Demystified at long last

Written by Ryan Tramonte


| Wednesday, 23 December 2009 09:39




A Round with Ryan

Oh, Christ hanging off the cross, Christmas this, Chanukah that, Kwanzaa with a dash of salt, this season is pure insanity for someone whose quest in life is to spread joy to the world, and it’s twice as busy for someone like me who enjoys standing in their way.

Ok, where was I?  Oh, yes – Kim, my editor.  When I last left you on my quest for the perfect artist, I had just escaped from baby doll hell, and had managed to make it to my car for my drive home in the midst of a rainstorm.  With all my failed contenders, my editor, Kim was surely able to shed a little light on what I was doing wrong, and at the very least, she could share what she had done on cheat night.  No, no, no – not that kind of cheating, cheating on her diet, which absolutely involves her boyfriend.  Kim is the kind of girl that can make sense of the most outrageous events and things.  However, given the infrequency by which she “hears” her cell phone, when she does answer, I nearly break down into tears of joy.  The night in question, I was already crying, my tears flowing like the rain off Farrah’s windshield.  So, when Kim answered, I could no longer contain myself.

I was a blubbering fool about how I was never, ever, ever going to find an artist, and that we lived in a world full of crap, and so on, and so on, and so on.  Kim let me ramble, and then, without hesitation, she informed me that her cheat night was horrible.  She told me of boring Italian food, and a cold something that was supposed to be a hot something, and a hot something that was supposed to be a cold something.  By the end, I was so concerned that her cheat night had been ruined, that I felt like my artist just wasn’t a real problem.  You wouldn’t stroll through a starving village in Africa, complaining about the double stack you had at IHOP that morning.  If there was an IHOP in the deserts of Africa, and if you could somehow manage to eat a double stack and still walk.  When it was all over, I felt a little better about my artist, really bad for Kim, and all the food talk had me sitting in line at Taco Bell.

Later that night, as I struggled with my Burrito Supreme add sour cream and guac, hold the rice, I had an epiphany.  Tomorrow, I would see my psychic, Miss Elizabeth, and she would make it all better.  She alone could tell me whether I was going to find success, or fail miserably and be the laughing stock of the world I have created for myself to live in as someone of importance.  When I woke up, I called her, and after she confirmed that I was not putting a hex on another ex, considering stalking someone that I assumed was in connection with … never mind, or planning to burn anything down, she penciled me in for four o’clock.  At 11 o’clock, I was knocking on her lawn chair and at 11:01 a.m., I was entranced.  Miss Lizzy had seen it all; she knew why I was coming, and had made a clear case for my success.

“You will find your artist”, she said as she flipped the Mardi Gras beads she had woven into her side ponytail.  “But you will not find them this way.  You are looking for the wrong reasons”, she said.  I drew in closer.

She smiled that odd smile she gives me when I ask if it is okay for me to do something that I know will land me in the slammer, and she knows will land me in the slammer, but for some reason doing it is just so much more important than considering being in the slammer.  She breathed and mumbled something, the incense seemed to intensify, my heart began to race, and suddenly she looked dead at me, as seriously as if I had just farted.
“You are searching for yourself Ryan; you have lost yourself in this search and are no better than all of the rest of society.  Take a moment to rethink your approach, look for the artist to make them successful, not you.  Let the Great Spirits guide you and they will deliver”, she finished.

“That’s all I see”, she said turning her nose to the sky as if she were done with me.

“Wanna go for sushi?” I said.

“Get out”, she said.

I stepped away from my lawn chair and felt a pang of rage.  What, me, like all of society?  Ludicrous!  I was different; I was smart, I was special, I was me.  Society, well they were all just a bunch of self-serving, crotch stuffing, back-up dancer kissing losers.  Hmmmm, I thought, hmmmmmm.

So there I sat alone, with my very soggy, very unappealing Rock n Roll.  “Leave it to the Great Spirits”, I thought.  I mean, really.  In the past 24 hours, I had been beaten by Kim’s Italian food, a Burrito Supreme, Miss Lizzy, and now my Rock n Roll.  I put down my chopsticks and took a deep breath, Aunt B is so gonna kick my ass for this, but OK.  “Great Spirits do your thing, but hurry up it’s Christmas and I haven’t gotten a lick of shopping done”.  I made peace with the idea that I was going to have to wait until the right artist came to me, and when that happens we will find success together.

Having found my new place in all of this, I strolled back to the gallery, politely exchanging hellos, as usual.  As I crossed the threshold, I noticed Mark and Billy entertaining a young woman standing at the front desk.  I stopped and she extended her hand and introduced herself.  She was cute, polite, and slightly edgy.  She had a good laugh, but was still professionally reserved.  She informed me that she was looking for a gallery in New Orleans to carry her work; she had never shown in New Orleans before or anywhere in Louisiana, for that matter.  She told me that she’s new to the business end of art, and handed me a bio with her work pictured prominently on the side.  I looked down at it and a smile crept across my face.

“I think I can help you”, I said.  I had found my artist!

Ryan will spotlight his newfound artist in January 2010 on NewOrleans.com