers of her about the eyes, but it was not her. She told us that she was “soft” and unformed, the product of our shifting memories. That she’d come into focus as we thought about her in more concrete terms, like the shape of her eyebrows, or how her wrists were boney with arthritis.
I think I’m missing the way she saw things so clearly.

Chocolate and Perfume

Happy VDay.
I hope you both gave to and received kisses from the ones you love.

Why Teach

I just love it when I reach a student. Sometimes it takes most of a semester, but gradually I can tell they are INTO what they are creating. They hang after class an extra minute, they make eye-contact, and say, “have a great weekend.” I hope I give them something that will stay with them, a passion for making or thinking, or maybe the confidence to do what they want to do in life, in spite of what others want or expect.
Drawing by a student, based on a Bouguereau and “Princess Mononoke.”

Tiger

Have I mentioned how much I strongly dislike Elizabeth Peyton, artwork and artist both?
And what is up with the redesign of Art in America? Don’t they realize sans serif type hasn’t gotten easier to read?

Beautiful Rainy Weekend

I’m still getting used to my new schedule, which is crazy: five different courses at four locations. I have to look at my calendar each day to remember where I’m supposed to be.
For the first time in a while I have Saturdays off, so I can work in my “studio.” I continued on with my plaster experiments, drawing and sanding.
I also went skating in the rain, which was lovely, and walked in our big park. Everything is turning green.
The only sad thing is how many businesses are vacant, in both ritzy and poorer neighborhoods. The tourists are almost non-existent. What are people doing? Staying home and watching tv? Twittering and Facebooking? Self medicating? Where is everyone?

Lamassu

My Greek Series guardians.

Plaster Experiments

While I’m waiting to get into my studio I’m starting to play with plaster. The Greek paintings were supposed to be white, but I couldn’t really get them there, so I’ve decided to try working with white material.
I got the idea from a documentary about Chartres Cathedral, which I teach in my art history survey. Apparently the 13th century architects etched their floorplans and elevations into plaster trays, creating a sort of primitive blueprint. I’m also interested in the idea of sacred geometry, circles inside of circles, the golden proportion and such.
Anyway, have no idea how to finish it yet, and it might not work, but the plaster is dusty and fun.

Lux

In my sunny corner of SoCal we have a new art complex. Lux Institute, ultramodern architecture tucked into an exclusive canyon neighborhood, is a small museum, a learning center, and an apartment for artists. It’s our first residency program, and it ain’t for locals… not that I’m complaining…
The two shows I’ve seen have displayed exquisite workmanship, in both 2D and 3D work, and dealt with landscape. You can’t take photos, so see them here.
My problem with the place is its exclusive nature. Openings are by invitation only. There’s a free day each month, but it’s “family night,” which is off-putting to many artists, with good reason. And regular tickets are $10, for one small gallery.
I complained, and they invited me to bring a class of students for free, which was nice… We met Jolynn Kristosek and talked with her as she cut paper (this is the concept: meet the artist and watch him or her work).
Kristosek makes low-relief sculptures based on Dutch flower still lifes. They are impressive, if a bit funereal. She’s only 26 and has been making this work for five years (started it as an undergrad and continued it through grad school). And now she’s hitting the bigtime in NYC. I wonder if she’s painting herself into a corner that she’ll never get out of. The sculptures are a bit of a trick: the wax mold is cut away and re-added intact. For example, she gouges out a petal and then attaches that petal.
It remains to be seen if Lux will reach out to the local art community, while keeping its prestige and ambitious charter. After all, it’s not every day you see this kind of investment in art.

