The ever-evolving figurative piece is currently the bane of my existence. Art isn't supposed to be this frustrating. Either I sit here with a blank brain, or I just start doing "stuff" to it to try to make it better, often just making it chaotic. Arghhhhh! The artists who say, "Just do something!" are putting me in a bit of a slapping mood. So I've tied wire, cut the wire off, removed the working stand, tried incorporating paper (it looks cool, but too much like a dress on a masculine-faced piece), took off the paper, tore the paper, stitched the paper, shoved it up the caboose of the piece again (it was good for a chuckle, but not a good look), and finally started cutting heavy wire to create a modern base. This paragraph makes about as much sense as the pile of debris on my desks looks like art. Not much.On the Mom front: I woke up in the middle of the night, stressing that I've missed not one boat, but an entire fleet in getting my #2 child prepared to go to college in less than two years. Child #1 was the most self-directed academic-minded child I ever knew. She was obsessive about doing well in school, thinking about college when her age was still in the single-digit range. Child #2 says to me when he got a D on his report card a couple of years ago, "Hey, at least it wasn't an F!" as if I should be thrilled with that little bit of information. Because, hey, I should have known a "D" wasn't all that bad, right? I feel wicked wondering if I invest in one of those pricey classes to help prepare him for the SAT exam if he'll even study or care. When I ask, I get a hint of the right answer, but no sense of commitment. Right now, I'm obsessed with pointing out sad jobs (like the poor blokes that do nothing but throw suitcases on airplanes, and often the wrong plane at that) and tell Kevin that THEY didn't go to COLLEGE. He chuckles, I keep looking for more examples and hope it will inspire him to care one tenth as much as I do.
