I'm tired. Have been working like a dog to get my dioramas ready for that bastion of commercialized pride-swallowing called Art Basel. And my studio heat is not working. Even now, as I type, my frostbitten appendages are wilting and falling off like MJ's nose.
And there seems to be a mouse-like thing making mouse-like noises, although I am hesitant to call it a mouse because then I would have to deal with the dirty little thing.
I had two delightful Thanksgivings. One was Risa's "Baby Thanksgiving" replete with miniature cornish hens, baby carrots and tiny cranberry molds (and baby-themed movies like Rosemary's Baby and Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?). The other was Erin Curtis' lamb feast, replete with lamb, sneezes and cigarettes.
In self-promotion news, Austin is featured in Art in America this month, and one of my diorama pics made it in. Suck my toes again bitches (please....they're very cold). I don't know how I feel about the article though, it's pretty ho-hum in that it discusses the exchange of institutional money more than it talks about art.
Also, I decided to change the format of my blogging for Berlin, take note:
In the spirit of Chris Isherwood's The Berlin Diaries, I shall diary in Berlin. Quite a leap, I know!
But I am going to journal in different characters' voices. I will write as Sad Little White Girl, Chuck Tracy, and Nancy Drew. I love pasty detectives!