art

Ahem.

Sorry if I made you throw up all over your keyboard after reading yesterday’s post. I was delirious, I suspect. Or mushy. Delirious mush. Let’s just say that moment is over and we’re on to real life, like debating who gets to sweep up all the balls of dog hair swaying like seagrass over our floors. Oh, the romance. The answer is still pending.

That said, I do have to brag some more and say that Pat’s getting ready for a HUGE gallery opening at the Folk Art Center. The opening is Saturday afternoon, 3-5 p.m., so come if you’re around. His furniture is amazing, all curvy and sultry, except for the bed which seems to be inspired by an accordion. I find that hilarious! Plus he has a new manly haircut, so prepare to be impressed!

Once upon a time, there was a dog who pooped in the house and the mother got him a new litterbox. And it was purple. And it was a girl named Sammy. And he started pooping a lot. The end.

(That’s Sammy pooping in the house.)

-by Sammy Martin

(illustration by Angie)

Why do you travel? For me, it’s to see new places, expose myself to new things, people, culture. Walking unfamiliar streets, eyes peeled to the sky; watching people pass you on the street; hearing the street noises in a new city: needless to say, the urge to see and do these things in an unfamiliar place aren’t original.

But one thing struck me yesterday as I looked at the photography exhibit at MoMA. Even though I was surrounded by some of the world’s best art, I found myself searching for the familiar in the art there, particularly in the photographs. Which I loved. The shots of nature and models and portraits were intersting. But the photographs of Knoxville and the girl at the flea market in Georgia, I couldn’t get enough of those. I go hundreds of miles away from my home to experience something new, yet search for the familiar when I get there? Why? I really don’t know. Maybe I’m drawn to other people’s interpretation of your home, in general terms, out of the environment in which it was created and reflected. It’s like looking in the mirror in the dark, where you struggle to recognize the shape you know is there without even opening your eyes.

Or maybe I’m homesick for a home I couldn’t wait to leave.