Renegade Craft Fair!

Those who know me know I've always strived to wear unique apparel. It's not that I necessarily want to stand out, it's more that I feel pride in saying, "Oh it belonged to my grandma/dad" or "I found it at a rummage sale" when asked where I got something I'm wearing. My mother, who is a big fan of department stores and has a license plate holder that says, "This car stops at Nordstroms," still does not understand this and scoffs in disgust whenever she sees the contents of my closet.

I just love all things old, used, with a story. Whether it's my dad's t-shirt from 1975, my Bubby's sunglasses or reviving the art of letter-writing, I'm all for it. Same goes for decorating my living space. I don't feel comfortable when rooms mirror catalogs. I want rooms to have character and look "lived in." So when I heard about the Renegade Craft Fair (coincidentally *right* where Lindsay and I just moved out of our good ol' apt. on Winchester & Division), I couldn't wait to explore all the handmade oddities.
Since last Wednesday night I've been totally out of commission, sicker than maybe I've ever been, possibly with the infamous H1N1 Virus (a.k.a. Swine Flu). Today is the first day I've woken up since first experiencing the symptoms that I felt like myself. I still have a bad cough and I was crazy dizzy from putting in my contacts (instead of wearing my glasses) for the first time in a week, but mentally, I was finally ready to brave the world again. Alongside my eye wear, I traded in the nightgown I've lived in for a sundress, showered, shaved my legs, and happily (& dizzily) stumbled out into this sunny September Sunday afternoon.
I met up with Shawna and we took advantage of the free photo booth, complete with fake mustaches.

I ended up participating in some major retail therapy...possibly as a remedy to selling my Regina Spektor ticket last night due to my sickness. The following is a visual documentation of my purchases.
A postcard I bought that I tend on mailing someone someday...when I grow a pair.
A postcard I bought for my friend Abbi. On the back I wrote: "In honor of all the people you've called a 'B'."
I actually did not buy this screenprint from Novem Studios (although I'm still considering it), but it's too awesome not to share. It immediately reminded me of my recent visit to NYC, where I stayed with my friend Zach and his 3 awesome roommates, one of which has a life-size plasticine zebra in the living room (which I rode during their housewarming party). Another thing I wish I bought, which is not featured on Owly Shadow Puppets Etsy site is a laser-cut heart-shaped valentine that said, "You had me at health insurance."
This is now hanging on my bedroom door. Two of my favorite people on one postcard: Obama&Dylan
I bought this really soft t-shirt from Megan Lee Designs with a nifty map sketch of the six-corner intersection that makes up the heart of Wicker Park, the neighborhood I've lived in for over three years.
I am a sucker for all things paper (if you haven't figured that out already)! Especially in the form of journals. So when I found old books turned into journals by a company called Overdue Industries, I fell in love. It was hard to pick which one I wanted, but I finally settled on "Tuning Up: The World Of Music" (first picture above) because I liked the cover design (imagine that: a library science student judging a book by its cover!) and the fact that some of the pages have evoke happy childhood memories with pages songs such as, "Yankee Doodle" amongst the blank journal pages. And, I loved their attention to detail and their mission to keep the old ways of the library, as in they have the outdated check-out card in the front of each journal, where each is stamped with the date of its creation and then again with the date of purchase (second picture above). Now I just need to start keeping a journal again instead of writing everything on one online venue or another...
Pictured above is an array of smaller artifacts obtained (for free) from various booths at the fair. Clockwise: Overdue Industries' business card, the paper bag my two yellow postcards came in, a pencil from 16Sparrows that says "Sarcasm Folded In Half," sunglasses from the Chicago Public Library, a ticket to enter the $100 Etsy raffle (I didn't know it had to be turned in by 4, and I missed by two minutes), a Letter Writers Alliance button from 16Sparrows, and a CPL button.

My most favorite discovery of the entire festival, though, had to be 16 Sparrows. As I've mentioned, I recently began my MLS degree through U of I's LEEP (online) program. A girl named Isabel, who I met at Boot Camp this summer (a 10-day on-campus session that kicked my ass), told me that if I went to the Renegade Fair I had to stop by 16 Sparrows' tent because it's co-run by another girl, Kathy, from our cohort. I poured over their website (the other half of brilliance is a girl named Donovan) before going and was immediately ob-sessed. First of all, their greeting cards are hilarious. What I found next blew.my.mind. A LETTER WRITERS ALLIANCE!!!! I couldn't believe it. And I couldn't get to the festival fast enough to search out their tent. Once I found it, I proceeded to screech about my love of letters and mailboxes and the post office and how I can't believe this existed and I didn't even know about it. I told them about the Letter Project I devised in college and they told me I should write about it on their blog, which is awesome and I plan on doing...and possibly reviving the project and doing a second round. I ended up joining the alliance (surprise) as member #601 and bought the LWA Gift Bag Tote Bag. And I'm all signed up to exchange addresses with pen pal strangers. How cool is that?!
Here's the stuff included in the gift bag, in addition to the actual bag:
I leave you (and the festival) with a picture of my dear friend Shawna (who lent me $20 when I found out the 16 Sparrows tent was cash-only), who has now adopted the nickname, Shawnimal:

high on art

"Oh--so you're going to miss the Bears game?" This is what Amy asked me at my art show Saturday night after I responded "11-6" to her question about Sunday's schedule. "Did we just meet yesterday?" The answer is no. We've been friends for almost 20 years. She's always been Sporty Spice and I've always been Scary Spice (I don't think I'm scary, per se, but I do have curly hair and sometimes people equate being "artsy" with being frightening).

I joked with my artist neighbors on Sunday that we should put a sign outside saying "BEARS GAME BEING SHOWN ON WALL #321--COME UP AND VISIT!" after someone informed us that football was the reason the final day, which is usually the busiest, ended up being so slow.

But let's start from the beginning. Since timing in my life seems to be impeccably bad, the fact that my employers decided to move the same week as my art show shouldn't have surprised me. I assured myself that I'd be able to juggle both tasks, but with moving comes extra responsibilities (i.e. even less time to worry about my own life/projects), and I ended up having a total meltdown. On Monday of that week I sat in the middle of my bedroom floor with my laptop as movers took out my bed, dresser, etc. attempting to upload all my photos to be printed. Mid-uploading is when AT&T decided to shut off our DSL service, which was not supposed to happen until the following day. For the remaining few days I spent hours driving around and parking in random empty parking lots and alleyways stealing internet signals from people who don't care enough to password-protect their wireless accounts (shout out to "linksys" (outside a Dunkin Donuts), "stapleshotspot," and "wabansia").

