Mondays With Artists / National Treasure 3: Horses, Flowers, and People

It’s back, guys!!!!

When my mother shamed me into thinking I was a talentless whore (I won't go into it), I ended up taking down my Mondays With Artists posts, but I will no longer hide my light under a bushel! I just got a letter in the mail—complete with Polaroids—that was too good to keep to myself.

To Whom It May Concern:

I have the honor of knowing [An Old Lady Name]. Her gifts deserve worldwide recognition. I think an article on her would be a great human story. Here’s a bit on her life and work. I’d bet you’ll agree she is one very interesting gal.

[Okay, we go from referring to her as an ‘honor to know’ then get all folksy and warm, saying she’s a ‘gal’…I’m not sure what to make of this.]

A treasure, a living, breathing, treasure…how else to describe a woman who has lived a inspiring life for 76 years.
[Because there’s no question mark at the end, I assume this is not up for debate.]

As a youngster, she was clearly out of the box. She resorted to drastic measures to defy a school system that couldn’t respect her gifts, such as putting red dots on her face to feign chicken pox. Her candid portraits of people and horses and flowers are distinctive*.
[* Isn’t that a word you use when something is ugly, but you want to be nice?]

To my mind she is a national treasure, a strong independent, dutiful artist, doing her art of living for anyone lucky enough to know her to witness.

[I don’t know what to make of this last sentence.]

Guys, when I’m old and random and talking about my glory days, will you write to Comedy Central and tell them that I’m a treasure? A living, breathing, national treasure?

Mondays With Artists

You know, I think I may just miss the cray-cray artists who contact my publication. Here’s the latest letter I got in the mail. It is two pages—SINGLE SPACED—so I’ve chosen to omit certain chunks of her life story, leaving what I think is the best and brightest. Hope you enjoy!

Colors of My Heart

“If you asked me when I first became an artist I would have to say it was when I got my first box of Crayola crayons. I grew up in the 40s. I was spawned in the Edgewater in New Jersey. I remember the first day of kindergarten, I had to draw a picture, when I tried to turn it in too the teacher I was told I write my name on it. I couldn’t write my name, what a shame! That was the beginning of a long torturous journey through public education for me, a child of the 40s without a guardian, on a quest to find the artist in me.”
[I kid you not. Things to note: 1. she was “spawned,” much like a woodland animal, not “born” as we often think of ourselves; 2. she fails to tell us if the drawing she handed in on that first day was good—should she really be saying this is when she first became an artist?]

“…I have a misty watercolor memory of a public park where neighborhood children were taught arts and crafts…I owe a debt of gratitude to the powers that made that park program happen. From there came the spark that illuminated my young soul and ignited that unquenchable fire to express in watercolor what I see and fee. Thanks also to the coloring books and those books that require you to wet the darkened spaces that magically turn to royal blue and magenta. These were the building blocks, the first steps, and the activities that actually made me a visible person.”

[Um, is this some sort of twisted arts-and-crafts acceptance speech? Oh, and she's quoting song lyrics-- "misty watercolored memories..."--get original, lady! Also note the mixed metaphor of using watercolor to cause a fire. This woman is deep, and has a lot to share. Two pages worth, to be exact.]

“There were special people too who pulled me out of my shell by engaging me in that most fascinating of worlds, creativity-making something wonderful out of bits of nothing. I made a puppet out of strips of paper with flour/water glue. I named him Mortimer Snerd; he led to a phenomenal puppet show on the bay window of our first floor bedroom. What an incredible day that was...

“The people in my family are not plant people. Plants seem to be a luxuriant thing during those hard times when putting food on the table and a roof over the head were daily accomplishments. But, my sister was a teenager at last and she had a plant. I’m not sure what kind of a plant it was. I suspect it was some form of ivy in a clay pot. The first time I saw it was riveting; here was something non-essential, something growing-alive, something that needed to be recorded. My first real watercolor was of that plant. Then came a collection of flowers from a picture in a book. But the work that made me credible at last with my family (on my mother’s side, at least) was of a church in British Columbia. That watercolor will outlive me by many years and has been coveted by more than a few of my mothers relatives...

“Today I teach drawing to children. Some kids only want to draw ‘Mr. Underpants’ and they are happy, and I am glad they are happy. But, I look for the quiet one in the corner, the invisible one, and I search my bag of tricks for the right word, line, or color, that will light the spark that will allow the world to see the wonder that they truly are.”

