Prima Gallerina

How I love this!

2007-03-20T21:45:00.000-06:00

meeeee

2007-03-09T22:04:00.000-06:00

Taken at work (where I LIVE) waiting for my thirteen hour day to end so that I can go home and watch reality tv. Seriously. Sick. Of. Working.

February Book

2007-03-03T12:03:00.000-06:00

1. My Dark Places by James Ellory
Depressive, violent, excessive and utterly un-put-down-able. James Ellroy is the same author who wrote the Black Dahlia and has basically made a writting career over obsessive with the violent deaths of women. His obsession (which itself is completely sick and twisted) started when he was ten when his mother was raped and murdered and almost consumed him as teenager. This book is the story of her death and his ensuing obsession, which he tried to solve in his forties with the help of a retired and beaten down L.A. homicide detective. James Ellroy is not likeable and there is so much gross in this books: from the awful way Ellroy lives most of his life, to the descriptions of hideous crimes against women. Still, it is a quick, sad read, with more to it then is initially evident. I think this book will stay with me, for better or for worse.

2. Holy Terror: Andy Warhol Close Up by Bob Colacello
I am reading a series of Andy Warhol bios, diaries, letters and other scraps to prepare myself for the exhibition my gallery is presenting of his life and work in January 2008. This particular book really focuses on his life in the 1970's and a bit into the 80s and up until his death in 1987. Although the focus is the 70s it does put his whole life into context by giving some info on his family, his home town of Pittsburgh, earlier years, etc... Bob Colacello was the editor of Andy's magazine, Interview, during the 70s and became part of his inner circle along with long time art dealer/personal manager Fred Hughes. Though well written, my biggest criticism of this book is that it is a big exercise in name-dropping and Colacello assumes readers know the elite of New York society in the 70s so, with a few exceptions, he doesn't really explain who he is talking about. It is easy to get lost in a see of names. The really great part of this book is that despite a falling out before they parted ways, Colacello manages to present a Warhol that is very conflicted. He explains why so many people loved Andy, and why so many people despised him or were ruined because of him. While reading the book I felt in turns dislike for Andy and affection for Andy, by the end of the book I saw him as a really sad and tragic character who was perhaps the most lonely figure in modern pop culture.

3. Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs
I picked this book up for two reasons: 1. I was at a loss for what to read next, had heard something about this book and it looked like a quick read and 2. I remember Jackie talking about wanting to see the movie when it came out last year because she enjoyed the book and Jackie tends to read good books. I am not sure how I felt about this book. My biggest response was that I can't believe this is true story, that these people actually exist and live in the way Burroughs portrays them in the book. I found this book funny and sad in turns but truthfully, the biggest thing impression I had was how utterly gross this book is. From the state of the house, to the pooping, to the sex scenes... it just totally grossed me out. There were characters that I like, particularly Augusten, Natalie and Hope, but I didn't like them a lot and the other characters were terribly annoying - like Finch and Augusten's mother. The biggest problem I had was the ending, which seemed to wrap eveything up with a bit of a bow in a way that felt a bit phoney to me. It reminded me of the TV program Nanny 911 where everything is going to shit for 55 minutes then then within five minutes the lights come on, everything knows exactly what they do and the happy familly music begins to play. I don't like the sensation that things are being resolved primarily because we're running out of time. This book is funny though and there were bits that I absolutely loved and that made me laugh out loud such as this scene where Augusten and Natalie decide to sign for patients in a psychiatric ward of a hospital:

Our voices trembled at first, because of our nerves. Anytime you perform in
front of a life audience for the first time, this is bound to happen. But by the
second verse, we were both completely absorbed in the song. Natalie's voice was
truly beautiful, soaring high against the perforated ceiling panels. I closed my
eyes and tried to imagine a hushed audience wearing expensive earings, tissues
poised beneath their eyes.

Which is why the wet smack was such as shock to both of us.

"Fuckers." It was the hateful old man, the one without teeth, I now saw.
He'd coughed deeply, productively, and spat in our direction. Because we were
standing so close togther, his phlegm hit us both. In the face. It was deeply
replusive.

And we did the only thing we could possibly do. Or at least Natalie did.

She spat right back at him.

There are also a few very touching bits such as this one where Natalie and Augusten cross under a waterfall and after probably nearly dying, "I lay back with my arms stretched out and stared at the sky. I had never felt so free in my entire life." There are plenty of lovely, disturbing and hillarious moments in Running with Scissors but, for me at least, it didn't add up to a wonderful book. David Sedaris does this kind of genre much better.

A little unhinged

2007-02-26T19:17:00.000-06:00

It looks like Katie Holmes' circuits have finally short circuited, crazy, stepford woman that she is. Her eyes are all glazed over and crooked, like she's just been hit in the side of the head and needs a readjustment.

Birthday

2007-02-18T21:50:00.000-06:00

Today is my 29th birthday. I usually don't like birthdays because, like so many other things in my life, I put far too much emphasis on making them 'special'. As a result, I spend most of my time marking and measuring their level of specialness and am usually disappointed.

I tried to do things differently this year.

Instead of planning something significant, I just let things happen and because I didn't have many expectations, the day unfolded in a lovely, unexpected way. I had brunch at a beautiful old hotel with my family, followed by cake at my grandperants, an afternoon at the dog park with my puppies (it is finally warmer here) and laziness on the couch with my sweetheart. Tomorrow we might drive to a local spa just out of town and soak in the warm mineral water. Nothing special, but somehow really just what I've needed.

Here is a picture my grandperants gave me of my grandfather holding me the day I was born.

And here is a picture taken today with my mother and sister.

I am happy to say that for this year anyhow, it is more than enough.

Valentine's Day is for Lovers

2007-02-14T20:31:00.000-06:00

Today I am sick of listening/reading to people whine about how massively commercial and stupid Valentine's Day is. It seems that people complain more about V-day then other commercially based holidays as a reaction to thier own loneliness. People complain about Christmas and Easter, but not with the same vehemance they complain about Valentine's. There's venom and froth and anger.... It is really unsettling. It seems like a silly thing to waste one's energy on hating a holiday one claims is meaningless.

I am not a sap by any stretch, but if there is any goodness or purpose in Valentine's it is just to remind us to let those we care about know that we care. So happy Vday everyone and love and be happy! (Lordie, I sound like a hippie)

I have been reading a lot of Tibetan Buddhism books lately, which could be having an affect on my desire to spread lovingkindness to the universe. It really is lovely though, and at its core is so easy but so totally impossible at the same time. Besides, I am totally in love with the Dalai Llama. Seriously, if I could have anyone in the world as my Valentine, it would be him. My favorite DL quote, "Kindness is my religion." Swoon!

"What unites us all as human beings is an urge for happiness, which at heart is a yearning for union, for overcoming our feelings of seperateness. We want to feel our identity with something larger than our small selves. We long to be one with our own lives and with each other."

Ah so.

A little of this, a little of that

2007-02-04T21:25:00.000-06:00

So, off the top the New Years resolutions are not all going swimmingly (but I suppose if they were then they wouldn't be NY resolutions). I am not updating more regularly and I am not even meeting my picture a day goal. Instead of beating myself up about it, I say OH WELL! Because it's not like I've been sitting around picking my nose instead of posting photos or blogging. No, I've been working my ass off.

