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 Holly Winter Living The Life Of Holly May 4, 2003 I know. It’s my own fault. I didn’t exactly make it a plea for help. I worded it more like an invitation. “Hey. Want to go with me to an art show opening at A Show Of Hands, in Cherry Creek, Denver?” “Why would I want to do that?” My good friend, Ralph asked. “Are there going to be women there?” “Yes. Naked, dancing women. And buckets of food. And as much wine as you can drink.” “No. Thanks. I don’t care that much about art.” I asked Shelby. “Nope. I have to take the dogs to the dog park.” “Now? You have to take the dogs now?” “Holly. I’m almost there. What’s the rush?” “I’m taking Brenda’s painting to be signed by the artist who’ll be there for another hour.” “Why can’t Brenda get her own painting signed?” “She’s out of town.” I even knocked on my neighbor’s door to see if he would want to ride with me to an art show. Everyone knows that I am not working right now because I am on medical leave. The last thing that I need to do is spend time in an art gallery. Chris Roberts-Antieau is well known fiber artist. I know. That’s what I thought when Brenda said that she had bought a piece of fiber art. Take that fuzzy picture out of your head, and replace it with something original, bright, humorously detailed, and exactly what you wanted to buy me for Christmas. I got to the gallery, thinking that I would find Chris, get the painting signed, and escape as quickly as I could. Um. No. I immediately got pulled into her work. A whimsical picture of a dog looking at you during its bath. The expression on the dog’s face made everyone stop and laugh. Another of an angel flying away with a bottle of merlot. Hey. I want that one. Another funny piece with cats everywhere. Ok. I had already picked out the one hundred and eighty five dollar piece from another artist that I was going to buy. I know. I know. But. I’m an Art addict. Can’t help it. And I can’t afford Chris’s work right now. And I decided that buying a new piece of art now, when I can’t afford it, will be another example on how art can motivate people to change their lives. See. Now that I have spent this money, I have to work harder to beat the side effects of this medication faster, so I can hurry and return to work faster, so I can hurry and get a pay check faster. Now brown rice will no longer be a side dish on my dinner plate. It has moved to center stage and will now be a staple. Oh. No way. No complaints at all. It’s well worth the sacrifice. I was sampling some of the free candies in front of one of the visiting artist’s works when someone stepped in front of me. I ignored her. I wasn’t there to meet people. I was there to absorb art. “Hi I am Chris Roberts-Antieau.” She said, sticking out her hand. Yes. The artist. I tried to place her face. Couldn’t. “So. I see that you have one of my favorite pieces with you today. I just love Black Beauty!” She said. I laughed. “Sorry. I was so into your current work that I didn’t even hear you say your name.” I explained that Brenda was hoping for a signature on the front of the piece, and the gallery owner ran off in a tizzy over what kind of pen would be best. Chris turned to me. “So. What do you do?” “I write a daily humor column for an online magazine.” “A daily column? How in the world do you find things to write about every day?” She begged to know. “When do you write? How do you manage it? Please. Give me a card.” “Are you kidding?” I asked, surveying proof that being prolific was far from problematic for this woman. “No. How do you stay motivated?” She asked, touching my arm. We did a friendly stare down, each wondering if the other had a secret tap to the creative source that she might be willing to divulge, just this once, to someone who was very deserving of the information. I pointed to a huge picture that had many colorful birds in it. It was vibrant and alive. “Where on earth do you get your ideas from?” “Oh. Good point.” She laughed. “I don’t know. They just come to me.” “lucky you.” “I get many of my ideas from the fabric.” She said. “Me too.” “You get your ideas from fabric?” She was surprised. “Well. Not from the kinds of fabric that you use. My ideas come from the fabric of life.” We both nodded in agreement and sighed as we observed the many shoppers pointing, admiring, and buying her artwork. Yes. The fabric of life. (If you would like to check out her artwork, go to www.chrisroberts-antieau.com and browse around.) ------------ About the author: Holly Winter is a teacher and a writer and a flight attendant living in Denver, Colorado, USA. She can be reached at her website or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com Comment on this column in the forum. ------------ |
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