Thursday night I sat at our new island counter in the kitchen and framed all my new photos...and managed to cut my hand (not too badly) on the shattered glass of a frame I opened that happened to be broken...go figure.

Friday morning my dad came down to the city to help me hang all of my photos. Amazingly we found a metered spot to park right across the street from the Flatiron Building. Ah yes, this year, despite requesting to be placed next to my favorite artists (who I met at my first Around The Coyote festival in February), I not only wasn't put next to them, but was put in across the street in a different building...while all three of them monopolized the SW (?) corner of the third floor of the Preferred Lofts building. More on the Wonder Boys later...
Anyway, my dad and I hauled all the photos up in one trip. Just like last year, he insisted on hanging the entire show, so I let him do his thing, while I watched, silent and grateful. I patted him on the shoulder when he was done and said, "Lunch is on me" until I realized I had left my purse in my apartment. "Shit!" I yelled. "Well. Lunch is on you. I'll pay you back." We went to one of my new favorite restaurants--Jerry's Sandwiches--where Amy met up with us. Amy talked about her new, fancy consulting job, while my dad and I chowed down supersized sandwich concoctions. "You get a signing bonus??" My dad squealed. "Yep," Amy confirmed. "Lyse," my dad said to me, "you should get a job there!" I just rolled my eyes. Last time I checked I wasn't really in the position to consult anyone about anything, nor do I want to be in that position. I'm perfectly fine being a personal driver and doing art shows, thank you very much.

Amy came back to my place to be my personal helper for the remainder of the afternoon/evening, while my dad headed back to the suburbs to host his annual poker night. As soon as he left and Amy and I walked into my apartment, I realized I had forgotten to bring two of the framed photos to the Flatiron. The first thing I did when we moved (into the mansion next door) was hang my photos wherever I found lonely nails sticking out of the walls. They fit in so nicely that I forgot the one above the kitchen sink and the one in the bathroom above the toilet. One helpful thing about moving was that tools were readily available, so I borrowed four nails and a hammer from Max's mom and walked over there (with Amy, both of us juggling a cooler, a mini table thing, a folding chair, my photo portfolio, the two large frames, my guest book and business cards) and hung the remaining two five minutes before the show opened.

(photo taken by Amy)
Before she left for the night, Amy brought me hot pepper noodles from Penny's and copious amounts of Newcastle, as well as a bag of ice, to put in the cooler, which my dad brought from home--it was made to resemble a giant box of Kodak film--surely intentional on his part. I shared a wall with one of my favorite artists, who I met during the Pilsen art walk in Fall of '06, Deva Suckerman, and with a new artist, Jenny Loomis, who I ended up buying two pieces from. Someday, when I've saved my pennies, I intend on purchasing one of Deva's unique wood paintings.

"Levitate" by Jenny Loomis

"Thrive" by Jenny Loomis

Saturday morning I went across the street to finally see the "Wonder Boys"...Damien James, Shawn Stucky and Gabe Mejia...and not far from them, John Kowalczyk, who also graduated from my high school.
I ended up buying a screenprint from Shawn

"the dream grew stronger" by Shawn Stucky

and a framed drawing from Damien

"(devon and western)" by Damien James

I also vow that someday I will purchase something from Gabe and John.
I never felt so guiltless about spending money--I literally felt high on art. My wise friend Abbi said, "You're supporting people doing what they should be doing" as an explanation for my giddiness.

(me and my new budding photographer, Otis)

When I arrived back at my wallspace, I met a four-year-old photo prodigy named Otis (the son of an artist, Lee Klawans), who brought me not one, but two flowers. I let him take some pictures with my camera--he was such a natural! He and his old brother, Ben, along with their dad, led me down the hall to a gallery where the kids have a hideaway area at the top of a ladder. They invited me up and I kneeled among giant stuffed animals and framed photos of Marilyn Monroe. Ben switched on an old-school TV and a dated episode of Benji broadcast into the play area, a black&white screen stuck amidst so many vibrant colors. We took snapshots of each other, and they showed me the awesome view through the rooftop window that looked out at the Chicago skyline off in the distance.

"Otis"

"Ben"

On my descent one of my cowboy boots got caught on the rung of the ladder and I lost my footing. I began to fall embarrassingly slow and caught myself by grabbing onto something...which ended up being something on wheels...therefore not succeeding in my attempt at stabilization. Nothing like making a grand entrance into a gallery full of people. Here I am! Not only am I a first-class klutz, but I double as a photographer-come visit me down the hall!
"Wow," Lee said. "And you were only drinking water..."
"Yeah," I replied, my face burning, "that's why I don't drink."

My photographer friend, Brian, who I hadn't seen in almost a year, stopped by. Then my friend Shilpa showed up. She drove all the way down from Michigan just for this! I decided to take a break from my 11-hour day and check out the other floors of the Flatiron and the Preferred Lofts with her, where she got to meet the Wonder Boys. While I wandered around, again high on art, I got a call from "Home." I answered excitedly, expecting a parent to be on the other line informing me they were heading out the door to drive down to the city. Instead, my dad informed me that they weren't coming. It's amazing how you can go from high to low in such a short span of time. I was bummed out, but I made myself get over it and concentrate on the people who were there.
On our way back, my phone rang again.
"Hey Alyse--It's Becki--I sitting here pretending to be you." Thank goodness I left a note on my little table saying I'd "be right back" with my phone number because otherwise I may have missed her and Albert's visit. I hadn't seen Becki since we graduated high school over six years ago!

All of my regulars as well as some Israel friends showed up around the same time soon after Becki and Albert left. Non-stop visiting and laughing until the very end. I even met a girl who saw my business card and said she works for a hotel design company that might be interested in my "different eye" and a man who's on the committee of an organization called Global Alliance For Africa, which sends art therapists (a field I'm high considering going into) to work with kids and other artists in Africa!

