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May 23, 2012 / mrsdeboots

Legitimate art vs kitschy crap (aka illegitimate art?)

Ah, in a life filled with real problems, I tend to focus on the most unnecessary and time consuming. 

Since I stopped doing make up, I have been having an identity crisis of sorts.  I’ve done make up since I was 17, for fun, then for profit, and I enjoyed it immensely.  There’s something to be said about being a legitimate artist, that being one who does something awesome, does it well, and gets paid for it.  And I was there.  At least I think I was.  Then I moved, lost contacts, went broke and couldn’t really meet new people (aka the dreaded network), refused to have anything to do with Facebook, and worked myself up to the point that I felt I really no longer enjoyed it.

All I really wanted to do was go to school and do special effects.  That’s it.  And me being the stubborn ass that I am, if I couldn’t do what I wanted when I wanted, fuck it then.  I wash my hands of you, dreams.

Make up is expensive, and working on shoots and sets and whatnot takes a decent chunk of time from the day, so it was my one artistic outlet.  Now that I don’t have it, I felt like a big part of myself was gone. 

At my job, I am thought to have considerable artistic talent, to the point that coworkers often screech, “what are you doing here?”..this is after seeing such impressive artwork as:

image

That is a cosmetic treatment sheet.  I didn’t draw it.  What I did was make all the little dots and x’s, indicating injection sites.  In dermatology, I am what you would consider a Dali or Picasso.  Yawn.  In Camille land, this is considered bullshit.

So my identity crisis truly flowered when I was asked my a co worker, since I was so artistic (see above), did I think I could make a nice looking diaper cake?  She’d seen the ones on craigslist, they were tacky and crooked.  I’d never made one but I was certain it couldn’t be that hard so, voila!

image

From that point on, at work at least, I was queen diaper cake.  I thought I could find a niche for myself, non tacky diaper cakes!  After deciding this may be the thing to do, a creative job with side cash I could save for a big vacation, or something sensible like retirement, I launched myself into a business plan.  I have a website (an address at least, no real site per se) and business cards…then I decided I was embarrassed.

image

As I took pictures of my diaper stuff, I felt like what I truly was.  A 32 year old woman, unhappy with her life choices, trying to sell her soul to make enough expendable income to take her kids to Disney one day.  A pathetic excuse for an artist.  Shame, shame.  I might as well have called my business Shame, Failure, and Mom Jeans.  And I wouldn’t even ever wear mom jeans.  But, if you close your eyes, and imagine who makes diaper cakes, this is who I see…

Home highlighted hair. Mom jeans.  Light dusting of a mustache.  Fat ass.  Baby weight in the midsection, but baby is 6.  Gnarly toenails clicking on the poorly maintained linoleum floor.  Shiver.

Judgemental? Perhaps.  I am a woman of extremes.  I feel like my diaper cakes are better, but still worth hiding.  Why be good at something that, at its absolute best, is still super lame?  Although I’ve had my site since November 2011, it will remain under construction.  Until the domain expires. 

In other news, i’ve completely destroyed my Crumb Wrestling Buddy.

image

When I say destroyed, I mean the fluff is removed, the pieces neatley folded, and tied in a haphazard knot.  I should throw it away, but I like to wallow in my many failed attempts at greatness.  It will go on my wall of shame with Marilyn, and my blue paper flower.

image

Speaking of my shame, does anyone need 800 gold wooden or metal ornate frames?  I went eBay nuts when I started doing the button monograms, and after failing to figure out a marketing technique, I decided to quit them also.

I’m getting back to work on Frida now,
and putting my faith in her.  I know I sound incredibly negative but I’m not, I just try to be honest with myself.  And sometimes what you do or make is embarrassing.  Doesn’t necessarily mean it’s bad, just maybe that you should keep it to yourself. 

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