Dear Stupid Ass Questions: I entered an art show last night and they haven’t called me yet to tell me if I made it in or not. Should I sit on their doorstep and say I’m here to find out if I made it? Or should I break in the museum and sit there till they open up and give me an answer? Would a bag of chips ahoy help them decide? Or is it better to do homemade? I could get my neighbor to make them. She’s fat so she must know how to bake goodies. I really don’t want to spend too much time on this so would a bag of doggie treats work just as well? I saw that Milk Bone is on sale right now so I could put together a big platter. The museum curator is an old lady and probably eats cat food so she won’t know the difference. Do you think I made it?
DAN: Most of the famous artists I've known used food to get into their first art show. Picasso used French tarragon chicken, while De Kooning offered cheese-stuffed manicotti. Jackson Pollock just got drunk and threatened to beat the crap out of the gallery owner with a turkey leg.
Then there was Andy Warhol, who said to me my first day at The Factory, "Help! I've been shot!" My first day happened to be the day Valerie Solanas dropped by so Andy could "say hello to her little friend" (sorry, I'm not good with accents). When she opened fire, I courageously bolted into action by racing across the room and wrestling the window open, then dashing down the fire escape into the relative safety of the bustling New York City crowd. I found out later Andy was rushed to the hospital where doctors attempted an emergency hair transplant, but it didn't take, leaving him with a disfigured coiffure. My point being, I bet Warhol used food, too, probably soup. If I had to guess, I'd say Progresso.
You seem like a person in a hurry to launch an art career, a person who wants to get stuff done no matter how ill-informed and useless your methods are. Let me recommend a book I've found helpful in my own life: Common Sense, Patience, and Other Rare Qualities by Barney Ouchmoody. This precious jewel has provided me with pertinent wisdom during my impatient, dumb times. Unfortunately, the author won't be offering any more advice because this book was published posthumously after he died in an automobile accident attempting to pass a slow driver around a blind curve.
Stop worrying about whether or not you’re in the art show. You should be working on your backup plan, such as procuring a booth at a flea market. May I suggest Flea Market Montgomery, a first-class business establishment where I sell my popular edible glues behind the building out of the back of my van next to the dumpster.
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