Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Have you ever felt tired from your marrow to your toes, dear reader? Yeah, that was yesterday. The unique act of handshaking isn’t really taxing on its own merit, all told, because it’s so seamless and expected. But when you couple this with a few hours of rattling the same introduction repeatedly, trying fruitlessly to vary your spiel by altering inflection here and there, it just gets to you, you know?

For all my talk of yakskin scarves and physiological dependencies on organic wheat, the artsy type has always been my favorite type. I’m drawn to the volatility, the fervor, the moodiness, the kind of honesty inaccessible under the cover of numbers and fixed definitions. This was my first portfolio show, and were it my coin I’d hire almost everyone I met. Certainly I saw some clunkers–work that would’ve abused your eyes, regardless of artistic background or pointedness of nose–but on the whole it was inspiring.

Man, you should’ve seen some of the “resumes” I collected. I have a feeling each exhibitor spent more on packaging than I do on groceries in any given month. There were times when I felt genuinely guilty for dispensing my card, so impressive was the talent. It was like, “Even though I’m being paid to put my contact info in your hand, I need you to throw it away immediately and save yourself.” Taste and Internet advertising? They seldom intersect at the same point, let alone the same plane.