Hidden Snakes

I rented the movie Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, the story of a down-n-out nanny who becomes social secretary to a young starlet with three lovers on the eve of WWII. Although I knew the thing was fantasy, I was surprised at the retrograde tone of the film. The young actors are allowed to cavort naked, but the “mature” couple, Frances McDormand and Ciaran Hinds (both handsome, sexy people), is not even allowed a kiss.
Even more infuriating is the typical story of the starlet’s choice (when she should have stuck with Frances): the young, rich producer who will make her a star, the middle-aged businessman who keeps her in luxury, or the penniless musician who truly loves her (but also treats her roughly)? You get the picture. The notion that success as an artist is less important than settling down to make babies is pounded home again (believe me, that this is a “period” piece makes no difference—it’s for the contemporary female audience).
Last week I showed my class a video about Sally Mann, a photographer who achieved notoriety partially for shots of her children, sometimes nude. These kids, now older, have talked about growing up on camera, and are ambivalent about the experience. Like children of celebrities, they have benefited by their parent’s financial success, and are now famous themselves. My students were very harsh with Mann, saying she should have been “more of a mother.” When I asked them about the double standard, if the father had been a busy lawyer who rarely saw his kids, or a novelist who drew upon his family life, they looked at me blankly.
Sally Mann’s explanation was just that “the kids were there. I shoot what’s around me. I love my kids. Now let me work.”

Conflicting Platitudes

To take on the responsibility of some else’s mistake is common in my household.
Letting go is difficult for me.
Simplicity is humility.
We’re most honest when we are in love or when we are in danger.
Possibilities exist when you pray.
Humor is a form of treatment.
Faith has taught me integrity.
We’re most honest when it’s too late.
I feel vulnerable more often than I should.
(artwork by Marcos Ramirez ERRE, OC Museum)

Stuck

Look at these beauties… my idea of a house, my idea of a painting (by Dave Fobes). And guess what they’re made of… duct tape.
Much better than getting a mad dog set on you when all you’re trying to do is see the view, no? After teaching 7 hours straight?
It was a long day.

Stalker

I attended a lecture by French conceptual artist Sophie Calle. She and her work (you can’t separate the two) are amazing. She became famous for spying on strangers, but her photos and text are much richer and funnier than just that. She illuminates her life with terribly intimacy, yet at a distance.
Calle calls herself an intuitive artist, and packages her work into one long narrative. She plays with her fears and takes lots of risks, as do many artists. She looks for “natural endings” to each piece, such as ending a relationship, or trip, or life (for example, the exact moment of her mother’s death). She’s very feminine (wore boots and a chic dress to speak), and her themes include beds, sleeping, love and sex. She presents herself as vulnerable. Whether that’s the truth or not is of no consequence.
All this hits home for me very hard, as I’m being accused of using my life in my artworks in a way that is endangering my loved ones. I may have to take down parts of this blog. As a semi public figure, I find it hard to accept a blog is more dangerous than lecturing in front of hundreds of students at four different institutions, where people know my name, see me in person several times a week, can follow me to my car, have my email, etc.

Post Holiday Gripes

How many trips to the gym does it take for the chicken to stop waddling across the road?

Trespassing

In my “youth” I drove out to the desert to paint often. Here’s a little plein aire watercolor from that time. I snuck on someone’s property and was too scared to explore the abandoned shack. The painting hung in my grandparent’s house for years. It also faded pretty badly.
So I took it out of the frame and doctored it up with gouache. I’m going give it to a relative I know will appreciate it.
It feels a bit dishonest to paint on an old painting. I never do this type of work now. But as it was I’d have thrown it away.

Works in Progress

I’m still in my downstairs cavern, painting amidst construction dust and noise. My studio may not be ready until March, frustrating but bearable.
I’m going to write an occasional series of posts showing works in progress. Here’s the first.
I thought this Nike painting was done, but, after hanging it with the others in the Greek series, it made me feel uncomfortable. It was unfinished and bottom heavy. Classical sculpture is nothing if not balanced. So today I added a head (of a model friend). I may soften it. But I like the way her down-turned face contrasts with the victorious stance. And that she’s a woman without arms, pretty symbolic.
What do you think?

Floppy Curtain

This installation by Richard Gleaves at Art Produce is really surprising because the postcard image looks like some kind of Japanese-inspired textile. The layers of meaning—dead information, digital waste, weaving knowledge together—beg the question: wouldn’t this look cool stretched in some modernist house or boutique hotel? If anyone were buying art.
Like, right.

44th

Finally.

