It's weird sometimes how wedding dress paintings either come in feast or famine versions. I'll do 3-4 in one week and then have a month off before I hear another word from someone who wants a painting (though I do have to admit after seeing the few other people who do this, I am incredibly cheap).
There was also a weird trend where I was doing presents for the bride from a friend. This latest one was a Shower surprise (please note, my paintings are not water proof). The friend got some pictures of the bride trying on her dress before ordering it. She mentioned that it was going to be a black and red wedding so the background should be black, but I wanted to get red in there somehow.
Thinking that I need some more practice on bouquets I threw in a simple red rose number and asked if that would be all right.
I e-mailed her pictures (grumbling under my breath about pick ups, I swear every time I paint a skirt with folds my eyes cross and one day they'll stick) and got back the most unexpected reply.
Oh sure she loved the dress but when it came to the flowers her response was that she'd never have thought of it but then again that's why I was the artist.
But but, I'm not an artist. I didn't spend years at an art school fighting to get into shows and am now starving just trying to get some notice. I think there's something about France and clove cigarettes as well.
Instead I'm what is considered the polar opposite of art, that stuff shirt who only looks at life in black and white and relies more on logic and reason than emotion and moods, you know a Vulcan (and if you really know a scientist you're probably laughing your head off at how unrealistic that really is).
I don't think I'm ready to think of myself as an artist just yet. For now I shall maintain the hat of nice lady who pulls out some paint when she's bored, aka a hobbyist. Being an artist is just too large of shoes for me to fill: I don't really thrive well in dark smokey halls, I like to get to bed pretty early, and I could never pull off a beret.