[That is the very end of the letter. Some things to note in the last three paragraphs: (1) Mortimer Snerd, homemade hand puppet and actor, who debuted on the bay window for one night only, was an actual puppet in the 50s, popular among kids and adults alike. here he is:

How creepy is he?

(2) Perhaps the ellipsis from the hand-puppet to the plant seems jarring, and you’re wondering why I would have eliminated the transition sentence. Well, I didn’t. There was absolutely nothing that led from the good ol’ days of puppetry to plant people; (3) Note the bitter tone that exudes from the phrase “made me credible at last with my family (on my mother’s side, at least)—lord knows what dad’s side thinks of her wayward lifestyle; (4) Who is “Mr. Underpants”? Does she mean Spongebob SquarePants?; (5) That is the end of the letter. There is no request for an article to be written, no comments on our magazine and how it’s influenced her, no questions about our publishing process or recent issues. She just seemed to, you know, want to let us know a little bit about her. I really hope she has fellow artist elderly friends to share her stories with.]

Contests With Artists II

Here are some more gems from the artists you don't know and don't love.
Again, I must stress: I would LOVE to show you the images that accompany these titles and captions, but I'd hate to end up in the slammer just because I hurt an artist's feelings--and because I did something "illegal."

Caption: The anger portrayed here has a long history. It use to be that I had an anger problem like most Americans. My motivation is to do "quality" work. I use logic/scientific and holistic/random methods to push me past the envelope of "realistic" art. [I would come up with a snarky comment, but the fact that "quality" is in quotes shows that she knows just as well as I do that this is a hot mess]

Oh, this next one is really funny to me because it is part of a series. An older gentleman submitted about 6 self-portraits, all containing multiple images of himself in one space. For example: We see him painting himself while looking at his reflection in a mirror; in another, we walk into a gallery that only has images of his face on all the walls and pillars; in another, he sits by a fireplace having a conversation with himself over a bottle of wine. In "Marc, please sit still," we see the artist sitting in a chair, posing for a portrait. He is being painted by...HIMSELF!!!

Title: Marc, please sit still
Caption: Watercolor, 15" x 18" The idea of an artist painting the artist going beyond the typical portrait into portraying the actual process of doing the painting and having a conversation with himself seemed like an intriging story telling device.
[I think this is a run-on sentence]

Title: In My Realm
Caption: I have loved and collected iridescent glass for as long as I can remember. I also love science fiction, space and the supernatural. When I looked into my display of glass and saw the reflections of me and the art glass I felt as though I were in space......In My Realm. I knew this was my self portrait......this is me.
[Does this make anyone else a little sad?]

Title: Sharon Scissorhands
Caption: Acrylic. Me as my alter-ego Edward Scissorhands.

Title: Me as Don Quijote
Caption: I have that dreamer type of personality that sometimes causes me to sally forth and tilt at windmills so I feel a kinship with the Quixote character of Cervantes.
[That's funny--I have a dreamer type of personality that causes me to sally forth to my computer keyboard and document this weirdness]

Title: Chartreuse
Caption: Acrylic. I am chartreuse...I feel unreal and conspicuous...I want to hide...and be noticed.
[Who doesn't, lady?]

I really like these next two because the guy thought he'd submit two different portraits, to really up his chance of winning. I love his simple captions.

Title: Studying violin
Caption: I am looking intensely at my violin.
[In this painting, the artist holds his violin up to his face, obscuring half of him. Yes, he is looking at his violin]

Title: Self with tuxedo
Caption: As I am a violinist, I wanted to pose with my tuxedo.
[Naturally]

Mondays With Artists

You know, just when I think I’m ready to pack it up and quit this plantation, something comes in the mail or a voice squawks in my ear, and I remember to find the laughter. Today is no exception.

I was sorting the mail for the massas when a letter addressed to no one in particular hit the pile. I open any piece of mail with no direct recipient, and usually toss it in the garbage because it often involves an organization asking for money or someone with questionable talent looking for exposure. Today’s letter featured a 1-page single-spaced letter, and four photographs of the artist’s work attached. I have retyped the greatest moments from the letter below, leaving in all typos and other errors so you can really feel what I felt while holding this cold piece of parchment in my hands. You must forgive my inability to scan the accompanying images—something about “being illegal” and “dangerous” came up, but I wasn’t really paying attention. Anyway, here it is:

Dear Magazine Editor,
It feels strange approaching you. Then again We Artist’s have to promote ourselves sometimes….
[Note the typos. I’m uncomfortable. I think part of promoting oneself should require the use of proper grammar and spelling.]

