Back in the 80's, when my sons were young, I signed them up for various art classes at Ella Sharp Museum. I had read the little blurbs in the newspaper about the classes they offered. I was so excited that they would be going to my beloved Ella. Growing up in Jackson, the Ella was near and dear to me. I love that park. Spent a lot of time there as a child rolling down the hills, flying kites, playing Frisbee, etc. As a teen I attended the Concerts in the Park every Sunday with a bottle of Boonesfarm wine and a couple of joints.
We arrived just before the class was to start, I dropped them off and made sure they were secured and then went to leave. I over heard two women talking outside the door. One asked the other if she would like to go up to McDonald's for a cup of coffee. I wrongly assumed that they had just met also and asked if I could join them. I thought I was just being friendly and accepting of all. They both looked at me like, "Really, who do you think you are?" I was pretty close to devastated. I was trying my best to be friendly and make new friends and actually made a fool of myself. I am pretty sure I cried on the way home. Thinking to myself, "You dumb ass, what made you think you could just go have coffee with just anyone?" Actually, the feelings inside were similar to the *jump rope incident on the playground. I guess I just didn't get how you could talk to anyone like that. What if that person that you just rejected was sent to you for a reason. Anyway........
Fast forward to about 5 years ago.....I was asked to find a caricaturist for a local bar. I found one. We got to talking, while she was drawing and she said she had to leave early to go to an art group. I was interested. "Where is it?" Then she told me at Ella Sharp Museum. Now, I am not interested. She could tell that I changed my mind and asked me what was wrong. I said I don't really like the attitude there. She told me it really wasn't like that anymore. Everyone was friendly and welcoming. I hesitated but thought I could give it a go.
A few weeks later I showed up and kind of sat in the back row. Not really wanting to be seen. Just wanted to feel it before I made any commitment. I was welcomed. That wasn't so bad. They made me a name tag to wear. Now, we are getting somewhere! If I raised my hand they answered my question in an informative way. I really liked the different speakers they brought in and I learned a lot about art.
I don't fancy myself to be a public speaker and never really want to be. Sometimes it is necessary. One night they had "Story Time" where you brought a piece of art and told the story of it. I had no plan on telling a story. I was just going to listen. They started in the front row and one by one they all got up to the podium and told their story. It was usually a painting of a barn that they painted and they would tell the story of how the day went. When the Sun changed, the bugs that were biting them and the like. After they finished their story they received a round of applause from everyone in the room and then went back to their seats.
When it got around to me I figured that I may as well give it a go. My heart will start beating like crazy, my hands will sweat but I can get through this couple of minutes. I am a trooper! I told the story of the night that I tried to draw for the first time as an adult. With a friend I decided to try and be an artist. We listened to music, painted, drank some wine and went out on the porch every hour or so to smoke a cigarette. I was crumbling up every sheet of paper. Could not get where I wanted to be. Didn't like any of them.
About the third time we went outside, just after dark, a guy came walking around the corner and informed us that a cat was in the road apparently hit by a car. I knew my cat Smokey was out but she never left the yard. She was mostly an indoor cat and was timid. She did like to go out right before dark and chase fireflys. I guess her passion for that is what got her into the road and not looking both ways for cars.
As I went around the corner to see if I could help remove someone's cat from the road, as I got closer I realized it was my sweet Smokey. She got hit pretty hard. She was bleeding from the mouth and not breathing. I bet I was hollering at that point. Not sure. Jimmy came and took her out of the road. He placed her in a box and let me sit next to her. I was a wreck. Smokey slept under my arm every night. I loved that cat. Jimmy asked me what I would like now. I looked at Smokey and said, "I would like her to be alive again."
Smokey in her morning position in the Sunshine. We went and buried her and I came back home alone. It was then about 2 am and I walked back into my apartment and sat at the same table we were working at earlier. No music, no wine, no more cigarettes, no Jimmy to talk to. Just the blank piece of white paper and some water color paint.
I looked at the paper and cried some more. Alone....