My gallery had it's big winter show opening last weekend and because of my massive schmooze effort we had a turn out of about 300 people, which is a very good number for this little arts community. The show is truly lovely -- contemporary without feeling completely alienating and just so utterly cool. Cool artists = cool work in this particular case as I found out when I spent all my time not at work socializing with them (them being truly unique artists from all across the country). It was a weekend that felt exactly like it should feel to work in a successful gallery. Though it did mean a few too many martini's, a touch too much red wine and very little me time.

Since then I've been doing about a zillion other work related things precipitated by the fact that February is a ridiculously short month, which means that I need to figure out how to fit 31 days worth of work into 28 days. Three less days. I nearly passed out when I realized it. Then I promptly took my ass to work, on a Sunday afternoon. The only ok thing about working non-stop is that the balmy weather has disappeared and it's been about -35 degrees for the past week, with no end in sight. Truly inhumane and hideous. So cold that my windows have ice lining the inside. So cold that it stings to breath. Other then work related things I (along with nearly everyone else) have been cloistered inside and in many ways, work has felt like a necessary break from the house and from stir crazy dogs. I can empathize with Jack Nicholson's pathological behaviours in The Shining.

Other good news, my job is sending me on a week long, all expense paid trip to San Francisco in April. Hootie hoo! I've been to LA but never to San Francisco and I've heard it is beautiful. I will get to stay by Fisherman's Wharf and meet people from all over north America, and visit museums and galleries and learn all about the hip places (with more money then me) are doing with their websites. Maybe I'll make up for the lack of picture-taking when I'm there. Or maybe not.

XOXOXO

Spring in January

2007-01-04T11:32:00.000-06:00

The last few days the weather has been a balmy +3 degrees - amazing by local standards. We are usually at about -20 this time of year. The other day I asked R, "what if this is actually spring come early?" Of course when I asked it, I was thinking this would be a terrific thing.

He said, "Well, then it's likely that what's remaining of the glacial ice caps will melt and the world will be plunged into a catastrophic environmental disaster."

Hmm. Yes. Damn.

The moon was fantastic last though. A harvest moon in January, gigantic and yellow as it peered up over the treeline. There is a bitter, delicate beauty to this place. Even in the darkness of deep winter. Or maybe especially then.

New Years Is Here and I Feel Fine

2007-01-01T21:38:00.000-06:00

And to prove it, here is a photo of me dancing in my livingroom with my puppy. This is actually part of a series of photos that I am going to try to add to called Dancing With... I am really trying to learn how to use the manual functions of my camera and while learning it seems that there are nifty little 'mistakes' to be found along the way. To see all the images in the series thus far, go here.

I survived New Years quite nicely. Generally I stress about New Years because it always feels like there should be something fantastic that happens in and around the stroke of twelve and instead, I always just feel like me (only usually drunk). As the date approaches, if there isn't some wonderful party or dinner or something planned I start to panic as though this is some kind of wickedly important emergency. This year, about two days before, as the bile started welling up my ever tightening throat at the prospects of nothing to do, I made a the crucial decision that I would control my destiny and make my own plans. My plans consisted of eating wonderful bad-for-me food, cuddling on the couch and watching movies. It was about -25 degrees here and instead of freezing my dressed up ass or waiting hours for overpriced cabs, I decided to stay in with those that are important to me and remember that New Years is nothing but an opportunity to reflect, relax and look forward. So, as for resolutions, here's what I've come up with:

1. Take more photographs: Over the next year I would like to learn how to use the functions of my camera in earnest and take the whole thing a bit more seriously. I think I have a good eye and I really love it, yet I refuse to take it a bit seriously. As a first step towards this, today I took out a Flickr Pro account. I also started a set called Photo Per Day 2007 and every single day I am going to try and post something. I am also going to try and post my photo per day here (though it may be a few at a time as opposed to one per day). Today's photo is the dancing photo above. I was a toss up though, between that and this:

2. Be healthier: This is pretty general but I think I've come up with some genuinely tangible ways to achieve this, including:

drinking eight to ten glasses H2O per day

cutting own to two cans soda per week

more fruits and veggies, less yucky fatty things

three hours per week fitness

one professional massage per month

two half hours of meditation twice a week

learning some techniques to better deal with stress

regular journaling, both online and in private

trying to laugh a bit more rather then taking myself too seriously

1 multivitamin per day, every single day

Try to avoid public (or private) drunkenness

Stop checking and responding to work email at home

Vacuum up animal dander and dust around house more often

Dance more!

3. Work Goals:

Increase attendance at Gallery and sales at Shop

Have more fun with job! Spend more time in the galleries and meeting artists!

Get national coverage

Learn to listen more

Allot specific time per week to organize and plan so that things flow more smoothly

Find time to be creative

Meet colleagues

4. Find more time for creative endeavors: Write more - when I was a child up until my early twenties I loved to write, found time to write. Now, although I still have these great aha! moments where story ideas, or lines run through my head, I have a million and ten excuses to put it off. I am going to try to stick to it this year. Even if in small bits. I would also like to read more, go dancing more often, use my sewing machine more, learn to make clothes, spend time outside exploring my yard, traveling. There are so many exciting things to be doing and I feel like I am missing out on most of them and this year I am determined to change that. The scary thing about all of this is that it likely means less television and I am completely addicted.

5. Appreciate my life more: I am a lucky, lucky girl. I am healthy, I live in a country with an incredibly high standard of life, I am in a career that I love, I have a wonderful employer, my home life is loving and stable, I own my own little house and garden and I have friends that care. Despite all this, I still have this petulant teenager in my head who pipes up "I hate my life!" every time something goes slightly off kilter. I speed through things and am constantly thinking about the thing that is about to happen, completely missing the thing that is currently in front of me. As awfully cliche as it sounds, I need to learn to breathe and appreciate what is all around me and slow down and enjoy it. I will be 29 this year and I want to taste every bit of it. I also want to be more tolerant of the people around me. I know that I am a judger and it is mostly aimed at those I love most. I am also very critical of myself. I want to work on that.

If I can even accomplish 10% of this, 2007 should be a wonderful year. I am so very lucky and really, really grateful for so many things.

I should stay in on New Years Eve more often.

XOXOX

Dear Blogosphere

2006-12-29T17:01:00.000-06:00

Dear Blogosphere (which likely hasn't even noticed I've been away),

I am a terrible, neglectful blogger with, it seems, nothing much to say. I have no excuses other than, I suck.

Here is what I haven't told you over the past month and a half:

I saw, I ate, I drank in the Dominican Replublic and there are pictures, which I will try to post soonish.
I've been sick ever since I got back from the DR (December 2nd) with various forms of sinus cementing infections and a cough that has become so annoying and rattling that I am surprised I haven't been kicked out of public venues. I only get sick about once a year but when I get sick, I get SICK biatch.
It's gotten very cold here.

My job is exciting and wonderful and I've just sent out a release to confirm that we will be showcasing an enormous Warhol retrospective exhibition next year. This makes me very, very happy.
My house is a mess.

I've made some new friends and lost some old ones and I'm not really sure how I feel about that.
I still have no New Years plans except that I refuse to wind up at a sorry local bar paying $50 to get in for no other reason than it's NYE and people are so desperate for a place to go that they will pay $50 to go to a sorry local bar. I think NY is the most depressing of the holidays.

I have a week and a half of holidays and have only changed out of my new jammies and robe to walk the dogs and one other time to have dinner with my grandperants. I have mastered the art of doing absolutely nothing.
I went shopping in Ottawa and had meetings at the stunning National Gallery. This made me both jealous of their amazing space and expansive staff and simultaneously releived that my workplace is blessedly lacking in burocracy.

