I thought the selection committee would definitely go for some form of historical cow art.
And I don’t know why but I have never really got the hang of sculpting cows.
I resigned myself to the possibility that this commission might never happen. I assumed however, that it would probably put some eminent cow artist on the cultural map.
“The Reinvention of Broken Dreams” holds within its heart the twin polarities of life and death.
For a time, it smells of age and dusty relics. Like forgotten elders it creaks, and crawls, and groans, crying out, beneath the weight of yesterdays. It contains within itself a vestige of all that went before and it yields neither hope nor faith in the future
I think I hear its death rattle coming, a final, ponderous shutter forever and not so far away.
But then the device slogs on and life surges forth, clanking noiselessly away. Even until it is beyond the night, it clanks and invents and reinvents its dreams. Pushing one and pulling another, till broken and not, they are all joined together, one to the other, all one and the same. Twisting them into a confection both bitter and sweet, night and day, awake and in sleep, the machine endures.
Early on, I naturally assumed my own social problems lay directly within my character. I attributed my inability to function to some sort of inherited condition in the family ……a genetic abnormality or something.
Would that it were so simple.
While I do not want to negate my personal deficiencies, it is clear that my problems were greatly exacerbated as soon as I began to identify with artists.
And once I crossed the threshold and began calling myself an artist, the maladjustment noose began to tighten precipitously.
Maggie, the source of the slobber, ate the poison with such a purposeful abandon that it was frightening to behold.
She was either a very brave dog, or she had lost herself in a last gasp of unreasoning hunger.
In fact, Maggie seized upon one activity or another her whole life in an attempt to overcome her feelings of low self worth.
Nothing had really worked until finally she took up eating and sleeping.
“This is what I was meant to do” Maggie had announced to the world.
“I feel truly alive when I eat, then lay down for a nap.”
Perhaps it was a bit of all of these unpleasant traits, or it was something else…….something indefinable that caused him to break. But Dudley had had enough.
Though he tried hard not to show his true feelings, and continued to boyishly bite at her tail on their walks in the park, (a practice he had started when they first met), deep in the recesses of his soul, it was contempt that he felt, contempt as wide as the river he could see from the park.
I have what I consider a very strong intuitive sense about such things. And as quickly as the idea occurred to me I was convinced that it was true.
In fact, I had what can best be called a vision of poor Janet shackled to her bed in a dimly lit, damp, Akron Ohio basement, being fed old left- over BLT sandwiches from Denny’s.
I hung around the hospital for a week and gradually warmed to having various tubes and wires connected to my body.
I then went home, ate pills, and sought the solace of blood thinner. In what seemed like mere days, I was blessed with a kidney stone, which sent me back to the hospital for another week. I once again became acquainted with the tubes and wires and discovered the unhappy truth of urologists.
“You have to become more Zen about these things. If you are not in the right space, nothing will happen. You are trying too hard to control the outcome…..just let it all go. Forget about the rich man and concentrate on that which is in your purview. Remember also to constantly give thanks the universe for all that you have been given.”
Thank you for your submission to "How to Cope With Rejection"Seminars. There were close to 1500 applications for the Seminar, approximately 750 of which were from Artists like you. The committee had hundreds of difficult decisions to make, as the quality of the applications was very high. We regret that your application was not accepted for this Seminar at this time.
Because of the need for one on one therapy there can only be space for 300 participants.
This is a painting titled "Pomegranate" by Marc Ouellete, which was done of the infamous "Big Red Ball" which Marc saw in the corner of Eddie's parking lot.
If you failed to read about the fate of the "Big Red Ball" you will find it on this site in seven parts.
The title is:
ACME DREAMS: THE BIG RED BALL
The message stated that she had heard from someone that I had “passed” and wanted to find out what they wanted to do with the sculpture.
Finding out people think you are dead gives one reason to pause and reflect.
The other day I happened to look out my bedroom window as a small bird sat perched on the ledge.
The bird was brightly colored, and appeared to be an important bird which had perhaps attended Vassar.
The bird looked at me for a minute then began to flutter its wings. It then started to fly into the open window.
Fearing for the bird’s safety I immediately waved my arms, which frightened the bird away. I then resumed what I was doing (worrying).