As I already mentioned, Sunday was pretty slow-moving, although there were still some notable happenings. One man walked by and without stopping said to me, "You look like a movie actress!"
Later, I was standing with Deva, both of us leaning against the wall chatting. A couple with huge, unfaltering smiles approached us and in an accented voice, the woman said, "You two look like art!" We both laughed. Her husband, still smiling, nodded several times. About an hour later, I was down the hall waiting in line for the bathroom. The happy couple passed by and waved at me shyly. "Movable art!" The man declared suddenly. "Yeah you could buy me!" I exclaimed. "No, you can't," the woman replied, although I'm unsure who the decision was directed to.

I had a few more visitors, including Max, who actually took a break from video games to come see me with his step-dad, Alex.
Max (who's 13 and the son of 2 surgeons) Logic 101:
Max: Whatever happened to that guy you liked?
Alyse: Ugh. The same as every other. Pretended to be nice then ended up acting totally disinterested.
Max: You know, he was probably passing kidney stones.
Alyse: What! That doesn't even make sense, Max!
[pause]
Alyse: But you know what. I'm going to go with your logic because that makes me feel better about myself! I'm just going to go up to all the guys who've ever been jerks and [softly placing my palm on their shoulder] say, "I really hope you feel better."

(Max and me)

One of my favorite things about these shows is listening to what people say when they think no one else is listening. While I was downstairs visiting Jacqueline Roig, another favorite, and buying her book, I got stuck behind some people in a narrow hallway.
"See, now this is real art," a woman said to her three friends, as she pointed to some very realistic oil paintings of city scenes. Her friends nodded in agreement. "I bet none of the other artists in this festival can produce something like that," she continued. I almost tapped her on the shoulder. I almost said, "Although impressive, I bet that artist couldn't produce anything that the other artists have created...that's the beauty of art." But I refrained.
I also enjoyed listening to people's commentary about my own work. This was a totally different feel than when I showed in the Lofts back in February. There you have two walls that form a corner, allowing a space for viewers to step into, making it easier to engage with the artist. Here, I sat in a chair facing my own work and the backs of the people looking at it. Once in awhile people noticed me sitting there and asked if I was the artist. The fun thing about specializing in travel photography is that people frequently try and guess where certain scenes were captured and get really excited when I tell them they're right. More specifically, the subject brought up the most, was hot dogs, inspired by my shot of Gray's Papaya in NYC.
"I ate so many hot dogs my senior year of college-" I shared, "-I haven't eaten one since!"

"Gray's Papaya," New York City, 2004

Lindsay and Amy volunteered to come back and help me take down all the frames and carry them to my car. As a thank-you I treated us all to Chipotle. All in all it was my most successful show. I'm hoping to do it all again in April.
For more photo documentation of the weekend:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/69332974@N00/sets/72157602427069929/

my first gallery

"I don't know, Amy, it's looking grim," I said to my best friend on the phone, as I headed east down North Avenue, less than a block away from Coldstone Creamery. "Oh...oh...oh--there is definitely someone buying ice cream!" I screeched into Amy's ear. I grabbed the door handle, expecting my eternal bad timing to render me ice cream-less outside a locked door. But no. Nothing could ruin this evening. Absolutely nothing! I thought as I effortlessly pulled open the door.
"Are you guys still open??" I yelled, excitedly.
The two employees looked at each other, then back at me. The older one said, "We sure are."
I threw my arms up into the air. "You just made my NIGHT!"
Amy laughed in my ear, and I suddenly realized I was in public and not in a delicious dream. Yet, I was not embarrassed. In fact, I proceeded to approach the counter and say, well first to Amy--"Can I call you back after I get my ice cream?" and then to the boy, "Can I just tell you why you made my night?" He looked just like my friend Christopher back in New York, and Christopher is one of the only people in my life who would actually care to hear a follow-up to that somewhat rhetorical question. Therefore, I felt the look-alike would have similar sentiments. "Tell me," he said. "Ok, here's what happened," I started. "I just came from the opening of my first ever art show in a gallery down the street. And I'm driving down North Avenue, and all I want is some ice cream. I pass your store and see people inside and get excited that I will be able to fulfill my craving. But there's no parking anywhere. I don't live too far away, so I drive home to ditch the car, run upstairs to check your hours on the website. It says 10:30. It was 10:37. Well, I was so stir-crazy, that I told my friend on the phone I was just going to walk here anyway and see if by any chance you'd serve me. And sure enough, you're open!!"
"You lucked out," he said. "This is the first night we stayed open late since October."
"Really?? Wow, this night keeps getting better and better!" Order your ice cream and stop talking, my brain said. "Oh ok so I'll have sweet cream ice cream with a brownie and, do you have blackberries?" I hadn't had Coldstone in two years, but I still remembered my favored concoction.
"We have black cherries...but that's not really the same thing."
"What about raspberries?"
"Those we have."
"Awesome I'll have those too. Thanks."

While "Christopher" smashed up my order, a bunch of people came in, one boy declaring, "It smells like 10th grade in here!" I laughed because I think I was in the same grade when the first Coldstone opened near my high school.
As "Christopher" rang up my order, he asked how my art show went.
"It went wonderfully! Thank you!"



Thursday night I went to the gallery at 6:30 p.m. to hang my photographs. I anticipated this only taking about 30 minutes. At 7:50 I was still pacing back and forth, once in awhile pausing to stare at the big blank white wall. I didn't know we were all hanging our own work, so I didn't bring any of my own tools (not that I have any...), and the only ladder in the place was being occupied. Pamela, one of the other artists, saw me getting flustered and offered to help. She held my first frame "eye-level" while I attempted measuring from the floor with Tifanie's tape measurer. Once one was officially on the wall I felt a little more confident about finishing in a decent amount of time. The second picture ended up several inches lower than where I had imagined its placing in relation to the first one. I don't have the patience for perfection, so once that I happened, I decided to do things the Alyse way...whereever I hammered the next seven nails, as haphazard as they appeared, that's where the pictures were going. My way worked! I only had to slightly alter one of them. Even Collin, the owner, didn't mind how it looked, so I left relieved and ready for the next two nights.


