Danny Devito

There is an Argentinian Restaurant near here my husband and I adore.  We consider it "Our Place".  He and I went there recently in his car.  It's a Mercedes. Not the fanciest or most expenisve Mercedes by any means, but a Mercedes, nonetheless.  As we pulled into the valet lot and start to get out of the car, we catch the eye of a gentleman waiting for his own car to be brought back to him. 

Its Danny Devito.

Seeing celebrities in L.A is nothing new, but having them start asking you if you'd want to switch cars with them is a reletive novelty. And that's exactly what happened.  The valet pulled up in Mr Devito's car, which just happened to be what I think was a Prius.

I told my husband, as we walked away laughing, that I guess Danny Devito must have really loved his car. My beloved looked at me, raised one eyebrow, and said, "Danny Devito can afford an entire  fleet of my car."

Only in L.A.

The Loser Awards

I've noticed that there is always one total loser at every show. Once I've run into them I can relax because I know the rest of the show will be fine, but until they come in, it's always a waiting game to see who it will be and what they will pull. Here is my list of "Loser Award" winners of Toadstool Farm.

1) The disgruntled woman who got very wound up and backed out of a rather large sale because I asked for her phone number for a credit card sale.  I always get contact info with a credit card sale.  The reason is not because I am going to call and harrass you, or sell your info.  I dont have time for that even if I had the inclination. The reason is because I dont actually charge your card until I get back home to the studio, so I need a way to contact you should something go awry with the card. I guess this woman felt it was okay for me to trust her while she walked away with essentially unpaid for merchandise, but not okay to trust me with her contact info.

2) The guy who walked into my booth, wandered around, spent about 10 minutes checking out my art, another 10 taking up my time away from paying customers and then said, "I don't get it." and walked out.

3)The woman who bounced into my booth with glee exclaiming loudly to all who could hear her, "Its Amy Brown!!! I LOVE this stuff! Look how amazing this is!!!"  Once she saw it was not in fact Amy's signature on the bottom of the art, she completely deflated and said, "Oh...no, it's not Amy." and walked out.

4) The absolute jerk who stood about ten inches away from my art with his professonal camera happily snapping shot after shot of my work ( which I'm positive was headed straight for some illicit commercial endeavor regardless of copyright laws).  When I asked him politey to stop he launched into a tirade, attacking me for being materialistic and commercial and a fake.  How it should be about the art for art's sake and I was only interested in money. 

Well, dude, sorry, but this is what I do for a living and living, by definition, requires things like, oh, a place to live, clothing, food. All of which cost...gasp...money!  Putting shows on my kids' feet is way more important to me than some creep's pompous self important idea of artistic sensibility, and his desire to rip off my art!

5) The guy who came in purely to hit on me, and when I did not take the bait, proceeded to try to terrorize me by showing me his ID with his very Middle Eastern name and then claiming to be a terrorist.  Geesh!

6)The husband who followed his very excited wife into my booth. She had fallen in love with one of my originals and was eager to show him.  From the get go he was less than responsive to my, my worker's, and his wife's friendly overtures.  When she showed him the piece, he shrugged. When she asked if he liked it, he sighed and with the most disgusted tone said something like, "No, I dont." loudly and stalked off.  Just outside the booth he turned to his humiliated wife and said, "Come on!".   All she could do was apologize to me and run after him. 

I wonder about that marriage.

7) The drunken idiots who stumbled into my booth, pointed a zoom camera right at my bodice encased cleavage and started taking pictures. The guy with the camera actually had the gall to protest when I quickly draped the ends of my scarf over my chest.

"Oh, come on! What do you expect? I mean, look at you women with your boobs all pushed up!"

Uhh...dude! We're at a Renn Faire! They make us wear these things!

For some reason I hear the following statement coming from this guy's mouth at some point in his future... "She asked for it, your honor!"

Cretin.

8) The lady who came into my booth and to my inquiry as to if I could help her with anything, replied that she only liked mermaids.

So I showed her the few mermaids I had and she looked at me and said, "I only like pretty mermaids."

