Molly Goatwax

A Hectic Day

One thing they don't tell you when you embark on a temporary teaching assignment is what environment you may encounter. Because it is generally not known beforehand, the traveling art lady may find her classroom overheated, without water or lined with ceramic tile walls that amplify each and every sarcastic tone uttered by a gaggle of arguing tweens. This afternoon I tried to keep twelve children focused on the task of wet-glueing patterned paper to wooden boxes as they were jammed into individual desks meant for youmger children. This project takes a few acres of table space for even the tidiest artist. We only got to the first steps, which is fine with me. This time they all understood where the project was heading and they were into it, perhaps because my samples were better..I've learned not to be too frustrated by how long it takes for a simple task to be explained, demonstrated and absorbed in the midst of distraction. I'm new at this, too.

Compose yourself

Today is Saint Dymphna's Day. It is also Straw Hat Day and Wavey Gravy's birthday. Ralph Steadman, one of my favorite artists, shares this birthday. It is also International Concientious Objectors' Day. I asked the younger daughter if they observed it at her school, after I explained that C.O's usta get jailed for refusing to bear arms. My mother's first husband was interred under wretched conditions in the Dakotas during the second world war for choosing not to fight and had to find his way back to New York on his own, when released.

Under Construction

It's the merry month of May and my show has been calendared for December. Today I bought a very generous yard of 42 inch Arches heavy weight cold press water color paper and stapled up a fair portion of it. With a level and a plumb (a nickle stuck to the end of the masking tape), I marked off a right rectangle about 32'HX38W. Then I started giving it a neutral ground of sepia conte and a danish blue chalk. I was driven by waking up in the middle of the night after dreaming of smoking a cigarette, and the composition for a painting became clear to me. I had to sketch it out next to the market list over coffee this morning. With the watercolor paper I bought some patterned tissues for the children so they can cover cigar boxes in tomorrow's workshop....

On the tour of happy places

Today was my first session of training for the hospital photography job. To a man, (ermmm.) all the newborns had expressions of shock and revulsion, being exposed to light and air-when they could be stirred from sleep. It was as if they realized that a cruel trick had been played them. They also all had a healthy blush and fullness, being full term. The mothers looked almost as dazed and vulnerable as the babies. If only they realized how lucky they are! And they do. But hey, giving birth hurts in the best of circumstances. I misremember well looking forward to a post-partum beer.

Patterns, Multiples and Chairs by the Side of the Road

So what, exactly do these chairs mean? Do they symbolize the absence of the person whose seat it is or the inevitable entropy of urban decay? Why the obsession? I hear that in other towns the chairs are not meant for bulk trash but to seat wanderers. They do evoke a gentler era and as a theme they are useful for pestering Miss Lis, to whom I photo message each and every one of them, collected or not, a veritable diary of chairs by the side of the road. Sometimes I send her a desk or a couch. Because they are there. Everywhere. That's the truth of the matter. They seem almost as common as dandelions. This one has lovely legs, a pea green paint job and the added bonus of a mirror in fine shape. The real question is not why am I collecting them, but why are they there? What do they suggest to you?

The downpour

Gosh, I miss my mom. The feeling became acute when I passed by a cemetery that has no visible markers, except a lot of bouquets, and devoted middle aged children were setting out more in the rain...was that rain? I wipe my cheeks.

In Preparation

At this stage in organizing the show, I find myself doing a lot of writing. Lists, inventories, measurements, descriptions and titles have to be tabulated and assigned. Flyers will have to be made. Because I am more or less a poet, I scribble a lot of notes in the studio, sometimes on the pieces themselves and sometimes on scraps of paper which I later fish from under stacks of paintings. They help me clarify what I'm trying to do. Here's one; "Vehicles To Nowhere, the use of Abandoned Excercycles as a Recurring Theme". And; "Patterns, Multiples and Chairs by the Side of The Road". These seemingly disjointed phrases come in handy when you have to write a statement about your work and explain your choices of scale, vernacular and visual vocabulary. Strung together, the gobblety gook sounds almost convincingly like scholarly work.

Shout-out

The ever stunningly beautiful and model-svelte Miss Janet is having a drinks party for her perpetual 39th birthday this evening at Dougherty's Irish Pub. I will see you there.

Thinking about maps

A lot of the galleries around town are staging shows about a city wide mapping project. I love maps. Had I known about this, I may have submitted my garage tour, which is Google mapped, with photos. I am reposting this from a few months ago.

Bring on the Clowns

Now that I have a show on the books-it does not yet have a precise date-all kinds of ideas spring to mind. One of these inspirations involves photocopied fliers stapled to telephone poles on fifty five blocks of Charles Street, our main drag. The notion of gluing gallery announcements onto bricks and flinging them not through windows, but onto lawns was entertained. I previewed the space today and it is very large, a challenge to stage my more recent small works. Those of you not familiar with my visual art may view samples in the albums at the side. I'll need some time to organize my installation and focus on a unifying theme. My proposal promised to provide bottled beverages to demonstrate the works' interactivity at the opening. I'd like to have a band, too. Maybe Polka. Or an amateur violinist. Perhaps I can revive my cabaret act and invite my plush toy pig to recite original poetry*. Yeah. No. Maybe. What's cheap? Who's volunteering? I hope we don't have to resort to mimes and animal acts, though, hey. Whatever.

*Yes, I've done this for money. It was a big hit. I am secretly a famous comedienne. What! Don't you have a cabaret act!?