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Joy Street and Brickbottom Open Studios

Today we went to the Joy Street and Brickbottom Open Studios in Somerville. I’m ambivalent about attending Open Studio events. Because I’m not an artist, it’s hard to make knowledgeable small-talk about artistic mediums and other technical aspects, which are the safest, most neutral comments should the artist look at me quizzically. Never open a conversation with “This is so interesting” or “You really like to work with purple!”

I enjoy mingling in an atmosphere of open expression. But I also feel invasive, like I’m inspecting an artist’s work in their own space. I try to remain expressionless, with a slight smile to indicate I’m delighted by what I’m seeing. But I never laugh, even if I’m staring at a meticulously-painted and ornately-framed oil painting of a can of WD-40. Artists earnestly exist in a state of Irony.

I never go for the snacks or wine, because I don’t want the artist to think I’m only there for the free booze. If I were at artist, I can only imagine exposing my inner sanctum of creativity to anyone who wanders in from the street, and watching them make consistent beelines for the Camembert wheel and Yellow Tail Shiraz. I would paint a series depicting people gulping wine and stuffing their mouths with crackers, and then exhibit the paintings at an Open Studio event. Take that, you leeches.

I leave an Open Studio event feeling a mixture of inspiration and jealousy. Why didn’t I devote my life to writing creatively, instead of killing myself in a day job that leaves little left over for more serious endeavors? A person who aims at nothing is sure to hit it. I dwell instead on the inspired fervor, and I head home to create… dinner.

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