Cult of the Stupid

I went to public schools: elementary, junior high, and my sophomore year of high school. It got progressively worse for me. Finally, my siblings and I were pulled out.
What was the turning point that made my mom, a single schoolteacher with little money, send us to an exclusive private school (on scholarship)? I came home one day from 10th grade saying all my friends advised me to act stupid in high school because I was an unpopular “smack.” I remember that in honors English I was the only one in the entire class to turn in a paper on time, and I was laughed at, even by the teacher.
I am praying that times have changed. We’ve had eight years of a president who was elected because he was the type of guy with whom the voter would like to “have a beer.” The danger of an unintelligent, uninvolved president was that his vice president took such awful power.
I’m waiting for a return to intelligence valued.
Oh yeah, and I was completely prepared for college by my prep school, and if I’d been only a few years older, might have been Barack Obama’s friend…
Paintings by Gerrit Greve

Two Spaces for Art

Visited two regional museums on the same day, resulting in an interesting comparison.
The Orange County Museum has a great website. I’d been to its digital annex, in an upscale shopping center (so OC), but never to the main museum. It was a letdown: dingy and mazelike, not really worth the $10 entry fee. It’s sandwiched between a mall and several freeways.
The exhibition, “2008 California Biennial” (artists I’d mostly not heard of), was minimal, dark, trash-like, and obscure. Not really how I think of California artists, which is light, colorful, funny or sardonic, slick, and pop influenced. The only piece that really captivated me was Kara Tanaka’s spinning silk skirt (you can see here), referencing Marilyn Monroe’s famous cool-down.
The Oceanside Museum, on the other hand, is a wonderful space—light and easy to navigate. It combines two buildings, an older one by Irving Gill and a more contemporary one by Frederick Fisher. The expansion is very successful. The exhibition was quilts, not really my thing, but well hung. I’m looking forward to returning again to this space.

Olive Oil Cake

I’ve been seeing lots of art and will write about it soon, but for now here’s a recipe for all of you stuck at home in freezing weather (here it’s sunny and warm, crazy).
I learned to make this cake one summer when living with friends in Marbella, Spain:

Torta de Aceite
1 cup olive oil
2 eggs
1 cup milk
1 ½ cup sugar
2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 spoon anise seed
dash salt
Mix ingredients well. Bake in a 8x8 inch pan, greased and floured, medium oven, 30-40 minutes. Let the edges get slightly crispy.
Delicious with red wine.

Silk Stockings

Style-wise I was born too late. My era is the 1940s, maybe early 50s. I love the silhouette of the figure, the make-up and the hair. The clothes were so well made. Even my features are a bit old-fashioned.
However, I would have ended up in the loony bin playing the role of “woman” then. I’m probably not even brave enough to stand against most norms now. Sad.

Tapout Response Response

See original post and comments here.
Kevin Freitas:
… the goal of the Tapout was to bring into the public domain, that "dialogue" you perform professionally with your students. Some of the other underlying issues are the notion of "authority" and role playing that every one of us is locked into as either artist, critic, gallery, collector, teacher, etc. - who decides?, who's right?, who declares that what they make or see is art? The goal in part, was to open up the domain of the art world and to shed a little modest light onto its functioning. Specifically, I've found … that any dialogue or support of one's peers is sorely lacking and exists if you're lucky, in secular university settings.

Kloe:
I totally agree with you. I often tell my students that once they finish school it will be difficult to find anyone interested in talking about their work. Even “tough” crits are better than none at all.
There’s hope, however, because of that strange new television entertainment: scathing celebrity critiques of singers, fashion designers, cooks, dancers, etc. Not much precedence for it, except maybe in the literary world. Will it become fashionable to have cultural opinions?

