AMP: Artists' Meeting Place and Resource Collective

how 'bout we all agree to "make" art instead of "do" art?

Preface: Time for shameless promotion of one of my stories featured in "Adventures for the Average Woman." This one is based on an actual nightmare I had (as are most of my stories and graphics). It nearly got published by a Boston imprint but got kicked to the curb at the last minute. :(

Oh well, it's got my limited reading public hooked, so here is the first in a series of chapters for your amusement. (It's either this or more lamenting on how being a starving artist is a picnic with no sandwiches on a fireant hill.)

“Come here, you wretched O.” The vampiress’s words sprayed spittle and blood. She floated on the thick night air.

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see full blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, an employee at the big giant vast humongous phone call disservice centre tries to pin his incompetence on Sunny Quito. Now...Quito crosses paths with the deadly Librarian.

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 33

The real Sunny Quito, if there was such a person, was strolling down the street. As he was strolling up the street he’d watched from an ever decreasing distance a man and a woman arguing next to a phone booth. He glanced into a shopwindow featuring a display of Red Italian leather shoes (Geckos, size 9) much like his own, and reminisced about Ecuador and the good old brothel days, smiling in anticipation of surprising his old pal Dddwwchlyff from the good old brothel days. Sunny liked to surprise people; he’d let his old pal Ddwwchhlyff think Sonny was in Luxembourg when he was really right here on Welsh soil. (Of course technically, though he never knew it, he would probably have been on Welsh soil if he were in fact in Luxembourg).

I have three goals.

1) Learn a foreign language to fluency (Japanese)
2) Learn to play a musical instrument (piano)
3) Learn to cook (Japanese/Italian)

Love. Friends. Happiness. All unecessary. All unwanted.

To escape the horrible food of the cafeteria I decided to flee my building and retreat to the slighly less horrible food of Subway. As soon as I walked outside I was reminded how fast spring weather in Washington D.C. can change - during the course of the day the sun had warmed up the weather so that only a cool breeze was evidence of the cold and brisk morning. Outside the trees that were so barren just a couple of months ealier had come to life. If I closed my eyes and let my mind wander, I could remember the branches when they were saturated with flowers that were so pink and so red that only poets could emblish their beauty properly.

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see full blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, the Snought-Smithy feud. Now...

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 32

‘Good [afternoon]. You are now through to [Debbie] at [The Great Big Massive Huge Telephone Number Finding Centre]. For training and security purposes we may record this call, surreptitiously monitor your movements, follow you around, investigate your credit, police and dental records and interview close family members and work associates. This call is being charged at the [very reasonable] rate of [50p] per [second]. At this time I’d like to [waste]… sorry [take] a few minutes of your time to tell you about the other wonderful products and services we can supply to [you]. If you’d like to know more about our automated call handling system…press one followed by the hash symbol followed by your PIN. If you would like to hear the last message again...press two…’

Visiting Kentucky this past weekend I had the opportunity to go to the Lexington Gallery Hop. The "Hop" is held about five times a year and I always seem to miss it. I almost missed this one too. Around 5pm it started raining and there was quite a downpour. A great benefit was that it reduced the crowds and increased my chances at getting closer to the work and to the artists.

Given more time I would have hit all of the spaces. Here is a list of my stops,

Ann Tower Gallery
Art at the Cathedral
Artsplace Gallery
Bluegrass Printmakers' Cooperative
Carnegie Center Laurie S. Bottoms Gallery

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see full blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, the Vice-Chancellorian fatwah on Dddwwchllyff leads to global slaughter of Elvis impersonator impersonators. Now, back to Snought-of-fictitious-student-fame..

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 31

‘Snought.’

‘Smithy.’

Those two words was the limit of their exchange, it had been for years now. It was the usual routine. Whenever they failed to avoid each other and accidentally crossed paths, the two academicians would go through this customary custom of each grudgingly acknowledging the existence of the other with an absolute minimum of calorific expenditure.

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see full blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, the undermining of Cymru and the rise of Samantha Panther’s reportorial star. Next, a Vice-Chancellorian fatwah on Dddwwchllyff leads to global slaughter of Elvis impersonator impersonators …

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 30
One of the problems with faking your own death is doing it convincingly enough to be convincing without making it overly elaborate (or dangerous). As a seasoned mimic mimic, Ddwwchyllff had thought it would be an easy task.

On the face of it there were certain advantages to being dead.

Here I sit on a gloomy day south of Beantown listening to Bessie Smith wailing "Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out" on Hober Thinking Radio (www.hober.com) and thinking, "What's the next step? How am I to get the magazine off the ground and flying? Where's the money going to come from to pay the bills? Am I insane? What the hell am I doing?"

I know the easy way out: Give up all I own and hop a plane for Asia. I have friends there. I can find work there. I can exist.

But this isn't about merely existing. It's about expressing hopes, dreams, fears, and cheers through writing, drawing, publishing, sharing. It's about being faithful to the creative spirit and serving the muse. It's about not abandoning the fictional characters who clamor inside my noggin. (If only they could pay the rent.) It's about taking the talent and making it earn ten fold -- or else be cast out into the land of weeping and gnashing of teeth. (Has anyone else pondered that parable as much as I have in terms of the symbolic meaning of "talent"?)