My horoscope in Time Out Chicago read, "On Fri 9, you feel confident about your intellectual and creative abilities, but you also feel your domestic life needs improvement." I couldn't believe it! I mean not that I read my horoscope (Sagitarrius) religiously, if even more than 5x a year, but sister and I used to have a running joke about how mine were always so depressing--your best friend is stabbing you in the back, today you might get run over by a bus, the person you love is actually cheating on you....stuff like that. Even with the "but" attachment to this prediction, my horoscope finally said something not only positive, but in direct correlation with this evening's events.

After running some errands Friday morning, I stayed indoors the rest of the day, mostly to prevent any accident-prone events and to let my hair dry without submersing it in any kind of inclimate weather conditions. At 5:00 I ran out in sweats to pick up my Thai dinner down the street. Down came the rain. Bye bye protected hair. But, I wouldn't let myself dwell on that because although it was raining, it was WARM, and when I got up to the counter at Penny's, I noticed someone had put a pile of promotional postcards for our show right in front of the register! Part of me wanted to say, "I'm in that show!" to the girl working there, but I kept it to myself and walked out silently satisfied.

I shoveled down my spicy noodles with a remaining 13 minutes to fix my hair, put on some makeup, slip into my new dress, and drive to the gallery (which, luckily, is only 2-3 minutes away, depending on the one stoplight). I walked into the Blake Palmer Gallery, and the first thing I noticed: my name on the wall!! From that moment on, I don't think I stopped smiling until Sunday. Two minutes after I walked in, someone I knew came by to see the show, and after him, there was someone I knew visiting me in the gallery for the next four hours!! Friend's parents and siblings, former teachers, some artists I met at Around the Coyote a month ago, as well as a bunch of my friends...about 25 the first night. Not bad, not bad at all.


I didn't think Saturday could possibly get any better, but from start to finish, I had possibly one of the best days of my entire life. Possibly it had something to do with the fact that I straightened my hair and wore my second new outfit of the weekend, and for those who know me, this was a big deal...i don't even remember the last time i updated my wardrobe. Again, there was a HUGE turn-out! 32 people came, including Amy's 3-month-old niece, Ella. . My parents brought me flowers, which I hadn't received since my final dance recital in 2001, and the Josephs gave me an "I read banned books" bracelet, which is awesome. My namesake came (read two posts back about that story), a bunch of friends from high school who I hadn't seen in years showed up, and they even had a guy in the gallery playing the drums! I was elated, just soaking it all in.
Several people this evening approached me and asked if I was a dancer...my reply: in a past life...but secretly wished I could just say, yes. One man said, "You know how I knew? Because of your very large calves."...gee, thanks..."No, but I think defined calf muscles are very attractive on a woman." Great.
In regards to my art, I got a lot of praise, which felt wonderful, but I also got berated by a lot of people for not being a business-minded, money-hungry capitalist. "How much are you selling these for?" Oh, I don't know. "Did you sell anything yet?" I have no idea. The sellability of my work or how much money I was or wasn't making didn't even cross my mind, and I felt uncomfortable when people asked me questions regarding that. I honestly didn't care. All I cared about was that by the end of the second and final opening on Saturday night, there had been almost 60 people there who came all the way out to support me. That is what mattered.


After Amy and I hung up (after talking for 90 minutes!) that night, I thought about how ironic it was that after all the excitement, as usual, the night ended with just me and a bowl of ice cream. I couldn't get anyone to stick around, despite my energetic pleas. If any of the Unit had been there, I thought, I know they would have stayed, but, alas, we no longer live close enough to each other for them to even come. Every other artist and every other visitor those nights showed up with either a wife/husband/boyfriend/girlfriend by their side, which I found humorous. I was so high on life that that didn't even bother me, and instead I was proud that I could do something like this all on my own.

Bias aside, I honestly have never seen a strong and cohesive group show. I loved every artists' work, and that never happens. And I feel honored to be showing alongside such talented people.
"The New Breed" show at the Blake Palmer Gallery (1656 N. Bosworth) will be on display until April 27.

MORE GALLERY PHOTOS

around the coyote

(this conversation happened online the week before the show when i had the flu)
Mom: You're spending a fortune on this show.
Me: Yeah...about $500
Mom: Alyse, you don't have that kind of money!
Me: Yeah it's a good thing i was sick this week, huh? I didn't have to eat.
Mom: That's not even funny.
Me: Sure it is.

I found out about the Around the Coyote winter arts festival two days before the application was due in December. I decided to throw together the necessary components and press my luck, hardly telling anyone that I applied because I had my doubts of whether I'd get accepted. About a month later I found out that I had officially been admitted as an artist.

When I lived in NYC I showed my photos in several shows, but all of them had some sort of NYU tie...as in I was just automatically a part of it because I was part of the class. (Well except for the Gallatin Arts Festival, which I did have to apply to, but even that was still school-related.) Because of this, I never really considered myself an "artist." It was time to "test the waters," as they say, and see if I could prove myself otherwise.

I had about a month to get everything together. I had the prints made with about two weeks to spare, but then I saved the framing until the morning of. Part of the delay I blame on my unwillingness to sit down and sign my name at the bottom of the photos. I had what one might consider a meltdown the night before the opening. My dad unfortunately had to witness this. Nothing was ready. Nothing was good enough. And I thought writing "A.Liebovich" as my signature could be mistaken for "a liebovich," like I am "a Liebovich" instead of "I am A(lyse).Liebovich." I know that sounds ridiculous, but it got to the point where I almost e-mailed everyone I had told about the show to tell them not to bother coming. My dad came with me to paint my wall space before the kick-off party. I wanted to look like a normal human being for once, so I changed out of my usual sweatpants attire and put on my one pair of jeans sans holes. I had only bought a tiny can of white paint, which apparently wasn't enough, which in my mind just added to why I wanted Thursday to end already. So I started haphazardly rolling paint, not realizing that the excess had been flying of the wall and covering my hair, my face, my hands, my jeans...I gave up on trying to make my wall a cohesive white. "I don't have the patience to be perfect," I told my dad. And with that we left to go across the street to the party. My dad was bummed because it cost him $20 to get in and because of my breakdown we were an hour late and therefore there was no food left. So, while I stood by myself with a plate of chips and guacamole, self-consciously trying to eat with my paint-covered hands, he continued double-fisting margaritas. After maybe an hour I finally initiated our exit. All I could think about was how I didn't fit in with the pretentious art crowd and how much work I still had waiting for me back home.