Once out of this environment, that insular bubble is replaced by another bubble which is the gallery and museum. The public is once again left out and required to "appreciate" viewing an object that someone else has declared "art". School critiques are for the most part obselete, what we need is to have those critiques exist outside of the university and in the public domain. This is ideally, what critics should do, but if you read say for example Critical Mess: Art Critics on the State of their Practice by Raphael Rubenstein, you'll discover that even a critic's "taste" has been circumvented by huge auction houses and big name galleries who are preaching entirely to the money choir - the interest is no longer in the art or its meaning/interpretation.
The problem with galleries and museums is that they are not going to critique necessarily an artist they are going to exhibit, make a selection yes, critique no - there's too much of a mutual vested interest, and besides, the artist has gained the temporary status of "accepted" and is beyond any further critique.
You should hear Hugh Davies on Damien Hirst…

Art Tapout is a start Kloe, having only been the second time performed, there is obviously a huge potential for growth and a larger inclusivity. Given the 20 min. round to each critique, it is not possible to bring up every facet of an artist's work nor elaborate on the response. I don't believe any topics were off topic, but once again, in a limited time format, you have to pick an angle and keep on topic knowing that there are other avenues to pursue.
I think you could tweak your format, since you’ve tried it twice… what about having two critics playing devil’s advocate to one another? What about making the rounds only 15 minutes, upping the pace a bit? What if the artist has an advocate in the audience for back-up, as it’s nerve wracking to be in front of so many people AND be critiqued?

Why young? Why all white? curious set of questions. David White made the selection of the artists, I didn't want to for fear of being too biased. His selection makes perfect sense if you think about it and recall his response to the Movers and Shakers exhibit in which he lamented the fact that there was no younger artists with innovative works beyond the medium of painting. The token woman? I think Kloe, you're reading way more into the selection than there actually is, the potential inference to a "boys club" or any gender bias is unfounded. On the flip side of this is the question of choice, and is what I feel is the most misunderstood aspect of the art world. Simply, fewer exhibition spaces mean less choices, couple this with each gallery or museum director's subjective and personal - this is what I like - selection process, and someone will always be excluded.
I do think there is a boys’ club here. I felt it in grad school and I feel it in the selection of who shows in local galleries. I see it when certain media and content are labeled chick-ish, until appropriated by male artists, when it’s “fresh.” Curators and gallerists create their program/stable partially based on their social circle, who they drink beer and throw darts with.
Sorry, you’ve hit a nerve in my pretty plastic body…

Finally, I don't do all this to entertain other people, I do it because I'm concerned about how franchised the art world is and how disconnected from the public it has become. A little honest, direct dialogue amongst everyone, especially here, support of one's peers, the willingness for artists to take control of their destiny, and the the total rework of the art world system, would greatly improve the understanding of art and its rightful place in society. It's a bitch because no one wants to take the lead.
Here I disagree with you. Everything is entertainment. I must entertain when I teach, or I bore. I must entertain with my art, or no one will look at it. You adopt a certain style to attract attention, you speak and write hoping people will listen (and they do!)
You’re taking a lead, and we appreciate it. I take a lead when I suggest to my students gallery hopping as a fantastic (and cheap) date...
And I’m not your nemesis, baby. I’m your ally and fan.
Kiss.

Richard Gleaves:
One person's problematic is another's catnip - I find the tapout happenings to be compelling precisely because of how they blur the categories of theatrical performance and crit review.

I've talked with Kevin about how the two tapout events have gone, and one of the things we concluded is that all participants need to be made aware of this blur ahead of time, since the nature and degree of aggressiveness appropriate for an art crit differs significantly from that of a cage match.

The worst-case scenario here is where the ref is thinking wrestling while the artist is thinking crit review. The best is where the artist grabs the metaphor by both horns and releases their inner performer.

YES! And love your floppy curtain. Will take photos soon.

Hard Times

I now know about a dozen people who are not working, even part time. Some in construction, an architect, a teacher, a butcher, a financial planner, a flight attendant, a gardener.
The other day I stopped by my infamous mechanic’s shop. A history scholar who couldn’t take the academic system, he’s a fount of knowledge and political opinion. He never fixes more than absolutely necessary to keep my car running, while insuring safety.
But he was gone, along with the piles of old parts and half rusted cars that I’ve known for decades. I asked the business next door, and was told the landlord raised his rent, and that was it.
I’m now officially going to stop complaining about my teaching jobs.

