Judgement

A long day, but it's done, and the main gallery is empty of art work for the wedding and reception. Started the day laying out the works that were composed of several pieces (some ceramic wall hangings, groups of prints) and all the rest of the 3-D pieces. Spread everything out (300 works) covering every inch of wall space in every gallery. The judge arrived from Columbus, and we started right to work. Every judge is different, works differently, has different criteria. Sometimes it's a reductive process, taking rejected works away or turning them to face the wall; sometimes it's the opposite, affixing post-it tags on pieces that are to be in the show. It this case we affixed the post-its and left everything else facing out. It took three passes for him pick the 90 to 100 pieces we needed for the show (there are 93) and less than three hours. Pretty good clip. On our feet all day. Sara and Tim went to a very late lunch;TR, D and I tag-teamed our lunch during the selection process, thereby being able to start separating the accepted from the rejected, noting all the accepted pieces on the entry cards, everything else, perforce, rejected. Then physically moving everything out of the main gallery (just one of the extra steps imposed by the wedding), putting the accepted work in the Library and Board rooms and the rejected work in the theater. Then upstairs, where we repeated the process of separation. D entered everything into the new data bank, which should notify everyone, and then print our label copy (which still has to be mounted on matt board and trimmed). Excited about some of the things the judge picked, but because he runs a successful gallery in Columbus, and, admittedly knows little about the plastic arts, he was what I would call conservative. Knows his art history. It was great, following him around, listening to him talk, why this, not that. He picked someone Best In Show that will truly be shocked, but is, in fact. I was dumb-founded when that particular work came in, it's stunning. Actually, for the first time, I was three for three on the three cash prizes. Cream floats, and I've been looking at artwork for a very long time, what passes, and what passes isn't near the bar. I don't accept anything that's not nearly perfect. There's a watercolor I want to buy, if my vehicle would run another month, it's haunting, and a trompe l'oeil autumn berry that makes me want to weep, a life-size cartoon cowboy that's wonderful. It's going to be a great show. Went to send last night and the phone was dead again, and that's like four days out of the last six. Tested my phone in their test jack and no dial-tone, so the problem is definitely on their end. So I'll just go on. Went to town, stopped at the museum, and it was a zoo, ten people setting up and decorating for a wedding, but I wanted to get the new Carter paintings off the wall. Trish had moved some artwork, which always pisses me off, no one but D and I handle the art. It's a rule. Did my laundry (as I won't have another chance for a while) then stopped back by the museum, had a smoke with Sara and talked about the installation. I love this part of things, when I install shows. Stopped at Kroger and picked up what I needed to make a monster batch of pate: 20 ounces of chicken livers, a total of 20 ounces of assorted mushrooms (four different kinds), 20 ounces of ground veal, and scallions. I have everything else on hand. Tomorrow is pate day, and cleaning up from making pate day. I don't have an actual recipe for this, I just use certain proportions. A mystery in the forest. Where the trees canopy the road, if there is a light rain, there are often dry spots, but something was going on now that was completely the opposite, those very areas that would be dry in a light rain were wet and sticky. B had just started down the driveway, barely, and I was almost all the way to the top, and the rule is that the person going up has to back down, but B was able to reverse in 4-wheel drive and honked me by. We stopped and chatted. He had a rattlesnake in a five gallon bucket that he was going to relocate, in the back of his truck. What the wet spots are is aphid droppings. No kidding, that's what the substance is. A lack of winter, this is what you get, too many bugs. They're eating the leaves of trees and excreting a substance that both refracts light and sounds like gummy bears when you drive over it. What Falstaff says. The comedy of the natural. 2:34 the next morning, still no phone, and the goddamned goat-suckers (spell check likes a hyphen in that) awaken me from a blissful sleep. Sara said, yesterday, that after "Cream..." is installed, I should take some time off, go see my girls, and the idea appeals to me. A road trip, the girls, their friends in Denver, some bookstores. I have to stay the week after the opening, because both Pegi and TR will be out, working the Cirque summer program, but after that I might take a work week off, which would give me nine days, three days out, three days in Denver, three days back. If I bought an old lap-top that did nothing but word processing I could post from the road. D, I think, said they had one I could have. Every motel has an inter-net connection, and I could have nine shower/baths in succession, wash off several layers of skin. If you drive Least-Heat Moon's blue highways, and stop at the diners where the cop cars are parked, you can eat pretty well. The pie in Kansas is outstanding. In Denver, I'd do the cooking, because it would be expected, but I'd have three days to think about the three meals I'd prepare. I could enlist Kaylee's aid roasting vegetables, and Samara could be in charge of salads. We'd need coleslaw, for the night I do ribs, and Texas Toast. Probably need to do some variation on the pounded tenderloin medallions, and chicken thighs in an orange juice reduction. Don't get ahead of myself, first I have to leave. Leaving is extremely difficult for me, once I'm on the road, it's cool, I'm, like, on the road, and the future is held in abeyance, where I stop or what I see. But leaving, itself, is an obstacle. Frankly I'd rather just hole up, not move, secure my position on