Friday morning my dad and I worked like a machine. He decided to skip the auto show, his motivation for spending the night in the city, just to help me, which was awesome and much-appreciated. I put the matted photos into the frames (the mattes by the way were all cut by my former high school photo teacher/current friend, Colleen Duncan, who I owe a lot of thanks to), begrudgingly more than once in some cases because there'd be specks of dirt caught behind the glass. Then he'd put the wire hangers on the backings. As soon as we finished the final one, Jenny got down here. Between the three of us we loaded up the car and headed to the Bongo Room for brunch before hanging the photos. We had an overly-huge meal and then carried all the frames and tools two blocks and up a long flight of stairs. Once there, we jumped right in. Jenny helped me figure out what height we should hang everything, and then my dad hammered in the nails. As soon as we hung the first one I was nothing but smiles and bursting with positive energy. That's all it took...seeing that it was all coming together.


It was a long (22 total hours) weekend of sitting on my folding chair watching people walk by. I actually brought four books along with me, thinking I would get a lot of reading done. I read one one page. What I loved most were the people who glanced at my work and looked like they were going to pass it by...I imagined their thoughts--oh they're just photos...and then some of them would stop in their tracks and turn back around and start studying what I had displayed. Something they saw drew them in, and just seeing that was valuable.

I found it interesting how the consensus seemed to be that I somehow managed to digitally enhance/manipulate/create almost all of my photos. People seemed shocked when I told them that first of all, all 15 images were shot with 35mm film, and second of all, I barely know how to use Photoshop, so even if I wanted to make the pictures look better, I wouldn't know how.


The comments/questions I got on my "love shadows" picture alone:
* "Now, you staged that, right?" No.
* Someone thought it was a building with two fire hhydrants sticking out of the wall and people standing on them...?
* "I don't get how you took that. Were you flying, or what??" Haha, I wish.
* "Is that photo famous? Or did you take it?" I looked at him, confused. He thought that I had just framed a "famous photo" I liked and put it in my show. I told him I took it, as I had taken the rest of the ones hanging around me, and that as far as I know, it's not a famous image.
* "Now you transposed those shadows onto the wall, right?" Well first of all, that's the street, not a wall. Second of all, I don't even know how to transpose things.


Then there was the woman representing a gallery that was showing work in the festival. "How did you get those seats [on the ferry] red?" she asked. Again, I was confused. "That's the color they were...?" I said. "Really? Wow. See, I thought you went in and colored them." "Nope. I just saw what I saw and pushed the button."


Someone asked if i set up Sol's apartment before snapping his portrait. Not only did I not set it up, the reason I love that particular image so much is that how he is and how his apartment is (even down to where he hung my coat in his doorway every time I went there) and the angle I shot him at were exactly how everything looked from my point of view during all of our conversations. If you look closely, you can just barely see my shadow in the reflection of the T.V. Someone else examining that photo said, "It's rare you can see into a person's soul, but I feel like I can look right into his in this [photo]." Maybe I am doing something right, I thought.


If people asked, I shared the stories behind the photos, especially with the 9.11 accidental double exposure (which I had to repeat several times was truly an accident and had nothing to do with Photoshop tricks) and portrait of Sol. Who is he? What's his story?
One man walked by, looked briefly and said, "You've got beautiful compositions." And another man, who I later learned was a commericial photographer, complimented my "eye for natural light" after I told him that all of them were shot with available light. "I hate using artificial lights," I admitted. "Well, if you can use natural light that well, you don't ever need to use the artficial ones." I smiled.

And then finally someone got it, pin-pointed the quality I like in my own work. He rounded the corner (my wall space was on an end of row of zig-zagged wall spaces), took a look, and said, "Now someone just told me there was no realisism in this show...here it is!" I said, "Well I like to show life as it is. I appreciate people who do abstract work or manipulate images to make them 'prettier,' but I'm a straight-forward kind of person, and I think that attitude manifests itself in my photography as well."


A woman asked me to "teach her how to have an artistic eye." I told her I'm not sure that that's something that can be taught because everyone sees things differently. She saw the photo I took of my aunt's torso, which I titled "Funeral Gloves," and asked, "Like how do you find the courage to only take a picture of someone's torso? To just cut their head off like that..." I said, "I guess it's just that I don't think you necessarily need to see someone's face to understand their emotion. You can get just as much information from someone's body language or how they dress. It's rare that I do take such close-up pictures of people like that, but if I see someone standing a certain way, it's like I have to capture it because if I walk away, intimidated, I will regret never having taken the photo."
She stood silent for a few moments, flipping through my tray of unframed photos. Then she held out my "red bike" image. "I just don't get it. How do I teach myself to look at things like you do? For instance, with this one, why not keep the whole bike in the frame?" I had to think about it for a minute...I'm not used to attaching words to my art, I'm used to them speaking for themselves. "Well..." I started. "I guess it can be more interesting to look at only part of the bike because it leaves room for mystery or room to form a story. Maybe the front tire was flat and that's why the person is standing next to it. You just never know, so the possibilities surrounding the frame and what's outside the frame are endless."


I didn't think anyone was coming by on Sunday. One second I had my nose in a book, and the next hour or two I was overwhelmed with visitors--mostly former high school teachers. It was so wonderful for all of them to come out, and as most teachers do, they tried to make me make the most of my situation. I got scolded for not placing a price on my photos, told that there's no reason to apologize for telling someone how much my work costs, that if if I want this to be a career as opposed to a hobby, I need to start respecting my work. The thing is, if i thought my work was crap, i wouldn't have hung it in the show. I do like my "eye" and that I can transcribe how I see the world into a photograph. But I don't think I will ever be comfortable dealing with the business side of art. I hate money...that's what it comes down to.

