At important gatherings of magnitude significance it is good for one’s transportation to be stylish to match.

Wow, look at how fast we were going.

This is the place, I suppose. “Small Space” will reveal itself to be terrifyingly accurate.

Because of slightly vomitous colors and what appear to be very prominent inkroller lines, my pictures looked like they came out of a printer at Staples. Which they did. Nobody else’s did. Even the ones that did come out of printers. Due to all the wide areas of color, additionally, the stupid way I wrote names on them (which I ordinarily would not do, combined with my needless desire to do all feasible things in difficult ways creating an amateurish presentation) made the frames look strange, but I had no contact with the framer. Yes, so, you can see why they stuck most of my pictures in this dopey cubicle here where no one would presume to look unless they accidentally looked inside first, which I have to imagine few are inherently curious enough to do. Rather than in the main hall-type area or the eating room. The actual gallery room was out sick. By the roy, the person here is Jayred, a friend of my sister Seabass. Which is odd, because as far as I could discern she wasn’t here at all.

On this side, owned by the cubicle’s normal resident is artwork which it appears I either made or am in direct competition with.

This one, 44.Self Defense is the worst. This big blank section and it just says “umiliphus” on it. Who cares that it says umiliphus? If it’s not my real name, why is it there at all and why is it that big? I don’t know! I regretted it over two months ago! And it’s in a frame! I just look like the biggest conceited moronaff in the world. And the picture’s not even that good. That’s one of the pictures where I tried to use smooth shading with hard black outlines. Those ALWAYS look bad because I don’t know how to do it properly. And this one now looks worse than that.

This is the food table. As a result of the plates being covered, you can’t tell what’s on them. Lucky you. Additionally, blurriness caused by my hands twitching with excitement over the thought of free seltzer.

As a result of the cramped space and inexplicable attendee quantity, I could not get pictures of all things. I didn’t even get to explain to persons who ended up in my kickle cubicle out of simple space-time necessity their misconceptions about the visions upon the wall. Wearing the sweater-shirt is Alison Hummel, who luckily wasn’t offended when I asked if she had hurt her neck.

Back in the conference room turned stand and mumble inaudibly room, the culprits were instructed to stand against one wall, police line up style. While I will not doubt I have done something illegal throughout my involvement with this program, I thought I would at least get arrested and rape-searched first. I thought I had rights.

Some people took photographs of me, of “us,” but I don’t know what became of the results. I assume the camera-users’ employments require faster response time than whatever this is that I do for free does, so if the snapsh-… shots haven’t been used yet they probably won’t be. I have to imagine in the photographs that the person in my place comes across a tad jackassish beyond acceptable levels, because I could feel that my facial expressions weren’t working properly. I kept trying to raise an eyebrow but it just wasn’t happening. I was so preoccupied with doing that, I forgot to vary the expression and pose at all. Life is hard.

I put “us” in quotation marks back there because I probably said less than three sentences overall to the five artists I shared wall-space with. I didn’t feel like I was a “part” of anything with them. But that’s normal.
After the pictures some people asked questions. I remember few. My responses were suitably useless. The closest thing to “getting a laugh” occurred when I said I used to make horrible Garfield ripoff comics, possibly the only thing which was true. I wanted to take the opportunity to ask somebody “ahhhehahh yes, ahtist number three: why didn’t you add me on facebook?”, but I’ve found that the more ridiculous my questions are the more I sound like I’m serious, and at any rate I don’t need people coming here and thinking I use facebook and deeviant art.

The peculiar individual wearing a street urchin’s hat was a surprise, and really helped top off the Ellis Island feel of the area. Through unknowable circumstances I spent a single digit fraction of the two hours having things resembling conversations with that person, and on the whole it was one of the strangest non-painful experiences of my life. I gathered from the proceedings that he had seen this page, and numerous past pages which have occupied this space and/or been referred to by it. He brought an alarming number of questions about “dopes.” Of course, any number of questions about dopes is alarming, so it may have only been one. But there also were comments made regarding nemitzes and vaguely reptillian muffin-aficionados and there simply is no excuse for that. We both thought the room was needlessly warmth-saturated, but we also both were wearing coats indoors.

The visible woman near left either thinks it’s hilarious that I am taking pictures of the photographers or has quickly descended into manic delirium from cheese on sticks and weird trail mix…

There was some debate as to whether the green lumps were trix, peas, some sort of beans or meow mix. Nobody who tasted one survived.

Here brother Cochise takes notes on the art of pointing from the mysterious person. I say “mysterious person” not to be vague, for once, but because through the entire length of time he eluded anyone discovering his actual name. Quite mysterious! He seemed to me to have traveled an irrational distance to attend, and done it on a bus, at that. Combined with the interest in imp activity I could not deny that his was a life of great suffering, even if the restroom graffitists are less lazy where he comes from. I felt special to have met such an individual.