I was tired of painting my usual flowers and landscapes. “Done to Death.”

[Um, why is that in quotes? I know he’s not really dead, or else he couldn’t write to me.
Or could he??????]

I wanted to do something different, stimulating, and enjoyable with a “Fresh subject matter.” Pondering, what could be interesting that would get people into the gallery to at least look? I came up with the idea of “Cats.” A lot of people like cats. That’s it! “Cat’s doing outrageous human things.”

I kid you not.
This is my job.
Read on.

Why cats? Cats have a mischievous behavior anyway, and do what, when, and where they want on there own terms. If cats could, they would be doing human things…
I must admit, I was giggling to myself as these ideas flourished. … As I was painting, other ideas came to mind that would make the painting funnier, so I would change them as I went along. I was very excited to get out to the studio every day and work on these paintings. They were “FUN” and made me laugh out loud!! I figured that If they made me laugh (in my warped sense of humor) they would make others laugh, too. (Maybe I am related to Gary Larson- Far Side Cartoons)”

I think Gary Larson would probably take away his acrylic if he saw this.
The six paintings he provided pictures of include:
-A cat doing a handstand on a surfboard.
-A cat lounging in a bed of various balls of yarn.
-A cat dressed as a grocer, selling things that only cats like: smoked sardines, yarn balls, goldfish.
-And my favorite: A dog dressed as a doctor, performing an ultrasound on a cat's belly. The wall of the doctor's office features the sign "Canine University: Feline Obstetrics." The caption under the painting reads, "you're going to have siamese twins!!"


This man and the sock monkey guy should get together and put their animals in crazy situations.

Does anyone mind putting my resume on monster.com?

Mondays With Artists

As you know, I work for a major publication. This comes with many risks, such as: people assuming you know about art, geriatrics seeking your support for their cockamamie schemes (hello, plasticize board, anyone?!), crazy artists thinking you have some sort of control over their failing careers and marriages.

Oftentimes, this madness comes in the form of telephone calls, and in the last few months I’ve become like Naomi Watts in The Ring: when my phone rings at the office, I freeze in terror and refuse to answer it. When coworkers ask if I’m “gonna get that,” I tell them I know who’s calling and I can take it later—even when I don’t.

Recently, I’ve been contacted via postcard by an unidentified artist. The first postcard arrived at the end of BHM, and was this (click on image to enlarge):

Can you read that? It says "I draw sock monkeys"

What does this mean?! What is a sock monkey? Is it made with socks? Am I looking at a picture of a puppet, a painting, or some sort of mixed media piece?

Not only is the image frightening and unappealing, the one-word sentence (is it even a sentence if there’s no punctuation mark?) is almost menacing, with its tiny handwriting and lack of a signature.

I kept this postcard because it was hilarious—obvi—and felt no guilt, seeing as the artist left no way of being contacted and did not connect his/her/hir’s name to it. I thought nothing of it, but occasionally laughed at the idea of a sock monkey during moments of procrastination.

Then, three weeks later, another one arrived.



This time the sock monkey was dark brown—is this a racial thing? What was this artist trying to say? I flipped it over, hoping for a clue.

Again, with the sentence fragment! I began to get frightened. With no return address, and only a San Francisco postmark, I had to wonder: was this a San Francisco Treat…or Trick?????

I kept this one, too, hoping to piece together clues like Columbo when the time was right. Then, a week later (today), this arrived:


Oh. MY. GOD. There’s more. There’s an “and.” But what, gentle reader, is a “sock monkey fertility cult figure”? Why does this person keep sending me this information without any name or address attached???? This is clearly a cry for attention and/or help, yet they do not actually want to be located.

My fear is mounting.

You can’t see it here, but if you look very closely at this last postcard, there is writing around one of the images. I can’t make out all of it, but it begins with, “I prayed for you last night but you did not come true…”

Is this me? Is someone in love with me in San Francisco? Is my fertility at risk? Is this person saying that I’m no more than a damned dirty ape?

