The first thing I noticed were the paint brushes and mixing tools for paint outside her door. Yet when I walked in I was bombarded, I could almost say violated, by the art stacked against the walls. Panel after panel after panel stacked against the walls, strewn throughout the kitchen. Everywhere. As the sheer volume of work begins to sink in and not be such a focal point for me, I start getting the influx of what it is, how it feels, where it takes me. At one point, after heading outside for a respite from her power, I actually became a little nauseous. She’s a darkish girl, sweet but talented and that talent like so many others seems to drive her and control her as well. It’s femme with a bite. She gives you beauty, yet within that beauty is a harshness, a cutting way, a fury almost.
So after I was able, by shielding my eyes so I could stay focused on what I wanted to tell her, to ask her why she wasn’t rich yet, and in a gallery, and cranking out the art, she laughed and like most artists she doesn’t have the stamina or inclination to deal with that part of the world. Which is a pity because she needs to be out there, more to the point her art needs to be out there.
I checked my watch, realized that the pre-party party had started about 45 minutes ago, and bade goodbye to all things artsy, and cruised over to the bar.
