Amidst the Noise, a Voice of Reason

It was art.  Beautiful, strange, meaningful, and shocking; both the people and the paintings.  I stood back and watched to see what the people were watching.

The show included nearly three hundred works by one hundred artists.  Groups of two or five would scour the walls looking for the products of friends and family.

Pretty portraits of flowers drew lingering looks, and the buzz of the place was over the picture created by gluing short human hair to the canvas.  The crowds included old people dressing like they were twenty, and the young hip kids wearing grandpa’s tweed.  And then there was me.

This is not my living.  I create images with my gaze as the motivation and goal.  Creating art in such a manner has an odd way of making me feel myself out-of-place if my images don’t fit in.  I am my own niche’.

I am comfortable with this.  Others disinterest has no effect on my own.  My works are more illustrative than artistic and the stories are not always common, but they are mine.  Like the story of why I changed my major from art after only one quarter.  To this day I have no permanent ink upon me, no piercings at all, and I have no fondness for anarchy.  I was the only one like me in school, and back then I was young and lonely.  Now I am neither.

The show is up all month and the art is for sale.  In such a case being a “sell out” is good.  I have been a corporate sellout since I changed my major and it would be nice to be one now that I’m drifting back to my true self.

Go check iyt out at: the 3rd Street Gallery on 2nd Street.