I've got some time here.

Just a little spot of time, a pause in an otherwise full day. I should probably use it to sort out the mess of paperwork that I lug around from office to office to office to home in my new shiny red purse. So many meetings (9 this week so far), so much on my to do list. But I perused the blogs of the blog-writing faithful and both new entries were art-related. That fits in nicely with what I wanted to write about--art--and so to hell with work, it's time for art.

I watched two documentaries this week and both dealt with modern art, Pollock, and What is Art, Anyway?

The first was called "Who the &%^# is Jackson Pollock?". An older, female truck driver goes into a thrift store and spots this large (4x6?) ugly painting and decides to buy it for $5 and give it as a funny white elephant gift to her depressed friend. The painting wouldn't fit into the friend's trailer door, so the trucker took it somewhere and someone told her that she might have a Pollock on her hands. "Who the *%&#$ is Pollock?" she asked, and so her story begins.

Due to her rather rudimentary nature, she was, of course, shunned by an art world that seems to require its participants to possess a completely obnoxious superiority complex. At least, those were the people she encountered. Anyway, they told her there was no way it could be a masterpiece by Pollock, worth around $50 million, because Pollocks don't end up in thrift stores and, by the way, you're trash so we don't have to even entertain your ridiculous notions.

Being a stubborn white trash gal, she kept pushing and pushing, trying to solve the mystery of is it? or isn't it? And if it is, why is it worth $50 million and if it isn't, why is something that looks exactly like a Pollock worthless?

I won't spoil the movie for you. But it brings up the wonderful question of why some things are worth a lot more than other things. And I like to hear what people say about what makes the kind of art that looks like 'my kid could do it' so important. Or why a bunch of noise in the form of 'real' jazz or certain Velvet Underground songs is 'important'.

I remember asking my husband his thoughts about the Beatles. 'Why are the Beatles considered such visionaries, and why are they so popular?' My husband is very knowledgeable about rock and roll--he's the guy who reads all the liner notes, musician bios, knows the kind of guitar the guy on TV is playing and all the greats who played that kind of guitar, etc. And it should be said that he and I are Rolling Stones people. Both bands are great, and we love them both. But as you move through life you will meet Beatles people and Rolling Stones people. There is a difference, pop culture-wise.

He said that the Beatles were THE BEATLES mostly because of the studio wizardry, and that their producer had a lot to do with that. They were also blessed by timing. They were hella-inventive (though not the first to go psychedelic) and because they couldn't tour for all the stupid screaming girls drowning out the sound, they concentrated their abundant artistic energy into the studio.

There's more to it, of course, but certainly being the first to do something (or the first to do it well), having a consistency of vision, and creating something that makes people dig a little deeper to 'get' it, and WANT to dig, and then ENJOY it, well, that's doing pretty well. So...Pollock's splatters are worth more than some countries net in a decade.

The second documentary was "My Kid Could Paint That". Here's the site: http://www.sonyclassics.com/mykidcouldpaintthat/

It's about a 4-year old who paints like Pollock--or does she? Is she a prodigy, whatever the hell that is, or is she a talented kid pushed to new levels by her stage dad? Why were her paintings worth so much as a prodigy, but instantly bargain-binned when rumors surfaced (thanks to '60 Minutes') that her dad helped her to 'polish' up her works? The intrigue thickens when two attempts to film her painting something from start to finish end up showing two works that are nearly identical and a notch less good than her other works. (When I look at my friend Burb's eldest daughter's art, I see incredible talent. Or is it her ambitious, ruthless-in-the-quest-for-fame father pushing her???)

The arbitrariness of 'what is art?' is interesting to me. I can see the point of those who say that part of what makes something valuable is the story behind it. Surely something purely new (to the extent that that is possible) has a good story. I suppose that a person overcoming physical and age obstacles to create something 'masterful' is a good story, too. But should those things be more valuable? What makes a black circle on a white canvas priceless? Or a painting of a soup can? Or a bunch of paint splatters? Or "Sgt. Pepper's", Piss Christ, wrapping a building in fabric, or taking vivid pictures of little kids throwing fits?

In the latter movie, there was some commentary by Michael Kimmelman, the art reporter at the New York Times. I liked what he had to say about standards in art:

"Art isn't about utter agreement. Art is about not so much having a single standard, but coming to understand for yourself why you have the standards you do and what their implications are and where that takes you. And then, you know, keeping your eyes open enough to be able to maybe evolve to have different standards, to like different things."

