The artists’s way
This is the life of an artist. You work for a show. You make sure that the paintings have a similar theme. You sell a couple of pieces during the show and when it’s over, you take it all home again. I haven’t known many artists who sold everything in a show.
What that means is we are left with a variety of artwork that doesn’t go together. Picasso changed styles and I am inclined to do the same, simply because I don’t want to get bored with my own work. Sometimes I change the technique but not the subject. Sometimes I change the subject. I do whatever I want. That is not a good marketing strategy, it is not a strategy at all, it is just fun.
Five years later
After five years of prolific painting, it came to me that I had enough work for an auction. So I thought, “Why not have the auction in Indianapolis where a lot of the works were painted.” My friends Chris Blice and Jon Edwards offered to lend me their studio, which looked like a little warehouse and sent out invitations to their clients. The idea was when there were enough people we would try to get them to bid as they would in an auction. Unfortunately, there were never enough people at once, but sales went on continuously.
Get out of the comfort zone
I was excited about the trip. I always enjoy leaving my own boring routine to see what others are doing, or what I might be able to do under different circumstances. Just getting a glance of different worlds, different possibilities, is enough to get me moving to a different groove. Stretching myself, my horizons and my habits and checking boundaries is always refreshing and inspiring.
Once the exhibition was over and paintings were sold, the unknown had become known and I was done. A strange feeling that I was back walking an old familiar path made me uncomfortable. I suddenly wanted to go home, and every hour that desire became bigger and bigger. I did not want to pick up more business or resume old friendships again. The whole reason I left Indianapolis in the first place, was to build a new life, not to keep coming back and trying old ways of thinking that would not work for me.
Indianapolis is a beautiful city with old colonial buildings, majestic lawns and wide porches. Having lived close to Meridian Hills was great. The tall Maple trees were still green although you could see a bit of yellow starting to peak through in places. After a short rain the earth smelled like autumn. The White River was still there, patiently following its course through Broadripple, as my friend I walked along the Monon and did some fun girly things. There were many things to love about a life in the Midwest, but I was more excited when I got an invitation to give a presentation in Miami.
Still in my pajamas, I drove home as if the devil was trying to catch up with me. Rain splashed the windows clean, storms everywhere caused trouble and I was caught in more than one traffic jam caused by an overthrown tractor-trailer. The Smokey Mountains were “smoking” and there was thick fog. The leaving was not as easy as the going had been. The weather finally cleared up at the border of Georgia and Florida.
Writing about a trip
What was I thinking? Should I write about the trip? There are no quaint little villages, bakeries or other landmarks worth noting. There are the billboards that advertise everything from fireworks, whiskeys, carpets, and strip clubs to the finger-pointing Jesus saying that abortion is a sin. Then all you see are big signs with happy grey-haired couples on the golf course. I think that says it all. I am home.