Studio Assault, Day 2, dawned dark, but ended well, as with much wrangling, sweating, grunting, and re-packing, I managed to get the large foamcore box that has been mocking me* into the closet, and–an almost unthinkable victory–got the closet door shut.
With the door shut, I immediately wheeled the now-bulging-with-unfinished-art-and-mats laundry cart in front of it, to block the box’s escape routes. It’ll doubtless begin trying to tunnel out with a spoon, eventually emerging through the bathroom wall in a clatter of falling tile and triumphant cardboard laughter, but that day’s a long way off, and by then my elephant gun will have arrived.
I have hundreds of Mom & Tom’s prints wedged in the closet, most still in their original packaging. They sent me one of every run, and while I appreciate having the full collection, I would nevertheless need to buy a missile silo have wall space to hang them all. Nevertheless, the few packages that fell in my lap will get checked for art before being sent back to the closet gulag–if I can find the Holy High Heels, or the Saint Apples, I may frame ’em. Those were my favorites. How well they’d go with my growing collection of furry art and a wall of barong masks, god only knows…
*It’s one of those rare large, well-constructed boxes so perfect for moving large art safely that I don’t dare throw it away, because it would instantly trigger a cross-country move. I’ve been pretty good about getting rid of boxes, but this one lives here.