So I've been trying to manufacture some colorful clutter in my little basement abode lately. Which means going to flea markets and thrift stores around New York, keeping an eye out for interesting art work. Paintings, prints, stuff in frames. It sounded easy. I thought it would be.
But then I realized.
People want MONEY for their art!
Like a lot. Not twenty bucks, which is what I wrongly assumed the going rate was for a framed print or a canvassed painting. The worst part is, I assumed I would find some cool shitty art that just happened to strike a meaningful chord. NOPE. Shitty art is shitty and it only truly succeeds in striking a shitty chord.
I went to a flea market in Chelsea yesterday that was RIFE with prints and paintings and the good stuff. I found a painting of a ship and a painting of Don Quixote, both of which I would have bought if the going price on both hadn't been fifty bucks (literally five bucks shy of what I actually had on me). The stuff I could have afforded was either moth eaten or just really really ugly.
Right now I'm sitting in Think Coffee (this cafe near NYU that is hip, artsy and no doubt environmentally conscious). There is art ALL over this place, and some of them have price tags. A quick glance over my shoulder informed me that for only $300 I could be the proud owner of a black and white series of animal sketches.
Recently, I've been thinking about amassing a series of my own paintings. (That's right! I paint now!) If I could get together like 20 little guache pieces (of harmless kitschy subjects like "dogs and their owners") I could totally set up a table in Union Square. If I charge $30 for each painting (i.e. what people actually WANT to spend on a harmless piece of art) I might make some money.
Sometimes I get too high-falutingly bohemian for my own good. The day I set up an art table in Union Square is the day I start working on my dreadlocks. (Something I've always secretly considered...)
Monday, April 14, 2008
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
to update the impossible update
Hunh. A month has gone by and I haven't written a word on this guy. I officially have a blog again!
I promise I'll try to really exhaust the inexhaustible amount of shit there is to update you guys about. I've gone on a fair amount of adventures and gone through a fair amount of mood swings since I last wrote (I'd say at least 2 peaks and 1.5 valleys).
Maybe one explanation for why I've been writing so little is that I've been reading like a friggin maniac lately. In keeping with my constant desire to culturally enrich myself, I've been a regular Pagemaster (starring Macauley Culkin) lately. It's been mostly plays, since as soon as I'm done being fascinated by one playwright I realize there's someone else I have literally never even heard about who is totally worthwhile (Sarah Kane and David Greig fall into that category with a vengeance). Including those two, I've gone through phases of obsession with Wallace Shawn, Steve Martin, Chuck Mee and Sarah Ruhl. And those are just the ones I've liked.
Allowing for this sudden surge of curiosity was my rediscovery of the New York Public Performing Arts Library (cue heavenly fanfare). Seriously. Free plays. Free DVDs of plays. And every play or musical ever recorded, available for viewing. It's the kind of overwhelmingly expansive resource that makes you feel lazy any moment you don't spend reading a book.
That being said, I'm excited about spearheading my own development as a playwright given the likelihood of not spending next year in Graduate school. Actually, to be totally upfront in light of really recent events, the battle was half lost this morning when I got my Columbia rejection letter in the mail. (Oh well, I figure. They accepted me once.) I'm not totally discouraged, though, since my big push was for NYU and since perseverance in the face of failure seems to be a useful skill in this particular line of work. I might as well start developing my thick skin now. (God grant me the grace to cope without resorting to apathy or bitterness. God also grant me a kickass day job for next year.)
Speaking of jobs, I recently decided to go back to camp. Which is funny, since a year ago I'm pretty sure I said (and I quote), "I'm never going back to Camp Shane." Isn't it funny how eight months of boring stresslessness and ample free time will cause one to throw themselves back in the lion pit? I've thought of a million reasons to look forward to camp. They are:
* I actually miss working with kids. It was hard, but I think I actually might be good at it. And directing the development of little brains caters to my more power hungry sensibilities (say that at a babysitting interview).
* People, some of the. I had a conversation with my friend Carol this morning, who despite being in the Netherlands for another year I am determined to convince to return to camp. It's probably impossible. Or is it IMPOSSIBLY PROBABLE!?!?! (I'm so awesome, it might just work.)
* I get to do more theater stuff.
* I get to be creative.
* I get to be self-directed.
And those last three... wooh. They are doozies. I looked at pictures of Seussical from last summer and got all tingly thinking about doing sets and costumes and choreography again. That being sad, I'm open to suggestions for kid-friendly musicals you folks think a ragtag group of pudgy starlets could put together in three weeks.
I promise I'll try to really exhaust the inexhaustible amount of shit there is to update you guys about. I've gone on a fair amount of adventures and gone through a fair amount of mood swings since I last wrote (I'd say at least 2 peaks and 1.5 valleys).
Maybe one explanation for why I've been writing so little is that I've been reading like a friggin maniac lately. In keeping with my constant desire to culturally enrich myself, I've been a regular Pagemaster (starring Macauley Culkin) lately. It's been mostly plays, since as soon as I'm done being fascinated by one playwright I realize there's someone else I have literally never even heard about who is totally worthwhile (Sarah Kane and David Greig fall into that category with a vengeance). Including those two, I've gone through phases of obsession with Wallace Shawn, Steve Martin, Chuck Mee and Sarah Ruhl. And those are just the ones I've liked.
Allowing for this sudden surge of curiosity was my rediscovery of the New York Public Performing Arts Library (cue heavenly fanfare). Seriously. Free plays. Free DVDs of plays. And every play or musical ever recorded, available for viewing. It's the kind of overwhelmingly expansive resource that makes you feel lazy any moment you don't spend reading a book.
That being said, I'm excited about spearheading my own development as a playwright given the likelihood of not spending next year in Graduate school. Actually, to be totally upfront in light of really recent events, the battle was half lost this morning when I got my Columbia rejection letter in the mail. (Oh well, I figure. They accepted me once.) I'm not totally discouraged, though, since my big push was for NYU and since perseverance in the face of failure seems to be a useful skill in this particular line of work. I might as well start developing my thick skin now. (God grant me the grace to cope without resorting to apathy or bitterness. God also grant me a kickass day job for next year.)
Speaking of jobs, I recently decided to go back to camp. Which is funny, since a year ago I'm pretty sure I said (and I quote), "I'm never going back to Camp Shane." Isn't it funny how eight months of boring stresslessness and ample free time will cause one to throw themselves back in the lion pit? I've thought of a million reasons to look forward to camp. They are:
* I actually miss working with kids. It was hard, but I think I actually might be good at it. And directing the development of little brains caters to my more power hungry sensibilities (say that at a babysitting interview).
* People, some of the. I had a conversation with my friend Carol this morning, who despite being in the Netherlands for another year I am determined to convince to return to camp. It's probably impossible. Or is it IMPOSSIBLY PROBABLE!?!?! (I'm so awesome, it might just work.)
* I get to do more theater stuff.
* I get to be creative.
* I get to be self-directed.
And those last three... wooh. They are doozies. I looked at pictures of Seussical from last summer and got all tingly thinking about doing sets and costumes and choreography again. That being sad, I'm open to suggestions for kid-friendly musicals you folks think a ragtag group of pudgy starlets could put together in three weeks.
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