But I’ve been keeping a diary with the intent of sharing it. Some of it is actually fit for public consumption. For instance …
The show was days ago, and we’ve still yet to recover. Jack is stumbling around with a glassy-eyed stare, mumbling about where to hang this or that. We had to move so many pieces of art because of the show, we’re now trying to mingle it all back in with what’s left of James, Brian, Ed and Erica’s work.
[non-diary note: If you didn’t get to the show, you missed out. All four artists were very friendly and down-to-earth. Easy to talk to, fun to hang out with. And the work they did was amazing (both what they brought to the show and what they painted and sculpted while they were here). ]
It was funny listening to Erica talk about how much space we have here, and how little traffic. I know some Tulsans who have to commute to and from Broken Arrow would debate her on that, but it’s all about perspective. An Oklahoma traffic jam is farm-league compared to one in Cali.
Also, we likely couldn’t afford our same homes were they in California, so we’ve got that going for us, which is nice.
Knotts dropped by this week, in and out like a blustery storm. In his wake, he left stories about art shows and a Dixie Chick, and he dropped off some new jewelry. Two of the necklaces are made with mid-1700s crosses from the Ukraine. John found the supplier on the internet, ordered the crosses and hoped for the best.
“I asked the guy where he found them and he was cagey. Kind of like those old fishing guys who don’t want to let you know where their spot is. ‘Hey, where’d you hook those fish?’ ‘In the mouth.’
“He has some Viking stuff as well, but I haven’t figured out what to do with it yet.”
And like that, poof, he was gone.
Sometimes, I think he’s some sort of Native American spirit. The rabbit, Jistu, perhaps. One of the tricksters in any case. I haven’t been back to the Native American myths since I was a kid. Of course, when I was a kid, I couldn’t get enough of them.
John Knotts. Trickster. Perhaps. I’ll have to read up, see if that fits.
One of Geoffrey Gorman’s new pieces arrived today. It’s a sculpture of the head of a hippo called Vezari Meditates. I made the mistake of placing my hand on its steel-whiskered muzzle. The whiskers are made of headless nails, long staples, or maybe clipped wire, rusty and sharp. Sort of the bed-of-nails effect, only not safe. Nothing you’d want to be grabbing with your bare hands in any case (though I did, to my dismay).
A collector came in and saw it sitting on the counter. She said, “Ewww,” which made Jack and me laugh. Vezari was sold before he arrived, which just goes to illustrate the importance of having a variety of styles of art. You never know who is going to react to what. The guy in the cargo shorts and Hawaiian shirt may have a great fondness for hyper-realistic paintings. The woman with the straw cowboy hat might like Chad Awalt’s finely sculpted wood nudes.
You JUST NEVER KNOW.
Vezari Meditates. Is that even possible? Can a hippo meditate? I can see making an illustrated children’s book out of that idea, this hippo wandering around the watering hole all day, trying to get its meditation on and being interrupted by lions and people and birds.
If you write it before I do, send me some money. Or thank me in the credits. Whichever.
That rabbit was looking at me again. You know the one, with its big, googly eye. It’s hiding something. I. Can. Tell.
I am buried in a mountain of new work. We have five new pieces from Matthew Higginbotham. A dozen from Paul Rhymer. Six more from Timur Akhriev. I don’t know how many from Gene Pearson. No time for typing. People need to see this.
[Edit: You can see all these new pieces on our website!]
I’m sitting at my desk, a freshly opened, but empty, coffee bean bag held up to my nose like a brown paper sack for someone hyperventilating. I’m breathing deeply. The earthy smell fills my head and lungs, and has an instant calming effect. For a good minute, I sit there. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Jack is fighting off a sinus headache. He is impervious to all forms of antihistamines, and therefore at the mercy of the elements.
Phil finally seems to be returning to normal after a week at sea. He no longer has the odd back-and-forth sway to his walk, and his eyes no longer seem to be turning inward, no doubt reliving maritime vistas and fruity rum drinks. I think he’s probably getting over the scurvy.
As for me, I’m typing. Again. Finally.
I don’t know that you know this about me, but I’m a bit of a wanna-be gadget nerd. Last month, I ditched my Windows Phone and got a Galaxy S4, and yesterday, I received a deeply discounted Samsung Gear (which is that “smart” watch that pairs with Samsung’s Galaxy phones). I think I’m glad I got it on the cheapish, but it does do some pretty cool things. It’ll let me read text messages without picking up my phone, answer phone calls by talking into my wrist like Dick Tracy and even check the weather.
But the fun part for “work” purposes is that it has a camera. Prepare yourself for behind-the-scenes zaniness at the Gallery! (Like this one of Jack doing … something boring at his computer!)
First, we’d like to welcome Carol Amos to the Lovetts family. Carol grew up in a family of artists, and has been painting almost her whole life. Her specialty is stunning, realistic oil paintings of plants and flowers (yes, I know flowers are plants, but what do you want? Are cacti technically flowers? I mean, how specific do I need to be people?).
Her work is as vibrant as her subject matter, and we’re excited for you to see it. She sent us two as appetizers and is working on more. I’ll leave you with one of them, and we’ll do a proper intro when we get the additional work.
Second, tomorrow, Friday, April 18, 2014, we expect the newest work from Joseph Crone to arrive. Jack and I love his work. He is a virtuoso with pencil, and it’s something you need to see in person to believe. It was going to be here last week, but UPS thought it needed a trip from Oklahoma City to Washington to help it cure or something. Thanks, UPS, for being so concerned about Joseph’s drawings.
And with that, I must leave you. Thanks for coming, and we’ll see you soon.