My friend Matt jokingly, but astutely pointed out, "This is like a petting zoo for artists." I laughed, but then I thought, he's pretty much right. People display their work in festivals like this to, in essence, search for validation from the commonfolk that they are worthy of calling themselves artist. The ATC people sent out a survey via e-mail yesterday asking how we think they can improve the festival, etc. One of the questions asked: "Did you sell any work? If not, would you still consider the weekend a success?" I did, in fact, sell some work--one framed and three unframed, which is way more than I expected. But even if I hadn't sold anything (which is what I expected), I still would have considered the weekend a success. I met a lot of great artists on my floor--(such as, John Kowalcyzk [another Fremd grad], Shawn Stucky, Damien James, Gabriel Mejia, Tifanie O'Riley, Nichole Chandler, and Michael Jackson--a girl so obsessed with the pop star, he's the sole subject of her paintings and she even adopted his name for the show...you can view all their work by clicking on the link at the bottom), had lots of interesting conversations with people, a lot of friends and family showed up to support me, and I feel one step closer to feeling comfortable about labeling myself an actual "artist."

MORE ATC PHOTOS

fremd's artsfest2k7

I apologize to anyone at Fremd who I told to check out my blog Monday night because I said I'd write something about ArtsFest...i ended up getting the flu that same night and couldn't get off the couch...and am just now this Friday morning starting to feel relatively back to normal.



(The following took place Monday, January 29)

Last night I felt like I was in high school again as I frantically tried to put together one more project that I saved till the last minute, inevitably giving up halfway through and falling asleep for a few hours. I woke up at 5:15, figured out how to use my mom's coffee maker, chugged down several cups, loaded up the van and left the house before the sun came up. Not only did I have ArtsFest today, but I had two other arts-related projects to complete before I even set up my table. First up, 6:45--interview Ms. Mungai for my documentary.
At 7:05 I bolted back home to pick up a project I forgot, then headed straight to Palmer's to meet Jenny for breakfast by 7:30. After my Ipod proved to be dead I told myself it would be a good day if I heard one of my favorite songs on the radio. And out of the radio cosmos came Billy Joel singing "You May Be Right." "Yes!" I cheered, and gave a caffeinated punch to the air. The song was still playing as I pulled up next to Jenny in the parking lot. I rolled down the passenger window, pumped up the volume, and sang,

"You may be right
I may be crazy
But it just may be a lunatic
You're looking for!"

at my best friend, who was applying makeup in the fold down mirror.

After a quick, but satisfying meal (french toast), it was back to the high school for my second of three artistic endeavors of the day. When it rains, it pours. I sat in Room 218, just as I had 7 years ago as one of Mr. Romano's psych students. This time I was there to play photographer, to capture candid images of him being the wonderfully engaging teacher that he is. For the most part I went under the radar, which is how I like to work (although i wouldn't call taking pictures of one of my favorite people work)...but at one point Mr. Romano asked me, "So Alyse do you remember high school?" The first (and only) word that came out of my mouth: "Unfortunately." Maybe that wasn't a fair word to use, but when the kid sitting behind me wouldn't stop making farting noises, I almost turned to him and said, "And that's why." And I snickered when Mr. Romano said something about how the boys will finally start to mature in college. One of his female students sitting next to me heard my muffled laugh, and said, "Ha and she laughs." Oh if you poor girls only knew, I wanted to say. The fart jokes are nothing compared to the manipulative mindgames. They don't even get any better in their 30's, which is worse because then they can't even fall back on the excuse of being an immature high schooler anymore. I'm not trying to put all men in a box, I am just speaking from experience. I'm here to talk about art, though, so I won't continue on this seemingly "man-bashing" tangent (although i should mention that the class's topic was the difference between men and women and how they're viewed differently in our society).

Twenty minutes later I ducked out of the classroom and ran down to my van to carry in all of my stuff to show in ArtsFest. This was my second year as a "guest artist," and I think it proved to be an even more successful and gratifying experience than last year. Last year it seemed the students were more interested in celebrity gossip as they paged through my SNL scrapbooks than anything I had to say about art or my own projects. Which is fine. I mean, last year I tried to put myself in their shoes, and had I met someone as a high school student who had worked at SNL, I would have peed in my pants...not so much because of the celebrity aspect, but just because it had always been a dream of mine to work on that show (I plan on putting together an overdue post about SNL's continuous place in my life at some point in the near future).
There were still a select few drooling over the behind-the-scenes photographs I took of Jessica Simpson at her edible body products photo shoot. One girl said, "Oh my god! Don't you think Jessica Simpson is like SO pretty??" "No, actually I don't," I stated blatantly. "You're missing the whole point of why I wanted to even show these books from the photo shoots. The point is to see how many people she has poring over her...her hair, her makeup, her clothes, her fake tan skin...it's all fake...So, no I don't think she's pretty." My words were falling on deaf ears. "So were you on Newlyweds??" I had a flashback of my best friend, Amy, calling me two years ago and leaving a voicemail message: "Um...I just saw you on Newlyweds...what the hell?" "Huh. Yeah, actually I guess I was, but I've never seen it. I just remember my friend calling to tell me that she saw me on TV." Never really made the effort to check that one out. I also pointed out that the rest of the scrapbook--which is filled with Polaroids of my not-so-ladylike/sultry/sexy/endearing self (usually wearing my dad's old t-shirts) sitting in for light tests of SNL celebrity hosts--shows how artificial lighting is another key factor for making someone look good. So it's not just the make-up artists and the haircare people and the fashionistas...the lighting technicians are also involved.

Ok, so as I was saying, this year most of the students actually took more of an interest in the books I've put together than the fact that they were one degree away from having talked to Cameron Diaz (another girl exclaimed, "You did NOT meet Cameron Diaz?!" I didn't know if that was a rhetorical comment/question, but I responded, "Yeah I did." Minor teenage freak out ensued)

I heard lots of, "I really like that she uses tissue paper," which I found interesting because I realized that almost all of my books have a fragility about them...especially my letter project book, which was literally falling apart as people paged through it.
And I got to reminisce about one of my favorite childhood books, The Jolly Postman, as I explained the tangible quality of including envelopes in almost all of my books. I love that interactive quality. This pairs with my love of creating projects which are collaborative. I want to involve people with my ideas. And because the process of creating the projects is obviously interactive on a personal level, I want the viewer of the books to feel as though they are just as involved by interacting with the artifacts on the pages.
It's interesting to watch people look through the books, and it's even more fun to see people, such as many of my former teachers, who participated in the projects, rediscover the letters they wrote or the pictures they took (for, the simply-named "the letter project" and "the camera project"). That's what I love about art...it brings people together; it's about self-discovery as much as it's about how your expressions/interpretations fit in (or don't) with the likes of others.

