The Ohio State Fair

Fair time is bittersweet. It always stands at the beginning of August with funnel cake breath and pointing its fried meat on a stick finger at me reminding me mockingly that the end of the summer is near. With that comes this manic panic trying to squeeze in as much fun as I can between now and the end of August when school starts. This programming runs deep from when I was a school child and still pervades my psyche and joins together with other pieces of programming to form this internal clock and set of "shoulds" which I sometimes rely on to run the show when I am too lazy to engage and really think for myself. Then, I remember that I homeschool and that I am no longer on a schedule that is tied to seasons. No one else decides for us when the fun ends and when it begins. These boundaries blur for us and everday holds the possibility of a "Fair Day." I just realized how lucky we are. I mean, I have known this intellectually. But, I don't always feel it. It is as if there was a tension inside that just stretched and yawned and is waving goodbye to the end of the summer, but relaxed.

We have visited the fair twice this year. We have NEVER done that. But, since my painting is there, I went once with Paul and the boys and then we went once again with my extended family. I have to tell you, THE most rewarding thing about having a painting in the fine arts exhibit at the fair was seeing the reaction of my boys. It far surpassed the wine and cheese reception that Paul and I got all gussied up for. I mean that was great and we looked good, let me tell you...no pics though. In taking my kids to go see my painting, I guess I just thought that they would look at it and kind of go "Oh, yeah, can we go ride rides now?" So when they actually celebrated that proud moment of my artwork on display with me, I nearly cried. My oldest kept touching the nameplate beside the piece and repeated, "Look MOM! IT'S YOUR NAME! IT'S YOUR NAME!" over and over. He voted for mine completely umprompted for the people's choice award. Then my youngest, who is more quiet, sat in the stroller. He is much too big for that now, but on a fair day of walking, I let him ride now and again. I wheeled him around inside the gallery and showed him pieces I thought he would like. There were watercolor paintings of animals and a few brightly colored abstract pieces I though he might like. He was not really reacting a whole lot. So I leaned down and asked him, "What kind of art do you like? Do you want to see animals, people, bright colors, what?" He looked up at me and said with such sincerety, "Mom, I like your art."

So there you have it. Not even the $1200 Best of Show award can touch that. Though it would be nice to make money at art, there is something more than that...something that has nothing to do with any recognition or money that motivates me to do it. It is a part of me just as my eyes are green and I have a dimple on my right cheek (face people on my face.) It just happens. Art happens.