A Look Inside

Salvador Dali at one of his own art openings....

Last night I attended an art opening where several of my vital organs were on display. There were eight in all: a heart, two lungs, a liver, a kidney, a pancreas and of course, the large and small intestines. Fortunately my brain was still in my skull, although it must have been turned off when I agreed several months ago to show my art to total strangers, each of whom was balancing a glass of wine in one hand and some crackers and cheese and grapes in the other. Even worse, it's a group show, so the entrails of three other artist are hanging in the same room, allowing for comparisons. (It seemed like a couple of those other hearts were beating much faster than mine, and several of the intestines looked way healthier.)

All kidding aside, showing your art in a gallery takes guts, and as I've already mentioned, mine were in evidence last night. For some it might be an occasion for celebration, but I felt something akin to panic: Did I really paint that? I'm so much better now! I have progressed, I have grown! I do landscapes and abstracts, not flowers anymore! Okay, so once in awhile I do a vase with some pansies drooping out of it, but anyway, art is liquid---who knows what I will paint today?

My husband kept saying it all looked great and that my insides were the best ones there. So did my brother-in-law and sister-in-law. But really, do their opinions count for anything? No, that's what family is really good at: shielding you from the truth. One local art critic was there, a likeable chap to talk with, until he skewers you in print! It could be bad. He might hurt my feelings; in fact, he's done it before...

Oh well, at least I looked nice. Several people complimented my new haircut. And I did meet some very nice people and have interesting conversations. But my insides hanging on the wall were so distracting, it was hard to really have a good time.