What do I do to wind down from an exhibition?
We clean up my area quickly.
We are militant in our efficiency, packaging up art and breaking down my work's station.
I do not socialize with other artists (or anybody else) after an exhibition or show. That's what the pre-show and actual show are for. I want to get home and get to bed so I can prepared and rested for the next day's work.
The last show I did, my fiance and I broke down the booth and were in the car within five minutes flat.
“The efficiency he and I have as a team is a masterpiece in itself. ”
I'm not kidding. The efficiency he and I have as a team is a masterpiece in itself.
We break down my booth. Before, during or after which, I always silently thank God for the opportunity that I just had.
On the drive home, we re-play the highest (and weirdest) moments of the show, like Jackie. Jackie was a woman I had the joy of meeting at the Conception Art Show in New York City in early March. She had just completed her Masters and worked with kids who have autism. Art can be such a fantastic outlet for so many people.
She came up to me toward the end of the show after the award ceremony and expressed how deeply she believed my piece "Thy Will Not Mine" should have won that evening's Award for Excellence.
“Art can be such a fantastic outlet for so many people.”
I didn't have a chance to see the piece that did win, so I can't speak to it.
What I can say is that there was a photographer there who had a photograph that brought me to tears upon looking at it. I probably shouldn't say this, but I think he should have won.
Ever-confident in my own work, however, I would have happily accepted second place to that photo of his.
Not coincidentally, God was the unverbalized subject of both of our pieces.
(I regret that I was in so much of a whirlwind that night that I did not catch that photographer's name.)
In any event, on the drive home my man and I discuss the highs and lows. We discuss things that have nothing to do with art and the show we just attended. We carry on with our lives.
I thank him, profusely. Often tearfully. He is the best.
And then, once I receive a moment without anyone else around- usually once at home- I call my mom.
I thank her. I tell her all about the evening and I marvel at how brilliant she is. I tell her the title of a piece she received a photo of earlier in the evening and she'll guess what she suspects the message may be behind it.
I'm tearing up as I write this, because she has guessed my message correctly Every. Single. Time.
As an abstract artist, you hear a lot of different theories at a show as to what the meaning may be behind any given piece.
To have someone so seamlessly understand it is, well, uncanny.
“As an abstract artist, you hear a lot of different theories at a show as to what the meaning may be behind any given piece. To have someone so seamlessly understand it is, well, uncanny. ”
I thank her. I tell her how much I love her. I tell her how much she has shaped me. I tell her how much art has saved me.
I thank her.
She always tries to give the credit back to me and her humility never ceases to leave me in awe.
We end the call, exchanging "I love you"s.
“I ponder for a minute or two how my mother may be the smartest person who’s ever lived. And then I get ready for bed. ”
After hanging up, I ponder for a minute or two how my mother may be the smartest person who's ever lived.
And then I get ready for bed.
Before I fall asleep, I pray again- thanking God for the opportunity, my life and most of all, for the people in it.
And that's all I do after a show.
TRISHA WILES