Croneswood Art

damn damn damages – or – art show woes.

June 11, 2013

art, assholes, sculpture
I recently had a piece in a show at my local art center where I’ve been a member for several years. The show was kinda special in that (some of) the proceeds were to benefit a local animal rescue. I sculpted my dog, Loki. Worked hard on the little piece and my work earned an “Honorable Mention” at the show, where a fun time was had by all. Here’s a look at my girl…

So come time to pick her up from the center and nobody can locate her. I went on down to the studio figuring they’d find her and let me know. What ensued was bizarre and troubling. Here’s what happened:

When they broke down the show, my sculpture was mistakenly sent to another artist living somewhere in Montana or Michigan (the location is unclear but distant).

She was packed poorly and damaged during shipping. Here is what they did:

Loki was sent back to the center in a too small box and given back to me. The center’s executive director promised they would reimburse me for damages but later, reneged. If I wanted to be reimbursed the value (minus 40%), I would have to give them my sculpture for disposal. Really? If I wanted to keep her, I get nothing. So, you take my artwork, ship it out of state, break it, and then tell me I must resign it to the trash heap?

bleh.

I was told that this is the same as if she’d sold.
It’s not.

It was mentioned that I was very fond of it and didn’t want it to sell anyway.
Irrelevant.

They then offered me 30% of the value and I could keep my artwork because they felt sorry for me, but would be changing their liability policy so that if anyone failed to pick up their work on the last day of the show, they would not be covered. Yeah, that’s right. I’m a member. I work in the studio downstairs. I pay dues. I had the flu on pickup day and you can’t hold her or put her on my shelf? This somehow caused you to allow a moron to handle artwork and ship it willy nilly wherever? And blaming the artist will make it all better?
I say, fuck you, art center.

Basically, where it stands is here. I want to continue working with my sculpture guru and the great group of super talented sculptors, so I will take your paltry 30%, continue working in the studio, but that will be the extent of my involvement or support of the art center. I will never participate in shows, exhibitions or events again. I mean really…who would want to entrust their hard work in the hands of people who don’t understand or appreciate art?

Art is not just a commodity. Art is not something you toss out in the dust bin.

Art is blood, sweat, tears, love, hate, beauty and joy to the world and anybody that doesn’t understand that is a bloody moron and not to be trusted.
Ever.

Here’s my sculpture, “Waiting to Play,” repaired but not the same. I used epoxy to put her back together then filled in the cracks with Bondo (the stuff they use in body shops), built up and modeled the crushed foot, then matched up the patina. She not perfect and can’t be sold or exhibited, but at least she’s resting comfortably at home.
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happy anniversary

March 31, 2013

Uncategorized
as of april 1, day of fools, brni and i will have been married 13 years and been together for 19 years. it’s been positively prime. 😉
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the hole in the cellar

March 9, 2013

dreams
There are places in the night while I dream that are real. I visit them intermittently but with enough regularity that I know them when I’m there.

There’s the place deep in the darkest, dankest corner of the cellar — a cellar that is rather sprawling with lots of rooms and a huge, professional, restaurant-style kitchen full of well-used stainless steel counters, ovens, blackened gas cook tops, and cooks. Yes, there are people down there cooking all the time. They know me because this is my cellar.

Past the kitchens, the linoleum on the floor becomes broken and crumbly, until it finally gives way to stained, pitted cement. The ceiling is lower here, so even I have to crouch a bit to make my way through. The walls close in to form a narrow, dark hallway which turns sharply to the right. At the end of the hallway — more of a tunnel really with walls and floor given over to tightly compacted, damp dirt — there is a crevice-like opening. It is easily missed as there’s no light hanging from the dirt ceiling here.

Shimmy sideways through this opening, you will enter into a small but complicated cavern with mud-made columns resembling termite towers beset with little depressions, shelves, niches, and secret hidy-holes. The cavern is lit, but it’s not clear where the light is coming from. The soft, creamy light sort of emanates from within the walls. From the dirt. In some spots it sparkles like mica.

There are three of these rooms, set back but without regard to regular rectangular room configurations. They just sort of veer off each other at odd angles, always going deeper into the earth. It’s easy to get lost here, but I know the way because I’ve lived here all my life.

This is where I keep the special and rare Christmas ornaments. The ones that are old — some older than Christmas — and full of magic.
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Havana cat gargoyle

March 6, 2013

animals, art, sculpture
This little gargoyle sculpture was commissioned by a friend who raises Havana cats, which are these amazingly lean, long-legged cats with rich brown coats and striking green eyes. I hope I did them justice.
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Loki and her ball

March 4, 2013

art, sculpture
Loki has a favorite ball. It’s a red ball that flashes light when it is moved, jostled, or nudged. My cousin, Donna gave her this ball many years ago — at least 8 or so. We’re all amazed that the flashy thing inside still works.

Loki doesn’t really like playing fetch. She has her own way of playing ball. She gets the ball of choice, runs up to the human she has decided needs her attention, and growls menacingly. This is her invitation to the human to try and get the ball. As you go to take it from her, the pitch and volume of her growl grows and she does her best imitation of an attack monster-dog defending her young. If you back off or try to ignore her, she will continue to close in, eventually nudging your hand or dropping the ball in your lap while continuing to growl with gusto, as if to say, “stupid human, you are supposed to grasp the ball with your hand and pull on it while it’s in my mouth. Hasn’t anyone taught you how to play?”

Sometimes she will go to a spot in the room or out on the deck with the ball or other toy in her mouth, sit facing the humans with the hope that they will notice she wants to play. If they fail to notice after a certain amount of time (say, a few minutes), she will drop the ball with a sigh and stare at you with the saddest look I’ve ever seen on the face of a most well-loved dog.

So, I sculpted Loki waiting with her ball. She’s done in red, outdoor sculpture clay with a pigmented wax patina. It doesn’t do her justice.

I’ve entered her in a juried art show and I really hope she gets in. I also hope to get up some better photos of the piece to put up on Flickr and my website. But for now, here’s Loki, waiting to play.

Another view plus a detail of the head below.
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birthday bah

February 20, 2013

Uncategorized
i do not want to complain, but …
my birthday doesn’t even warrant proper capitalization. the effort at this point is just not worth it.

the night before my birthday, which was today (so the night before was last night) was okay until my younger son called me. he needed help getting his social security card replaced. a quick web search informed us that we could do that at the county courthouse. i had tentative plans to lounge around, take a hot, soaky, bubbly bath and then go to the studio, but that was easily changed to help the kid.

later that night the older son called to complain about his life. bitterly. these things are not only upsetting to hear, they are exhausting. so i went to bed relatively early to blot it all out and be ready for the younger son’s arrival around 9am.

and i waited.
until noon.
called. texted. waited. got annoyed.

long story short, when younger son called back, i was no longer fit to drive so brni volunteered to take him to the courthouse, which was open until 3 pm. that is, until some time in the near past where some underpaid worker pasted a sticker over the 3. the sticker said noon.

so, no lounging around, no bubbly bath, no studio, no social security replacement card. birthday is not looking so good. my mood was not happy. my mood was rather dark and prickly.

when brni felt my prickles had softened some, he told me he wanted to take me out to dinner for my birthday. i bristled at the word, “birthday” but said okay. we went to a cute local place around the corner that serves good food and frufru drinks, but also beer.

it was closed. as in, closed-for-business-forever.

this birthday is not boding well. this birthday really sucks.

went home. brni went and bought me booze. i raided the fridge for leftover frozen shit. maybe i’ll play lotro.

birthdays
bah
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