Tyler suggested art bloggers make museum wish lists and mine is simple, radical, and honestly based on the almost 10 years I've been working part, full and intern-y in museums:

free admission

late hours that work with working schedules

missions about education, not money

good pay for museum staff (grumbly curators are grumbly because they can't pay their student loans)

a manadatory job switch for one day each month for all museum staff, docents, and board so that everyone understands what the various roles are

museum leaders should be engaged in the museum not the country club

and if everyone who believed in a museum (any museum) sent that place a check earmarked to the program or a fundamental need (maintenance say, or preschool art education) those programs would be clearly seen and supported.

I've got more to say but no time to say it. So that's that. Hope it helps,
Rachael

My shoulders hurt. My fingers tingle. And there is a real exhilaration in trying and trying and promising to try again. I started my very first pottery on the wheel class . Yep, after all my years of hanging around art schools I've avoided and avoided and avoided sitting down at a pottery wheel and trying to turn a hunk of clay into anything graceful, anything balanced, and anything at all beautiful or useful or (gasp!) both. But this town is fulla potters and every other person I've met has a wheel in their basement. A teacher I know impressed me with her patience, her knowledge, and her convincing argument that even a kid like me can get centered. It's early in the process no doubt, but I am excited about the learning and the physicality.

I'd practice more this week but instead, I'm skipping town. We're headed to Washington this weekend to celebrate a magic wedding, see some art (I like me some Fauves, sure do), and spend some time with my husband. I like walking around new places with that man, love to draw while he people watches and love to explore.
A blog treat is Anna's neat little bit about Ted Kooser, who I'm pretty curious about, too.
So, that's it perhaps for the next few days while my shoulders heal and my eyes open a little wider and take in a lot of new stuff.
See ya,
Rachael

Well, now, everybody was sweet about helping me cope with big city (f)art scene envy (Deb sent show cards from Bellwetherand other hipster galleries, lotsa folks emailed me tricks to connect this sorta scene, and plenty more reminded me "scene, schmene"). And then I got too dang busy to worry about it.

Last night I sat in my studio and mucked around with all these little (3 inch and 4inch and 9 inch by 1 inch and all those scrippity scraps) bits of color and pattern, orpahned ideas and moments from old paintings. They started in Atlanta in a different place and now I'm trying to make them new, relavant to here, and bold.

The past week has been a busy one of starts and stops, impossible tasks crossed off lists, spring sneaking out of the ground. I've been walking around a little more than I usually do, listening in to strangers talk. and you know, when the sun comes out, so comes a bit of doing what needs to be done.

The other day I got all my haircut off because it seemed like a good idea. It's lighter, less vain, more shake n'bake or shake n'go or whatever she said. Plus I look pretty hipster for our trip to DC this weekend.

We went to see Michael Kimmelman talk the other night. While I haven't read his book yet, I was impressed with his slideshow and the stories he told. It was simply clear that he followed his passion, looked and listened and his project was a democratic one. Even if the idea that Lucian Freud can go to the National Gallery in the middle of the night remains an utterly revolting thought for me. Why does any man have that kind of access?! Yes, I know...He's an important painter. We have princes. We have serfs. It's screwy and I'm back to my little squares...

see ya,
Rachael

Things is busy at work and I'm coming home hungry and tired (but satisfied). Last night when I thought I'd collapse, instead I snuck away and mucked around on another of my daffodil paintings. Walking through my neighborhood I can't help but notice that plants are beginning to come up from the ground. Sticking their heads up and starting to get a little color.

I did notice that The Cooperstown Art Association has calls for national and regional shows.

But, now, my friends I'm off to my studio again to spill and splash color, to see how bulbs can grow, to see if I can draw as the shoots grow and to stop thinking about my endless to do list and the calls I really do mean to return as soon as I can...I want to just think color, line, shape, form and growth...

see ya,
Rachael

Somedays I get little art scene envy, my friends. I remember eyedrum and fishbone andJustine and Ruth Laxson and MOCA in Atlanta. I blogsurf and see all the projects and people and ideas and galleries and open studios and whatnot that Carolyn has in Seattle and Anna has in San Fran and Todd is swimming in NYC (when he's not in Spain that is) and I notice that Martin has no shortage of art to see in DC.

I wonder if my beloved and happily returned to region of upstate new dork (what we used to call it back in high school) isn't as culturally backward and forgettable as it felt in my adolescence. My face falls. I stare at my feet.

And then twenty minutes later I'm convinced again that art gets made anywhere and enough folks with a passion to create, dilligence, smarts, and the time to brew careful and honest art are as present per capita in my neighborhood as they are in yours. I swear I can prove it, only I'm a little sleepy tonight. But I stand tall in my knowledge that if I see as many artists working hard, if I hear as much creativity as I do, if there continues to be profiles and expanded arts coverage... it's just gotta be real. There is a creative community here in Rochester.

And all over upstate. Ithaca seems to be teeming with artists and Buffalo has a pretty good art scene (living is cheap, it's too cold to be pretentious and Ani is there making things a little easier for Hallwalls and what not).

I'm going to try to calm my big city envy because I really am where I want to be. I have fewer obstacles to making art than ever before (the landlord called the other day to offer me more space to paint in, would that ever happen in a big city?) and when I want to ride public transportation to a big art fair I can get my behind to Toronto. Our fast ferry , Rochester's very own "springfield monorail " is going to be running soon but alas not soon enough to get us to the glowing house in time.

Thats it and there ain't no more for tonight except that I am collecting more upstate artstate info and will continue to fill you in on it. No more art scene envy for me, kids, I gotta better things to do with my time. Draw, sleep, and work. Rinse and repeat.

take good care,
Rachael