In addition to the books I had laid out on the table, I also had a Powerpoint slideshow on loop projected on a board behind me, which showed about 55 of my photos, jumping from "portraits" to "travel" shots. One student astutely pointed out to me that what he sees in my photographs are people unaware that I'm present in their world, so much so that they have no idea I'm even taking their picture. (Again, flying under the radar...just like the heroines of my childhood--Harriet the Spy and Alex Mac) He went on to tell me about how he's been trying to get his dad to stop attempting to set up the "perfect picture." "I keep telling him--'That's not how life is, Dad!'" I told him not to give up, that someday hopefully his dad will understand. He proceeded to place a piece of paper in front of me with a pencil drawing of a girl sketched on the bottom half. "So what could I do to make her look like one of the people in your pictures?" he asked me. "Well," I began, although mentally noting that I was in no place to be giving art advice, especially in regards to drawing, "all I can suggest, I guess, is to give her some sort of environment...I think that'd give a different perspective then, right?" He probably could have answered his own question better than my weak attempt.

Mr. Pinley watched most of my slideshow and commented about my style, the way i frame an image, that I'm able to see the big picture but focus in on that important detail. "I could pick your work out of other artists." The more he said, the more my stomach twisted. But it was that good twisting, that nervous/excited kind I get when it seems I'm not just doing this in vain. I am actually getting a point across. I do have a distinguishable style. The other day Abbi wrote in an e-mail (about someone else), "I love when people find something that they were essentially born to do and get so much praise and recognition for it." It's not that I need or feel I deserve praise and recognition, it's just nice to experience those rare moments when someone validates what you've been doing. That feeling when you realize that maybe you were born to do what you've been doing and that what you've been doing isn't actually a waste of time.

A few other notable encounters...


I talked for awhile with the current senior editor of The Conspiracy, Fremd's literary magazine, the one activity I did all four years of high school (Writers Week a close second, with three consecutive years). It was so great to hear that the magazine's still around. She took an interest in the issues of Make This Magazine I had out on the table and also was one of the tissue paper usage fans. She told me about a family member (aunt or grandma?) in Japan who writes her letters on rice paper because the cost of mail is weight-determinant. That made me happy--both the fact that there is someone else in the world still corresponding with actual letters and that those letters are taking place on something unique.

"But why?" a different student asked as he aimlessly flipped through The Letter Project book. "Why? Because I wanted to somehow preserve the art of letter writing...people rely too much on communicating with each other electronically...I did this project in 2003, and it's even worse now."

Another boy approaching the table turned to his friend and said, "I think that girl is my dentist." As soon as he said that I recognized him as one of the patients from the dental office I worked in last year and greeted him, laughing. He was confused. Even more so when he started looking through my SNL books...."How did you go from working at SNL to working at Dr. Malis's office??" Good question. One day I'm changing Paris Hilton's Ipod and the next I'm suctioning the spit and blood out of this kid's mouth while he gets a root canal. Such is life.

My friend, Kevin, who just started working as a special ed. T.A. at Conant High School, dropped by ArtsFest on his lunch break. My table happened to be right in front of one of the two framed Class of 2001 photos on the wall. He pointed out his high school self. I remarked how young he looked and how funny it was that we thought we were SO old when we were seniors. As we posed together for a picture, I said, "Wow Kevin, this is just like rose arbor [when we linked arms and paraded through the gymnasium to hold roses for the people actually nominated for homecoming king and queen]." Haha.

He could only stay about five minutes because he had to drive all the way back to Conant, but it meant a lot to me that he showed up. Interesting how some people working within the vicinity of Fremd, who I would have expected to come say hi, never showed up. Then again a lot did make the effort and for that I am grateful.


One of the other artists there was Mr. Upin, the former head of Fremd's art department. It was so great to see him again. He's been through so much in the past five years, it was heart-warming to see him not only creating art there in person, but smiling and laughing while doing it.

So I will refute my previous "unfortunately" statement about remembering high school. It's better to recognize the positive than dwell on the negative, and if a high school can take the time to dedicate a whole week to the arts/artists and another whole week to writing/writers (Writers Week XIII will be Feb. 23-Mar 2), then I say I am proud to be a Fremd High School graduate.

ARTSFEST PHOTO ALBUM

a day in my life--dad's visit/second city marathon

I didn't write yesterday because I think I was in the house total 30 minutes from the time I woke up in the morning...I drove Max to school, my dad came to visit for the afternoon, regular after-school duties of grocery store runs, walking the dogs, and driving to/from fencing...you'd think that'd be enough for a day, but it didn't stop there. I then continued on to Second City for their 5th annual, 24-hour "Dear Santa" fundraiser...where I sat from 8 p.m. till 2 a.m. laughing a lot and listening to Jeff Tweedy (among other musicians) perform mere feet away from where I was sitting. I dropped my friend Andrew off there amidst my chaotic schedule to get the tickets/seats at 6 and met him back there at 8. He saved me an awesome seat two rows from the front of the stage. I have to admit that when I was standing at the bus stop at 7:30 by myself in the rain, all I could think about was going to bed. But I kept telling myself that it was one day out of the year and to suck it up. I ended up only being tired the first 45 minutes or so, and from that point on, it was like the ultimate second wind hit me, and I couldn't get enough of it. I'd venture to say it was the most worthwhile $10 I've ever spent. That's right--it only cost $10 (I might still go back for an hour later today while Max is at tutoring around the corner). Anyway, this post will be more like a photo essay format, as I took a lot of pictures yesterday. So here goes.

Jenny is really the only one who'll understand the significance of this photo (we were at a restaurant with our parents and the waitress asked "who has the pepsis?" and my dad responded, "the dudes.") Anyway, after the Hull House (no pictures because I felt like I was gonna faint the whole time we were there), we went to Tomato Head for lunch in the West Loop. When we were done eating, my dad walked down the hall to the bathrooms and I heard him go, "DUDE!" when he saw the door, and then as he passed by the women's one, he waved at it and yelled, "HELLO!" (because the door said "Dollies"...get it?)

