It’s not that kind of catamaran.
About a year and half ago I took a day off from building Mon Tiki, caught bus into the city, and went to an art opening at a gallery in the mid-twenties near Fifth Avenue.
The opening was for a quilter, or an art-quilter, I’m not sure what he’d prefer. My purpose for being there was to meet my publicist (Hunter Thompson had a lawyer; I have a publicist) and my publicist is also an accomplish crafter, so she wanted to see the show.
At-any-rate, the opening was more or less what you’d expect from art-quilting. Very long on meta, or irony or something; not especially long on execution, which is to say if you’ve seen real quilting from real quilters you wouldn’t have been especially impressed, or at least I wasn’t.
Usually I don’t make any effort to keep these sorts of opinions to myself, but not tonight. Tonight I resolved to be on good behavior. I made an effort to find aspects of the artist’s
work I could comment on positively, and failing that I made small talk.
And so it was I found myself making small talk with a tall woman with a stylish haircut, stylish jeans and a stylish scarf who said she was also quilter. I mentioned that one of my carpenters was an artist himself, and furthermore, he was a Mennonite, and that as I’m sure she was aware, quilting was very important in Mennonite culture, and he was quite curious about the show and wanted a full report.
“Oh, it’s not that kind of quilting,” she said, and in all honesty I can’t remember a single thing she said after that.
I’m telling you this because earlier this evening I removed “filmmaker” and “writer” from my twitter bio, and as I was doing so the above related events came to mind.