Tuesday, January 27, 2004
Wednesday 21st
Explored an area called North Cherry Creek, from what I'd been told I'd been expecting something like Oldham Street; it was much more upmarket and pristine. Lots of private galleries, ranging from the enchanting to the crap. Possibly the best, because its full of a wide range of local artists, is called the Show of Hands. Although some of it is a little shmaltzy for me I liked this guys stuff: www.storypeople.com (I've not checked the site tbh, but I wrote it on the back of my hand)
The artist whose work I enjoyed best today was Witold-K who has a show at the arte gallery; see www.witoldk.com. I was kind of embarrassed because it was only afterwards I realised I had been talking to him. As soon as I entered the gallery this very enthusiatic and warm man came rushing up, turning on lights for me, saying hello, then returned to a heated debate with a colleague. Then he turned to me and had an accent I found very hard to decipher and said "you paint, of course, you look like you do" Me: "er, yes, but I'm rubbish" "we are all of us rubbish when we paint. Its the doing it that matters, you have to do it"
After Lunch in an oirish pub (very strange method of pouring Guinness) I spend several happy hours in the tattered cover. I'm amused that all the tips about what to see and do in the states that I've been give by friends are all about food or record or book shops.... This is a truly great book shop. Wow. I read a pamphlet about the illuminati which scared me but then - oh joy- I found the country music pop up book. Remarkably, I left without buying anything
I had some bus kerfuffles; I got the bus I was told to home, double and treble checked it was the right one. It took over an hour, because noone thought to mention crossing the road and walking one block would save 40mins! Yesterday I got the wrong bus because I was stupid and forgot to check the number: I realised immediately and checked where I could change (the drivers here are much politer and more useful than I'm accustomed to) A very sweet old lady took it upon herself to escort me to the stop I needed, I didn't have the heart to tell her this was unneccessarry. This morning she was at the same bus stop as me: I knew we needed different buses but she didn't believe me and insisted we should ride together. Cue me, getting on the wrong bus. There's a moral there some where.
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The artist whose work I enjoyed best today was Witold-K who has a show at the arte gallery; see www.witoldk.com. I was kind of embarrassed because it was only afterwards I realised I had been talking to him. As soon as I entered the gallery this very enthusiatic and warm man came rushing up, turning on lights for me, saying hello, then returned to a heated debate with a colleague. Then he turned to me and had an accent I found very hard to decipher and said "you paint, of course, you look like you do" Me: "er, yes, but I'm rubbish" "we are all of us rubbish when we paint. Its the doing it that matters, you have to do it"
After Lunch in an oirish pub (very strange method of pouring Guinness) I spend several happy hours in the tattered cover. I'm amused that all the tips about what to see and do in the states that I've been give by friends are all about food or record or book shops.... This is a truly great book shop. Wow. I read a pamphlet about the illuminati which scared me but then - oh joy- I found the country music pop up book. Remarkably, I left without buying anything
I had some bus kerfuffles; I got the bus I was told to home, double and treble checked it was the right one. It took over an hour, because noone thought to mention crossing the road and walking one block would save 40mins! Yesterday I got the wrong bus because I was stupid and forgot to check the number: I realised immediately and checked where I could change (the drivers here are much politer and more useful than I'm accustomed to) A very sweet old lady took it upon herself to escort me to the stop I needed, I didn't have the heart to tell her this was unneccessarry. This morning she was at the same bus stop as me: I knew we needed different buses but she didn't believe me and insisted we should ride together. Cue me, getting on the wrong bus. There's a moral there some where.
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