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The Perks of Being an Artist

~ Because demented people need love, too.

The Perks of Being an Artist

Category Archives: singing

There’s a Fungus Among Us

15 Friday Sep 2017

Posted by emilypageart in cats, culture, Eerieville, Haunt, humor, singing, Uncategorized

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

bag of smut, corn, corn maze, corn smut, elucidate, fungus, gourmet Mexican food, huitlacoche, jack sparrow jar of dirt, mushroom, smut maze

I was hoping to have exciting news to tell you all today about our next big adventure, but it looks like things have stalled. So I’m going to hold off on telling you about it and instead just say that I will probably be bald in the near future as all the stress is causing me to tear my hair out. And my head is kinda lumpy, so I don’t expect it to be a good look on me. Send bourbon posthaste.

In the mean time, I wanted to tell you about smut. Apparently, smut is edible, y’all. Confused? Well, let me elucidate*.

I’m talking about corn. And smut. Specifically, corn smut.  That, apparently, is a thing. Wanna know how I know? We have it at the haunt. Instead of a corn maze, we have a smut maze. And it is creeeeeeeepy! This is what I mean:

corn smut 1
corn smut 2
corn smut 3

Revolting, right? Revolting and edible – like, delicacy edible. It’s called Huitlacoche. In Mexico, it’s considered to be gourmet, like truffles: http://www.gourmetsleuth.com/articles/detail/huitlacoche. American farmers have tried everything to eradicate it, but they really should have been harvesting it and selling it at top dollar to Mexican restaurants.

Generally, I’m not very adventurous when it comes to my food, but I figure, if I can eat Francy Feast (that’s what I call fancy French cuisine like snails), I can eat what is, essentially, just a mushroom growing on some corn. I found out a little late that this stuff could be eaten, so I have less to harvest than I would have a couple weeks ago, but that didn’t stop me from forcing the bile back down in my throat as I picked the exploding gray kernels, then gleefully running around with a plastic bag of my pickings singing, “I’ve got a bag of smut! I’ve got a bag of smut!” as though I was Jack Sparrow with a jar of dirt. The neighbors may be worried.

I’m not a cook, so I’ve frozen my bag o’ smut and will be saving it for my friend (who made the mistake of telling me about huitlacoche in the first place) to cook up into something yummy for me when I see him in November. It’s sitting in the bottom of my freezer right now, looking like bag of horrific skin growths. I have to admit that I’m not overly excited at what it’ll taste like, but I reaaaaaaally want to be able to say that I’ve eaten a bag of smut.

I’ll do my best to remember to post about what smut tastes like when the time comes. Until then, seriously, send bourbon. The stress of everything is killing me.

* I can’t hear the word “elucidate” without thinking of this, which cheers me up, so I’ll be playing it on repeat for the forseeable future. My cats approve.

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Take Heart, Keep Singing

14 Monday Aug 2017

Posted by emilypageart in culture, gratitude, karma, kindness, music, singing, Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

charlottesville, how to face white supremacists, love wins, no place for hate, protest song, protesting, respond to racists, respond to white supremacists, stand up

“This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before.”
— Leonard Bernstein

As I watched my hometown get invaded by those sick, sick assholes, I was heartbroken. I still am. But I have several reasons to hope, and that’s the only way I can keep moving and not huddle under my blankets sobbing (anymore).

1) The reason violence errupted this weekend was that counterprotesters showed up. They showed up and said, “No, you don’t get to do this.” Would it have been better if violence hadn’t won the day? Yes. But was it important to stand up and say that that kind of hatred won’t be tolerated, and let minorities know that we have their backs and value them them as assets to our community; to let them know they’re not alone – that “they” are really “us.”

2) My friends are arguing about whether it would have been better to show up or to stay away completely so that the white supremacists didn’t get the attention they so desperately want. Let them shout into a void. They stayed away, thinking that if you don’t give them someone to scream at, eventually they’ll just disappear. Some showed up and marched peacefully and silently. Some thought showing up wasn’t enough and decided to fight violence with more violence. I’m torn about what the appropriate response is. I’m not sure there even is an appropriate response. But whatever their opinion on the best way to make the white supremacists go away, they still want to make them go away. That means there are a lot more of us on the side of love than hate.