I'm sure there is more but these are the highlights, sad but true. I know none of this is terribly exciting but in the meantime, check out this Dick in a Box thing. It has made my holiday season. My favorite part, "One, cut a hole in the box. Two, put your junk in that box. Three, get her to open the box..."

More to come, including pictures from the DR, my yearly recaps and strategies for being a disgustingly happy individual in the New Year. Happy holidays!

XOXOX

Last Dance for the Queen of Cathedral

2006-11-13T11:12:00.000-06:00

My dear little Jackie is leaving me. Not just the area, the city, the province. She is leaving the continent, to marry no less. So in true form, and despite her hangover from the night before, we went out and painted the town varying shades of red and blue. I will miss her.

This is photoshopped to "Make her look like one of those
wierd dogs in dog food commercials." It's true, but I am
allowed certain indulgences because she is leaving me.

For a complete photographic accounting of the evening, including Roof Bitches and Scene from a Romantic Comedy visit my Flickr.

me and danes

2006-10-28T19:54:00.000-06:00

It has always baffled me that more people don't compare me to Clare Danes. We're practically doppelgangers, no?

me, if I lived in a comic

2006-10-24T22:42:00.000-06:00

Veronica

Betty

Listening to Queen Bitch Laughing at Whatcott

2006-10-23T21:44:00.000-06:00

I'm feeling much more in-tuned with the world since my last post. Although I think it is an accurate representation of what I experiences and the true meanness of some people, I am embarrassed at how much it effected me. I was never picked on a bunch in elementary school or high school, but if I was, I would imagine I would have felt similarly to how those girls made me feel last week. It bothers me that I was so bothered.

I saw Marie Antoinette last weekend and I loved it as I love all of Sophia Coppola's films. It is a visceral reaction really and not one well articulated. The places and the music are all as vibrant as the main characters and all are beautiful and sad in a romantic way but one that plays to my sensibilities. And despite the costumes and the cakes, Marie Antoinette was so, so sad and lonely and it really made me think about those everything girls and how sad they might be. How hard it would be to have everything. I recommend it and actually, next to the Virgin Suicides it's my favorite Coppola.

This made me laugh today:

Anyone who has seen this man's awful dead fetus propaganda outside of abortion clinic or had the misfortune to receive any of his homophobic pamphlets will likely appreciate it.

XOXOX

Art Bitches

2006-10-20T15:02:00.000-06:00

There is no kind of bitch in the world quite like an art bitch. They are usually beautiful and project an air of fun hipness that, from a distance, seems so welcoming. But then you get up close and it's this awful monstrosity barely concealed underneath perfectly applied makeup. Tina Fey should write Mean Girls II and it should all take place in the Fine Arts Dept. of a university. The high school bitches would be put to shame by the cruel snobbery of the arts bitch.

I suppose there is some satisfaction in knowing that 99% of art bitches are really only good at being mean. It becomes their practice. Like performance art or something.

Why do I work in this industry?!

Made My Day

2006-10-09T10:49:00.000-06:00

Here.

Sorry it's been so long. I miss my little blog and will try concertedly to come back more often.

For those of you in Canada, happy Thanksgiving. Here is some of what I am thankful for this year:

A job I love that also pays me enough to live comfortably and even eat sushi now and then.
Circumstances that allow me to be surrounded by art for at least eight hours a day.
Passionate people who continue to inspire me every single day.
My doggies and R for being loving and wonderful but for also letting me have my space (ok, the dogs are not so good about that).
For not having had a cold since May.
For living in a city filled with parks and in a neighbourhood where I can walk one block and feel like I am in the country, or 15 minutes in the other direction to feel like I am downtown.
For the trip we are planning to take at the end of November to the Dominican Republic.
For my little house.
For my feet, which take me everywhere I need to go (and some places I don't need to go).
For still loving the person I was ten years ago, even if I bear little resemblance to her now.
For writing and reading and hot baths on cold days.
For geese gathering together to make noise in preparation for their southern journey.
For my friends and family, who remind me to shut up every now and again.
For TIVO!, the Rapture, impromptu dance parties and crinolins under full skirts.
For sake martini's.
For stillettos and comfortable shoes.
For long, long mornings sleeping in.

There is so much!

late night last minute thing

2006-09-25T23:06:00.000-06:00

I feel like I am in highschool again, only I am getting paid to be there and do the work. Case in point: it is 11 p.m. and I am so tired my eyeballs ache, but I have three reports due at an all day meeting tomorrow. So what do I do? Stay up all night, finish the work and be incontinent tomorrow or go to bed, bank on how smart I'll be after a good nights sleep and hope to god that the hours and a half I have in the morning before the meeting is amazingly productive and that I somehow am able to churn all this out.

Either that or promise my first born to a little gremlin and have him spin it out of thin air as I snooze. Wouldn't it be grand?

self inflicted pain is the worst kind of pain

2006-09-18T17:57:00.000-06:00

On Saturday night I took the opportunity of having two long-lost friends in town to be an excessive freak and drink more booze then I've probably done all together in the last six months combined. And shooters! I never do shooters! Between swigging the red wine, I also indulged in Jaegger (I don't even know how to spell it!) and at least two ounces of the raunchiest tequila I think I've ever had in my life. Even three sheets to the wind I had to stuggle to hold it down. It was an ugly, slurring, stumbling, falling on my ass in the middle of the dance floor kind of drunk. Oh, it was ugly and I am still feeling the pangs even today.

And you know who I blame? The gallery, of course. I've been working so many hours that I was just craving a stupid release. All of my overtime and squinting into this stupid screen resulted in a mass of pent up ugliness that was either to explode on someone in my office or on myself, via alchohol induced vomitting.

Oh lord.

Prima Gallerina Does Fashion

2006-09-12T22:21:00.000-06:00

Tonight, after eight and a half hours of work, I mosied my fashionista ass down to our local pedway mall for a fashion show/arts fundraiser/dance thing in support of a local modern dance company and one of my co-workers who was walking in the show (for those of you not in the know - or those of you who don't watch America's Next Top Model - "walking" means she was modeling). It was kind of pretty and I felt all important with my complimentary ticket, glass of sparkling champagne and the rose petals scattered at my feet. The dancing was great, the clothes alternated between absolutely hideous (think black garbage bag dress and mid-calf length leggings, ick!) and fabulous (a wonderful brown knit suit cut in all the right places). Maybe it is my obsession with all things top model and project catwalk but I was really struck by how completely uncomfortable and lost most of the models appeared. I could just hear Tyra Banks and Miss Jay whispering in my ear, "That's not fierce! A model needs to be fierce!" and unfortunately, few of them lived up to my television-driven expectations. I found myself internally critiquing everything from the vacant expression in their eyes to the awkward walking in stilettos to the mostly terrible choice of music (Born to be Wild). The highlight of the night was this funny art thing when a group of men came out and did a choreographed dance down the catwalk, all clad in paper skirts. It sounds crazy, but it had me grinning so wide that my teeth hurt. The best part was seeing Carlos, the owner of a local Italian deli and likely among the most colourful men in the city, bouncing up and down in a pink paper skirt, a wrapped sausage in his hand, his jerry-curl mullet bouncing up and down in the late afternoon breeze. It was priceless and well worth the hour of otherwise mediocre performances and fashion.

