A pal responded to my in Denial post by referring me to a review which not only posts a photograph of the woman artist, but notes beneath the photo that her studio has no heat and the roof also leaks. Yikes!
We laughed for many reasons - the first being that our studios don’t have heat either. But newsflash: s p a c e h e a t e r s work just fine. You really don’t have to suffer so much. It’s hard enough sometimes.
But then we figured…wait… she probably does have a fucking space-heater. The critic just didn’t want to see it. The romance of the freezing female artist makes better copy. Add the leaky roof and it’s practically orgasmic.
Somehow this all reminds me of when I played music at KPSU for an hour before my artist would arrive for Artstar Radio. One time I did two hours of disco… something I did not listen to much of my life, certainly not in the 70s, but someone gave me the music and it was totally addictive and oh well...
The artist arrives and you could tell she was clearly put out that I was playing loud disco. I'm not going to quote her but I was flip, that was the gist of it and my facepaint probably didn't help. She went into the interview accordingly. Maybe I said “I don’t usually play disco” - but I didn’t usually play anything; the show had no particular theme and was in fact called No Agenda.
Anyway, having fun was not an option to establishing any of kind of serious commitment, which was a paramount goal. - Someone actually emailed me about the interview: they heard the dis. It’s dangerous to head-trip while you’re on the radio and I went through the motions… and you can never really be certain. We all have our stuff. Still, I wonder if that it was due to the disco, which, you know, isn’t that much about serious suffering. (Neither is the red lipstick, but that’s a topic for another post.)
The woman is indeed not only a serious artist, but one who, in most people's books, has made it. And at least ten years older than me, she made it in even more of a man's world, and carved out her own. Whatever dissing I felt, I had to let it go, because I've probably had some easier times, but I still saw myself in her.