Shameless plug
Now that I have shamelessly plugged the open studio/reading I can admit that I am pretty terrified. We have told a lot of people, and while it is highly unlikely that many will show up it is possible that we have more people there than just close friends and family. And to see what? Our work? Not much has changed on the artistic front since I last posted here - still not having much time to paint or do anything else visually oriented, which as you might remember, has been fine with me. So why did I want to do this again? Well, I guess because sweating bullets every once in awhile is good for the soul.
And despite my terror at having our studio (which is also our home) opened as a venue to the unidentified public, I really am excited. From what Kathleen has told me the poets are pretty excited to read, and that makes me happy.
On a closing note I need to state that this month's obsession with Patti Smith is at it's peak. I need to give R a break from the Patti Smith trivia, so I'd be happy to gush about the woman I wish I had been named after with anyone as blindly devoted as I have become.
I love that she could be a badass while raising kids in suburban Michigan. Patti Smith is almost my mom's age, and I think that when she was living in Michigan was probably around the same time we were living in Michigan. Had things been different, had hospitals been less organized, names been switched, my parents blinded by confusion, Patti Smith could have been my mom. I would be Patty Smith.
I think the biographical similarities end there, but I sometimes like to think that when I was in first grade and decided I wanted to be called Patty, not Patricia, it was a manifestation of wisdom beyond my years; an advanced sense of who my heroes going to be. But really, Patricia sounds stuffy and grown up which is why still at 26 I opt for Patty. Campy and cute sounding trumps adulthood and propriety as far as I am concerned. I will never be a badass. I will never be tough. I will never be able to growl, and bellow, and yell like Patti Smith. But I sure can make cute animal sounds.
And despite my terror at having our studio (which is also our home) opened as a venue to the unidentified public, I really am excited. From what Kathleen has told me the poets are pretty excited to read, and that makes me happy.
On a closing note I need to state that this month's obsession with Patti Smith is at it's peak. I need to give R a break from the Patti Smith trivia, so I'd be happy to gush about the woman I wish I had been named after with anyone as blindly devoted as I have become.
I love that she could be a badass while raising kids in suburban Michigan. Patti Smith is almost my mom's age, and I think that when she was living in Michigan was probably around the same time we were living in Michigan. Had things been different, had hospitals been less organized, names been switched, my parents blinded by confusion, Patti Smith could have been my mom. I would be Patty Smith.
I think the biographical similarities end there, but I sometimes like to think that when I was in first grade and decided I wanted to be called Patty, not Patricia, it was a manifestation of wisdom beyond my years; an advanced sense of who my heroes going to be. But really, Patricia sounds stuffy and grown up which is why still at 26 I opt for Patty. Campy and cute sounding trumps adulthood and propriety as far as I am concerned. I will never be a badass. I will never be tough. I will never be able to growl, and bellow, and yell like Patti Smith. But I sure can make cute animal sounds.
posted by beef at 9:11 AM
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