These artists are really starting to freak me out.

ROPHAR!

I would like to introduce you to a great artist.
His name is Rophar.
He is very confident.

Because Rophar has taken it upon himself to publish a website, I can talk about him without getting in trouble. After all, he clearly wants to share his gift with the world.

I have taken a screen capture of a page of his website, just so that you may get a taste of what I can only describe as magical genius.


Note the sparkles that dance to the right of Rophar’s face, as he poses with his brush on some sort of Roman column, which hints at his status as a god among men. He looks off to the side, deep in what can only be described as dirty thoughts. I think my favorite part is the image of the wood nymph in the background, which is part of a rotating display of the artist’s finest work.

He work is divided by themes, which include:
Nudes
Clowns
Wildlife
Fanciful Felines
Christmas
Enchantment
And OTHER MASTERPIECES.

You can tell that Rophar thinks well of himself. And who am I to make him hide his sparkly light under a bushel? He says in his artist’s statement:

“Rophar is rightfully acknowledged in the most prestigious Who’s Who in American Art and worhy of note, an honor chosen excusively on the merits of the artist work-not monitarily obtainable”

Misspelled words aside, I believe what we should take from this webpage—other than brilliant artwork and a clear homage to Lisa Frank (remember her awesome school supplies? I totes had the bright pink unicorn folders)—is a lesson in the importance of self confidence. What we have here is someone who takes his clowns, felines, and enchantments, and brings them to the world stage for all to see.

Perhaps I’m not making myself clear. Perhaps you will have to see the site for yourself.

I think my favorite part is that the sparkles follow your mouse wherever you drag it along the site. GENIUS!

Do you think Rophar is gay?

Mondays With Artists

And it's actually Monday, guys!!

Below is a copy of a letter I received in the mail today. It has been re-typed for your reading pleasure/confusion. I have left in all punctuation, grammar, and misspellings, making no effort to make this man's words intelligible--since clearly, that was not his priority, either.

This letter leaves me scared, confused, and hungry. It's time for lunch now. Read and enjoy

Dear Art Magazine,

This letter is an inquirey. My material is based on this question. How do you turn all the people on this earth to go the other way? The answer is to bring all the people to learn the Circle Language. The Circle Language will bring all the people to be of one mind. The circle is a universal symbol. The Circle Language is a communication with the entire creation.

I have been in communication with the Life beyond this Earth for more than 30 years in secret. The communication came in anger because there has been an insult to the continuing mind around this Earth. I met the Great Spirit of the Indian Nation. The Great Spirit proved to me that the Spirit is a funnel spout revealing the Knowledge of God. The Great Spirit proved to me that the Holy Spirit on the other side of this Earth is the same Spirit as the Great Spirit. This Earth turns about its axis bringing the funnel spout to reveal the same answers as the Knowledge of God to both sides of this Earth.

(he then goes on to say something about ‘conquering the native being a “waist of time”’ which I don’t really understand—but as a freed slave, probably agree with)

The word language comes from the two words land and guage.

(um, call me crazy, but I think those are just misspelled versions of the syllables of the word)

The mind of God can be recognized by the formula 2 in 1. The Life beyond this Earth told me that the Christ Jesus used this formula to coin the word Love. The Word Love comes from the word Low and the letter V. The low V is the cycle of this Earth as this Earth turns around the sun. The point V is the law. High V is the cycle of this Universe every 2,000 years....

(What is he talking about?)

The Life beyond tells me that the people on this earth became confused because the man who wrote the New Testament Revelation was on heavy drugs (much like yourself, I say to the paper in my hand). He wrote in the beginning of the New Testament that he was in the Spirit. The only way to be in the Spirit is on heavy drugs. I was drug free and alcohol free when I met the Great Spirit. I let the Spirit do the identity bringing the Spirit to become a funnel spout.

(What does that sentence mean?)

I am told that the United States of America was built on drugs. The next step to the United States American Government will have to be built on drugs or the United States Government has come it its End Time…….

(Then some more gobledy-gook about “the end time” and “the good god,” which I have chosen to omit because I have real work to do.)

The End Time is a Harvest Time. The End Time of the year is a Harvest Time. The End Time of the World is a Harvest Time. The cycle of this Universe everything 2,000 years is one World….Jesus told the people in the New Testament to bring the message public. Public ment different in the time of Jesus than the word public means today. The Life beyond this Earth brought me to recognize the New Testament Revelation put public brings the formulas for the Holy Thoughts 6, 6-66, 666 through 12.