It's simple, it's reasonable, and I like it. It urges you to open your mind to new experiences, yet not be intimidated by the 'experts'--in essence, to 'know what you like'. I feel this way about wine, too. So many snobs, but a taste bud is a taste bud. Learn a little about the grapes, try different wines with different things, and enjoy it. And if you hate heavy, oaky reds, even though the 'experts' go on and on about them, don't sweat it. There's plenty of everything to go around.

In the end, I don't know a whole lot about art, but I know the feeling I get when something stops me in my tracks, makes me go "wow.", and makes me wish I could take it home. I remember the first time I heard the Velvet Underground--I heard it with my whole mind, and it flooded into my chest and I thought "What is this awesome sound?" I had never heard anything like it. And I still love them, and most people would probably hate their music! And that's fine, too.

I remember seeing Monet's "Woman with Umbrella" in Washington D.C. There's nothing screamingly original about it (that I know of), but when you see the real painting, you see the little bit of empty canvas at the edges, the brushstrokes through thick paint. And I thought, "Someone sat down in front of a blank canvas with paint that any of us could go and buy and THIS came out." There've been many others, but you get the idea. I am incredibly thankful that the world is filled with artists and craftspeople and what, exactly, is the difference there? To have a vision and the ability to shape that vision into a painting, or a bunch of notes, or whatever is an incredible gift, and one we should all encourage among those who have it and even those who don't.

The People in My Neighborhood

Job #1 is just 1 mile from the house. But in that short commute, I see so much.

Inevitably, there's a kid running to school, which starts at 8, and I usually pass by around 7:58. It's an uphill climb, and most of the kids around here are pretty fat and carrying enormous backpacks. (Whatever happened to little book bags?) Good luck, kid.

Then I make a right on 6th Street and sometimes have to stop while a semi backs into a tight spot, up a little ramp, to get loaded with fresh bread from the big corporate bakery that fills the downtown air with the sweet, warm smell of white bread baking. I wonder how many years it takes to master that backing maneuver, which means placing the trailer in that little spot while missing the telephone pole and parked cars with the cab. I always want to give them a thumbs-up for their driving skill, but they're usually concentrating on the last few feet when I drive on.

On the right side of the street from all this is the feed store and fencing warehouse. The guy in the fencing warehouse is really nice and pretty cute, too, with a really deep voice, a slight Missourah drawl, and an easy smile. I never mind going to the fencing store, even though they never have what I need. Never.

The feed store guys, though, are different. They dress the same--work boots, Wranglers, seed company caps--but they are in their 20s and seemingly unhappy with their lot in life. They never smile, but they're efficient. This morning the bigger of the two was walking over to the fencing warehouse, not smiling of course, looking exactly like someone who, with his good 'ol boy posse, would've stormed Tom Robinson's cell so he could beat the shit out of him back in the good old days. I can't confirm the rebel flag sticker on the back of his truck, but I do know that he has one of those huge, 1980s vintage Amurican trucks with no muffler and, apparently, some sort of reverse-muffler-noise-machine so he can at least terrify the black folks' ears. Sure it's an unfair judgment. But that's what you get for never smiling.

I arrive at work. Job #1. In the paper after last week's contentious meeting, the front page headline (beneath the fold, anyway) was "Tourism says two hats may be too many for Lulu".

So the people in my neighborhood who publish the neighborhood paper seem to think it's fine to pick up on the one unfair, personal statement made in a meeting focused on something else, something much larger than little 'ol me, and make it the headline. I made sure to let them know that I didn't appreciate them making it personal. 'Oh, but all we can do is report the news.' Yeah, but when you report a story, you can be NPR, or you can be the New York Post. Now, people I have just been introduced to say things like "Oh, you're the one trying to wear two hats." The tiny seed of doubt in my ability has been planted.

Grrr. Combined, my two jobs equal 40 hours a week. Forty hours!! Who in history has ever been asked to carry that kind of heavy burden? The meeting was about the blending of two positions, of two entities into one streamlined machine. Not about my ability to shoulder the awesome responsibility of two part-time jobs.

It should also be said that this paper is spearheading an effort to recognize 'good samaritans' in order to reverse some of the incredible negativity that circulates in this town. And they asked me to be on the board that sets the criteria for recognizing businesses 'with a heart'. This just two days before they carry that headline, which generated many negative comments against them (as mine was not nearly the first nor by far the most scathing) and much support for me.

I am heady with power, little reader. Do you know the damage I could do to their good neighbor program with a few choice words on their online guest book?

Of course, I won't. My goal remains the same, and I can weather the storm. But I do not like hypocrisy. If they keep it up, I could turn to the dark side.

