There are very few perfect days in anyone's life, but we each get a few dozen that are close enough to count. Today the good parts were so good, anything that was less than perfect (traffic, having my good clothes scratched up by an exuberant young dog) is completely overshadowed by a day surrounded by friends and family and art lovers I never met before. The turnout to the artists' reception was excellent. Over the course of the afternoon, we guessed fifty or sixty people came down to the East Gallery, and most stayed long enough to talk to my stepfather. Old friends of my parents were there, and although I only spoke with a few of them, I recognized most from a distance. Several of my family members were there, from several very different branches of my family tree. In fact, I got a chance to introduce two of my aunts who had never met each other, after all of these years. That was fun. It was even better since one of those aunts kept it a secret that she was coming, all the way up to the moment we saw her in the gallery. I had a little mini-reunion of the flute section of my high school band, when four of us spent most of the reception getting caught back up. I could not have asked for a better day than to spend it with so many people I loved and missed, all to celebrate the career of my favorite artist.
The exhibition looked great in the gallery. The paintings were grouped, lit, and labeled well. If I were to have a single criticism, I would say that it was almost entirely abstracts, instead of an equal mix of abstract and photorealism. I hope that this gets people interested in his art, and sends them searching for his website. His body of work is extensive, and worth the time to study it all.
I have struggled with writing fiction for most of my life, because I always felt like I had a story to tell, but I could never get a whole book out. I've had so much more success here in short essay form, and finally it occurred to me, if I want to write an actual book, which I do, there is no better story for me to tell than my own. As we sat at the restaurant after the reception, me and a dozen or so of my charming and exciting family members, I sorely wished I had a pen and notepad to make a list of all the wilder than fiction experiences I was reminded of during the course of the conversation (especially with my cousin who was my co-conspirator through most of my epic tales). I tried making a few notes on my phone, but doing that just tends to look anti-social, so I stopped. I'm going to have to hope that once I sit down to write, I can remember the best stuff. As I've sat and turned this idea over in my head all day, I have asked a few people whether they will mind when I share the less savory parts of my history. So far, I have been told that nothing is off limits. I hope that's still the case once I get going on it.
This day was too good. I'm so overwhelmed by it, I'm ready to turn in and start to dream about it, so I can relive all the best parts. To all my friends and family who came, if I didn't say it enough already, I really love you all for being there. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
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