(Absent Minded) Artist of the Month*

I'm catching up again on the Platform Challenge.  Just a couple days behind the curve on posting this.  I did write it the day RLB challenged us, but alas, no Internet at home means I post when I get into town and have a couple of minutes free and clear. 

Now I just have to find where I wrote the stupid post, i.e. poetry journal or brain dump journal? 

My journal has forsaken me, so I must reconstruct from faulty memory.  (Yes, I know I am unorganized as hell.  See below for case in point.)

So, the Thursday before Easter, as I was dressing in the locker room of the local gym where I work as a massage therapist (poetry doesn't pay, you know), I get a call from another volunteer of the Tappahannock Artists' Guild.  She informed me that my name had been pulled from a hat and I was artist of the month from Tax Day (April 15) to May 15.  And that I needed to get more photos to the gallery ASAP.  And I had to email her my bio.  And answer the 6 interview questions.  And get her a photo and images to put online for my artist's page on the TAG website.  (OK, I kept getting emails from her all weekend with the additional requests for information.  It's called poetic license.  Or a lawful lie.)

Since I had planned on leaving town for my visit to my Mom's right after I drove back home to let the dogs out to pee, I had to do all this** before I went on my trip.  So, I go get the framed, non-archival digital prints I had just removed from the gallery the day before, after getting juried into said gallery, plus all the good quality B&W work prints I could find in under 5 minutes.  And in my mad rush to get the hell out of town, I left my luggage on the bed upstairs.  

I got a call from my significant other an hour plus into my 7.5 hour drive asking me if I meant to leave my luggage on the bed, upstairs. 

Of frelling course I meant to leave my packed bag at home!***  

In my defense, I had worked out that am after my massage appointments, which meant I had my gym bag with me.  I remembered putting a bag in my car.  I just remembered the wrong bag.****  So, my luggage stayed home and I got to shop for another pair of pants and some undies before I left Greensboro for Lake James.

So far the Artist of the Month experience has been great.  It was the preparation that was a P.I.T.A..*****

Here's one thing off my printed bio which did not make it to my TAG web page.  It's a poem about working in my wet darkroom****** (Yes, it's 19th Century technology.  I'm a practicing steam-punk ;)  

DARKNESS

Turn the overhead lights off,

flick on the red bulb

to signal my final descent into darkness.

Lock the door,

close my eyes

and open them to find the feeble fingers of light

seeping through

walls, curtains

to stain the film I want to play with,

develop blank frames

into smiling faces

or the wondrous play of grey scale, white to midnight.

Bring out paper,

chemicals, containers

of hazardous smells, skin drying baths.

Insert, expose,

wet down, rock to the tick 

of the timer, peer through darkness.

Patient,

waiting

for the image to surface, one slight feature at a time.



Check out the links to TAG, or to the other blogs I sorta follow, or sign up for email updates to my blog.  Or not.  You won't hurt my feelings.  Really! 

* Aren't footnotes great?
** I just dropped off the framed images and a folder of loose prints for her to scan and put online for me.

*** Heavily edited for post-ability, since my blog content is supposed to be G-Rated.

**** I usually bring all my stuff downstairs and put in the staging area before loading the car because I'm absent minded.  Never change your trip routine 'cuz it bites you in the @ss later.  

***** Pain In The @ss.

****** Written in response to a prompt from RLB.