Boy do I have stories to tell

As most of you know who read this blog, I am in the middle of working on an art piece. (I am taking my 10 minute break to write here).  My mind is wondering while I am cutting 25 identical pieces to be watercolored. Believe me, doing anything over and over again is really not my style personally or artwise, so my mind is zipping all over the place. Should I write about the time the Swiss Guards refused me and a friend admittance to see the Pope although we had written invitations? How about the time I broke the regional Tony Award in McCarter Theater? There is always the time my gifted students competed on local tv and one impulsively pushed the buzzer and screamed MANATEE, which of course was wrong, and caused me to almost die of laughter. Or how about when I was sick, about to be operated on and I saw a apparition (I think it was the drugs talking). Stories. Stories. Stories. We are all full of them. And, yes, the longer you live the more stories there are to tell. I think we define ourselves by HOW we see what is happening around us, and how we remember those events. I, am sure, embellish, and especially for the laughs. I want to laugh because as I say “laugh until you cry because you are going to cry anyway”. I want others to see that stories are universal in their telling, in their meaning, and in their outcomes. And to that end, I am a puppeteer. Well sort of. Yeah, maybe, yes, I AM a puppeteer. I have a puppet show in the works, and once the first act is complete, I will feel better about saying “I am a puppeteer”, right now I am an artist, cutting and pasting 25 identical things to be collated and bound in a shared book with 25 other artists, all on an identical theme.


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