Afterwards we all sauntered into the store that was sponsoring the fashion show and I deigned to imagine that I might find a cute scarf or hat to add to my cute little fall wardrobe. My head spun when I saw the insane prices - $120 for a scarf! A scarf! That is about $100 more then I would ever spend on a scarf given that at the places I currently shop at, $120 could likely buy me three shirts, a dress and a sweater (a bit of an exaggeration but close). So, like the classy gal I am, I guzzled a few glasses of the cheap champagne and left, all the while sneezing from the (likely) expensive perfume that rich people seem intent on dousing themselves with.

git

2006-09-10T12:24:00.000-06:00

I am such a git. I was supposed to have this fun weekend but I keep missing the people I am supposed to have fun with. My new telephone plays Fur Elise, and apparently that isn't obnoxious enough a song for me to even notice that it is playing. Bugger! As a result, no dance party on Friday, no drinks last night and no brunch today. Instead I spent Saturday pm at work. So the message, find a phone with a more annoying ringer.

Today though I am going shopping for a new fall wardrobe and nothing delights me more. Except maybe fresh steamed mussels, which I bought from the fish store yesterday and intend on having for dinner tonight. Oh glory!

As for the gallerina business, it is going well. Crazy busy but as well as can be expected GIVEN MY BOSS QUIT ON WEDNESDAY AND HIS LAST DAY WAS FRIDAY. (Holy Mother of Gawd! Sacre Bleu! &^%^%$^#+!). But more on that later. The mall is calling my name in the sweetest voice....

one of those...

2006-09-04T19:23:00.000-06:00

Yes. Despite being on the tail end of a lovely last-weekend of summer I am feeling desperate today. I've had a strange weekend, fluctuating between being overjoyed by time alone reading in my slowly browning yard, or walking the dogs - to feeling completely in despair over a variety of things, all valid, none of which I feel I can really nail down. I keep telling myself that my over-emotional state is due to PMS, and I am sure that is partly true, but only partly. I have a lot of things to be glad about:

1. a job that I love
2. lovely weather of my favorite variety - warm during the day and wonderfully cool at night
3. pets that I adore
4. a kind and loving man in my life
5. a house that feels like home to me
6. a sense that I am where I should be, rather than a niggling feeling that I am missing something going on just around the corner
7. books I have loved reading, like this one

Really there are a lot of things to be happy about. But there are also these buggers:

1. my grandfather (really more like my father as he raised me, my own father having abandoned me and my mother before I was born) has a lesion on his lung and at this point we aren't sure what it is. It doesn't look promising though as he was in construction most of his life and during that time, they loved to use asbestos, which they have discovered causes lung cancer.
2. so much overtime that I occasionally feel like my head is about to crack open like a coconut and an awful sense of urgency in the pit of my stomach like I am forgetting something/screwing something up/going to be found out/in terrible trouble/sinking in quick sand.
3. I let my oldest friend move away from town without saying goodbye to her. I had a reason, I was busy and she was being a bit of an ass. But in the end, none of that should have mattered and I should have made even ten minutes to say goodbye, even if wasn't willing to do the same for me. If anything ever happened to her, I would never be able to reconcile not taking the time out and be the bigger person and wish her well.
4. I haven't emailed my father back (biological who just came back into my life this past spring) in about a month. I want to but there is something keeping me from actually doing it. It is weighing on me but I am frozen into some stupor, unable to act and unwilling to really analyze my feelings about it.
5. I just feel overwhelmed and a little bit lost - a bit like a woman made out of tightly strung elastic bands. I really, really don't want to snap.

All this sounds very dramatic but writing about it makes it somehow better, or at least more manageable. I am just such a nostalgic fool. I love fall, it's my favorite season and I look forward to it every year but it makes me so sad. Anther summer is slipping away and there will never be another one exactly like this and although in many ways that is a good thing, the control freak part of me (which, let's face it, is a big part of me) hates that there is nothing I can do to slow things down. I think this feeling is amplified by my grandfather's potential illness and the idea that these loves cannot ever be permanent, no matter how nurtured they are. Like everything else, they pass and I am still trying to hold on to every moment and the harder I grasp, the quicker things seem to turn to smoke and slip through my fingers.

XOXOX

Stupid Afternoon Fun

2006-08-28T15:15:00.000-06:00

This list was forwarded to me via email (sorry, no idea who originated it so no credit). I've highlighted the ones that really resonate with me in pink. Hot 80's pink.

You know you grew up in the '80's if ...

1. You've ever ended a sentence with the word "SIKE"
2. You watched the Pound Puppies.
3. You can sing the rap to the "Fresh Prince of Belair" . . . and can do the "Carlton".
4. Girls wore biker shorts under their skirts and felt stylishly sexy.
5. You yearned to be a member of the Baby-sitters club and tried to start a club of your own.
6. You owned those Strawberry Shortcake scented dolls.
7. You know that "WOAH " comes from Joey on Blossom.
8. Two words: Hammer Pants. (Note: I actually owned Hammer Pants. And they were hideous!)
9. If you ever watched "Fraggle Rock"
10. You had plastic streamers on your handle bars... and"spokey-dokes" or playing cards on your spokes for that incredible sound effect.
11. You can sing the entire theme song to "DuckTales " (Woo ooh!).
12. It was actually worth getting up early on a Saturday to watch cartoons.
13. You wore a ponytail on the side of your head.
14. You saw the original "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" on the bigscreen...and still know the turtles' names.
15. You know about those clips that would hold your shirt in a knot on the side.
16. You played the game "MASH"
17. You wore stonewashed Jordache jean jackets and were proud of it.
18. L.A. Gear....need I say more?
19. You know the profound meaning of "WAX ON, WAX OFF"
20. You wanted to be a Goonie. (I am still convinced I was a Goonie and I still put the Cindy Lauper Goonies song on almost every mixed CD I make)
21. You ever wore fluorescent clothing.
22. You can remember what Michael Jackson looked like before his nose fell off and his cheeks shifted.
23. You have ever pondered why Smurfette was the only female smurf.
24. You remember the CRAZE, then the BANNING of slap bracelets.
25. You still get the urge to say "NOT " after every sentence.
26. You remember Tie-Dyed t-shirts.
27. You thought She-ra (Princess of Power!) and He-Man should hook up. (But didn't they hook up??)
28. You thought your childhood friends would never leave because you exchanged handmade friendship bracelets.
29. You even owned a pair of Jelly-Shoes. (and like probably inneon colors, too)30. After you saw Pee-Wee's Big Adventure you kept saying "I know you are, but what am I?"
31. You remember "I've fallen and I can't get up"
32. You remember going to the skating rink before there were in-line skates.
33. You ever got injured on a Slip and Slide.
34. You have ever played with a Skip-It.
35. You had (and attended) a birthday party at McDonalds!
36. You've gone through this nodding your head in agreement.
37. "Don't worry, be happy"
38. You wore socks scrunched down
39. You remember boom boxes .
40. "Say Anything" . . . need I say more (John Cusack is still a dream!)
41. You remember watching both "Gremlins" movies.
42. You know what it meant to say "Care Bear Stare!"
43. You remember watching "Rainbow Bright" and "My Little Pony Tales"
44. You thought Doogie Howser was hot.
45. You remember Alf, the li'l furry brown alien from Melmac.
46. You knew all the characters names and their life stories on "Saved By The Bell," The ORIGINAL class.
47. You know all the words to Bon Jovi - SHOT THROUGH THE HEART.
48. You just sang those words to yourself.
49. Daisey Duke shorts
50. You still sing "We are the World"
51. You tight rolled your jeans.
52. You owned a banana clip.
53. You remember "Where's the Beef?"
54. You used to say "What you talkin' about Willis?"
55. You had big hair and you knew how to use it.
56. You're still singing "shot through the heart" in your head, aren't you?
57. You know what gimp is.

