04.01.08
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So today was the entry day for the juried student art show. I entered a piece at the behest of my space research teacher who in all honesty was probably looking for something for me to work on to make up for the apparent nine thousand projects I missed while in Qatar (sidenote QATAR, BABY I MISS YOU, WHY DON'T YOU RETURN MY CALLS?)
The work I submitted was basically a remodeled, streamlined version of a found object project from a over a month ago. For those of you not in the art school lingo: found objects means garbage. Piles of garbage placed precariously on top of other piles of garbage.
So there I was, submitting my pile of garbage to the juried fine art show. Every entry needed a form filled out with the usual "Name, Date, Major" I emphasized AFO in thick letters to send the message "I AM A CHILD, I DO NOT KNOW THE FIRST THING ABOUT ART, CRAFT OR ARTS AND FARTS AND CRAFTS" After all that at the end of the form they had a section where you could opt to place your work for sale if it was selected to be in the show. Even if you didn't want to sell it you had to put a value on it which was explained as adding the cost of your time and the cost of materials.
I figured, what the hell, and put FOR SALE and under sale price scrawled $20. For the value I figured I'd spent ten bucks on wood, and wrote $15. A nice tidy profit right there. I looked at Veronica's form, the other girl who my teacher told to enter her piece and saw she'd put $200 dollars for value.
My eyes bugged. "Oh, that much?" I said. She looked at my paper. "Just add a zero?" she suggested tenatively.
I looked at my project. To paraphrase Will Smith, Hellz Naw was I going to charge anyone more than ten bucks and a bottle of cranberry juice for a literal PILE OF GARBAGE so I crossed off for sale and $20 and turned the $15 into $50.
Absurd. If the art world is seriously about charging money for PILES OF GARBAGE. (I'll say that again, PILES OF GARBAGE.) then maybe I'll give up my five year plan of becoming the greatest most pretentious art lady ever and settle for my plan B, a two year model that involves me becoming a heroin hippie in Thailand.
It could work. Two years is ample time to build up a nice healthy addiction.
ratherbored at 20:23