Artists Sometimes Make Public Art

Some cities figure out how to gather up money from citizens to hold a competition for artists to apply for making public art for their city. When an artist gets a city “gig” they can go at it and do all sorts of things as long as they follow the rules established by the city. Then once the work has been completed the artist has the opportunity to be so very proud of their work. Sometimes they find that there is a collaboration between them and the public, such as the drawing/text here as seen in this photo. The F is so flowey. The U so elegant, the C is direct, and the K very bold. The scribbleys bring a sense of humor to the work and the T in the word That is such a throwback to the ’80’s when cheerleaders used to spell our football teams name “Gimme a T!” As for the remaining characters of the drawing/text well I will leave it to the viewer to enjoy dive into deciphering that.

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June through August 2016

On sabbatical, hiatus, furlough, leave of absence, recess, break, time off, terms typically used by those who are doing just that from a job or work or something they are doing to take leave of. As for me, my hiatus, has been more like a gap or opening between my life pre-graduate school and about a year following. Something inside me shifted. I’ve stopped trying to figure out why; it just did. In the process of this shift one significant friend died, one moved away, my paternal grandmother passed away (carrying with her stories we will never hear), I seemed to have lost a great deal of my passion for many things, and I felt overlooked, misunderstood, under appreciated, and an absolute loserfailureidiotfatslobtoopolitenotworthyourtimeartistreject. Perhaps my solution was to move. I’ve always dreamed to move back to Seattle. Jim is open to it. But that could be running away. What about NYC, LA, OKC, Chi-Town, or anywhere else but Texas!?!

I’ve been isolating myself from those I know, well those I’ve been socializing with at art openings and such. Tiring of the bullshit that can happen. Not blaming anyone really, but myself; getting caught up in my insecurities. Taking risks and chances, doing things to “help” me seem interesting. No more. This isn’t real. Not me. I hate that this was done to me, to you. I’m not really self-righteous, I’m a true introvert and shy and better at home making art, writing, having pot lucks and small groups over for dinner, or doing yoga and meditating. Or better yet, hiking in the woods or swimming in a clear stream or the waters of the South Pacific. I’m not lonely at all. The air is sweet.

Here’s the thing. I’m just more me now. It fits.

More to come.

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