Ye gods, I have been entirely distraught all evening. I finished all my casting late last night, slept way too late, and today I wanted to begin the color. I got the studio partly reconfigured, and then the very world I most need to ignore blew in, in the form of a couple of e-mails, and crashed right down on my head. I’m writing this appeal, and then I hope, in the morning, to get back to the great place I was in…
A friend wrote on her blog today of thinking, “How did I get here?” during a recent event. I feel her, because I’ve thought that for a whole lot of the past two years. I just began to believe it was now finally over, and I could return to who I actually am: this gardening, sort-of quiet, admittedly odd, kind of friendly, hopefully often funny, obsessively working visual artist who would rather be in the studio or out under the sky than anywhere else. Instead, I seem to have become a symbol, or a repository for the vindication of some collective feelings about a situation I obviously (pretty damned obviously, I should think) had no control over. I can’t blog about it directly, but I’ve just been accused of complicity in – no, actually, of masterminding – the ‘subversion’ of an ongoing event that I wasn’t even aware of until a few days ago. I do NOT need this.
Right now, some well-meaning people are trying, I think, to make a statement by campaigning on my behalf during this rather silly event. Yesterday, when I thought this was nothing more than a weird little sideshow in my life, yes, I even posted a totally goofy Facebook message urging support for me. (This is something anyone and everyone else on the planet is encouraged to do in the context of this event, so I saw no harm in it). But: I have just gotten a scathing message from someone I have never met, accusing me, in no uncertain terms, of maneuvering the entire event towards what are perceived as my own devious personal ends, described as my desire to ‘stick it to’ people.
I cannot take this kind of shite anymore, folks.
How did I get here?
Granted, I am outspoken, and granted, I will fight, do fight, and most assuredly have fought (way too long) for what I believe in. And yes, granted, I am relieved that at least I seem to be symbolizing something good. Even more than granted, I am very, very glad to know that I am liked so well, and I thank everyone (however much of a paradox thanks may seem to be in this context) for your well-intended support. But, dear people, please: I would really, really, really rather not become the Poster Child For What Was. Truly. I’m so tired of exactly this kind of misinterpreted crap.
I lost something I once cared deeply about, but I did not lose myself, nor my art. I need to move on, and up, and away. This silliness, though I am certain it sprang from the best, absolutely positive intentions, has just sucked me straight back into an atmosphere that was entirely toxic to me, right at the time when I am finally able to breathe some lovely clean fresh air again.
If you really want to support ME, the person, the artist (and of course I hope you do), then, hey: come out to my shows, or if you’re curating one, think of me, or if you’ve got money, buy some work, or if you teach, invite me to your class, or drop me a line when you’ve got a show or a performance going on, or invite me to your next party, or if you’ve read a book or see a great show or a residency or a grant you think I’d like, let me know, or let’s get together for lunch or coffee or wine or to look at art… or you can always (always!) bring me sushi or ginger or dark chocolate or a dram of good whiskey (might as well push it while I’m at it) – or even just shoot me an e-mail or FB message or Blahg comment now and again…but please: just let the part of all this that involved me go. I’m trying very hard to do just that, and I need your help.
Thank you. End of rant. Everything ends eventually, good things and bad.
Melissa Jay Craig's Blahg 