Painting Again

My temporary space is working out wonderfully. I love the neighborhood—vibrant and gritty. The thrift store across the street was buzzing (as you’d guess). Coffee shops, bars, tattoo and piercing parlors, pawn shops, used book stores, all the high end stuff. There’s even a little art store that is eager to please and will carry whatever I suggest.
If you’re out tonight at Ray, you can see my paintings at the corner of University and Grim.

Animals

Went out on the water today in my kayak to calm my nerves. Saw amazing wildlife: fat pelicans dive-bombing, white egrets playing on the shore, a falcon circling overhead with a fish, entrails hanging like kite string, in its claws.
Have been having our own small wildlife crisis at home. Two days ago a child, who shall remain unnamed, left the cage door open, and our beloved Biscuit jumped ship, a fact that went undiscovered until she was long gone. I assured crying offspring that she would be found, and preceded to lace the house with carrots, which went untouched. I also set my alarm last night to get up at 2am and 4am, scouring the house for night crawlers. Nothing.
All closets and cabinets were emptied and searched. Hope was fading. No music or tv was allowed so I could hear all sounds. And then today I heard “crack, crack, crack,” the sounds of hamster snacking. From the kitchen. From the oven. Yes, she was in the oven, safe. Making a nest. And I had almost baked some comfort cake this morning.
Pitiful, how prayers go up for a pet, no?

Developments

2009 is already perking along nicely, although I spent the entire day in meetings in which “educational experts” told us how to be better teachers in a most mind-numbing way.
Someone else didn’t like the red penis, either.

Temporary Space

It was “the worst day of my life,” according to Kid.01, who had to return to his BORING school (I wonder where he got the melodramatic streak?). Never, fear, he was cheered by fajitas with avocado and a cuddle with Biscuit.
But for me it was a GREAT day, cause I picked up the keys to an empty retail space below my still-under-construction studio. I can paint here til the drywall upstairs is finished. It’s been raining in SoCal, and way too cold to paint outside in my patio or garage.
I’ve got several projects in the works, but have had no place to organize them. Am planning a big exhibition for next fall, with hundreds of artists from several countries—I’ll be writing about it soon.
For now, I’m just grateful that my new landlady is being so generous (she's letting me use the space for free). Anyway, it’s good PR for her to have someone in this empty space, maybe it will generate a tenant.
Am I excited? YES!

Cheerleader

Did you see my team tonight? Good things come in small packages!

Art Tapout

Attended a unique performance recently, a public “critic vs. artist” styled as a boxing match. Kevin Frietas critiqued the work of four artists, inviting input from the gallery audience. The artists defended themselves and their work.
No actual punches thrown.
I have to say it was strange, a performance of something I do for a living. Kevin was not unkind, but I think he’s a rather nice type of guy anyway. I’ve witnessed scathing crits, where the work is embarrassing, and the critic/teacher has called the artist/student on the b-s.
The format was/is problematic. Was it performance? Should it be dramatic somehow, ie yelling and cussing? Is this academic exercise worth showing to the real world? One artist muttered he hadn’t participated such discussion since he’d left school.
At least one guy was still in grad school, and it showed; he could really talk the talk. He seemed almost bored, explaining it all again. Some topics seemed off limits, like why were all the artists young? Why all white? Why avoid talk about the straight guy stuff (mad-scientist, skate culture), the soft-spoken guy appropriating traditionally female craft (crocheting), the token woman?
But that said, I admire all those who participated. Kevin could be a bit harsher next time, which would entertain us more, and also feel more like the real art world. Life’s a bitch for us--on with the show.

Bratzy New Year’s Resolutions

1. Treat my sister Barbie with less bitchiness. After all she’s so plain and boring, I should feel sorry for her.
2. Eat more junk food and feel no guilt about it.
3. Make InStyle my bible.
4. Keep up my beauty regime (spare no expense).
5. Do my part to improve the economy by BUYING, SPENDING, CONSUMING!
6. My continued mantra: exercise = sexy.
7. Promote myself unceasingly (you think I’m joking?)
8. Love my readers!
One-one-oh-nine, I like the sound of that…
"La Pescadita"