Still, that's how it goes--some days you get the wombat, some days the wombat gets you. Despite this philosophy, I had just started working on a mild funk when I realized that I'd moved around a hundred bucks in prints in the print shop, which at least insured that I didn't lose money. So that was an unexpected windfall there, which, given the cost of admission, and the soft sculpture dragon I bought, meant that I made approximately five dollars. But hell, anything on the positive ledger is a victory, right? Did very little networking, alas, although I did run into a few very nice fellow artists, including a teeny little woman named Lubov, who did some gorgeous Olivia-esque work that hung opposite mine.
Coulda been worse. And the chupacabra pin-up (with small stuffed goat) I did as a Caliban many moons ago took third place in the "humor" section of the art show, which left me vaguely bemused--I mean, sure, it's amusing, it's a chupacabra pin-up, what's not to like?--but it was up there next to the Wombat Tarot and the Crested Snogwoggler and Snorkus, Liberator of Goldfish, all of which I'd figure as funnier. But that's always the way it goes--it's never the ones the artist would expect, and it beats a poke in the eye with a sharp stick by all means.