Last night was the opening of my art show at the Off the Wall Gallery! Keep in mind, when I say "gallery," what I really mean is "tiny dive bar with art on one of the walls." But I don't care, because the company was great, the booze was flowing, and I was rubbing shoulders with some fabulous fellow artists.
I had such a good time, and I was dead chuffed to be a part of this show. Thank you to those of you that came out in support of me and my creative projects!
Even though I was thrilled to have so many of my friends there to support me (and drink with me), there was one person who I really wanted to be there, and when he didn't show up, I couldn't help but feel a bit bitter.
"I do SO MUCH for him, and he can't walk the seven blocks to come and see me," I bitched to Sarah and J.J.
"Things that you do for him have a way of coming back to you, even if they're not directly from him," J.J. told me wisely.
"But dude. He's my brother," I pointed out. "I still feel like I'm 7 years old, begging him to play with me."
Later on the train ride home, drunk and cynical, I contemplated how I had driven two hours to Harrisburg to see my brother's art, despite having seen the painting about a thousand times before on his apartment wall. I was coming close to sending him a bitchy text message -- "Way to come to my art show, asshole." Luckily, my train stop arrived before I could type it out, and all my concentration went towards walking home before my feet ripped themselves off of my ankles in protest of the 3-inch heels I had crammed them in all night.
20 minutes ago, my brother called me:
"OK, it's at 13th and Pine. What time does it start?"
"Um, yeah. It opened last night."
"WHAT?!?!"
"Yeah. Last night."
"I...I thought it opened on First Friday."
"It opened last night so as not to compete with First Friday."
"Oh my god! I am so sorry! I wanted to be there! I can't believe I missed it. Why didn't you call or text me?"
"I just naturally assumed that you couldn't come -- that you had rehearsal or something." Because you've bailed on me before, my brain silently pointed out.
"Oh Kate! I feel awful! I'm so proud of you. I can't believe I missed this. I feel terrible."
"Well, the art will be up until August, so you can still go in and see it."
"No, I wanted be there when it opened, to celebrate with you! I can't believe I missed this. Oh, man. I was just sitting at home doing nothing last night. I'm so bummed." I could hear how upset he was. He wasn't copping out, he felt terrible, I could tell.
"Well, no worries. Shit happens."
"Well, I will tell you what. I am going to 13th and Pine tonight, and I'm drowning my sorrows. And every single person that walks into that bar, I'm going to point out your art work and tell them that my sister did that."
He's forgiven.
I had such a good time, and I was dead chuffed to be a part of this show. Thank you to those of you that came out in support of me and my creative projects!
Even though I was thrilled to have so many of my friends there to support me (and drink with me), there was one person who I really wanted to be there, and when he didn't show up, I couldn't help but feel a bit bitter.
"I do SO MUCH for him, and he can't walk the seven blocks to come and see me," I bitched to Sarah and J.J.
"Things that you do for him have a way of coming back to you, even if they're not directly from him," J.J. told me wisely.
"But dude. He's my brother," I pointed out. "I still feel like I'm 7 years old, begging him to play with me."
Later on the train ride home, drunk and cynical, I contemplated how I had driven two hours to Harrisburg to see my brother's art, despite having seen the painting about a thousand times before on his apartment wall. I was coming close to sending him a bitchy text message -- "Way to come to my art show, asshole." Luckily, my train stop arrived before I could type it out, and all my concentration went towards walking home before my feet ripped themselves off of my ankles in protest of the 3-inch heels I had crammed them in all night.
20 minutes ago, my brother called me:
"OK, it's at 13th and Pine. What time does it start?"
"Um, yeah. It opened last night."
"WHAT?!?!"
"Yeah. Last night."
"I...I thought it opened on First Friday."
"It opened last night so as not to compete with First Friday."
"Oh my god! I am so sorry! I wanted to be there! I can't believe I missed it. Why didn't you call or text me?"
"I just naturally assumed that you couldn't come -- that you had rehearsal or something." Because you've bailed on me before, my brain silently pointed out.
"Oh Kate! I feel awful! I'm so proud of you. I can't believe I missed this. I feel terrible."
"Well, the art will be up until August, so you can still go in and see it."
"No, I wanted be there when it opened, to celebrate with you! I can't believe I missed this. Oh, man. I was just sitting at home doing nothing last night. I'm so bummed." I could hear how upset he was. He wasn't copping out, he felt terrible, I could tell.
"Well, no worries. Shit happens."
"Well, I will tell you what. I am going to 13th and Pine tonight, and I'm drowning my sorrows. And every single person that walks into that bar, I'm going to point out your art work and tell them that my sister did that."
He's forgiven.
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