Due, perhaps, to the highly unusual nature of the event, I quickly forgot about my civil duty and did not produce nearly as many camera babies as I should have. Notably lacking from the collection is my late arrival mad-dome-getting brother Eeple filling out every remaining name card with nonsense, the mysterious person signing the guestbook as MEEPLESWORTH, and the two of them discussing the tendency for small children to only color sky in the upper inches of a drawing, with a 3/4 obscured sun hiding in a corner. I mean, those sound stupid if I just mention them without showing something.

Well there’s one, anyway. He is occupying one of two chairs available to non-employees.

A numerated list with work titles was provided to attendoys so they could identify what they were looking at. Beside each picture was a number corresponding to one beside a name on the list. Why this was considered easier than printing names rather than numbers besides the pictures themselves is just one of many reasons I would never be hired to do something like this.

A result of confusion and inaction by me and possibly other people, the official list of titles referred to my units as “Untitled.” I was graciously given the opportunity to write in the proper, stupid titles and have revised lists printed before guests arrived. Another oversight on my parts (those parts being eyes) left 41.”repent, sinners” as “repent, sinner.” That makes it seem like the dope, not the people being menaced by the dope, is the one sinning. And that’s ridiculous.

A couple of the stranger pictures got themselves sold that evening, not even the first official day. As it is necessary for them to remain in place until the date at which it is no longer necessary, the updated status was represented by red dots placed beside the frames. I just assumed they had converted to Hinduism or had a really bad game of Bingo. Because I’m a moron.
Nobody bought my ugly printouts, and I don’t blame them. I think management’s insistence on labeling mine “$50” may also have been a factor, but grapes, scary people sell tacky illegal mickey mouse prints at kiosks in the mall for twice that. A few gallerists with the power to alter the list asked me what price I’d prefer to charge and I said I was willing to haggle. That’s another problem of mine. I’ll complain about their price but I won’t come out and commit to a lesser value. Maybe I’ll go there tomorrow and try to change the prices. But then it will just look like I’m desperate to sell one. Or like I’m an exclusive TV offer that crosses out 49.95 and prints 19.95 next to it for a set of stainless steel tape dispensers only worth fifty cents. But wait! You also get the Hiyaguchi Magic Tongue Depressor, an eighty dollar value no one would ever actually pay totally free! I’m not even giving anybody an extra thing, aside from an unverifiable space wasting signature.

I once saw this whole awful pandery series of Looney Tunestm creatures dressed as various baseball teams and I don’t think one of them was priced at less than 500 smackeroos. That’s the sort of person who wants that. Somebody who says “smackeroos.” Maybe they don’t deserve to have that much money to spare, but I don’t necessarily want to think I appeal to their buying interests, either. It’s an ongoing internal struggle. I’d love to find somebody who got the New York Yankees one as a gift and say “look! they’re the Red Socks too! They’re only in it for the money! They have no integrity and aren’t actually doing anything entertaining! They have no reason to continue existing!” But then I’d either have to buy it myself or have had taken a picture of it, which I did not do, merely out of fear of the people running the store.

In addition to batheball, there were a surprising (because I’m so very naive) number of scenes based around the “these are REAL people on a film set!” awful theme. And Bugs Bunny is ALWAYS directing or hitting the home-run or in some way getting the better of someone else. So yesh, pretty much if you have a framed picture of Daffy Duck you probably got ripped off. It seems so obvious when you put it that way.

There were also baseball pictures which did not have official Looney Tunestm characters, which managed to be almost as bad. To be fair, this was in September, when base-ball season was going on, in full swing, if you will, be a moron. But I was talking about the Full Spectrum art show. Because I need to identify the elements in the meteorite I discovered.

Maybe I spent, and spend days working on things, but that’s only because I’m slow. And you wouldn’t pay me $50 to fill three days kicking a bucket really slowly along a driveway, would you? Abyssal Jeff Tell only charges $35 for 26.Tranquility, and you’d get the piece of paper he drew it on! 36.Wonder… is in color, without lines, and while it costs the full fifty, Jefet can’t just roll out another one. There is actual paint contained within the frame! I’m so ashamed. Almost as ashamed as I am of my awful signatures.

Maybe next year we can get this guy in the show and I won’t feel so bad.

My most sellable picture, Stop the Violence, was mysteriously absent. How can we hope to stop the violence if the picture that says to do so is so cruelly and brutally suppressed? It just wanted to help.

GUWAAAAHHHHH! That was truly uncalled for.