The other night I ran into my friend Paula Newton, who's the education coordinator at the Contemporary Arts Museum here in Houston, told me that she and a few other folks at the CAM had read my rather caustic review of the Kelly Nipper show, and that they were all cracking up. Then she mentioned that Toby Kamps, the new curator at the CAM and the curator of the Nipper show, had read it as well. She didn't mention that he was laughing, too. And darnit, I forgot to ask.
As the neurotic, insecure, but still latently ambitious ass that I am, I had the impulse to run up to Kamps when I saw him and say, "I'm so sorry! I'm so very sorry!", but I refrained from doing so, as I wasn't really all that sorry. Oh, perhaps I'm a bit sorry that he read it. I always go around thinking that nobody reads this thing, and then I'm always unpleasantly surprised by someone who walks up and snarls, "So...you thought my installation of bat guano was shit? Well, fuck you!"
And there is that latent nice girl in me who sort of believes that if you don't have anything nice to say, you should simply keep it to yourself. But then where would that leave me? What would I say? I hate just about everything!
Ah, well. I'm doomed to be the kid at the back of the class flipping paper footballs and making snide remarks, only to regret my actions in Principal Dresler's office.
Well, normally when stuff like this happens--like when I find out I've offended someone, or if my mother reads my blog and gets upset, I go back and delete the post. Sometimes I even delete my whole blog. Look at how far I've come! I can snigger in public with only a smidgeon of remorse! Now all I have to do is worry that I've offended a curator and wonder if I should stop polishing my "SuperBestSuccessfulArtistInHouston--Maybe Even the World!" trophy...