the ridge and prepare my potato cannon to protect my stand. But it's good to get out, see the lay of the land. I started this page Thursday and it's now Saturday and I still don't have a phone. The company (Frontier) evidently sent someone out, but they couldn't find my place or couldn't get up the driveway or something. I heard about this from a operator in Cincy, who didn't have a clue about what was going on, out here in the field. Monday I'll talk with one of their repair guys, they regularly gather in the back corner of the parking lot behind the museum. B came over for coffee and a couple of hours of conversation. We touched all the bases. I had missed these rambling talks. He had written an essay on solitude, I think I mentioned, and there was a sub-text that concerned our relationship, and we talked about that. I tried to explain the jumble of tenses that happened when my phone was out and I just kept writing, and he knew exactly what I was talking about. Even dumb errors might make a point. Reading B's essay, or Skip's new book, or Steven in manuscript, requires complete attention; my part of the interaction, as reader, mandates that I kill the breaker on the refrigerator because I don't want to be disturbed. This thing, whatever I'm doing, reading or writing or examining tadpoles, requires my full attention. I took out a comma there, it took over an hour of consideration. But I can do that, spend an hour on a comma. When I was picking up the things I needed for the pate, I ran into Ally, photographic guru responsible for a resurgence of interest in that department at the college, and we pulled our carts out of the desire paths so we could talk. You can't help but notice, at moments like this, what's in the other person's cart. I'm not judgmental, I steer well clear of all that shit, what you do is your own business, but she asked me about the eclectic accumulation of things in my cart, and I explained I was making pate for the opening; aged, for a few days, under a layer of pork fat, it should marry beautifully. I've gone on too long, what I meant could be condensed into a very short paragraph. B said, and I agree, if you took Steven's work, and compressed it into paragraphs, we might sound similar. Bastard actually writes better than me. If there was a competition, he'd win, but I'm proud to be second or third. Fuck a bunch of special interest. To be in the same ballpark is not a flattery I even enjoy. I'm best left alone. If not this then that, best left alone. No matter what you think. Sunday, still no phone. D, TR and I meet at the museum and start shuffling art around. TR works most of the afternoon getting the rejected work into the theater, alphabetically arranged. Sara comes in, we get the entire show set. Tomorrow we start hanging. Show needs to be finished end of the day Thursday, because the purchase patrons will be milling about Friday morning. The museum was trashed when we got there, tables and chairs everywhere, and the floor was in terrible shape. We ignored it all. I did mop an area where someone had spilled something. Got the pate made. It's very good, though I was on cruise-control, and I don't actually remember cleaning up. I was groggy all day today, Sara missed my humor, but I just didn't feel good, rare, for me. Tomorrow I can roll around on a board room chair while I do the math, an easy physical day for me, but my brain will be fried for the next two days. Generally, every bay has a large piece, centered, flanked by smaller pieces that reflect color or form. You could install this show a hundred different ways, but this is a good way, and it's going to be lovely thing. I'd like to hang 40 pieces tomorrow, I'd feel comfortable with that. We have to put up one panel, at the signage wall, so we can hang the three-part, white, ceramic piece. 40 pieces is ambitious, if we get 31 done, we're cool, can't set pedestals for the 3-D work until after the tables and chairs disappear. The labels I can do in half-a-day, on Thursday, while Sara and D adjust the lighting. We can do this. Only slightly impossible. If nothing goes wrong. But of course, something will. Don't remember what I said in the short post from the museum last night, but we did get the forty pieces hung yesterday, after a very scary beginning to the day. It had rained overnight Sunday and into Monday morning, but I had to get to work. The top of the driveway was a clay quagmire, so I went over the edge in first gear, 4-wheel low, barely moving, gained control of the truck after about twenty feet. We put a lot of camber in the top part of the driveway, so any out-of-control slide pushes you over so that the left tires are in the grader ditch. This allows you to regain control. It can be harrowing. But got to work, cleaned up, Sara came in and we tweaked a few things, then D and I started hanging. We were very fast. Sara pointed out today that we were so fast yesterday, because the museum was closed, no interruptions. Today we hung the upstairs galleries and D was getting called away every few minutes, I finally enlisted TR to run the numbers so I could hang the pictures. Dealt with the egos of artists all day, as they returned for rejected work. It's the hardest part of this show, but it is a good show, one of many possible shows that could have been assembled from the submitted work. Finished hanging, except for a few things that go on signage walls, and we don't have the signage yet (we never hang those two walls until after we have the signage, too easy to make a mistake), and we have to set the 3-D pieces, sixteen of them, which might take an hour. Should be able to start the labels tomorrow, which, I think, gets me slightly ahead. Pegi made it abundantly clear that cleaning the floor was my responsibility, and I think I can do that between the purchase patrons and the opening on Friday; at least get up the sticky stuff, there'll be a 160 people at that event, with finger-food, no one will even see the floor, as long as it's not sticky. It'll need cleaning again after: pate in the grout joints, and everything else, flaky pastry, ground bits of fruit, and the spillage of various liquids. Post napoleons.