Those were the day, no?

2006-08-25T21:41:00.000-06:00

My allergies have been unbearable all day. Anytime the barometric pressure shifts and the temperature either drops or raises drastically, I am a mess. Today my little office was filled with snotty kleenexes and my keyboard and phone were sticky from the constant eye/nose oozing. Not a pretty sight. So tonight I promptly filled my prescription for Flon@se, a miracle cure for those of us plagued with ugly sinuses. While waiting in line at the S@feway pharmacy this strange woman approached me and said, "Your hair is beautiful. It looks like movie hair. In a good way." It was nice to hear, even if she was crazy. It reminded me of the time Friday convinced me to buy a bubble gum pink coat against my better judgment (though I came to love it) by saying, "You have to buy this! You will look like a character out of a film, walking around in your pink coat." I like the idea that something like a coat color or hair can create ambiance, that in some way I am designing the color of my life in the way Sofia Coppola might decide to create a nostalgic mood in a film by choosing to put the Jesus Mary Chain on the soundtrack.

Finding What You Love

2006-08-24T13:16:00.000-06:00

The last few days have been eaten up with me editing and placing the content for the next gallery newsletter in its professionally designed but malleable template. The newsletter has been around for at least ten years and throughout those years has veered between being just a newsletter to being much more like a magazine or publication a person might actually want to pick up and read. Being the over-achiever that I am, I am taking it in a whole new direction from the current events listing on tabloid size paper that is has turned into with a slick new design that actually looks like a professional magazine, and a whole roster of what I hope are engaging feature stories, some written by me, some by others.

I love it! It's been driving me crazy and the source of many, many hours of overtime but I can't remember ever feeling so fulfilled doing anything work related in my life. I love the gratification of managing this little project and ending up, four times a year, with a real, tangible, publication that I have created from virtual scratch. I love the power of editing copy with a red marker. I love the creativity of trying to rearrange things so that I can fit text and the image that I desperately want people to see. I LOVE IT ALL SO MUCH THAT I AM DIZZY.

When I was eighteen years old I sent an email to an indie literary journal on the west coast and inquired whether they might be interested in me spending my summer with them as an editorial intern. As it turned out, they were interested, but I couldn't go because they couldn't pay me and not only did I need money for school in the fall but apart from living in an empty refrigerator box on the streets of Vancouver, I couldn't afford to go. As school and jobs progressed, I kind of forgot about working for a magazine until now, as it comes crashing back upon me like a tidal wave, or nausea. This is what I should be doing. Maybe not this exact publication for all time, but I need to keep going with this, whether I be an editor for a magazine, a journal or a publishing house. Editing, designing and the wonderful feeling of holding a lovely thing you've built in your hands. Of having people read it.

What more could a person want in life?

one picture, everyday for three years

2006-08-18T16:32:00.000-06:00

I can't really explain why but this has mesmerized me today. I've watched it nearly a dozen time. Maybe it's just the way I'm feeling today. It makes me feel nostalgic.

red hair and not quite back again...

2006-08-17T21:39:00.000-06:00

Today on a whim I made an appointment to see a hairdresser. I am a hairdresser whore and cannot return to the same one more then once -- I have no loyalty. Usually it's because I have gotten bored and cut my own hair (often to questionable results) and other times it's because I've done the unthinkable, dyed my hair with stuff from a box. Hairdressers chide me and chide me for dying my own hair and I just can't help but think that most of their reasoning is financially driven and does not really have anything to do with box hairdye being any worse than the stuff they use in a salon.

So, for the past three weeks I've been waffling about getting my haircut. Part of me really wanted to chop it off but it grows really slowly and it is such an ordeal growing it back. Last night I was watching the wonderful show Number 1 Single featuring a love sick Lisa Loeb trying to find romance in NY city. I don't love her music but I like the show as far as reality tv goes (and if I am being honest, I do like RT). Anyhood, on her show last night there was this knitting lady with the most terrifically cute hair and I immediately looked her up on the internet and thought "This is exactly what I want my hair to look like!" To see how unlike me she looks go here.

So this morning I called up my local salon and go in for the cut. What does the hairdresser do? He looked me up and down, shakes his head and mournfully proclaims that my color looks washed out and won't I just let him brighten it up a little bit and give me a few highlights. Being completely and uncontrollably impulsive I agreed, thinking (wrongly) that I understood what he meant by "brighten your color up." So three hours later, I am rushing out of the salon (late for an appointment) with bright, pumpkin orange hair. I shit you not. I went from a nice light summery brown with steaks to freakin' pumpkin.

My mother likes it (my mother has also spent time in a psych ward) as does R (who I suspect has illusions that because my hair is orange I have somehow morphed into the cool hipster punk girl that he has secretly longed from ever since discovering Kim from the Pixies). I can pull off orange hair, probably better then a lot of people, but I think the real question here is why would anyone want to?

So this evening I went down to my local drugstore and bought a nice practical brown to try and tone down the orange. It didn't work and it seems that the orange on my head is made of some kind of powerful agent because even a dark brown didn't budge it. Yes I work in an art gallery and can probably get away with sillier fashions then someone who works in a law firm. However, I am also the youngest full timer at the gallery and am constantly battling to be seen as professional enough and adult enough to be there. Maybe that's a silly way to look at it, but that is how I feel. I can't imagine that walking in there tomorrow with a head that could light a stadium is going to do much to raise me to that level in the eyes of my colleagues. Maybe I'll wear some kind of headscarf, or better yet a burkha. Why do I do these things?

there and back again...

2006-08-16T16:31:00.000-06:00

This is a picture of me at the age of two or so. The image is an awful quality - an old polariod with cracked and discolored emulsion. I look a combination of terrified and isolated in this picture and it is the best illustration I've found to show what those two emotions feel like when rolled all into one. The look on my face, my body language all say "I give up! I surrender!!"

I am not going to say that changing jobs from working at an art funding agency to working at a gallery was the right or wrong decision as I think that remains to be seen. But what I can say, what I already know for sure is that as I emerge from this summer I feel like I've come through a fire and am just now emerging into something brighter, a place where I can breath. I think that I really underestimated how hard it would be to leave a place I enjoyed working, a place I really grew up in and spent five years of my life. I told myself that it is only a job but that is really the biggest lie. Jobs, if you love them, become such a staggering part of identity. Although it wasn't everything, I really began to understand myself, in part, through what I did. And all that changed when I joined the gallery and for the first time in a long while I felt like the kid who has no one to eat lunch with, who sits in the bathroom stall for an hour just to feel the security of being alone. And it's not even because this is a terrible place to work because in a lot of ways it is great, but it is different and I was an outsider looking in and that made me very, very uncomfortable.

So here I am, nearly three months in, and I am finally beginning to relax and feel like maybe I belong here. I still have my moments, like during my presentation on branding today, when I wonder what I am doing here. Then I get back to my desk and the real work of my job and I start to feel like I own a bit of this and it feels wonderful.

So, the picture is really me three months ago. And now, here I am. I've come through it and I feel so much stronger because of it. And I am really proud.

deeply and hopelessly buggered

2006-08-14T16:28:00.000-06:00

It is already August 14th and I have only just realized how totally screwed I am. Not only do I have a gigantic presentation that the new branding campaign is hinging on this week, but next week I need to present everyone with my plan for all publicity and marketing for the fall and winter season. That's ten months worth of planning that, for the most part, I have yet to really start. On top of that I'm expected to make a plan to promote the gallery shop, which I am told, needs to early at least $200,000 for my campaign (whatever it is) to be considered a success.

