Sunday, October 19, 2008

FUCK Volunteering!

Only good thing to come from volunteering at the Mill: It allowed me to drop off Mousie in another town, ensuring she won't return this time. I hope. If she *does* manage to get back, I'm doomed.

Otherwise, the Mill was a completely unpleasant experience. The people running the place seemed to have their clique of volunteers, making a n00b like me a useless outsider. The artists around seemed to have their clique of barn-painters, making a contemporary artist like me a strange outsider. Most of my time was spent wandering from wall to wall, occasionally straightening a frame and slowly dying inside.

Sitting in the gallery was profoundly depressing. The economy is shit, so no one is buying. There's a giant festival across the road from the art show, including the police blocking off access to the mill from one location, so foot traffic is down. The reliable regulars to the mill are only there to buy traditional art, meaning I didn't see anyone give any of the interesting paintings a second look. Unless the art featured barns, horses, cuddly animals, birds, flowers, clouds or the mill itself, it was ignored. Watching person after person fawn over four very MEH paintings featuring two birch trees in each season killed more of my soul each time.

Today, one of the artists was in attendance, painting a large copy of one of his displayed paintings by request. The painting was of chickens. Chickens. The painting. Chickens. BY REQUEST! I tried to chat with him for a bit, but he was notably condescending and dismissive. I mentioned I had begun painting relatively recently. He responded that people must LEARN to paint over time. I told him I normally work in drawing. He responded that everyone can draw and it's purely learning of technique. I told him that his sketches would make good lithographs. He responded that he didn't like lithography and only liked etchings. This was all exacerbated by his snotty British accent. I looked through the catalog he brought, promoting his work as well as that of his pathetic, talentless, fairy-loving wide. I TRIED to say something positive, but I... I couldn't. Best I could do was say, "Oh, neat." Watching people fawn over him all day was excruciating. Chickens. Middleburg, Virginia can just go fuck itself. Next mill show, I am only submitting paintings of sunflowers and barns.

Not only was this agonizing, but it the temperature kept dropping until the circulation stopped in my toes. Oh, and I was missing the Redskins-Browns game! Thankfully, those two teams decided to wait until I showed up at halftime to start playing. THAT IS WHY I LOVE THOSE TEAMS!

And I had to come home to a house missing a kitchen, meaning my retard brother (WHO DOES NOT LIVE HERE, BUT SHOWS UP TO MOOCH FOOD THE MINUTE I BRING IT INTO THE HOUSE) was constantly in and out of my room. Dude is uncomfortably stupid, and unbearable to be around. The last thing I need after a day of visual stupidity is to have stupidity personified hanging around to violate my food and only leave once he was asked to clean up an unsanitary mess he'd created. Dude is more destructive and unsanitary than the mouse could ever hope to be.

In conclusion: If I ever find a genie in a bottle who grants me three wishes, one of them will be to create a disease that painfully kills the stupid while leaving the smart stronger.

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