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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Today is the day of a big fall festival, about twenty miles from here. I have been juried in, and have purchased all the equipment, set up a white tent, and put out my paintings, a few hours ahead, and stayed around for days of waiting. It took a lot of energy, and time, and I did not enjoy it, which is why I only did it twice. Two different shows, both the same year, about four years ago. I sold about eighty-five paintings, and they did not come anywhere near covering the cost of the tent, display pieces, and they did not give me back one ounce of time that I lost. I considered almost every second of tent time “lost time”, unless someone loved my work, which happened only three times in five days of waiting. This art gig is therapy for me, pure and simple. The best part is, that it keeps me out of stores, buying new stuff – a bunch of junk I get tired of in two or three days, shiny things that will be dumped into a bonfire when I do not use them any longer. I lie. The best part of painting is the pleasure that it gives me. It is the most relaxing hobby I have ever gifted myself. I have mediated, and painting is like that only better, because I get to add color and glitter, and I love seeing my creativity unfold in surprising ways. Since I already own a couple of hundred canvases and the paints, and I just ordered a hundred and fifty new brushes, I might as well do this cheap hobby that I love, right? I am not tempted to go to the fall festival. I feel the vendor’s pain, but I always try to buy something from each one, so I will not hurt their feelings, and if I keep it up, I will be working until I am ninety.
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