2) At Jason Kessler’s press conference the next day, counterprotesters showed up and shouted him down and said, “No, you don’t get to do this.” Again, I’m not thrilled that someone ended up punching him, because that makes him look like a victim and I’m not okay with violence, but the people who showed up with pots and pans and cymbals to bang on to drown him out are heroes. They are beautiful, beautiful people standing up for our beautiful, beautiful city and country.

3) On Twitter, people have “outted” many of the white supremacists who attended, and at least one has been fired by a boss who said, “No, you don’t get to do this.” We should be sending equally clear messages to racist and hateful business owners by boycotting their businesses.  Luckily, it’s pretty easy to do since, again, I think there are more peaceful, accepting business owners than white supremacists.

4) I attended a vigil in Durham in support of Charlottesville yesterday, and when protesters showed up and started trying to shout over our speakers, we sang them down. We drowned them out with song.

People are speaking up. Yes, more need to, but it’s a start and this weekend was a wake-up call for a hell of a lot of people. However we choose to stand on the side of love, we need to stick together and remember that we are all, still, on the same side.

We need to keep singing. Sing until the hatemongers get the point that their hate isn’t welcome. Sing until our allies know they’re safe and loved. Sing to comfort those trying to heal from this weekend and the hundreds of years of strife in America that came before it. Sing a little extra love and joy into the world.

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Why Did I Ever Become An Artist?!

03 Wednesday May 2017

Posted by emilypageart in art, culture, humor, mental health, painting, singing, sip and paint studio, Uncategorized, writing

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

art, boredom, bourbon, Emily Page Art, existential crisis, life of an artist, midlife crisis, painting, Raleigh artist, starving artist, whisky

Uuuuuuuggggghhhhhh. Why did I become an artist? Why can’t I be good at coding, or rocket science, or accounting, or marrying rich men? Why do I have to be good at something that is so damn hard to make a living doing? I need to rearrange the room-where-art-goes-to-die so that I can bury more art in it. I’m out of art storage space. I mean, really, that room is so embarrassing I’m not even going to share a picture with you.

But Emily, you say, you do make a living as an artist. Don’t you own a paint and sip studio? Yes, yes I do. Which means what I’m really making a living at is teaching. Yes, I’m teaching people to play with paint, but that’s not the same things as being an artist.

What they don’t tell you in art school is that you’ll need to spend more time marketing your art than creating it. This holds true for other kinds of art, too: acting, singing, writing…pretty much everything for which I have any vague talent. Hell, I wrote a damn book full of pictures and words and chortles and sniffles and now am overwhelmed trying to just sell one book every couple weeks. I am not a marketer. I hate sales. Schmoozing is my worst nightmare. And when you’re selling your art, you’re selling yourself as much as the painting or manuscript or recording. Selling should really just be called begging. I often say that I’m not a writer despite this blog and my book, and I think one of the reasons for that is that I’m hesitant to own yet one more thing I’ll never make a living doing.

Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’m really-uber-super-extra spinning my wheels. I’ve tried so many things to get my work out there, and none have panned out. I’m tired of feeling like a failure. It’s not that I doubt the quality of my work, it’s that I doubt my ability to get it seen by the people most likely to buy it (whoever the hell those people are). I get shut down so easily by rejection, so it’s really hard for me to keep pushing and rolling with them as they come. I am, admittedly, too sensitive. I hate that about myself, and I’m trying to toughen up, but so far, I’m still all soft and squishy.