(Again, I ask: WHAT IS HE TALKING ABOUT?????)

This earth is the 3rd planet in this Solar System in the light of the day time. The Earth is the 3rd planet in this Solar System in the darkness of the night time. The 6 is the number for this entire Earth. There are 9 planets in the solar system. The 9 planets and the Sun become the bases for the mathematic system to the base 10. The Knowledge of God comes first in numbers….

The Christ Jesus appeared to my mind after I met the Great Spirit. Jesus put me to paint a picture provide Jesus appered to me telling me the answers to build the River of Life on this Earth. The Christ Jesus told me that He went back to where God came from to bring the Crop Circles to be put in the fields of England beginning in the year 1957. Jesus and the Life beyond this Earth have brought me to develop the Circle Language from the Crop Circles. The Circle Language brings the answers to build the World of God on this Earth in these days and nights as it is in Heaven.

If you are interested in publishing my material, please contact…


He then enclosed color photocopies of his "Art"-- what can best be described as what would happen if a kindergarten student vomited onto their paper during a fingerpainting lesson. For legal reasons, I cannot scan these images and present them to you, though I am dying to. Just trust that they are doozies.

Birthdays With Artists

Below is an excerpt from a call I received on Friday, 12/7/07-- the day of my birth. I was too busy not working and being lazy to post this at the time, but I've decided it still deserves to be shared. After all, my pain is nothing more than your reason for laughter. And for that I am proud.

OldMan: Are you in the editorial department?

SoTru: Yes, I am.

OM: Well, I want to talk to you about a problem I had and how I solved it. (yay for me!)
Okay, what was that?

OM: Well, my wife and I live in an apartment house, and we have a patio. A lot of people put plants on their patios for decoration, and it’s very nice. Well, we don’t have any water on our patio. (um, who does?)

SoTru: Oh, I see. (I’m still unclear on the problem)

OM: My wife and I would literally have to drag water from the kitchen onto the patio to water plants. (He says this really slowly, annunciating every syllable, so I can understand the magnitude of his problem. I say nothing. I still don’t get it.) So, I came up with this—are you listening?

SoTru: Yes, I am sir. How did you solve this problem?

OM: Well, you know plasticize board? Well, it’s that thick board you see politicians’ signs on—you know, like, on lawns saying “VOTE FOR KERRY!”

SoTru: Ah, yes. That.

OM: Well, I covered it with waterproof paint and I placed cardboard cutouts on it. I have an animal series, and I took horses, cows, reindeer* and pasted them onto the board. I mean, this board lasts for forever and a day. And I put them out on our patio, and it really solved a big problem for us. So, what I’m wondering is this: would this be something that would be interesting to your readers?

(Wait, is he drunk? Is he serious? First of all, I don’t see how not having water on a patio was cured by cardboard cutouts on a board. And even if so, doesn’t he have a grandchild who could make him cutouts of horses? I’m confused.)

SoTru:Um, no I don’t think so. I think that would be better suited to a crafts magazine; we normally focus on traditional realism.

The lessons to be gleaned from this conversational nugget are threefold:

1. Always screen calls in the workplace. Unless you work in the field of organ harvesting and donation, or late-breaking news, there is nothing that can't wait until you decide to call back.
2. The elderly have a lot of free time on their hands, and are too weak to carry water. Please be nice to the next geriatric you see, and offer to carry their goods.
3. No problem in life can't be solved with a little plasticize board.

Mondays With Artists

Yeah, it's Wednesday, whatever.

But I had to share this ridiculous press release that came to my attention this morning. I won't use the artist's name, but this is at the very top of her press release:

Ms. Anderson is a passionate woman. She's passionate about life, she's passionate about family--and she's really, really passionate about cutlery.
That's right, cutlery: forks, knives, and spoons.
They are, according to Anderson, so much more than they appear.

What? What the hell does this mean? I love that cutlery trumps family and life. Cutlery IS life.

Clearly, this woman has no one to love and nothing else to do, and she's surrounded by people who lead her to believe her love for cutlery qualifies as "Art" and not "Mental Illness."

The end of the press release says she's available for interviews; I may have to call her up. I think she may need the Sojourner Truth.

