In praise of scruffiness
Now Playing: Paper (4-0-0) vs. Plastic (1-2-1)
An acquaintance called Tuesday night and asked me to submit some pieces for an art show that starts next week. "Oh, don't worry" she assured me, "it's all right that they're not framed. I know it's short notice. Just leave them in my breezeway by 3 pm on Friday".

So off I went with my scruffy, raggedy, unframed artwork, and discovered that everybody else had submitted pieces which were exquisitely framed and matted behind museum-quality glare reduction glass. Each piece was signed, with neatly typed placards bearing the title, date, and medium. They were all expertly wrapped in brown paper and bubble wrap, and packed in cardboard boxes with the artist's name and address. In comparison, my canvases suddenly looked small, untidy, and vulnerable. I leaned them against one of the boxes and fled.

This seems to be a recurring theme in my life: showing up absolutely unprepared. (see the previous Acting Audition entry). I was always the kid who showed up at the district band audition with a dented Bundy school saxophone on which half the leather keypads were eaten away by age, and a single ancient, chipped #2 reed (no-name brand), while the other kids were packing sleek golden Selmer Mark IIs and new Rico Royal reeds. My instrument was so out of date, the audition pieces contained notes for which I didn't even have keys. Dreams of being naked in class hold absolutely no terror for me.

That's why I gravitate towards artistic endeavors that are also scruffy and unpolished. David appeals to me because his performances aren't slick, they're natural and slightly rough around the edges. Like an unframed canvas. Yet, each role is backed by a lot of meticulous thought and care. He's not afraid to look ridiculous and for that, I love him dearly.