THE HIDDEN ARTIST

A.K.A. "THE HIDDEN TREASURE"

Andrea Monroe in front of her "LA Series" Paintings

I'm a busy gal. If I'm not working in the wardrobe department of a TV show, I've no doubt created some other lengthy project to keep me active. Presently, I'm in the middle of an extremely S-L-O-W bathroom remodel. I've waited eons for that room to mutate into the beautiful spa I imagined and now it's happening! Or not. At least that what it feels like when my contractor vanishes for hours and sometimes a day at a time. But like I said, I'm a busy gal and I'm making do with all the semi-construction around me because I'm getting ready to exhibit in The Beverly Hills Art Show! 

Whoopee! (Insert sound of whoopee cushion here)

"So, hey busy gal. Why aren't you excited then?" you ask. Well, I am. And I ain't. I'm just ambivalent, I guess. That pretty much has all to do with why I ended up calling my blog "The Hidden Artist." And no, I don't mean hidden as in "I'm hiding my ass, now come and find me." I mean hidden—like a treasure waiting, hoping, praying, affirming, and exercising extreme patience to finally be found, appreciated, sought after, and financially supported by people who want my art. With that being said, I do have to admit that I'm not a full time artist. That dream slowed down almost in synchronicity with my damn bathroom because of a little sidetrack issue called having to work for a living—you know, the kind that funds the DWP and all the other bozos I have to pay out there. Alas, I really do TRY to be an artist—I do, I do, I do, I do (she said as she mangled her tail). I paint in between my paying jobs. When I have the time to search and prepare, I enter juried competitions and maintain some kind of gallery presence, although much too little to be the discovered artist I would like to be. I'm fairly good with social networking, but have to admit I haven't quite gotten onto the Instagram wagon (YET) out of just plain stubbornness. I also have a metaphysical approach to art in general. I strongly believe that "what you give is what you get." I support other artists whenever possible. I BUY art. I started this blog specifically to celebrate other artist's "hidden" talents. And recently, I joined the board of 11:11 ACC, one of the most up and coming art organizations in the valley, well—just because.

So back to this Beverly Hills thingy. I have to admit, I personally never went to one of their shows. (Insert sound of whoopee cushion here...silent "pft" will do) I'm a bit daft sometimes and often "miss the boat" for one reason or the other. But a dear friend talked me into entering the exhibit, so I did and I got accepted. Getting accepted is a big deal. And yes, in the back of my mind, I'm truly hoping this might be my crowd—that audience with not only appreciation for my and other's works, but the kind with some pockets too. You have to admit that artists cannot live on words alone. To hear someone say that you have talent or are gifted or that they love your work does not a breakfast burrito buy. 

"Little Lovelies" Series by Andrea Monroe

Anyway, I'm preparing for the show. I paid my entrance fee, got my temporary seller's permit, ordered my Square, rented my canopy, and borrowed some display stands. I'm also painting smaller treasures to tie in the larger ones so my work will appeal to pockets big and small. Based on a series I recently began called "The Harlots," I will also have "Little Lovelies" or tinier versions of historic sluts that encompass the style I used in my LA Series. I call this preparation methodical madness. And while doing all of this, I keep flashing on my bathroom—the long wait, all the planning, and the investment. Will it finally pay off in the end? I think so. I can already envision myself, the "Artist Found," seated on the toilet of my shiny new mini spa while I post Instagram photos of my current works. And I think, "Life sure is grand." (Insert sound of whoopee cushion here...long and winded)



Visit Andrea Monroe's website: http://andreamonroe.com
Follow Andrea Monroe on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AndreaMonroeART

THE HIDDEN ARTIST

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A "SLUT"

The Harlot by Andrea Monroe

You read it right. I said slut. This was not the first time or the exact word my ex-boyfriend used to insult my integrity. What he actually said was HARLOT. Now, who uses that word these days anyway? Him...that's who. But I'll get into the story of why he verbally abused me after we visit all the sexually jousting labels women of the evening have been called for centuries.

Let's begin with a little history. The "oldest profession in the world," according to Wikipedia, is prostitution or the business of engaging in sexual relations in exchange for payment. A person who works in this field is called a prostitute (and otherwise as you will shortly learn). Prostitute is derived from the Latin prostitua, a composition of pro and stature, which means to cause to stand, to station, place erect, in other words "to put up front for sale." Because most of us know what a prostitute (male or female) does, I don't need to get into details. But for the sake of keeping on point in my article, I will address  the names women have been called under the general umbrella of sex for hire.

In alphabetical order we have: ball buster, bawd, bitch, call girl, changa, chippie, cock-chafer, cocotte, coquette, courtesan, cyprian, moll, moxie, drab, fancy woman, flirt, floozy, lady of easy virtue, lady of pleasure, lady of the night, libertine, harlot, ho, hooker, hussy, hustler, scarlet woman, siren, slattern, slut, street walker, strumpet, tart, temptress, ten o'clock girl, third legger, tickle tail, tramp, vamp, wench, whore, and working girl.

The Oiran and her Pussy by Andrea Monroe

Then there's the historical terminologies: ying-chi—the first Chinese prostitutes, devadasis—women forced into prostitution in the service of the Hindu goddess, Yellamma, comfort women—recruited Korean women sent to brothels for Japanese military pleasure during WWII, auletrides—Greek prostitutes with added talents like juggling, acrobatics, and dancing, ganika—an elite tier of Indian prostitution, zonah—female prostitute of the Hebrew Bible, hetaira—high class courtesan of Athens (so great was her beauty she'd sit as a model for statues of Aphrodite), and oiran—distinguished prostitute of Japan (unlike the Geisha who were primarily entertainers).

Now, back to me. First off, I'm not a prostitute, a hussy, or a whore. Even in my somewhat promiscuous years during the sexually driven 80s did I EVER take a cent for my services—I mean affairs. Come to think of it, if I had, I'd probably be a pretty wealthy woman today (after investments in Apple, of course). But alas, I'm just a working girl of a different kind who also paints—AND tolerates insults given by frustrated ex-boyfriends. So, why did he call me a harlot? I'm still not sure. We'd been bantering in emails about something that seems so meaningless now. But I do think he got himself fueled over a FB profile picture I'd used—a selfie created by Photo Booth on my Mac of me haughtily looking at the camera, arms sorta crossed in front of me to push what little I have in the my chest area up into suppulent bosom-ness. Here's the "come hither" photo below.

I'm asking you—is this too over the top? Do you see any nipples showing? My tongue is in my mouth, right? I think its perfect for someone who is newly divorced and over fifty. That decree alone gives carte blanche to any middle-aged woman who hopes to appeal to the opposite sex. Plus—a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to get a little nookie—I mean, attention around here. All kidding aside, my self-portrait did not warrant anyone calling me a name nobody has used since 12th Century England. Needless to say, his doing so kinda pissed me off—like to no end and back and to no end again. But instead of pin balling it out there in the twilight zone of anger and despair, I decided to take that negative energy and make it (better yet—paint it) into something more positive. Thus, The Harlot series was born.

Mind you, the series is a work in progress. I've only painted three so far—two of them are pictured here. I have every intention of doing more that will evidently reflect a mixture of history, color, pattern, and my sense of humor. The only problem I foresee in getting any done in a timely manner is I have my regular non-prostitutional day job to attend to and the fact that I really don't have any more ex-boyfriends to insult me. Sometimes one just needs that little blast up the ass to get a painting off the ground. Until then, I may not be up for sale, but the paintings are. 

Prints of The Harlot series are available for purchase on Etsy. The original paintings (that are NOT small btw) are available through me at dreymonroe@gmail.com.