I should also mention that this quote is from an excerpt from a longer article in the "Costco Connection 2007" Has anyone heard of this publication? I assume you receive it with your bulk items. Why haven't I been writing for this magazine? Clearly, they'll take anything.

Are you passionate about cutlery? What about when it.... glows?

Mondays With Artists....

Okay, I know that technically today is Thursday, but I like the idea of a theme of sorts, so I’ve decided to use the same title as before. For background, see my previous post on the crazies I encounter via telephone at my place of employment. The following conversation was much more brief than Ms. Tembly, but still managed to pack enough discomfort in 3 minutes that I felt the need to share it with you. Read on, gentle reader….

Sojourner: Hello Ms. Sharp, this is Sojourner Truth, returning your call.

Sharp: Oh, yes, hello. I spoke with your advertising office yesterday and got some information. See, I’d been confused about my ad placement. I had been advertising online, thinking it was affiliated with your magazine, but it’s actually another publication.

Sojo: I see, I see. Will you be placing an ad in our directory this year?

Sharp: Yes, I will. I’ve been out of the business for a while. (she then proceeds to tell me the following in a casual, almost offhand manner, as though she reciting her grocery list): My son was living with me for a while, then he got sick and died, and I lost a couple of years of my life, so I’m getting the business side of things in order.

Sojo: I’m sorry.

(I really didn’t know what to say. I was uncomfortable. This was much, much more than I needed to know—and had very little to do with the ad she was placing. )

Sharp: I love your magazine, but I live up in the sticks-- with a Nazi magazine retailer who doesn’t carry any of the publications I like.

(Harsh words—I see ‘Sharp’ isn’t just a clever surname. This woman is fierce.)

Sojo: We can start you on a subscription if you’d like.

(The attempt to see her the magazine is part of my new motto, ABC—Always Be Closing. You’ve gotta be workin’ it 24/7 365)

Sharp: Oh, I can’t do that. You see, Sojourner, on my social security income I can’t afford to subscribe to any magazines.

Uh-oh…I’ve just made things worse and more awkward.

Sharp: I’m living on basically $10- $15 per day, which comes out to roughly $3 per hour. And I’ve been calling my congressman to raise the social security so that it at least matches minimum wage, but it’s a losing battle.

Sojo: Oh, hell to the no, Ms. Sharp—that’s a hot mess!!!

Sharp: It is, Sojourner.

(We share a moment of silence, bonded over our oppression. Though, quite frankly, I made less than that as a slave, and I managed to still add some spice to my food.)

Sharp: Do you still write articles on artists.

(Um, yeah… that’s what we do.)

Sojo: Of course!

Sharp: Well, I’d love to submit my work for your review. I’ve been working on a 2008 calendar that I think shows great pieces.

Sojo: Great! I’ll send you our guidelines, all right?

I take down her e-mail address and mentally promise to donate some money to her life. It’s a hand up, not a hand out.

Mondays with Artists....

So, I sorta like my job. Not only do I put the “ASS” in “assistant” on a regular basis, I spend a lot of time talking to our subscribers and interfacing over the telephone with artists.

I love talking to artists. Some days I am caught off-guard by a verbose, lonely painter who thinks that because we wrote an article on them, and I answer the phones, I’m clearly the president, treasurer, and social chair of their fan club.

Today was one those days. And in true woman of color-writer fashion, I provide you, gentle reader, with a transcript. All the words of the artist are completely true (I took notes once it became clear this was going to be a doozy), and I merely agreed. Please read on…


Sojourner Truth: Good morning, Art Magazine,* this is Sojourner Truth.

Crazy Artist Lady: Hello, Sojourner, this is Ellen Tembly. I received my slide returns, but still haven’t gotten copies of the September issue I was featured in.

ST(reverting to my slave ways): I am so sorry, Ms. Tembly. I’ll get that order right out to you—can you give me your address again?

CAL: Yes—but, I have to tell you I ended up driving an hour away to another bookstore just to pick up a copy. I can’t believe it.

ST: Oh my, that is a hike!
(If you found the magazine, then why are you calling me?)

CAL: And it’s no surprise, given the way my day has been going.
(Uh-oh. Here we go. I’m about to get T.M.I.—I can feel it.)

