So, for the last several days I have not completed any new art projects. While there are several reasons for this–almost all of which are exclusively the fault of the Husband™–one factor that I cannot blame him for is a weird weather anomaly that hit Minnesota this past weekend.
How did this affect my art? Sit back and let me explain. You see, on Saturday the Twin Cities joined the 21st Century with the historic move of connecting Minneapolis and Saint Paul by light rail. Ok, maybe this isn’t exactly 21st Century stuff–but we are light years behind because mass transit has been a political hot button here for decades.
As part of the grand opening events, local artists such as myself were invited to host booths and sell our wares.
In honor of the event, I spent hours making these cute souvenir magnets. I also made lots of Father’s Day cards, figuring plenty of last minute shoppers would love handcrafted cards for their dads. I then enlisted my whole family to load up the car and set up the booth. Arriving at the event by 8 a.m. we quickly set up, before my family headed out on their own missions.
Shivering in my jacket, I looked across empty aisles at the diminishing hopes of other booth vendors. For awhile, the weather only rained. Then came a little wind and more cold. And then IT hit.
Minnesota Public Radio described it as “a relatively rare and unpredictable weather phenomenon called Gravity Waves” that pounded the Twin Cities. I call it “the shittiest day ever to try and sell art”.
After organizers closed the event early, my family returned to pack everything back up. Returning home, we spent the rest of the day shivering in our warmest winter pajamas.
Since then I have had strange urges to tackle household renovations. This possibly has something to do with the boxes of magnet tiles sitting in the hall. Do you think it would reduce the resale value of our house to retile our guest bath with Greenline Grand Opening tiles? I think it is a great reuse of a product. Just think–we could even save on magazine subscriptions because of all the hours of reading entertainment it would provide. Who needs The New Yorker when you can read “Saint Paul Green Line, June 14, 2014” over and over and over again?