Then picked up the brush and started painting a little painting. It was three Poppies. One was standing up tall, the next was a little bent over and the third one had lost it's petals that were laying on the ground. I was the first one. Smokey's Mom was my other cat and she was still alive but getting on in years. Smokey was the one that lost the petals.
The actual painting that I did that night. My first attempt at art. It was that night that I realized how much emotion is associated with art.
My story was done. I waited for the applause and there was none. I walked to my seat wondering what I had done to the audience. No applause. The next person just got up and started their story. I was sitting there dumbfounded. How the heck could they not clap for such a great story? I was crying inside. I did not even want to be there. Did I tell you I was born a Leo?
It took me a while but I got over the non-response from the art group. One member (when asked) told me that he thought they were all so overtaken with emotion that they could not clap or didn't want to clap for a story were your cat died. OK, maybe I can understand that.
A year later, when it was story time again. I went through the same feelings only worse. Because of the non-clapping incident I hesitated once again about taking a turn. Well, I was there and I am no chicken so when my turn came around I got up on the fly and told another story. *See the previous story, "They all come back home." About the man that built his farmhouse and how his portrait ended up on the same nail it was always on. Again......I ended up my story to no applause. A quiet room. Again I had them so emotionally distraught that they could not put their two hands together and clap? Cry? Laugh? Something. I think I cried that night. How could it happen twice to only me. Everyone else got a round of applause. What was it that I was doing wrong? Did I belong here?
I was then asked to speak in front of the group. I had seen three years of speakers and they were always entertaining and warmly welcomed. I spoke on hand painted photos with oil paint and took the supplies for everyone to try it out. I spent a month or so researching the art of hand painting photos and presented a slide show and some historical information. I gave my little speech and invited them to try it out for themselves. Huh, what do you know there was no applause. I had never seen a speaker not be thanked with applause. I dreamed the night before that the room would become thunderous with applause. Nothing!
When I asked someone later how they saw that night and why they think no one clapped she said, "They were so excited about getting up to get the supplies and try it out, that they must have forgotten to clap."
I am just not liking the way this is going. Three times now. I don't feel like I fit in. I can't figure out if I am someone they enjoy or if they would just like me to go away. I compiled and published their newsletter now. I volunteered for all kinds of stuff. I became a paying member and participated in their art shows and the wall of art in the hall. I was the only one that sold a piece of art at the Art and Wine Fest. I attended all of the meetings and as soon as I got there I was approached by many, that needed to talk to me. I was into it deep now. I even entered photos into the Statewide Competition in the gallery at Ella. You had to submit and be accepted into it. I submitted two photos and got both of them in, the first time. I even sold one there. At this point the entire Granary Restaurant was filled with my photography. I was the go to person for any photos needed in the art group. It was feeling pretty good except for the clapping thing, that I didn't understand. I just knew how it felt. It did not feel good.
Well, once a month we all brought a piece of our art and lined them up on the wall. We voted for Artist of the Month. I was the only photographer. The rest drew or painted. Some of them were really good. It was hard to win Artist of the Month. I was in the group for three years and never won. I always took something just to enter. Just to play along. Just to show off my newest piece.
One night the Vice President got up halfway through the meeting and announced the Artist of the Month...........
It was Jana Jamieson. Oh my, that is me. Now there will be a rousing round of applause, like always. Nope. Silence. It couldn't be too emotional (like the stories) it was a photo of a blues singer with really curly hair. I sat there in the silence and saw no reason for it. Not one clap. Even the folks that voted for me failed to clap. What the hell?
I was seriously crying inside now. It hurt bad. How could they do this? I really don't get it. Not at all. I sat through the rest of the speaker. It was a photographer that took photos of moss on the swamp and rust on stuff. I was not thrilled. She spoke for two hours on how to take photos of rusty crap.
I got up at the end of the presentation and told one person to not expect me back......ever. I had no intention of hanging around for small talk or helping them clean up the room.
I had enough. I was out of there.
You really have run out of excuses for your bad behavior. I am glad I don't live in that world.
