THE HIDDEN ARTIST

6 Ways to Spread Yourself Thin

Between work in the TV industry and my aspiration to be a famous living artist (verses a dead one) I've tried several avenues to promote my art. My eyes have popped from my head after Googling information for hours, I've graciously accepted family and my friends' advice, and even hired a kinda PR person to help me deal with social media (until I understood I could take care of most of that myself...ahem). 

Here are some tips that I came up to help sustain and promote my work.

1. MAKE ART

Yes, part of being a self-proclaimed artist is keeping up the good work. That involves having a space to paint and having the paints accessible at all times. More than that, it involves commitment to a project, albeit a series. But excuse me. The phone just rang. I've been asked to work on a TV production that will actually pay my bills. I have to put my art table and paints away because I don't have a studio like a normal artist. Now that that's done, I better do some FB posting on my art page because I won't have any time to do it otherwise.

2. POST ON FACEBOOK ART PAGE

Well, I have two Facebook pages—one personal and one for my art. I'm more active on my personal page. Why, I just posted another selfie of myself there...a weirdly lit, not quite smily-faced one that gets comments like, "you're weird." But that's my artist statement, although I didn't direct it from my art page. And oh!  I MUST share this gif of the woman wiping her ass with a blinking-eyed Sponge Bob! Again, not my art page, but oh well. A little bit of anti-Trump-pro-Hillary statements and I'm all Facebooked out. I think I'll do my Instagram now.

3. POST ON INSTAGRAM

Damn. Would someone please explain to me the convoluted foreign language of HASHTAGS?! I've posted to Instagram "#art and/or #painting", but my hashtags seem pretty conservative compared to what I've seen up there. I'm beginning to think I'm missing the boat or something. Perhaps I should try something along the lines of this: #conceptualizedwhiletakingamajordumponthetoiletat2am or #justbuymygoddamnartalready. And there's another thing I don't understand on Instagram. Who on earth am I supposed to follow if nobody uses their god-damned names? Like, who is BronzePony? Nail biting. Time to check out my LinkedIn.

4. LINK IN TO LINKEDIN

WTF is LinkedIn, anyway? I joined it in 2009 and ever since then I've gotten requests from people who want to connect with me. Ironically, I'm ALREADY connected with most of them on FB and probably even on Instagram if I were able to actually figure out who BronzePony was. Does ANYBODY get ANYTHING out of being on LinkedIn? This frustration just killed me. I better forget this and see if I have any artist calls in my email.

5. CONNECT AND KEEP UP WITH ARTIST CALLS

Well, can't do that one. I'll never make that deadline. Thirty-Five bucks to submit? Are you kidding me? Oh, here's a topic. Submit any work that falls under the theme, "The Baboon Who Ate his Right Nut Off." Classic. Can't do that one either because I only have an Orangutan that ate his left breast. I have no patience for this right now. I think I'll see what's going on at the galleries.

6. "BECOME" THE ART SCENE

That means go to art openings, meet gallery owners, and have a life. Well, I'm sorry. I just gave all of that away to a paying job that's about to suck every living hour of my day out of me. I'm terribly familiar with my week's progression. Alert on Monday, counting the rest of the days on Tuesday, engulfed on Wednesday, fading on Thursday, exhausted on Friday, and comatose on Saturday. That leaves one day—Sunday, when there are no gallery openings or gallery owners to meet. 

That about sums up my personal art promotion—one that didn't even include Pinterest. know what I think? I think I better hire that PR person again.  

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. 

THE HIDDEN ARTIST: Alyse Hart

CONNECTION TO NOHO:  Had long distance relationship with a guy who lived on Cahuenga Blvd. and married him.
MEDIUMS: Up-cycled canvas, mixed media, and acrylics
WEBSITE: http://www.alysehart.com/

Alyse Hart at her home studio.

Hallelujah! I met another phenomena of a left and right brainer—Alyse Hart. Quirky, personable, and a great story teller, Alyse revealed her creative journey (still in it's toddler stages) to me as we sat in her living room slash gallery tucked in her home atop an actual hill in Woodland Hills. Although still a mystery to both of us, we'd become friends through some mutual acquaintance on Facebook and had been watching each other's work voyeuristically. I was initially drawn to her use of bold colors, but after our interview, I discovered I was dazzled by much more—her uninhibited ability to allow a canvas to come alive on its own.

Never Alone by Alyse Hart

To understand  her art, we must first touch upon Alyse's life and career. Originally from New York, half of her family (mother and sister) took a creative route while her father and she settled into business. Alyse made a successful career in sales, but after speaking to her, I got the distinct feeling that her right brain (the alleged creative side) had been grappling with her left (the logical side) for quite some time. As a matter of fact, she even wrote a workbook about it called A Woman's Guide to Corporate Recovery, a pre-flight plan to help women map out an alternative lifestyle. But Alyse's own right brain take-over didn't begin until she participated in a hippy-styled Topanga art experience where the painting instructor guided Alyse onto her own creative path.

Electric Angel by Alyse Hart

I have to admit, Alyse's story made me giggle as I imagined her in the middle of Topanga Canyon beneath a tent with sage smudge wafting around her head. I mean Alyse's general appearance is as far away from any granola-munching hippy if ever there was one. But as she spoke, I realized there was a much deeper level to this picture. She told me she'd actually gotten physically sick in her class, excusing herself many times with an upset stomach. But it wasn't the sage that made her ill. Alyse was having a breakthrough—her artistic self was fighting to get out. And it did in a flurry of pink paint. Pink, I discovered, puts people in touch with their nurturing side and gives them a sense of hope—that everything will be okay. If pink is what Alyse began her journey with, it is certainly the color that enabled her to trust in herself.

Untitled by Alyse Hart

I'm taking liberties here to say I'd like to be the one who coined the phrase "we are all expressions of something larger than ourselves." I'd also like to add that if anyone is evidence of this it is Alyse. Her objective, void of any of her physical discomforts (she admits to actually having sweats) before a canvas, is to lead herself to freedom—to be metamorphosed into her authentic self, inside and out. She stays true to her out-of-boxness and does not hesitate to do as she is being directed by the ethereal energy that surrounds her so as not to lose her spontaneity. She remains alert to what her canvas is trying to convey to her. In other words, she'll use the remnants of an image on an up-cycled canvas she salvaged from the curbside and let it be the inspiration for a new piece or if a hint of something—say a fish—is poking about in the paint she's just covered the canvas with, well, a fish it'll be. The results are colorful, fresh, and inspirational—a no-bars-held look into Alyse's world...a world that definitely needs to be shared.