This isn't a huge thing, but I'm quite proud of it and wanted to share.
A few weeks ago, I was on a group email from my former instructor at the Corcoran, suggesting that her class from last semester submit work for a juried show. Juried meaning you submit your work, it gets reviewed, and then accepted or rejected.
So I borrowed this scarf back from Betty and submitted it, just on the off chance.
I made it last semester. I'm not working with dye now, because it's toxic, and as such, they recommend that you don't risk breathing it in or absorbing it through your skin and turning your baby into a little mutant.
I don't know if it's been proven that you'll mutate your kid, but me, I always end up looking like Lizzie Borden, so just in case, it's best that I hold off.
But back to the exhibit.
When they let us know they'd accepted work, they asked for an artist statement. An artist statement! Me?
I love making things, but I don't consider myself an artist. I mean, I make art on the side. It's a lens through which I view the world. I'd love to define myself that way, but I don't feel like I could, unless I were actually working, making money doing so.
But that made me wonder. What defines an artist?
I don't really know.Here's a shot including a few other pieces. The blouse was made by one of my classmates. She did a beautiful job dyeing, printing, and sewing; quite frankly, I covet it.
And here I am, all pregnanty and proud. It was hot (finally!) and super comf tank and capri and flip flop weather. And everywhere we went, I got a lot of looks.
On the way out of the building, I asked Nick if I looked bad, if I should be in a looser top, and he said no, not at all, it's just that you're so obviously pregnant. You can see it down the block.
And then he stretched his shirt tight across his stomach, and waddled down the sidewalk.
Because he's all supportive like that.