ST: Well, why don’t we get your order out and turn this day around! (insert fake laugh. She finally gives me her address. While I have her placated, I plug our website like a good employee) Ms. Embry, do you have a website? Your can put a link to your article on your own site—it’s very popular now. (This is not true.)

CAL: Oh, yes, I’d love to do that—but I can’t find someone to help me with my site. In fact, I’m sitting here looking at a bill for $800.00 from a web designer, and I just don’t understand it.

ST: $800.00—oh my goodness?! For what?! (Acting like I care and sharing her pain is part of serving the customer. It’s also called “mirroring,” and is an excellent psychological tool for gaining one’s trust and favor)

CAL: Well, quite frankly, I don’t know. Do you know who could help me?

ST: I don’t know anyone, no—but I’m sure there are a lot of young people in your neighborhood who could help you for a much cheaper—

CAL: I was working with this one woman, Carol—she is on the list of people who are the bane of my existence. (Now knowing that Ellen has a list, I am determined not to end up on it) She just uses me because I’m the best artist on her website.
(I am loving Ellen’s brutal honesty and sheer hatred for this Carol person—who I’ve decided is a talentless bitch. I laugh in agreement.)
She’s just one of those people who make me feel the need to take a bath after speaking to them.
(Haven’t we all been there?)
Well, anyway, for a while, my neighbor’s daughter was going to help me—she’s very technically savvy—but then her husband almost killed her and put her in the hospital, so she’s can’t help me. She’s busy getting a divorce—at least, I hope she is.

ST: Well, so do I!
(Pause. I’ve been on the phone for approximately 7 minutes and 30 seconds. I have her address and can send her magazines. How can I get off the phone and go to lunch and stop hearing about domestic violence?)
So, I will send this article out and get you the website link—

CAL: That’d be great—really, the web is all I have now. I don’t have a gallery.
(Cue strings….)

ST: Yeah, a lot of artists have sites now.

CAL: Well, I can’t even get a teaching gig!

ST: Really? But you’re an American Artist!!!

CAL: Pricheson hired me, then took it back.

ST: What?! How can that be?!

CAL: Yep, yep. It happened. Do you want to hear some gossip, Sojourner?! I love to gossip! I have this new neighbor, and I've just been filling her in on everything. I told her, "don't go over to that lady's house, cause she'll take your cat and won't give her back."

ST: Oh my goodness!
(What the hell is she talking about? Did someone steal her cat? Or did she eat it and forget?)

CAL: I bet SHE thinks I'm bonkers myself.
(Much like I do.)
Anyway, Pricheson is angry at me and I don’t know why.
(Could it be because she is abrasive and completely lacking in boundaries/the woman of my dreams?)
And it’s funny, because Pricheson got me the article in your magazine.

ST: Really? Well that is odd.

CAL: Didn’t you wonder why I said I only use Pricheson products in the article?

ST: Yes, I did, actually.
(No, I didn’t.)

CAL: Oh, Sojourner, I’m such a whore it isn’t funny. (She then emits a loud cackle that is still ringing in my ears) I’m actually getting ready to paint a portrait of myself as a trollop—and I’m 64 years old, mind you.
(The timer on the phone reads 12:15)
Yep, I found this blond wig, rhinestone boots, glitter glasses—it’s going to be called “Art Sells.”
(I want to tell Ellen that whores don’t wear glasses, but it's best not to engage her.)

ST: That’s hilarious!
(I’m uncomfortable.)

CAL: Now I just need a place to show it. Finding a gallery is a lot like a marriage—and I’ve had two of those—but none now, I’m single. My first husband was my manager, and that didn’t work out. He threw in the towel. I wasn’t his first priority—clearly!
(I’m really uncomfortable.)
It’s just hard for us artists—we’re just at the bottom. My second husband used to say we’re “lower than whale shit.” [she laughs] He always had these colorful phrases.
(Was she implying that he was “colored,” and therefore “colorful”?)

ST(awkward laughter): Oh no! (pause) Well, Ms. Tembly let me go process your order.

CAL: Oh, I guess I need to let you go.

ST: You have a good day now, Miss Tembly-- you promise?

CAL: I'll try.


The worst part of it was, that after 20 minutes and 12 seconds of emotional catharsis, I still forgot to send her copies of the magazines.




*I have changed the names of all proper nouns in this post to protect my occupation. My job may not be great, but being employed is better than being enslaved-- or broke.