Saturday, November 21, 2009
Whilst working in an art gallery, all kinds of people walk in and out.
However, I've come to notice that people who visit art galleries tend to fit in one or more of the following categories:
* The "I am VERY interested in art" look:
Frown, arms crossed, chin resting on one arm, finger/sunglasses in mouth or against lip (sometimes ticking against it), loads of pointing, nodding and mumbling
* The "I can't afford any of this but I wish I could" look:
Shy & appologetic entry, blending in with background, looking at objects in awe, quick dissappointed pricetag glances, nervous looks towards gallery personnel
* The "I'm a connaisseur and collector" look:
Quick entry, quick walk-by, selecting pieces in a matter-of-factly manner like you're choosing sweets; very blase and whateverish, bark at gallery personnel, look on face like you're smelling poo
* The "I'm a connaisseur but have no money" look:
Quick entry and exit, inbetwixt loads of showing off what you know about the artist to gallery personnel
* The "I don't give a damn about art but I need a place to hang/perv on gallery personnel" look:
Slow tigerish entry, ignoring artwork, looking at boobs, grinning and chuckling
* The "Oh my GOD, I can't believe you have [insert artist name] in your gallery!!" look:
Quick entry, loads of exclamations of joy, pointing, telling your companions how wonderful it is that you can see x's work in the flesh, doing the same towards gallery personnel
* The "I'm an art student, but believe me I'd rather be home playing on my XBox" look:
Slow entry, oftentimes in packs, with art history teacher, wandering around thinking about how you think your lover is cheating on you and that you want to eat pre-fab pizza for dinner tonite, whilst pretending you're interested. Asking if the postcards are free, taking a few to show you were there. Getting the hell outta there as soon as you can
* The "It's raining outside, do you mind?" look: Quick dripping entry, loads of umbrella shaking and clothes flapping, mixed-feelings walk-thru, loads of glances out of the window
* The "I'm an artist too, maybe you want to showcase some of my work?" look:
Nervous entry, quick look-see, slowly move towards gallery personnel, ask gallery personnel how they tend to find the artists they showcase, try to do this matter-of-factly but slowly dying inside. Pull out book with images of own artworks, try to do this matter-of-factly but dying a tad faster inside. Ask if gallery personell would be interested in exhibiting your work, try to do this matter-of-factly but completely dying inside. Walk away nervously
* The "I'm a tourist, I know nothing about anything" look:
Bewildered entry with backpack whilst looking at worn-out map, walking around lost, talking in tongues, asking directions as you leave
* The "A video! You have a video!" look:
Normal entry, walk around looking at artwork, suddenly spot the videoscreen, get overjoyed. Spend at least 45 minutes watching the video whilst changing positions. Walk away when video ends/starts over
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Massively windy day.
Am in a being blown away kinda mood.
Only thing missing is a wild ocean:
foamy waves breaking on rocks, filling the stormy air with salty droplets...
Coat heavy with salty water, wet hair swooshing in every direction, bright moon and stars above.
Sand sticking to boots, heavy with ocean spray.
Lips tasting of salty air.
Little tornado's of golden leaves swirl among the swaying x-massy lit trees.
While thickly wrapped people make their way bowing to the wind.
Trees sigh, whisper and moan.
Streets shimmer in darkness...
A multitude of dark shadows flicker & play with graffitied brick walls.
Caressing them softly as they pass.
A lone forgotten skateboard stands among the leaves.
Dreaming of a passenger it can carry on its withered back...
The wind sways the long hairs of a dog, turning it into a black hair mass, fighting nature's harsh breath.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
I'm as transparent
As foggy as a stormy
my sleeve for all
I'm an intricate
goes awol from
Like any apparatus
Nor do I claim to be
But I love
Friday, November 13, 2009
She ran her fingers through her hair and smiled shyly as he walked past.
A soft breeze followed, as he opened the diner door.
The little bell tinkled.
A ray of sunlight fell through the gap onto the tiled floor.
Straightening her apron she turned and went behind the counter.
Pretending to occupy herself filling sugar shakers.
Hopefully nobody would talk to her for at least 10 minutes.
She needed to pull herself together first.
It made no sense.
No sense at all.
But every pore of her body.
Was directed towards him.
Shaking her head she put the sugar down and walked off to the bathroom.
The cracked mirror showed her face in several smudged pieces.
"That figures" she thought as she pulled a small box of pills from her pocket.
Taking one, she felt it travel down her throat as she closed her eyes, waiting for it to take effect.
Her mind wandered off.
Vividly, the image of his eyes, burning into hers appeared before her mind's eye.
Sunlight falling on his hair, softly moving in the breeze.
His smell filled her nostrils.
The warmth of his skin tingled on her fingertips.
Soft wet lips smiled and spoke.
Then they were gone.
She opened her eyes to the cracked misty image in the mirror.
Nothing was as it should be.
Wiping a strand of hair from her face, she turned towards the door to resume her position behind the counter before her boss would come to get her.
Her hand trembled softly.
Tears welled up in her eyes.
Surprisingly a strange crunching sound came from under her sneakers.
Brushing away her tears she looked down to the floor.
The tiles seemed darker than usual.
She forced her eyes to focus through the humidity.
The dark smudges on the tiles seemed to move.
Pressing her hands on her eyes she tried to concentrate.
It wasn't the pill, she knew that much.
Her hands slid off her face slowly as she opened her eyes and looked down again.
The floor was covered in small, black beetles.
She stood for a few seconds, regaining her composure, then slowly looked up towards the door.
Moving like a sea of black waves, the beetles flowed and pulsated over every surface of the little bathroom. Making a soft rustling sound as they moved on the shiny white tiles.
Slowly but steadily she edged towards the door, doing her best to crush as few beetles as she could. The ones she crushed left a gooey black substance smeared over the white tiles.
"This is not happening, this is NOT happening!" she mumbled softly.
Sweat soaked her uniform and formed little droplets on her forehead.
At the door, she reached for the handle, with a trembling hand, turned it, and flung the door open.
His eyes burned into hers again...