Snot Pouring Out of My Nose
I enthusiastically signed up to show creations at the Art Night Austin on November 12th totally forgetting that I am not an artist.
I’ve thought about doing a macaroni portrait of Pee-Wee Herman, but figured that that would take too long to create. Also, I wouldn’t want to sell it to anyone. I’d want to hang it above my bed next to the Frank Zappa mask I made for my “General Religion” course in college. Our final project was to make plaster masks of our faces, put the masks under our pillows and dream on them, and then paint the dream on the mask. I dreamt that I was Frank Zappa.
A Frank Zappa mask earned me an overall A+ in a religion course.
Who said college is a waste of time?
One project that I’ve flirted around with is doing something with all the drunk photos I took of myself during my 22nd year of life. Now these aren’t sexy drunken photos (but are they really ever?). These are bottom-of-the-barrel-crying-like-a-little-bitch-swollen-nose-drooling-lying-on-the-floor-moaning photos. This was the year I tried understanding the painful transition from child to adult, all the while being in a city where 2-3 people are murdered a day, the only person I could talk to was my $150/hour therapist, and a stressful job that made my mother cry and scream, “Who the hell have you become!?” to me every week. I felt quiet low this particular year and having only recently discovered the temporary comforting attributes of booze (yes, I didn’t drink before I was 21), I indulged in a nightly love affair of numbing the fuck out of myself. You may ask why anyone in their right mind would take photos of themselves drunk alone at home. I will tell you it’s mostly because of my narcissism and being an only child. As an only child, you always have to find ways to entertain yourself. I was taking photos of myself since I was 8, but instead of alcohol it was meth. The other reason why I took photos of myself drunk (and the reason I like to tell people), is to document a time in my life that I never want to forget. I understood at that time that the pain I was feeling was temporary. I knew one day I would forget the way I felt at that exact moment and maybe not understand the girl that I was. I didn’t want to let that happen.
What do you think? What would your thoughts be if you saw an exhibit like this? Pretentious? Silly? Waste of time? Thought-provoking? Uncomfortable?
In the meantime, look at some completely unrelated photos that I took….