And so, as happens every couple years, I find myself in an existential crisis: how do I justify spending so much time, money, and effort making art that’s just going to sit in our third bedroom collecting dust? Do I really need to paint? Could I just…stop? What would that be like? Do I do it because it’s a habit or because it’s what I’m passionate about? I don’t read art magazines or follow the latest art trends. I studied art history in college, but I’m still woefully ignorant and disinclined to correct said ignorance. So if art isn’t in my blood per se, then why the hell do I keep doing it? Boredom? Maybe I just need another hobby. Maybe I should take up wingsuit flying, or collecting swords, or falconry. I swear, half the time painting’s not even fun. There’s always a step or two you have to get through to get to the good stuff. But then, I guess, half the time it is fun, and maybe that’s why I keep going? Though the let down when I add a new painting to the piles of other art that haven’t found a forever home (or maybe they have, and it’s in storage, which is even sadder) kinda negates the fun of making it.

I’m leaving in a couple days for a trip down the Seine with my mom. I’ll be gone for about 2 weeks. I’ll be bringing my watercolors, but maybe I’ll experiment with not painting for awhile and see how that feels. Maybe I’ll see so much great art on the trip that I won’t feel like I need to make more. Maybe there’s already enough. Or maybe I’ll be totally inspired and feel like I absolutely have to waste more time and energy. We’ll see.

Anyway, I’ve lined up a couple guest blogs and will post some old paintings and such while I’m gone so you don’t end up totally bereft without me. Drink some French wine in my honor until I return! Or better yet, drink some bourbon.

old tub

This bottle has my name all over it. This is what happens when you talk about bourbon all the time: your friends bring you awesome gifts like this!

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Nosey Nosey Rosey Posey

29 Saturday Apr 2017

Posted by emilypageart in humor, mental health, music, singing, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

bad singing, music, nosey nosey rosey posey, singing, terrible singer

This is my new favorite thing. As of about 10 minutes ago, she only had one view. I think we need to change that. This is UH-mazing.

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Blame It On My Youth

09 Thursday Mar 2017

Posted by emilypageart in death, dementia, family, Fractured Memories, gratitude, music, singing, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Blame It On My Youth, gratitude, jazz, music, Nick Page, Red Hot Smoothies, regrets, singing

I was going through old files on my computer, and stumbled across this. I had forgotten all about it. It’s one of only a couple recordings my dad and I made together (Dad on sax, me on vocals). I don’t know why we waited until after he had been diagnosed with dementia to sit down and record some music together. We had performed together with his band, The Red Hot Smoothies, a couple times, but we never took it seriously. I guess we always figured there’d be time for that in the future. Plus, as much as I do love it, I’m kind of shy when it comes to singing in front of people. And I looked up to my dad and I think I was always just a little bit afraid that my talent wouldn’t be quite good enough to merit performing with him. That was all me, not him. I know he would have been thrilled if I’d asked earlier. Regrets, y’all. Anyway, blame it on my youth. (be patient, it takes a couple seconds to start)

***********************************************************************

Thanks so much for reading my ridiculous thoughts! If you’d like to see my ridiculous thoughts translated into art, visit my website, or follow me on Facebook and Twitter. Know a caregiver, or someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone who knows someone else who’s a caregiver? Or heck, do you know a person? Well, you should tell them about my book, Fractured Memories: Because Demented People Need Love, Too. Part memoir and part coffee table art book, I recount my family’s heartbreaking and hilarious journey through my father’s dementia. Available to purchase here (this is my favorite way if you live in the U.S.), here or here if you’d rather get the eBook than a print copy, and here (especially if you want a hard cover copy).

book-cover-1

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Let Us Sing Our Throats Dry

18 Friday Nov 2016

Posted by emilypageart in culture, kindness, singing, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

poetry, pride, singing, song, standing up for love

This was written by my high school AP English teacher, Paul Erb. Yes, we are now friends on Facebook, even though he terrified me back then. Every once in a while, he posts something he’s written, and while I usually like what he’s posted, this one really spoke to me. So I’m sharing it now with you:

Cafe

I.
Try singing now.

In Casablanca and in Cabaret,
The people stand and say
In song
What they’ve been feeling all along.

Ugly or strong

I read this week about a dictionary
That hanged its accolade, choking praise,
Upon the word “post-truth.”