Ouch.

9) And the number one winner of my Loser Awards is the guy whose woman was looking at candles in the next booth.  He leaned over into my booth and put his filthy stinking cigar out in my wishing well!!!!

"Dude!" I exclaimed in horror.

"Huh"?  the genius asked. When he realized what I was referring to, he shrugged and said, "Oh, yeah, sorry." like he could have cared less.

Honorable mention goes to his woman who looked over to see what the fuss was all about, saw the ash filled well with his cigar butt still floating in it, saw my disgusted face, put two and two togegher, apparently got 5 and laughed!!!

Alternate Reality

I've expanded my faire schedule this year and added three new Faires.  The first of these was the Carolina Renaissance Festival in North Carolina the Fall of 08. I have a manager for that show, so I'm not there every weekend like most of my other shows, but I did go out for opening weekend.

I consider myself a Faire veteren now having done the two California shows for the last 7 years. But this was the strangest experience I've ever had at Faire! Dont get me wrong, the show is gorgeous, the people lovely and welcoming and I loved being there.

However, it was like entering a parallel universe. I mean, it was Faire, and everything was the same, but everything was slightly different! I'd walk past the coffee house and it was the coffee house, but it wasn't Jazla's.  I'd walk past the coin strike and it was the coin strike but it wasn't Bruce yelling "Striking!". I'd see the occassional familar face but they were not in their familiar locations.

It was seriously like walking out of my world and into a parallel reality.

But I did meet some great new folks, and I am sure I'll be back and in no time it'll feel just like home!

Bad Girls

Infamy

I dont think I want to be famous.  Maybe just a little bit.  But not truly.  Now, dont get me wrong, there are perks to being famous that I'd quite enjoy!  Money for one..this starvin' artist has a lot of mouths to feed!  But the downside is so icky, that I think I'd like to just be well known, as opposed to being truly famous. Think Kevin Kline instead of Brad Pitt.  Kevin gets his choice of very incredible roles, is truly well respected and acknowledged as a great actor.  I dont think I've ever heard anyone say they did not think he was any good.  But you never see him being chased down the street by paparazzi, never hear about drug addictions or flings..nothing like that. He has a life and he gets to pursue his craft and be successful at it.

Thats what I want. 

I decided this over the past several months due a long drawn out series of events, but it really hit home this last week when a good artist friend had a run in with a customer that really left her feeling down for an inordinate amount of time.  What is it about human beings that they so need to build people up and then tear them down later?   Its such a bizarre part of our human makeup.  Now, this friend happens to be one of the most famous fairy artists currently.  Her work is just about everywhere and she is highly respected and adored.  Its sometimes hard living in her shadow. But, hey, she's my buddy  and has been since the very start of my career so what can I do, but be proud and use her success as a motivation to keep pushing my own career?  And be there to hold the umbrella when the shit starts to fall, as it often does when one rises to her status.

Well, who knows, sometimes the nasty stuff that comes along is what pushes us out of our complacency and into the next level of our growth as artists.  Maybe thats what this will be for her. But it sure solidified that Kevin vs Brad philosophy I'd been batting about for a while.  Having come from a marriage where one of us was truly, deeply, internationally famous, not just in his field but in the WORLD, and then having a taste of fame of my own in my acting/modeling days, I've gotten a good solid glimpse into what it would be like.    I think I'd hate it.  I think I'd love it..and hate it.  The exhibitionist in me--and yes, I admit there is one--would revel in the attention.  The social misfit, shy Pisces in me would just die. 

Anyway, this is not a call for pity!  Dont feel sorry for us. Us artists who have made it.  We get to make a living doing what we love and it's by far more fun than not most of the time.    But for those of you out there who feel the need to rip it up now and again, remember, we are only human, and most of us are pretty sensitive.  Take it easy on us, eh?  The world is a small place and we hear fare more than you think, and too much negative energy on a sensitive psyche can stop the creative flow.  And then where would the Fairies play?

Mistaken Identity?

