Why it shouldn’t snow in S.C.

Recently, for the first time in seven years, we saw snow.

Poor flowers. I hope they come back.

I hope all this wetness means abundant peaches.

…that didn’t sound dirty at all.

I think I forgot to mention this beta copy of Wrath of Khan I resisted:

Also recently I went to a show that not only didn’t suck, I LIKED it. I had nothing bad, snarky or otherwise, to say about it. One of my biggest complaints @ Columbia is the lack of art. There are galleries. There are artists. Some of them are famous. It is a staid, boring “scene,” IMHO – or, to put it more kindly, simply not “my scene.” Criminal lack of “modern” (read: interesting, not pictures of Pawley’s Island or dogs) art and performance art.

Anyways. Bitchbitch, moan moan, this show was great. It was a cohesive installation, an actual “show.” As opposed to random pieces hung up by different artists. This one started, and increased in meaning and representation and had depth and a purpose.

Last Words, the accompanying exhibit which has been integrated very well into this show, represents the miles and hours Susan spent visiting cemetaries, literally across continents, collecting silken grave rubbings from headstones and monuments then bringing them home and transforming them into 30 art quilts. The arrangement of the exhibit is such that if Blues Chapel represents the Church, then Last Words serves as the church yard.”


Please to read the whole blogpost  – I wish I’d taken more pictures…because otherwise my comments won’t mean anything to people who weren’t there, and nobody, much less my friends here who were at the show read this blog – so here’s some of my favourite pieces from the show:

Those are from the “chapel,” which had church pews and even fans – that attention to detail that set this show head and shoulders above anything I’ve seen in ten years @ Gallery 80808. I felt the artist really cared about this exhibit, and it absolutely showed (as opposed to the aforementioned “Here’s my shit in frames on a wall, have some wine.” shows they usually have).  It just made me really happy to finally feel like I was at an art show.

It didn’t hurt that the second part of the exhibition, which for some reason got way less media, consisted of two of my favourite things:  death and vintage clothes.

Embroidery, misc. vintage fabrics and headstone rubbings – and some “mixed media.”

One of my “artist” friends commented, “…nothing I’d hang on my walls but I like it.” To which I immediately responded “I would SO hang this smack in my living room.” That dress piece up above would go front and center on the living room wall facing the front door. Which, of course, made them all laugh because they realized how very much up my alley this particular exhibition was (I have worked in the funeral business for nearly ten years).

Stuff I like to look at, and stuff I like to do – and humorous morbidity.

It was earnest, wistful, sad and sombre, colourful and cheeky – just like me (ha ha).

The “textile artist” responsible for my happiness was chatty but delightful, and so engaged and genuinely vested in her subject matter(s). She pleasantly answered all of our questions (where is this? how did you do this? do you do layaway? – I seriously contemplated purchasing that last one, there).

Some of the pieces had seperate scenes embroidered onto the back of them – just a very masterful exhibition, as far as the stitching.

It was so good, I would actually go to another “808080808080808080808….” (as I like to call it) show with an open mind (as opposed to just showing up to support my friends)!


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