I am not a flower painter.

I usually don't like to share my low moods, but I am waiting for my fingers to unshrivel and I'm feeling a bit Cinderella-ish. I have committed to having a yard sale next weekend, one where I will be selling off 18 large boxes of kitchen items and a eye-popping assortment of other things. The 18 large boxes of kitchen items have been stored in cabinets undisturbed for 40+ years. At some point the exhaust fan in the kitchen became a decorative fixture. I still do not know if it works. All I know is that there are 18 boxes of grimy dishes and glassware needing a good washing before my yard sale. I have no dishwasher. No, actually I do, but it is also a decorative object as far as I know. Hence the shriveled fingers. I should wear gloves.

I am not a flower painter.
I'm sinking into oblivion here. Or perhaps, further, I should say. I sense a gap, a small crack if you will. One where I believe I have fallen. In reply to a question, (and I'll be very vague) the answer was, "I can't see such and such showing flower paintings."

My first thought was Allison Schulnik who shows at Mark Moore in Santa Monica. I've never met Alison, but I've seen quite a bit of her work and wouldn't call her a flower painter, yet, below I give you a flower painting.

Allison Schulnik, Red Flowers #2, 2008, o/c, 20 x16"

Here is another of Allison's images:

Allison Schulnik, Jimmy, 2009

, oil on linen

16 x 26"

I wouldn't call her a clown painter either. 

Below are most of my flower paintings to date. I've posted them before, so just move along if you're tired of seeing them. One looks suspiciously like a pool painting, but it's really a hybrid; the background is the filler you would find in a flower arrangement.

Carnation

Comic Relief

Art Deco Chinese Rug

January

Night Swim

Slight of Hand

I don't think my friend was insulting me when they made the flower painting remark, but it made me rethink how people, including artists or dealers, think about certain imagery and assume there to be certain baggage with said imagery.  Let's take barns, for instance. I read a comment from someone who jokingly, but probably not by much, wished there would never be another landscape with barn painting exhibited in Tennessee. After reading that, of course, I want to make dysfunctional barn paintings as a subversive activity. Then what? I'd be a crappy barn painter, too? (Note: I really do have soft spot for good barn paintings- I juried one into a watercolor show, based on the sentimental factor.)

The good news is that I said fuck it and bought a new liner for my motorcycle helmet. I was convinced the old one was a minefield of urushiol and no amount of washing was going to make it go away. So for 29 bucks, it's like I have a new helmet. Cool. The guy at the motorcycle shop even gave me the spare face visor from his personal helmet, noting that mine was seriously trashed. He told me he was a father-to-be and therefore was giving up riding for awhile. I admit to worrying if Otto could find food and water if God forbid I didn't make it home one day, but I suspect he would fill up on base molding and find a toilet before perishing, and so I still ride.

At some point, I promptly went out to the studio and de-representationalized 2 paintings, once again setting into motion the evil pendulum from which I now swing. After that, I began the humble task of dish washing about 400 dishes and glasses.