HORSESHOES AND HAND GRENADES

As we all know, these are two of the only things in which getting close really counts. Two tasks have been paramount in my little world recently. One is getting the forgotten painter Ethelbert B. Crawford some well deserved press AND putting a a deer on the ground. After many emails to the local paper's editors they finally responded, sent over a photog. and a reporter and did a nice little piece on the MO David North EBC show. To use a deer hunting analogy this is like shooting a spike. It's something to be proud of, meat in the freezer, but in no way is it a reason to go to the taxidermist. So it fell to my gallery partner the artist Samm Kunce to see if she could crack "the paper of record", "the grey lady", the NYT and get some real press.
    In the meantime I head back to the orchard stand, as the supermodels click and cavort throughout my house in various stages of undress. You may think it's crazy to go deer hunting while long legged beautiful women are sprawling on my floor, but it's not as glamorous as it sounds. It's serious, hard work doing a magazine spread. Lights must be set up and taken down. Camera lens must be changed, wigs straightened, pubes trimmed and fluffed to perfection. Should nips be erect or relaxed? Who's got time for all this during deer season? I grab my bow and excuse myself until dark.
   I bump a deer going in and it's not long before small groups start pouring into Gilkey's field. From my perch I have a perfect view, but every deer stays well out of range, munching the freshly hayed field. Because of the dearth of apples, nothing seems to want to venture near my tree. Still, it's satisfying to see this many deer. It's a waiting game. Eventually one will wander by. Then I catch a glimpse of movement off to my left. Skulking along the edge of the swamp I spy the back of a coyote heading for the field. I squeak like a mouse and squawk like a turkey.....then wait. I've never shot a coyote with the bow, but I have called them right into my lap. Five minutes pass, then I see every deer in the field lift their heads. In an instant the field explodes. TWO coyotes at a full run chase after the fleeing deer. It's like something you would see on Nat. Geo. Every deer either escapes across the river or into the woods on Gilkey's ridge. Why couldn't those damn dogs chase them to me? The coyotes return to the field, dejected, tongues out. Close....but no cigar.
    On the other front Samm makes a bunch of calls and actually gets the NYTimes culture editor to return one, interested in the EBC show. Wow. He says that it's a little far for them to send anyone to review an art show but he'll run it by the powers- that- be  and see what happens. It's another waiting game. A week goes by and I can't take it anymore. Samm sends off another email "just checking". The editor immediately gets back to her, but the news is not good. We here in the boonies are competing with the opening of the NYC art world season. There's hundreds of galleries vying for the seal of approval that only a mention in the Times can provide. The editor apologizes, but there's just too much happening in town. Maybe another time. Ethelbert will just have to happy with the THRecord. After Oct. 19th the paintings will be returned to the library attic and an unsure future. Oh well. We gave it our best try. Close. Damn close.