So it’s been a beehive of creative output around here. I delivered the photographs and film for The Diana Days, my gallery show which—eek—opens on Tuesday, August 16th and runs through September 24th. If you happen to be close to the Barre/Montpelier neck of the woods in Vermont next Friday (the 19th), come by for the Studio Place Arts gallery for the opening reception from 6 to 8 pm. I’ll feed you popcorn.
The process of following an idea from some barely legible notes in a sketchbook to a finished body of work is an exhilarating and humbling experience. The thing is, we all need trust that we have something to say, regardless of the medium and along the way we have the permission to make the worst crap in the world in order to get to the good stuff. I fire and later rehire my internal editor countless times. E.L. Doctorow said “Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” It’s true. The same can be said about making art or anything from scratch on that matter.
There have been some hilarious moments while working on the project like the other night when after a very long day of shooting I was headed for the final location, a truck stop diner. At a stop light, I noticed along with the other drivers who stared at my car that there were volcanic size plumes of smoke spewing from the hood. It’s probably something to do with the power steering problem the mechanic told us would need to be fixed eventually but as the smoke kept puffing away, I stopped at a gas station to check the fluid levels and what not.
After I checked under the hood, I went inside to buy a bottle of cold water while the car cooled off a bit. I didn’t realize I was so thirsty and dehydrated until I drank the water which stuck like an ice dam in my throat. I choked on the water at the same time a van full of people pulled up next to me and witnessed me spitting as much water out as the car was smoke. They stared, I drove away, more than a little embarrassed.
On more than one occasion, I had to leave a shoot (which by the way consisted of me, my camera, tripod, and whatever else I had to rig up to get the image I wanted) and return the next night after a semi-truck and drove into my shot followed shortly after by rain.
Another time, a woman dressed in a leopard print tank, short cutoffs, and bleach blond hair with a cigarette dangling from her lips walked into my frame—as much as I loved her character, she nor the semi worked for either scene.
That’s all part of it. The edits and mishaps and spontaneous moments.
Along with the many take-out containers, pizza boxes, and sleepless nights.
Tonight will be different.
p.s. I’ve posted the artist statement, film, and photographs from the show on my supplemental Art and Lemons tumblr blog in case you want a peek.