Sometimes, as I fall asleep I compose elegant sentences descirbing what I've done that day and what I will do the next. I use words like "rubicund," to make simple bruises or poor complexions seem more exceptional and wonderful than they are. Only rarely do I ever commit those lambent words to a physical form, and then I realize just what I hideous pedantic egoist I am.
Before hanging the Kite show a few days ago, Caleb and I had to take down the monkey from where he was hung from the ceiling of the Trunk Space, looming. I tied his arms to his spine, and tied his legs and tail together, so that what was intended to be carried aloft by seven people, could be transported by just the two of us. Someone finally bought the great puppet recently, for a rather paltry sum, that I find kingly knowing that I was shortly to cut the monkey down and throw him away, having run out of patience for finding storage spaces large enough to accomodate him around the house.
The Kite show was only marginally successful. When it rains in Phoenix, as it did last night during the opening reception, Phoenicians panic and approach the weather as though it were an transitive beast, uncertain where it may strike next. Their prior experience with light drizzles ending in only creating more muddy clay around the city they adamantly ignore, and stay locked up inside residences waiting for when the rain turns to something more insideous. Phoenicians have read far too much Hemingway. Nonetheless, nearly all of the artists did come, and the sprinkling of artists' girlfriends and boyfriends made it seem like a far more successful turnout than it actually was.
I made tetrahedron kites with reduction style woodcut wasps on them, and I steeled myself against an evening of listening to people comment on the "bees."
The next reception for the Kite show is on First Friday, March 7th. My next solo is at Deus Ex Machine in Phoenix, opening May 2nd.