If that’s the key of our times,
then play The Marseillaise!
The future belongs to me.
Half a melody will call me up,
Or maybe I won’t wait. I’ll enlist,
Ragged private of a tenor,
Shouldering my part, pianissimo, rallentando,
Boosting my buzz with overtones
More true than truthy.

II.
Once, you stood alone
Just sixteen measures in,
After a cafe reception, in the noon sun near Hoxton Hall,
And explicitly didn’t say you were in the closet
Sad, holding the music, not ready yet to sing.

I let the rest sing then
But will sing with you now that you may be at risk again.

I welcome the voice
That will stand up now
And sing its throat dry.

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Why Are We Going So Slow?

21 Tuesday Jun 2016

Posted by emilypageart in culture, humor, music, singing, Uncategorized

≈ 16 Comments

Tags

bad drivers, musical humor

For those days when the drivers in front of you can’t even manage to go as fast as the speed limit:

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Sometimes I Hate Being An Artist

31 Tuesday May 2016

Posted by emilypageart in art, culture, painting, singing, Uncategorized, writing

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

art, artist, boat, paint, painting, pear, sea, sea scape, writing

You guys, sometimes I hate being an artist. It tough on the ego. This week in particular was harsh. I had submitted my Pear painting to a juried show, and even though it was the only realist piece entered, it did not get juried in. Honestly, given the other pieces I saw, I felt fairly confident that it would get in, though there had been no criteria other than size limitations given to anyone deciding what to submit. We were simply given the show’s title of FRESH.

Pear

Pear 6″ x 8″ oil on board

Perhaps the juror only likes conceptual art, or…? What sucks about these kind of shows is that you have to pay to have someone judge you your work regardless of whether or not they accept your piece. So basically I’ve paid to have a bruised ego.

I also had someone who had commissioned a piece decide not to purchase the work I created for her. Because I knew her, I did not require the deposit I usually require (half up front, half upon acceptance of the work). Lesson learned. She has kindly offered to compensate me for my time, but honestly, how does one truly calculate that? Basically, I’ve proposed that she cover the cost of my materials plus a very small amount on top for my time. But again, it’s banged my ego up a little bit, particularly on the heels of the juried show rejection.

Ilene Michels commission 2.jpg

Currently Untitled 21″ x 32″ oil on canvas

People are always saying they wish they were artists or singers or actors or writers, but really, they shouldn’t. As anyone in the arts knows, it’s a pretty brutal business. There’s constant rejection, and we tend to be pretty porous people, so having a thick enough skin to survive isn’t easy.

That being said, I have a couple more pieces on the easel, so for now I’ll nurse my wounds, maybe have a blushie, and move on to creating something new and building up the courage again to put it out there for the world to accept or reject.

 

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Today’s Dance Party

08 Tuesday Mar 2016

Posted by emilypageart in dance, music, singing, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Anais Mitchell, ani difranco, dancing away the sad, folk opera, Hadestown, music, musical

My dance jam this morning is from Anais Mitchell’s folk opera, Hadestown. This album is freaking awesome. So creative and varied and sexy and heartbreaking. Plus it’s got Ani Difranco on it, so you can’t go wrong. I highly recommend it for long car rides. And, obviously, dancing away the sad:

 

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The Memorial Slide Show

02 Wednesday Mar 2016

Posted by emilypageart in death, dementia, music, singing, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Emily Page, memorial celebration, memorial service, music, Nick Page, singing, slide show

As part of the memorial celebration (video here), I also put together a slide show. The voice at the beginning is my dad’s from the radio show he did on WTJU for a little over 10 years. The first song is from Dad’s CD featuring him on saxophone and Greg Nossaman on piano. The second and third songs are me. I really wanted to sing for my dad’s farewell event, but knew that I wouldn’t be able to get through it during the service, so I figured I’d record it in advance and just add it to the slide show. The song “Smile” just reminds me of him, and the song “What a Wonderful World” was what he and I danced to at my wedding. Enjoy:

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Emily Page

Emily Page

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