I am good with the planning, strategies, evaluations, etc., but coming up with punchy advertising slogans for shop goodies is not my forte. The closest thing to an advertisement theme I've come up with is pirates, and that's only because I saw Pirates of the Carribean a few weeks ago. I am thinking something along the lines of 'Ello Poppet under a picture of a pretty thing, a vase or necklace... Or something. Why pirates you ask? Well, because (a) it's the only thing that comes of mind (b) it's a pop culture thing right now and might get us some attention and (c) pirates like treasure, right? And we kind of sell treasure.... So, um, I haven't really thought this one through. And that's all I have and yet I am expected to present two or three really solid campaign ideas within the next week. Bugger! I can just see me going ahead with this whole pirate thing and everyone going "Why does it say 'ello? What's a poppet? What are you getting at here missy?"

Brilliant ideas are welcome. Even happy thoughts. Anything really, just send me something nice.

XOXOXOX

Hopelessly fucked,

PG

fortune

2006-08-11T13:04:00.000-06:00

"Measure your life by counting the precious moments."

I think this is just about the loveliest fortune I've ever gotten from a stale cookie. It puts things in perspective. Things occasionally suck, but I firmly believe that the beauty of everything in my life far outshines any of that. Precious moments are everywhere just waiting to be savored. Even here at work, which I am sometimes negative about. I think it is really easy to get caught up in the idea that work is something one has to do to pay the bills and as a result the psychological switch that allows us to really enjoy what we are doing is turned off. Instead of thinking of work as something I have to do, this week I've been trying to think about how lucky I am to work in an art gallery and how creative and exciting my work can be if I allow it.

whoa nelly! it's hot as heck in these here parts

2006-08-08T22:54:00.000-06:00

So hot in fact that my flesh is burning, and I don't have a sun burn. In past years I have been admittedly bad about sun exposure, preferring to lay out under an orange sun, browning my skin but despite record highs this year, I have mostly stayed covered, opting to pull my little lawn chair into the shade. Yet, my flesh feels like it is blistering and it is almost 11 p.m. Ungodly is how a religious person might describe it. So hot that the dogs are sick: one is pooping and one is puking and I am convinced that the heat is playing a part. So hot that I am going to have an icy bath before going to bed and even at that and under a full force ceiling fan, the coolness will evaporate from my flesh within moments and will turn into the warm slick of sticky sweat.

I've had a long weekend and despite having little desire to return to the gallery, I am dying for the lovely temperature control of the space. Not only is heat and cold controlled but humidity is kept at a steady level to protect the art. My line of work does have it's benefits.

Long weekend has been spent whittling away the time doing little of consequence. Reading, walking the muts, vacuuming, sleeping, watching movies.... I saw Miami Vice and despite his awful chawch mustache I have to admit that I fell madly in love with Colin Farrel in the space of an hour and 45 minutes, having thought quite little of him in the past. When him and that Asian gangsta bitch go at it in the back of the car the hairs on my arms stood up.

The past week has been our annual fair here and as is tradition, people adopt this honky western style. Work places that generally have uniforms or are formal allow their workers to "dress western" for the week. Crazy middle aged people drive around in this silly wagon honking their horn and calling themselves the "rowdy bunch." I am such a cynic. I suppose I am just bitter because I didn't end up paying the insane admittance to the fair and then the $30 for all day riding privildges on rides that were set up in four hours by fucked up carneys. And I am definitely disappointed about missing corn dogs, and other varieties of meats on sticks.

Either that or I am suffering from heat stroke. Air conditioned office, here I come!

kids on the tracks

2006-08-02T16:47:00.000-06:00

On a Lighter Note

2006-08-02T11:49:00.000-06:00

temper, temper

2006-08-02T10:04:00.000-06:00

Some days this is how I feel. Or, rather, what I feel like doing. Not often, but I occasionally have these moments where I want nothing more than to unleash my inner two years old on the world and scream and throw myself on the ground kicking my legs, my hands knotted up in little fists. Occasionally I think that some forms of human disease are caused by repressing these kinds of primal emotions. It is not socially acceptable to be be mad, or too sad or really too much of anything so instead we pick a medium emotional tone and try not to deviate from it too much and sometimes it makes us sick. All of the rage that most of us feel (if we are honest with ourselves) has to go somewhere.

Rumi said "What I want most is to spring out of this personality, then to sit apart from that leaping. I've lived too long where I can be reached." Sometimes I feel this so strongly that it makes me want to join a monastery where everyone takes a vow of silence. Despite my complete and utter lack of religious convictions (generally a barrier to joining a religious order) and the knowledge that I would never actually want to live the rest of my life in such a regimented way, I deeply understand the desire to be contemplative, to remove oneself from the world and just be alone, quiet and still. As I get older (ripe old age of 28) more and more I find myself seeking time away to read and think and create. If I were devoted to a religion or philosophy the way I am devoted to spending quiet moments alone I would make an excellent nun (it I cut out the swearing and drinking).

I am not entirely sure that this gluttony for time apart is healthy and as I look around at my friends and acquaintances who are constantly out and about, I feel conflicted. On one hand I occasionally feel left out of things but then I have to acknowledge that for the most part, I really have no interest in going out more than a few times a month. And as a gallerina, my work life is completely overwhelmed with people, events and constant intense interaction that by the end of the day I want little more than the company I can find within the walls of my house. Exciting, no? While this tendency for aloness bothers me in some ways, in other ways I feel lucky. I am never bored with myself and I don't need the constant distraction of people to make me feel fulfilled. I think that this is a good thing and is balanced by the reality that when I do go out, I am really comfortable around people and not awkward (at least I don't think I am).

Anyway, my goal for this week is to be more in tuned with my emotions. And, by gads, if I feel like screaming and having a tantrum I may just indulge. Though probably not until I get home because a gal needs to earn a living and somehow I don't think I'm rock star enough to get away with throwing myself on the floor at work.

The photographer responsible for the above image and a series of other work like it is Jill Greenberg. Some of her work can be viewed online at the Paul Kopeikin Gallery . Always give credit where credit is due.

knotty knickers and other sundry items

2006-08-01T09:18:00.000-06:00

Last weekend I went bra shopping after watching an Oprah episode about how the majority of women wear the wrong size bra. My bra, and I only owned the one, was a little too big (maybe I've lost some weight), looked funny under tighter shirts and was falling apart -- the perfect excuse to invest in something pretty. I ended up leaving with a turquoise wonderbra that looks amazing and, despite the underwire and major cleavage enhancements, it is so comfortable. True to form I could not leave the store with only what I needed and instead I decided to try on one of those pairs of super knickers. The gigantic ones that Bridget Jones always refers to and that are supposed to miraculously flatten anything worth flattening from above the knee to just above the rib cage. Initially I tried on a large and it fit a little big. I was under the impression that these things are supposed to squeeze the life out of you so without thinking it through, I grabbed a medium and checked out. The other morning I decided to wear the knickers under a dress to work and realized that although I could stuff myself into the medium, it was like getting a watermelon through a hole cut for a lemon. Once I was in them they stayed in place long enough for me to arrive at work and then began to curl up around the waist and legs so that in the end I was left with this hideously uncomfortable sausage rolly things at the tops of my legs and around my hips. Not only were they awful to wear, but instead of making me look streamlined (the plan really) I looked like I had little sausages tucked beneath my dress. Not lovely.

