while the guest book dries

(I wanted to make my guest book, since I now have that power, but I didn't have time to actually put the whole thing together before the show, so I sewed up the inside pages to have at the opening, and then this afternoon I put the hard covers on. It's drying under weights over the weekend. I think I'll actually turn it in for class.)

I was completely unprepared for this event. I remembered going to other people's openings which generally involved awkward attempts at mingling, making non-insightful comments about art, and eating cheese. Thank god for cheese. I was kind of picturing that, except this time I wouldn't be able to leave after 15 minutes, and I'd be surrounded by really unflattering photos of myself naked. I was sort of preparing myself for an ordeal, thinking of it like a performance. I get worried and anxious and then the lights are on and the audience is there and I have a job to do and I can do it. I'd forgotten the part that always happens on stage, when I realize that I can do my job, and I love it. The part when everything comes together.

I didn't quite believe that people would come, because I never think that people will come, because I know that what feels like a life-and-death event for me is almost an errand for other people to remember to do. Drop some things off at the library, pick up some more paper at Blick, stop by Angela's reception, get dinner, go home. But people came, everyone I'd hoped to see. They were all so supportive. It felt more like a birthday party than an opening.

And there's a sense of resolution, because when you're in art school, this is kind of what you're working for. This is supposed to be what I do. And I did it. It's done, it's over, it was successful. I may do it again (rumor has it that the Emma Goldman Clinic has a very extensive mailing list, and might be interested in this work).