Then I should not have gone to the Plaza Art Fair on Friday, the first night. It was people cram-packed, shoulder to shoulder, with dogs, kids in strollers, mood-enhancing drinks if one were lucky enough to get close to a place that dispensed them. People were not there to see art, because no one could get close to it, either. I have mere impressions of the art. . . from a distance and through a slight buzz of wine. But it did seem to me that there were more abstracts this year than I have seen in prior years. Does that reflect more interest on the part of the purchasing public or the preference of the jurists of the show?
Speaking of the purchasing public, Walter my art guy called early in the week. He was absolutely ebullient, and if you had shared Walter's phone calls with me for the past couple of years, you would know that "ebullient" is not a word that usually describes Walter. He had sold several pieces. . . what recession?? Then he called a couple of nights later, and he had sold even more. Bless his heart. "Paint, Mary, paint," he urged.
I have been painting, finishing up on average one piece per week. The one above is entitled "that troublesome blue one." Is it finished? Don't know, they aren't ever finished until they leave here. This was inspired by a scrap sitting on my table. The scrap is probably better, but I imagine it would be hard to sell a 2" x 2" torn piece of paper.
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