In the next position, if you, ahem, switch the pieces, he's now the one threatening her with another woman in the offing who is holding out a branch to him. The roles are switched. She is the one who is accusational now.
Right? Ok then.
So I bundled it all up in yarn and paper and submitted it and, well cool!, I got in.
On the 4th, the show opened and I dragged Emmie down a Brooklyn subway tunnel, onto the 'F', and up the W 4th tunnel, through Washington Square where a squirrel who knew no fear and had no tail lunged at us, tired of garbage and hungry for human blood. We screeched and slogged our way through the rain holding hands and umbrellas. At the opening, we were confronted with a packed gallery. It was fairly impossible to see the entire show, but when we finally did spot my piece, nicely placed and on a good wall, we both had to laugh and then worry and then laugh some more. Now, I am aware of and thankful for my good fortune in having this nine year-old as my constant support and advisor. When we saw my diptych hung there with the packaging still around it, my good daughter forced me to go up and ask the desk-people for the string to be removed.
A form needed to be filled out. The committee would discuss it. I was not allowed to touch.
As of yesterday, the diptych is still bound up in string. This all raises many questions for me. This makes me rethink my work. Am I a conceptual artist? I don't really like conceptual art usually. What does this piece mean now? Do I like the meaning?
How is it that the jurors accepted my work this way? Will they ever remove the binding? Will they like it the way I intended it?
Why can't I just snip it off with my nail clippers?
Who's in charge here?
Do you ever say one thing and the person you are conversing with hears wrong and laughs because the thing they think you said is really clever? Then you let it slide and claim the witticism as your own because it's better than the original?
Maybe that's what this is.