Back in the Saddle Again

First, apologies to all who actually follow along here. I will promise in future to deal with the topic at hand.

'Nuff said.

Thought I'd entertain you with a pic of what the old homestead looks like right now with all the paintings stacking up for next month's full slate. I kinda like the strange (and very tiny) gallery feel surrounding me.

Makes me think about artists all through time who have had work stacked up around them, growing dusty because, basically, we are lousy housekeepers and that lead me to musing about artists and their 'keepers'. Now this is mainly a male artist history as they seem to have the female counterpart willing to take on the chore of keeping the space 'tidy' (and I'd expect that would be hands off all art detritus), handling the daily effluvia while the genius creates and cooking and putting food on the table.

And, lets be honest, some releasing sex along with the above.

So my thing is, how come the guys get this and the women artists get.....mainly buttkus. (buttkis..? buttkits..?? sorry, spellcheck doesn't do Jewish idioms) Emily Carr certainly didn't have a sugar daddy...oops, male muse vacuuming in the background. And, God knows, Georgia O'Keeffe certainly wouldn't have stood for any of that domestic idiocy from Stieglitz. But did he ever do the laundry?

I think not.

No, we women artists usually soldier on with the whole enchilada. (and a vibrator, *snort*)

I want to know why. Seriously, what is it that makes this Art life so bloody unbalanced in gender? (I can feel my bloodpressure heating up...better go pat Jams for a bit)

* Ok, just a small insert here. WHY do I wonder about these things and WHY should I care...as if my brain wasn't feverish enough...gah.

Anyfeministpaintbrushway, it's either a sign, once again, of the strange unbalanced world of male vs female and most decidedly, the wierd world of Art, period.