Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Real Life

Tonight we watched a movie about zines, called 100 Dollars and A T-Shirt. It was pretty good. It kind of almost made me want to make a zine again, but not really. I hypothesize that all those people making zines grew up and opened etsy stores (like me. I prefer that my "hobby" makes my living, rather than working at a coffee shop). Now instead of having interviews in dirty disheveled apartments, all these etsy sellers and bloggers have interviews in these glossy magazine-ready cottage homes, with perfectly decorated windows and accent rugs, globe collections, and other thrifted and repurposed knickknacks. A sweet little 4 year old and his 2.5 year old sister cutely run through the shot, almost blurred beyond recognition. I won't tell you I don't like looking at the glossy perfect lives of other people, but I will say it makes me feel a bit inadequate about my own home and life sometimes, which is dumb. I look at everything every awesome person has done, and sort of lump them into this one giant amazing awesome person, who never has crumbs on the floor, who always folds laundry right away (in a beautiful natural light filled laundry room), who has an amazing wardrobe, who works for all the publishers I want to work for, who gets flooded with unsolicited calls from art directors, who has cameos on Martha Stewart, who has 10,000+ sales in their etsy shop, who goes to the gym, who eats organic food, only free-range meat once or twice a week, and still has time to make personal work to fill a small gallery or two per year. A totally unrealistic person to look up to. Not real!

In the zine world, people seemed a lot more real. They weren't afraid to write about gross things, or personal things, or to have their picture taken next to their dirty dishes, or before they had a shower. Or maybe all those people were just college kids who didn't give a crap, and I used to be one of them too.

Ps, I haven't had a shower today, and have worn my pajama shirt all day, even though I did leave the house (just to the studio, but still). The hell with perfection right?

Here is what my life normally looks like:
(Virginia, putting a whole new spin on the phrase "food truck.")

(This truck offers a wide selection, including cheerios, broken pretzels, and bits of peanut butter sandwich leftover from lunch. Notice the mid-air cheerio, and the ones already on the floor, which will later be ground into fine multi-grain dust by my feet)