And how appropriate is this today?

* * *

Well.

My car died on the freeway this morning. Engine’s a total loss and totally gone.

So that happened.

First bit to get out of the way for those of you beginning to hyperventilate: I am perfectly fine and unharmed. I was in the right lane when it happened and able to coast over to the shoulder with no trouble at all, old tactical driving skills once more coming to the fore. It’s like riding a bicycle! Made it into work only an hour late and that was with taking the time to talk to the mechanic about the complete fail that is what is left of my poor Andromeda Ascendant. So.

Yeah.

Having read a pile of reviews, looks like I’m off to buy either a new Ford Fiesta or a used Ford Fusion or Ford Taurus. I’ll probably wait till Memorial Day, for the car sales. I am torn between the Taurus and the Fusion. The Fusion’s a hybrid, but only four cylinders. The Taurus is a car I deeply appreciate, is very comfortable to drive, and has the larger engine, six cylinders, which isn’t so much that it will get me in trouble.

We all know what will happen the day I get 8 cylinders or more…

*gets slightly manic look in eye*

I’m a little bit sad, but not overly so. Andromeda was my dream car, the first Mustang I ever got to own of my very own and yes, she was a used car, but she was new to me and my favorite memory is and will be for some time of putting the peddle down on the 5 and opening the throttle all the way up to see how fast she could go.

For the record, a) very fast and b) did you know that when you throttle all the way up, the engine sounds like the roar of a lion? It really does. Best. Memory. Ever.

She did right by me. I feel bad that I’m going to sell her for parts, but I can only hope that the spirit that kept me company for these last five years will go off to give other drivers some joy.

How’s your world? *asks the carless Anji*

This is the view from the thirteenth floor of my dayjob. It’s where the cafe is.

Yeah.

They put the place we get food on the thirteenth floor. I don’t know what to tell you. Somebody has a sense of humor here in Corporate Hell?

This was a garden statue Buddha at the garden center around the corner from the Mouse’s dance school. It’s the sort of Buddha I want for my own garden some day, but can’t justify carrying off home yet, since where we live isn’t ours and the yard is the size of a postage stamp.

But at least I can have a picture.

* * *

Also, if you missed it or your click didn’t work, please don’t forget: I’m in the running for an Artists Wanted competition. Please follow the link and click “Collect Me” to help me win NYC gallery show and a $10K grant. Please spread the word!

http://angelahunt.artistswanted.org

Click "Collect Me" to help me win a gallery show in New York City and a $10,000 cash grant : Self – A Creative Competition

via Angela N. Hunt.

Please spread the word!

A couple of weeks ago, it was Administrative Professionals Appreciation Day/Week or what I still call Secretaries Day, because for fuck’s sake, men were secretaries *first* before women ever were and what’s wrong with being a fucking secretary, I ask you?

As per usual with a Corporate Culture, all the admins on my floor received flowers and my attorneys signed my card. I think their signatures probably tell you everything you need to know about them.

My dayjob gives me no joy, but these three people are not the reason for that. In all honesty, when I make my exit, I will miss the hell out of these three. Even Jayne. They remind me that some people are called to the Law because of a deep respect and adherence to a strict code of ethics and integrity. Art, for his encyclopedic and where all the bodies are buried. Jayne, for her rigor and spine and New York accent, even after having left NYC 20 years ago. Bill, for his calmness and ruthless analytical mind.

I have worked for worse. I haven’t worked for many better.

This here is the production binder for Vaudeville Goes to Hell.

Why all the highlighters, you ask?

The first step of pre-production (after writing the damn thing) is to do what’s known as a script breakdown. What is a script breakdown? It’s where you go through, line by freaking line, number each scene and highlight each element, including locations, characters, props, make up, wardrobe, picture vehicles and special FX…

Yes, it is as meticulous and mind-numbing as you think it is. It is also critical. Each “thing” costs money. You can’t figure out your budget without breaking down your script. Also, once you’ve broken down your script, you can then schedule it. Depending on how many scenes and how fast you shoot, your breakdown will not only help you know what your movie costs, it will also tell you how many days you need to get it in the can.

At which point, you drink a bottle of tequila and laugh and cry hysterically as you realize you have a fraction (if any) of the money you need and a tenth of the time.