After lunch we walked a few blocks down Randolph, intending to turn on Peoria to walk through some art galleries. But my dad got distracted by the flashing "Chicago's Chocolate Café" sign and so we went in there first. I got a Mexican hot chocolate, while he savored his favorite thing--fudge, while clearly displaying his other favorite thing (see hat and ring)--the Yankees.

For the past six years or so my dad and I have made it a tradition to spend a day together looking at art in galleries or museums once or twice a year. I love doing this with him because he gets so blown away by people's artwork. Even if he doesn't like everything he sees, aesthetically-speaking, he'll still marvel at the "amount of creativity people have." I find it more fun to look at art with him than say a fellow artist because he's coming from a scientific point of view, whereas other artists can get too pretentious for my liking.
This is my dad at the Rhona Hoffman Gallery pointing out that both my mom's name ("Bon"nie...part of "Bonkers") and his ("Loo" [really Lou]...part of "Loon") appeared on the painting.
It also was funny to hear him yell out, "Yo!" from the other side of the gallery, after I presume he'd read words such as "shithead" and "fuck up."
[Artist: Mel Bochner..."'Obscene,' 'Money,' 'Stupid,' 'Meaningless' and other recent paintings on black velvet"]

I liked this jacket. Part of the "Poetry: Literal, Visual & Otherwise" show at moniquemeloche gallery.
[Artist/Writer: Jason Pickleman]

"This looks like cheese!" My dad said. "You know...those cheese slices...Kraft!..Kraft singles!" Sure enough, as we left the room, we looked at the paintings' titles, and that one was called, "Defender of the Cheese." He doesn't give himself enough credit.
[Artist: Chris Cosnowski, part of the "Civic-minded" show at gescheidle gallery]

"Half a ram, huh? Well I suppose it's better to have half a ram than none at all."
[i forgot to write down where we were...but it was a gallery right next to the Tomato Head on our way back to the car...i think the exhibit was called "The Human Condition"?]

You can't tell, but my dad is in the driver's seat of that minivan. No, not our car. The lady in the passenger seat said her husband would be right out, but they were blocking us in, so the lady told him he could get in and move it. So he did. Upon getting back into my car, he goes, "I wonder what she would have done if I drove away."

Horatio Sanz flew in from NYC to participate in the Second City 24-hour fundraiser. Reminded me of my days at SNL. I wondered if he'd recognize me, seeing as I happened to be wearing the same zip up sweatshirt I wore pretty much every day when I worked there.






Jeff Tweedy mostly talked and had a Q&A with the audience. I couldn't think of anything not stupid to ask, so I just sat quietly and snapped pictures. He took audience requests for the two songs he played. The girl in front of me raised her hand and requested "Please tell my Brother," to which she got a teary-eyed response about how he can't play that song right now because his mom died very recently and it hurts too much. That made me sad for him. Someone else requested "Passenger Side," which he played. I raised my hand the second time to request "Box Full of Letters," but he called on someone else. Second--"White Light" (i think that's what it's called?...it's a new one)

This is Jeff posing as the bids kept going higher and higher. The auctioned prize: a private concert of a 20-song playlist (that you decide) in your home for you and 29 of your closest friends. I was willing to bid a few hundred dollars, thinking that'd be the coolest thing I could ever host for my friends...the first bid was $2,000! Guess how much it ended up going for....$17,500!!! And not just that, he said he'd be willing to do 3 shows if the remaining bidders would all match the price. So with that prize alone, $52,500!!!, they almost hit last year's total earnings within the first two hours of the event!


Sally Timms and Jon Langford sang a few duets, one being a quite beautiful rendition of Roy Orbison's "Blue Eyes Cryin' in the Rain."

Robbie Fulks and his friend (name?) took the stage around 1 a.m. He looked remarkably like Conan O'Brien (height and everything) and sang catchy rhythmic tunes. He also did a rap called "Rap of the Dead" that he said is a personal New Year's tradition where he raps about all the prominent people who've died in the past year. We were his practice audience, as he said he wrote it the night before and needs to memorize it in the next few weeks.

The friend sat out for a few songs and watched Robbie play front and center from the audience.

For their last song, people started shouting out requests. Two being "Man in the Mirror" and "Dancing Queen." Robbie, without hesitation, started in on an acoustic version of the suggested Michael Jackson classic...."I'm gonna make a change for once in my life..." This prompted his friend to run backstage and then reappear with a GIANT drum and an umbrella to use as a mallet. It was so fun because everyone sang/clapped along...then somehow morphed the ending of the song into the beginning of Abba's "Dancing Queen" and back again. It was pretty incredible...and hard for me to refrain from starting a full out dance party.

Before taking off for the night (around 2...) we got to witness Joe Canale's (current mainstage cast member) three friends (also cast members) bid $400 each to get 7 chances each to throw a football at Joe's crotch. This made me cringe, but it was an awkward time to get up and leave. This is Joe sticking out his tongue at his friend "up to bat."

Notice the unfortunate location of the oncoming blurred football....



Today, as I mentioned I might do at the start of this post, I went back there for just over an hour while Max was in tutoring around the corner. The cast members from last night were all donning glasses now, but their enthusiasm hadn't diminished. Especially when The Blisters--a band made up of 11-year-old boys, the drummer being Jeff Tweedy's son, Spencer--took the stage. You wouldn't expect much out of a pre-teen three-some (one band member couldn't make it, usually there's 4), but they seriously rocked that place! And the best part was that at the end, the lead singer kid (Henry I think?) goes, "Those were all original songs." WHAT?! Everyone in the room flipped out when he said that because they were that great. They left the stage and everyone started chanting, "BLIS-TERS! BLIS-TERS! BLIS-TERS!!" They jumped back on from backstage to play a two-song encore--"Keep on Rockin' in the Free World" and one of my favorites (because it reminds me of Forrest Gump dancing in his new shoes from Jenny), "Sweet Home Alabama." So glad I decided to stop back in there for a little bit.

I'm anxious to hear what the total amount of rundraising ended up being. Let's just say 12 Chicagoan families' lives are going to soon change for the better! If anyone wants to help out, they said anyone can go to the main post office downtown and get a "Dear Santa" letter to help out a kid or a family in need. Think about it.