Gallery wise things are going well, mostly because there is very little going on for me to mess up. I nearly screwed up all of our fall advertisements with the wrong postal code, but luckily that was caught in the nick of time and with no financial penalties for the change. I really need to pull it together and get rid of the knickers.

Love.

whose brand is it anyways?

2006-07-25T16:14:00.000-06:00

Branding is the most awesome pain in the ass. It's actually not the branding part so much as getting a group of twenty plus strong minded people to agree on a brand that is virtually impossible. How can I get everyone on board with a color pallette when I can't even get them to agree on what to have for lunch? Personally, I would go with hot pink and call it a day but unfortunately no one else sees the beauty of that proposition.

Part of the problem with this whole exercise is that our designer is really putting out some very basic work. Work that I could have created with my limited indesign knowledge. There is nothing arty, or edgy, or designy about his work; it is functional and that is about where it ends for positive feedback. We are branding an art gallery here, not an accounting firm. I guess I felt it all along, but it didn't really crystalize for me until today -- now that it is basically too late to make many changes.

The biggest disappointment is in the knowledge that this firm has had more than three months with our material and all they could come up with was inadequate. Le sigh.

On a less negative note, yesterday I hired a summer exchange student to help me with all of the grunt work I neither have the time nor the gumption to do. She is actually very highly qualified with a Masters in Finance. Hopefully she isn't too bored organizing back issues of newsletters in the hallway cubby. She is here to learn English so hopefully, I can at least help her a bit with that. I do love the idea of having an assistant who will actually assist me, even if she can't understand me and for only three weeks.

too much too much

2006-07-24T14:16:00.000-06:00

I had a great, exhausting weekend the likes I haven't had in forever. I went out on Friday and Saturday night and then Sunday I went out of town to a beach about an hour away with dogs in tow. It was h-o-t but wonderful to just lay on a blanket and soak everything in. Then last night I went to the late show of Pirates of the Caribbean, good movie but it ran until almost 1 a.m., which meant about four hours of sleep for me.

This morning I was dead to the world but after a rousing session of yoga over my lunch hour (we offer it here in the gallery free for employees) and a spinach wrap I am feeling a little more in it.

My opening on Friday was even a bigger success that I previously noted with almost 220 people. And we were expecting 30 to 50. The down side was that the food supply didn't hold out and our servers were attacked on site, the sushi and fruit gone before it hit the table. Everyone seemed happy though, sipping their red wine and talking shit until almost 10:30 p.m., which is a very late night for a gallery opening. A more conservative coworker of mine commented rather distastefully that she was mad because when she left the room someone turned up the volume on the music and it seemed like a real party environment.

"It is an art gallery, not a disco!"

I just kept quiet, but I was secretly thrilled. Why can't an art gallery opening have a fun, party environment? Don't we really want people to feel comfortable and as though the place belongs to them? We are always talking about attracting a younger crowd (20-35) and we did and damn it, they like their music loud. Crank it up is what I say.

(The above photo is of the lovely raspberries from my backyard)

rare form

2006-07-21T15:55:00.000-06:00

So, remember the rock star artist and the local paper that was desperate to interview him? Well, as I suspected they failed in their efforts. They did still do an article, but began it with extremely snide remarks directed at your truely.

"The Art Gallery wants you to know that their new exhibition has nothing to do with a strike at a local retailer, despite the similarity in their name. Their press package (rather defensively) made this clear..."

Then it went on to be a great article. I know it might sound paranoid, but believe me when I say that this was a direct hit at me curtesy the awful, sanctimonious bastard known as their editor in chief. We have been at odds since I wrote a shopping column for them years ago and had editorial differences, including that he wanted to name my column (and I was their only female writer) after a fairly graphic sex act. Since then it seems like every time we cross paths things get ugly. He is like an evil ex-boyfriend whose feelings are still so hurt from being dumped that he is determined to do everything in his power to make my life uncomfortable.

I am likely going to have to answer to this with the higher ups next week and am not looking forward to explaining the whole pitiful high school reminicent story.

Update: The Gallery opening on Friday was a gigantic success. We were hoping, praying for at least 50 people and about 150 showed up. Hopefully this is enough to make everyone over look the nasty comment in local indie.

rare night on the town

2006-07-19T16:39:00.000-06:00

Last weekend I had a rare night out going to a local rock show with some friends. The show itself was pretty bad -- it was all ages, which meant that the average age was somewhere around 16 years old and it stunk of the b.o. that only teenage boys are capable of producing. The good parts of the evening were cold beer, seeing people I hadn't spent time with in awhile and standing outside, watching the kiddies pout all along the train tracks that are outside this particular venue.

I am feeling better today. Last night I had a good sleep, I watched Dave Chappelle's Block Party, which made me smile, and I ate something healthy for supper. I no longer feel like hiding under my desk - a good thing. The rock star show artists have arrived in town today and so there has been much talk of drinks and dinner out and talk of contemporary art, which is neither a good or bad topic depending on who you are talking to.

off my game

2006-07-18T14:28:00.000-06:00

I am so off my game today it isn't even funny. Not even a little funny. From forgetting my glasses and security swipe card at home this morning, to bumbling my way incoherently through a three hour meeting, I am just a mess. I feel all out of sorts and I cannot focus on anything. It could have something to do with having bad sleeps the last two nights or maybe I am finally loosing my mind. I just feel all out of sorts and when I feel like this, I start to believe that I can't do anything, that I am a horrible failure and it utterly paralyses me. I don't even want to answer the phone because if someone asks me to do something I might just start to cry.

The underside of my desk is looking mighty appealing right about now. I wondering if I turned off the light, shut my door, and crawled under, if anyone would notice?

I think I am going to have my bath in the dark tonight- one of the only things that can clear my mind of all the fuzz when I am feeling like this. My autistic sister is sensory deprived and I am sensory overload. I feel like sparks are shooting from my head.

i am a productive soul

2006-07-17T13:27:00.000-06:00

This past weekend I accomplished more then I have since moving into my house a month and a half ago. The eves were de-mucked, hedges were trimmed, weeds were pulled and floors were even vacuumed. I am a domestic goddess! On top of all that nesting I even managed to attend a rock show and a fairly substandard movie. This burst of productivity could have something to do with the fact that I took Friday off of work, giving me a whole extra day to get things done, not that extra time usually matters.

Today I am back at work and almost as though I am making up for all I did this weekend, I have had a morning where almost nothing has been accomplished. I've dealt with emails and that's about it. Given that my position is about ten month behind, this does not bode well for the rest of the week when I will have to work my ass off to catch up. On a positive note, my sassy little admin assistant is back. Hopefully I can get her to assist me- though that is not altogether likely either given the unsure nature of our relationship (she tries to avoid doing my admin work). Ah well, Rome wasn't built in a day but hopefully it doesn't take too many weeks or months.

The DNA of Literature

2006-07-13T20:12:00.000-06:00

Read it.

I'm Thinking About Cutting Off My Hair

2006-07-13T16:28:00.000-06:00

I always do this. It just gets long enough to put up and I am looking longingly at pictures of Audrey Tautoo and Natalie Portman and imagining the freedom of chopping it all off. But I should know by now that two weeks after the massacre, I will start the long, arduous process of growing it all back.

Why is it that we always want what we can't have?

Human Desire and Suffering

2006-07-13T13:23:00.000-06:00

The following questionnaire was created by French novelist Marcel Proust. Apparently my answers reveal something about my human desire and suffering, though unfortunately I don't have the key so I can't tell you more then that.