When you sober up, you do it anyway.

Welcome to Independent Filmmaking.

Gods, I fucking love it!!!

I’m doing pretty well with keeping up with taking a photo a day, by virtue of allowing it to be a photo I take with my phone. Yet again, I am very happy that I bought the iPhone. I bought it for the camera. It does a decent job.

So have a rose, to start your week.

Well, the campaign didn’t make it.

*looks over the poor thing and pats it*

Happens. Not all art connects. Or is at the right place at the right time. I’m not sure why the show failed to fund, but my suspicion is that galleries have little appeal for folks today, in a world of short attention spans and iPads. Which is really too bad. Gallery and museum spaces fulfill an incredible spot in human culture. But like libraries, well, they’re not very shiny, now are they? They require you to slow down and stand in front of a piece of art and take it in.

That changes you. *she says, thinking of standing in front of the David in Florence, Italy*

But what this failure in particular means is that I will not be doing any more gallery shows for the foreseeable future, self-funded or otherwise. I’ll be focusing on my commercial photography. I don’t know how I’ll be releasing my fine art photography yet, but I’ll burn that bridge when I get there. What I do know now with certainty is that galleries are now a complete dead end for fine art photographers.

In the meantime, I have been getting a lot of notes of condolence and they are wonderful, but they seem to be coming from a place of, “Oh, you must be devastated!”

Except I am not.

I realized that I am clearly reacting to this all in a way that is passing strange to some of you. So I figured I would share why I’m not curled up in a ball under my desk, sobbing hysterically and eating chocolate and a gallon of Hagen-Daaz in reaction to the campaign not making it.

This isn’t my first time to the rodeo. I’ve failed plenty of times in the past. As a result, I now have a four-step process for dealing with artistic failure/loss. And I realized, DUDE. I should actually not keep it to myself. So here it is:

First: allow yourself to grieve. Yes, that means if you feel like crying a little in the bathroom because it didn’t work out, *that is fucking fine.* Then go wash your face and breathe. Because it doesn’t matter and it’s not the end of the world. Really.

Second: red wine and strawberries, aka do something nice for yourself. In my case, doing something nice last night meant eating strawberries in heavy cream and drinking a glass and a half of red wine.

Third: go to your happy place. In my case, this meant cuing up Jill Scott’s Golden on the iPod this morning, followed by multiple George Michael dance songs. Because music is the fastest way to change my mood on earth and it reminds me that life is beautiful, even in the face of disappointment.

Fourth: move on to the next thing.

THIS STEP IS CRITICAL.

In my experience, dwelling on what didn’t happen, on if onlys, is the quickest way to block the fuck up.

DO NOT DO IT.

If you are at all committed to the life of creating something, you already have another project (if not twenty *looks mildly guilty*). If a project doesn’t work out, it means that something better is waiting out there for you.

Could I be full of shit? Could your mileage vary? Fuck yeah. But my experience has always been that failure is merely a project overreaching or being wrong for that moment in time. It always leads to more: more knowledge, more experience, more strength.

Besides. At the end of the day, I made the art for my own delight. And Alice and her friends did that and more.

Look at that.

Success.

T-minus 15 hours and counting as of this writing…

I almost don’t know if I can watch. LOL But then I’ve watched Laker games in the playoffs where Kobe has led the team to a comeback from 20 points behind to win.

I believe that this project can win.

15 hours is ages.

I know we can do it. Let’s get Alice in the gallery.

This is one of what I think of as my Found Object photography.

If there is one thing that I love about photography, possibly more than anything else, it’s how it has taught me to look at the world. Because it is definitely a different way of looking and seeing the world than the way we’re born seeing the world. It’s a way of paying attention to the particulars. To deliberately looking around sometimes and saying, “What here is beautiful and what do I want to capture? What do I want to say about this thing, this exact moment, or do I want to say anything at all?”

Sometimes it’s a shape or a line. The way light is falling in a particular way. Shades of gray. Shades of black. Sometimes it feels like a pause, a moment of peace. Sometimes it feels like a leap.

Sometimes it feels like flying.

I gotta tell you. Taking that Instamatic out of the desk drawer all those years ago was one of the smartest things I’ve ever done…