I decided 2010 would be the year I acted on a particular want of mine. I enjoy art museums and galleries just as every good little artist should. I appreciate all kinds of art: old to new, sculpture to painting, famous to up-and-coming. And as much as I enjoy the occasional stroll through these displays of talent there is usually a question raising its hand in the back of my mind: Why is your stuff not in here? You’re as good or better than some/most/all of these folks, right? This thought occurs on a sliding scale depending on location, of course. I mean, the bar raises and lowers from MOMA to ‘Carl’s coffee and art bistro’. I don’t think the thought comes from a place of entitlement or arrogance either. I think it’s just a natural desire as an artist. Writers get to publish their words, musicians get to perform their songs, chefs get to serve their creations. I just want to hang mine on a wall.  Sure, grandma’s fridge has been very accommodating for years, but I’m almost 30 here and the cousins wedding pictures have to go somewhere too. It seems so achievable. I don’t even have to worry about misspelled words, my voice cracking, or under-cooking the chicken; I just have to make sure the frame is hanging straight.

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