1. What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Sinus infection is pretty bleak. Having to pay the city $1000 on a dime is also rather miserable.

2. Where would you like to live?
A top the Eiffel tower, in a cabin by the water or in the villa Liv Tyler's character visits in the movie Stealing Beauty.

3. What is your idea of earthly happiness?
Waterproof books for reading in the bathtub, daily massages, a weekly visit from a maid and a world without mosquitoes.

4. What is your favorite extravagance?
I like to eat and shop. Sometimes I shop and then eat. I am not particular about either. I can eat almost anything and buy anything with quite a bit of enjoyment.

5. Who are your favorite heros of fiction?
Emily of New Moon, Carrie Bradshaw and Amelie Poulin.

6. Who are your favorite characters in history?
Calamity Jane, Marilyn Monroe, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, Emily Dickinson, Ghandi and Mary Queen of Scotts.

7. What is the quality you most admire in a man?
A sense of humor.

8. What is the quality you most admire in a woman?
Warmth.

9. Your favorite virtue?
Tolerance.

10. Your favorite occupation?
Eating, shopping, reading, bathing, singing, dancing and writing.

Bye Bye Money, Money Goodbye

2006-07-13T11:32:00.000-06:00

Just yesterday I received a delightful letter from the City stating that I owe them nearly $1000 within the next two weeks or I will face major penalties. I could accept such a hard handed letter if I had actually been negligent in paying taxes, bills and what have you (which I occasionally am and when it happens I expect nasty collection letters) but to my knowledge I have been completely responsible. So I call ten people, who transfer me to twenty other people and it turns out that even though I am currently paying almost $120 a month into my property taxes lumped in with my mortgage payment, apparently until the end of 2006 I also need to pay a second payment of almsot $120 to the City. Double the property taxes between now and December, yippee! The reason- well it seems that the bank that my mortgage is through will not begin paying the taxes without first having all the money from me up front, despite the fact that they practically own me with this mortgage. So what they do is collect my money for the next eight months to be sure that they will get paid back once they have paid the city. This is stupid since the very nature of my relationship with this bank is one of me owning them money. If I am allowed to owe them $120,000 then surely they can't be so concerned about $1200 per year, that is being withdrawn automatically every month from my bank account.

I can't believe that no one thought to mention this information to me prior to the nasty letter I received yesterday. When I call the bank, the CSR told me that someone had screwed up and I should have been informed about this. So I called my lawyer, who blamed by mortgage broker and she hasn't called me back (probably because she's smart).

Luckily I do have some savings right now and can afford to make the payment but I hadn't planned on spending a chunk of my savings to pay my property taxes twice.

When things like this happen I get really angry and want to cuss someone out- preferably the person who messed things up in the first place. I am really hoping that person is the broker and that she calls me so that I can get this off my chest. Goodbye $1000.

Artist Detecting Part 2

2006-07-12T16:26:00.000-06:00

I still haven't tracked him down, although I did speak to Miss. New York Gallerina and she was almost no help at all.

Me: Hello, this is Bernice calling from Podunk Canada.
She: Where? Who?

Silence

She: Oh.
Me: I left ten voice mails, sixteen emails and ten faxes to you this morning about getting a hold of Mr. Artist.
She: What did you say your name is again?

After ten minutes of explaining who I am and what I want AGAIN:

She: Oh, well, there's really nothing I can do for you. I mean. You know artists. They don't just drop their life to do media. Especially when it's not, like, the big media or anything.
Me: Oh no you di-int!
She: Oh yes I did bitch.

Ok, those last two things weren't said. Instead I pretty much thanked her for doing absolutely nothing for me and now, eight hours after I began, I sit here no closer to this artist then before. My new strategy- give Miss. New York Gallerina's number to the editor of the local paper and see if she tells him to his face that his paper is not important enough to merit an interview. Then at least he will feel slighted and I don't like him very much so it wouldn't be the worst thing to happen. Of course, it would definitely guarantee that my little exhibition will receive no publicity in the indie- apart from the expensive ad space I purchased last week.

Bernice Sequin - Artist Detective

2006-07-12T10:06:00.000-06:00

I have spent the better part of my morning doing two things: fighting with my boyfriend and trying to trackdown Mr. Rockstar artist extraordinary who is apparently too important to return phone calls.

We can skip over the whole boyfriend fighting story because the only thing you really need to know is that I am right and he is wrong and a complete asshole to boot. Got it? Good.

I have an exhibition opening next week and have sent out a plethora of media packages to try and entice the locals to cover the show. I have some nasty history with one of the inde-locals and I am convinced that to make my life difficult they have chosen to interview the one artist who is not coming to town for the opening and who is notoriously difficult to get a hold of. When I say difficult to get a hold of what I really mean is that he is like a fucking ghost, he doesn't exist in this dimension but in the dimension of rock gawds and New York art parties. (Note to reader: I do not live in the world of rock gawd and hipster art parties but in the world of mosquitoes and bad cover bands). A few hours ago I thought my tracking strategy was successful- I had called every person listed on Canada 411 who lives in Manitoba and has this particular artists last name. Seventeen calls later, I reached his parents. Bingo! No, not bingo because his parents would not give me his personal contact information but only the info of the New York gallery that represents him who also apparently live in the dimension of hipsters and rock stars because they aren't calling me back either. Currently I am stalking their communications person. Phone calls. Emails. Faxes. Call me back motherfucker and I'll leave you alone. Call. Me. Back. So far no one has called me back.

And all this for a local paper that I hate and for an editor I despise. I am a total media whore. I give good interview.

How dee do

2006-07-11T13:14:00.000-06:00

Working in the arts is hard and hilarious and requires a certain degree of sillyness at all times. Between dealing with difficult artists, curators and the media, my world fluctuates between being an utter circus to a comedy of errors. Of course, if I wanted it any other way I would have become an accountant.

As per the profile, I am 28 years old and I work in the arts, specifically in a wonderful, magical art gallery. I am officially an officer of communications, without the badge or the authority it seems. I do have a name tag though and it is silver, which is close enough, I guess.

On a daily basis I work with creative people (of which I would like to think I am one) from all over North America (depending on what exhibition I am planning to promote), less creative types (the ones who generally keep things running) and the media (who I alternate between loving and despising depending on the circumstance). Recently, my job became easier (and prettier) with the installation of Adobe Creative Suite on my computer and I am in love with the potential ads and graphics I will be able to create. The installation itself was extremely painful and took no less than four days with no help from the foul people at Adobe who are misleadingly call themselves "customer service representatives." We in the arts do not have technical people to assist us with the installation of programs. The trick is, to click "run" and pray to everything mighty that it works. It often doesn't.

When I am not fighting with my computer, fighting with artists, fighting with administrators or fighting with media, I am meeting with people- mostly people who want to sell me things like advertising space or "partnerships" (please note that a partnership is a fancy word for someone who wants me to give them money to generally do very little for me in return). I also have many, many meetings. There is a meeting for every occasion and every decision. Sometimes they feed us at meetings (those are good meetings), but mostly we sit around listening to our growing stomachs. But a full calendar does make me feel important. You want to meet with me? There's a two week wait. Zap!

The title of this blog, Prima Gallerina, was ripped off from an article I read months and months ago (before I was actually a Gallerina and only a lowly arts worker) in the National Post about the nature of the new creature dubbed Gallerina. We are a fancy breed. We jump and dance, twirl and make pretty pictures with our toes. Our wardrobe consists of bits of film installation, gobs of paint and crystals. And we always, always smile.