Friday, September 10, 2010

introductions and yellow polos

I started this blog a couple of years ago and only remembered it recently because I came across a stack of calling cards I had printed with the image you see to your right on the front and the blog address on the back. I actually had to look up macro to refresh my memory as to what exactly my point was. I'm still not sure. I think it had something to do with recently receiving my MFA and feeling frustrated at the lack of teaching and exhibition opportunities and the general mystery of how to get from point A (terminal degree in studio art) to point B (cushy tenure-track teaching gig). I think, perhaps, I wanted to use this blog to get to the bottom of my love/hate relationship with the art world. And maybe have a good laugh in the process.

After two years of trying unsuccessfully to land any kind of teaching gig I officially (I declared it on Twitter, that's how) ended all efforts to woo the academic art community. I embraced my crafter identity and became a bit of an accidental entrepreneur (it's better than waiting tables, if you ask me). While I've been busy making stuff, I haven't really made any art, per se, for, oh, going on three years now. I thought maybe I was okay with that. Until recently. A growing urge to get back into the studio inspired a partial takeover of the garage and a good rifling through of several boxes of materials leftover from grad school art projects, including the cards that coordinate with this poorly planned blog project. At this point, I'm feeling pretty good about my "lifer" artist status. I'm in it for life, so I guess it's okay if I'm going through a bit of a dry spell. Right?

Anyway, ultimately I think I wanted to find the humor in all of these art world shenanigans, even as I find myself moving farther and farther away from the art world. The stuff we laugh at is usually unofficial, on the periphery, captured in the images taken at an art opening. So here goes.

Research for my thesis project took me to London, where I visited the Tate Modern one day and witnessed not one, but two other visitors dressed exactly as my husband.

And, who knows, there might have been more lads dressed like this but after the second image was captured I was promptly scolded for taking pictures. Could it be that contemporary art is ideally viewed while sporting a casual combo of denim and yellow polo?