BAFTFT 10

Written by Jessica George

Ten hours until Philadelphia. Rolling hills speckled with cattle, grain silos and run-down wooden barns whizz past the car windows. I’m on the road again. It seems I can never stay in one place for too long. Maybe I am running away from boredom, from ultimately living a life with a routine. I’ll have plenty of time for routine when my joints ache.

My travel companion is a lovely New Zealander, one whom I have gone on adventures with before in NZ. This time, he is in the States and we’re embarking on a multi-city non-stop fun-time tour (note: fun is subjective). About six months ago he asked me if he should come visit me in the USA. I would never have said “no.” To justify travelling when I am on a tight budget (see: ridiculously poor) I have incorporated my work at Wootini Gallery into his visit. Cue my mad scramble to put together The Wootini Art Tour. For two weeks, I’ll be working my way around the USA, meeting artists, interviewing them, snapping a few photos and collecting art work from each of them. At the end of the tour, the pieces will be showcased in an exhibition at Wootini Gallery in Carrboro, NC, where I currently reside. Really it’s just an excuse to meet people whose work I admire and pick their brains.

As I bite my nails and wonder if I’ve returned all of my pressing emails, I can feel the pressure of fully curating my first gallery show mounting. I could have made it easy on myself by curating a show in a normal way, you know, asking artists to be in the show, having them send the art to the gallery and hanging it.  But no, I’ve orchestrated a trip around the country, whittling away the last of my meager savings.

This situation reminds me of a conversation I recently had with a Kiwi muso friend of mine. He asked me what I’d been up to and my exact words were, “Keeping busy, having fun and being quite, quite broke.” This statement brought about a discussion pertaining to the life many creative people face, working a menial job to allow for enough freedom/time/brain power to support their music, writing, art, etc. Being a starving artist has some glorious moments but there are those times you have to step back and wonder what it would be like to have health insurance.

At the moment, my Kiwi companion is driving, doing quite a good job at it as well; he’s only flipped on the windscreen wipers three or four times when he meant to indicate. The smell of grass and car fumes push its way through the vents and it is intoxicating. The afternoon drifts into evening and the day cools off. We find ourselves waiting in a glimmering line of traffic again and again, paying toll upon toll to get to Philadelphia.

Night arrives and I’m driving over a bridge looking at what I think and hope is Philly. My mouth waters at the thought of a Philly cheesesteak (I’ve heard they even have vegetarian friendly ones) and a cold can of PBR beer. My GPS fails us once again, leading us down a maze of winding one-way streets where cars are parked half up on the sidewalks. I start to get nervous as the streets get darker and narrower. At this point, I hop out of the driver’s seat and let my Kiwi friend take the wheel.

Once we arrive safely in Philly, I phone the first artist on the tour, Pete, a friend of mine from my days at Boston University. The last time we saw each other we locked lips on a rooftop in Boston so I was wondering what sort of rapport we would muster up after years of infrequent communication. We find ourselves being buzzed into a nondescript  apartment complex where Pete warmly greets us both and offers us a beer. I gladly accept, if only to cool off from the sweltering summer night.

I ask Pete if he wants to start in on the interview I had planned, and I can tell he is a few drinks ahead of us when we find ourselves walking out of his apartment with him before a single professional question has passed my lips.

We’re at a bar, a city bar, and it feels great. There are so many people here who I don’t know and I love it. Drinks all around and the conversations buzz. Late night creeps up on us and we’re back on the street. Pete promised to take us to a classic Philly cheesesteak joint and he does just that. At this point, both my newly vegetarian Kiwi friend and myself (who had been an on and off veggo for years) decided to suspend our morals for the sake of a real cultural experience. Pete even filled us in on the lingo needed to order such as,  “with whizz” means with cheese. We’re sitting down with the world spinning around us and here we are eating cheesesteaks among the locals.

After our bellies were sufficiently full, we plodded back to Pete’s place, making stops here and there and were once even heckled by some guys on motorcycles. “Hey Baaaaby!” And they weren’t talking to me; they were talking to Pete.

It was finally time for some interview questions. We gathered around the table and when the camera began to roll, I switched gears and was firing off questions. Bam Bam Bam! Inspiration, art scene, outlook, technique... I was covering all of my bases. What a champ!

Sleeping came swiftly and the next day I reviewed the interview.  All I can say is that we didn’t use it on the website; we went with a written one instead. Who knew heat exhaustion, poor lighting and alcohol aren’t the perfect combination for a stellar interview? At the very least, I now know how to order a cheesesteak in Philly!



Stay tuned for the next installment of BAFTF in which Jess continues her travels up the east coast and meets up with more Kiwi companions!  You can read more at wootinigallery.com