I teach riding lessons nowdays.  Its a funny thing that I never expected to do in my life ever, but I have this awfully expensive horse habit to support so I breed and teach to make my fix.   The art pays for my living, but the teaching and breeding pays for theirs. I like it though, and I sort of attract the eccentric, super kind, laid back clients that no self respecting diva-esque, nose in the air, blue-ribbon toting riding instructor would ever take on.  We call ourselves the Island of Misfit Toys and I think that about decribes us.  We have a lot of fun.

One day, one of my students comes to the barn and after her lesson tells me about her recent trip to a gift store in her neighborhood.  Whilst there she found this fabulous figurine she just bought of a Friesian rearing with a little fairy on his back. 

"You're kidding, right?" I asked her.

"No," she said, totally deadpan.  "What do you mean?"

"Have you ever been to my art website?  Ever?"

"Well, no, I haven't. I mean, I know you paint, but I have not gone to your site really."

At this point I had to conclude that she was serious.  "Terrie," I said, "Thats MY figurine!"  I went on to explain to her that the figurine she had purchased was in fact, based on one of my paintings, Dawn Dancing.

She was of course as dumbfounded as I at the coincidence.  She then proceeded to tell me how her daughter loved the one of a Gypsy with a dark haired fairy on his back. 

Now this truly was too much.  I pointed over my left shoulder to my Gypsy stallion, Finnvarra, in his paddock and said to her "Terrie, thats FINN!"   

Just goes to show you how small the world really is.

Sheep

I sheared my sheep today.  Well, no, I lie.  I sheered one of them today.  The other I sheared a few days ago.  Regardless, they are both done now for the season, thankfully.  

I must present quite a sight when I sheer my sheep. I have seen the movies, probably very Hollywood fake, where there are scenes of old cow(sheep)boys sheering sheep. Dozens, hundreds in a day.  It looks so easy.  They get the entire fleece off in one piece and in about 2 minutes. 

Me, on the other hand, it takes about 2 hours for one sheep, there is wooly bits scattered all over the barn by the time I am done, and I am covered head to toe in lanolin with a completely comatose sheep lying at my feet in shock.  Picture it, 40 year old suburban mom and fairy artist, sitting astride a 70 pound sheep  hoping its legs will give out so she can get it down to the ground.  Once they are down, I have discovered in the three years I have had to do this, they just give up and then it's relatively easy to sheer them.  Much less stress on them too since they kinda just check out.  I have a theorey that it's Mother Nature's way of being kind to prey animals.  Once they have been brought down by a hunter, their minds just ..wander away somehere. I hope it's a nice green field full of daisies and sweet little female sheep.  Anyway, so here's me, sitting on this sheep, waiting for his knees to buckle cuz I cant get him down any other way.  For mini sheep they are surprisingly strong.  Then as he goes, I literally fling myself amongst the sheep poop and dirt ( sheep poop a lot, little round balls, like deer. Its everywhere at all times, did you know that?) to lie across his belly till he goes quiet.  Once down and quietened, I can get to work.  I am convinced what takes me so long is the utter need to avoid cutting them, my poor little babies.  The shears one uses are these big nasty looking metal things that slice back and forth like the worse of Freddy's Nightmares.  They are frightening to look at, but they have to be that way to get through the wool.   They are also terribly easy to lose track of and cut a poor innocent little sheep ( or fingers--trust me, I've done it) with.  So, I go very slowly, especially in the angled bits like armpits and chins.   They are already feeling an extreme sense of betrayal, I am sure, that their usually very docile human, the one who gives them bananas and horse cookies from her very hands, is now lying across them threatening them with very large, very scary, very noisy moving metal scissors.  I figure the least I can do is try my hardest not to cut them.

At any rate, the sheep eventually get sheared. I have learned a little bit more how to best go about doing this once a year project and I can sleep a little easier knowing my little boys wont roast to death under a 6 inch layer of wool come July and our 100 degree days.

I guess it does not really matter that right now my back aches so bad I can barely sit at this computer and type.

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