I recently had an exhibit in an old building in Philadelphia, the owner told me if I needed to use the ladder- it's in the basement, all the way in the back...so- I'm by myself setting up my paintings and I come to find I need that ladder. Here we go- I find the basement door and proceed to flick the light switch-it doesn't work-of course. I'm looking down the stairs at pitch black in this ancient basement.(All I'm thinking of is how people in theaters always yell at the idiot not to keep going) Do I run back to my studio across town? Not me, I love this stuff, not afraid of anyone or anything. Not even the baddest biker scares me. Now I'm halfway(so I think) in to this dark basement with my cell phone as a light. I'm trying to pickup reflections and struggling to see. Now I'm deep in. Starting to wonder what kind of idiot I am for this brilliant move. My fingers reaching, probing the dark, for something, for anything. Then I hear something behind me, and then around me, and then above me I feel wind. I quickly turn and my light hits an old mirror and I walk forcefully into the dresser it seems to be attached to. I hear the noise behind me again, the goosebumps are all over me-in the mirror is a blurred mess of my light and a shadowlike play(probably me) ..the mirror falls to the ground and I actually die from a heart attack-but still manage to trip my way back up the stairs following the hall light..
No lessons learned..I still love this stuff-and I'd do it all over again-the schmuck I am.
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