What I really want is to stand in my pasture. Have I mentioned that? I got my first Job #2 paycheck the other day. Monthly, I'll earn $1,080, with another $800 from Job #1. Do you know how long it will take to pay off my crushing debt load with that sort of chump change? Sigh.

Back to Chaos--it's ON!

At last night's meeting with the two members of the tourism commission who showed up (out of 5), I brought up the topic of combining my two jobs into one and got a very negative response. So negative that one member--who had been contradicting every single thing I said the entire meeting--said that just having these two separate jobs was a conflict of interest.

Hey, man, are you gonna feed my kids?

I told them that if they felt it was best for the city to try to get a full-time person in my position (which I support) and not partner with the Chamber (which I don't think I support, but it's still a little early) and if they needed to do that by firing me (or asking me to resign so I can 'spend more time with my family', or apply for the full-time position myself), that that is fine with me. I won't take it personally.

So now it's on the radio and it will be in today's paper, and I'm lying in wait for the first person who says something like 'you shouldn't be discussing these Super Important things in public and it should all be taken Very Seriously'.

Bring it.

Did I really want this, dear reader? You know the answer to that. But it seems to be that if you want to be a person who works for the greater good, you will probably have to deal with other people. And if you are working for the greater good by suggesting the merest hint of Change, especially in a small town pot filled with the murky, simmering goo of years-old rivalries and slights and grudges, get prepared for the shitstorm. People, we're at orange.

And then there were two...

Mr. Heifer came by last night to pick up his two bottle lambs. This morning, June gave birth to two more. Equilibrium.

June has a deformed udder and deformed teats. Sheep udder and teats should be tucked up near the belly, high and tight. Her udder is as big as one of those red hot water bottles and hangs as low, and her teats have serious girth and hang nearly to the ground. The lambs are following their instinct and searching in the right place, but missing the mother lode by about a foot.

So I ran out to Wal-Mart (the only option!) and bought some bottles, mixed up some colostrum, and tried to stuff it down their throats. I managed to get one lamb attached to June's teat, but it couldn't seem to find it without help. And I probably pissed off June pretty good, seeing as how she doesn't like to be touched.

Instead of 8, I got to work at 10. I'll head home at 12 and hope for the best, or else grab the lambs and feed them as best I can. They are big, healthy (for now) lambs, and I want them to live. But why today, June? I have a meeting tonight and a meeting tomorrow night, bills to copy and mail...dangit!

And from the chaos, order. Sorta.

I kicked into gear on Friday night and for three productive hours on Saturday morning and got my house in pretty good shape.

I then left for Downtown and set up my kid's stuff for the Festival. While I was there, my m-i-l watched the little kid. Luckily, he wanted to take a nap in his own house as opposed to hers. Why is this lucky? Because she was stuck in my house for 3 hours and decided to clean! She did dishes, vacuumed, wiped down my crazy coffee table, and swept and mopped the floor. That last one was the kicker. You know how it is when something (laundry, desktops, thank you cards, bills etc.) gets so out-of-hand that you don't even want to approach it? That's the way it was with my floor. And, I must say, she saved me this time.

After returning home from the very successful and appreciated kids station, I cleaned the bathroom, knocked down the leaning tower of mail, and the house was almost there. Yesterday, I took the seedlings outside and put the craft table back in place, doggedly picked up any stray crap, and I'm now one laundry room away from order. Why am I boring you to death with all of this? Because you should know, dear reader, that I am a much more functional person when I have an orderly house, when I know what bills I need to pay (I uncovered a phone bill that was due April 23!), when Stevie has his homework done (we've been woeful on that score these past few weeks), and when things are under control and I know what's expected of me in the little time that I have.

I start my Chamber job for real today, without the weird hours brought on by annual festivals. I have a social tonight, a Chamber board meeting tomorrow, a Tourism board meeting on Wednesday, and I close on our shop on Friday.

That's right! We're buying the monument building, thanks to an incredibly generous older couple. They financed our landlord, and they decided they'd be better off to finance us directly since we pay the landlord on time and then the landlord doesn't pay them on time! They are writing us a check for $200,000, and we're buying the building for $205,000. I'm not happy about that--the asking price when we moved in was $205,000, and we've since paid $27,000 in rent, so our real price is $232,00, but what are ya gonna do. After Friday, it belongs to us (you know, if we continue to make the payments). To us! It all went down very quickly, but I can't believe our good fortune. To get a loan from a bank would have taken us at least another year or even two, because we needed to come up with about $40,000 down. Once again, we are the beneficiaries of the largesse of retirees with big hearts and big bank accounts.

I've got to go. Lots to do. But at least my stomach doesn't churn quite as much when I think about it.