Love/Sad

Happy Monday, guys! I love when "Mondays With Artists" just happens naturally. My boss handed me a letter from a reader, and this post basically writes itself! It's an excellent example of our target audience: handwritten in shaky cursive and and somewhat confrontational while also being self-promoting. As always, the grammar and spelling has been transcribed exactly as it appears in the original.

Did it ever occur to you that maybe 80% or more people you have sent this same letter to will probably die before our prescription expires.

[By "prescription," she means "subscription." This is a common mistake among our audience.]

I am 90 years old. I'm probably the youngest 90 year old person you'll ever know or meet. Still I might die tomorrow, I don't have much time left. or next week or next month or next year. However, I'm a great inspiration to many people. I'm still going strong. If you don't believe me--look me up on inter-net. I'm all over the place!

[This is the most confident/depressing paragraph I've ever read.]

If you are interested I will do a story on myself. It will make good reading. People can find out what makes me "tick."

[Um, what makes her "tick"? Like Ke$ha?]

To be an artist you don't have to be an actor, writer, or musician--just a desire.

[I mean, I guess technically she's not wrong there. You don't have to be a singer to be a painter!]

I've been teaching since 1970--and I still do.

Please don't send me anymore bills until my subscription bill is due.

Sincerely,

[old lady name]

The thing is, guys, her paintings aren't half bad. I kinda want to call her.

Contests With Artists

The magazine for which I toil often holds art competitions, which allows us to make small amounts of money and gives artists one true shot at glory. We just finished holding a self-portrait competition, and, as you can imagine, some of these entries are a real doozy. (If you don’t yet know how cray-cray these artists are, please click here)

As the recipient of all general mail—letters to info@artmag.com; help@artmag.com; and contests@artmag.com – all come to me for screening. I usually ignore the weird ones, because I’ve learned it’s best not to engage with the delusional. For instance, when I contacted artists to let them know they were semifinalists in the last competition, I received this response from one winner:
Sojourner:
I'm embarrassed to ask which graphite piece it was I submitted since it was some time ago. I think it was my nude self-portrait with the bat hovering over my head?

I think I can say with complete certainty that it was not.
No, it was not.

Now we’ve begun judging entries for the latest competition, and while I can’t show you the images because it would be “illegal,” I can list some of the hilarious captions that artists have written to explain their self-portraits. We asked that they limit their responses to no more than 3 sentences, and as we review the paintings, we’re all thankful we did.

You’re welcome.

1. Title: Yes, 'tis I
Caption: Self-Portrait of the one and only Miriam Kenkelberg, inspired by a photograph taken by my husband, Stew. This is painted on 140 lb Arches watercolor paper, on the back of a failed landscape. It hangs in our bedroom for our eyes only.
[Trust me, we’re all thankful this portrait is for their eyes only. Oh, and who writes
“ ‘tis”?]

2. Title: The early years
Caption: Acrylic vibrant colors capture the essence of a very full life as Wife, Mother, Businesswoman, Artist, Cook and visionary
[I hope that, when I reach the winter of my life, I can refer to myself as a “cook and visionary.”]

3. Caption: I am orange...I feel indecisive...am I red?...am I yellow?...I am hot then fruity...someone lead so I can follow.
[This is clearly a cry for help. I’d offer to lead her, but she would probably be upset when we ended up outside of Promises Treatment Center.]

4. Title: Thank God for Shades
Caption: Here I am practicing the Great American Pastime. Sunglasses are so enabling!
[I know my description won’t do it justice, but we call this painting, “Portrait of the Artist as a Perv,” because it’s an image of a man on the beach, and through the reflection in his sunglasses, we see that he is looking at a woman in a skimpy bikini.]

5. Caption: 16”x20” framed Décor, stained glass, glass stones, feathers and a monarch butterfly He gave me butterflies even though he never had time, he let my love slip through his fingers and I finally realized… I was just another pet.
[We've all been there, sister!]


*******************OH GOD, THIS JUST IN***************

I am writing an article for one of our mags and have to set up an interview with an artist. I emailed him to see when the best time would be to contact him and he emailed me the following. PLEASE NOTE: there have been no changes to this email. I have not edited it for content or spelling or grammatical errors:

….It would not be a problem at all to do the interview thru pc.

I need to tell you something quickly because of your name:When I was about 25, I was a sportswriter at a big german newspaper..Another stuffmember and a close friend of mine was sent to the Olympic wintergames in Tokyo/Japan.
.In the Olympic Village a japanese hostess needs to take care for him - her name was Sojourner. Walter,the name of my friend, started to write article about the treatment and the interaction with Sojourner.
It was funny,it was charming,it was harmless - but more and more we got the feeling,he is interested in Sojourner much more than in any olympic winter disciplin. And since I knew him very well, I figured out between the lines: He has been falling in love with Sojourner.
Somebody even knew him better than I did: His wife.
So when he came back from Japan, he had a big scene at Home,
and his wife even started to take steps getting divorced.
Somehow they solved the problem,but later,whenever he was sent to another sport event,we adviced him: Make a big detour around any Sojourner.
So my big detour around you would just be,that we handle the interview via computer,
but nevertheless I will give you a call as soon as I am in an acceptable service-area.
all the best
-Cray-Cray Artist

I don’t even know what to say to that.

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.