Dear Reader: This letter was originally written in Summer, 2011 for the small group of people who were on The Project Room mailing list in those early days of the organization. Since then, there have been many requests for more of this type of letter, and a follow-up was written in December 2013. If you would like to be on this list, please click here- thanks for reading!
Well, I have finally made my way into the world. I arrived only forty-three minutes after my parents arrived at the hospital, a very rushed event that stressed out my mom somewhat (and you do notwant to see my mom stressed out- my first bit of advice to you.)
Anyway, life is pretty sweet: I wake up, eat, burp, do my business and then sleep again. I like the regularity of it all. People seem to be rushing about in my vicinity with lots to do, but I don’t let it spoil my vibe.
When I was nine days old my parents took me to a place called The Project Room- I have to admit, it was really boring, so I arranged to take my nap around that time. My mom was talking to Kevin and Jennifer McCoy, the New York-based artist team who were sharing their ideas for a future TPR project in 2012. My mom seemed really excited but, like I said- boring, boring, boring.
As if that weren’t enough torture for one day, they brought me back that evening for a dinner with The Project Room advisors and some special guests: Robin Held, Chief Curator and Director of Exhibitions and Collections at the Frye Art Museum and Amy O’Neal, dancer and choreographer:www.tinyrage.com
Again, grownups = excited, baby = bored.
I’m noticing a lot in my few days here, and one trend that seems never to let up is that grownups are always talking about nothing that makes any sense. But my sister? That girl makes sense! Just yesterday she was telling me about her new friend named Polka Dot Dress who sounds like a lovely girl. She also makes up very sensible songs, one of my favorites being “It’s ok if you don’t have any chairs.” I’m also partial to “My baby brother is so cuuuuute.”
As you may know, my family has a thing about nicknames- almost no one goes by their actual given name, except Grandma Marion for some reason. My relatives can be listed thusly: Davi & Dapa, GG, CooCooMimi (that’s actually two people- good grief), Grandpa Reever, Mema, our good friends The Bubbers, and of course The Chicken, J and Smitty. So let’s say it’s no surprise that I started hearing something strange instead of my actual name: Bubs. I can’t explain it, but my sister has altered it to Bubsa, so apparently I’m supposed to answer to either. If only they could hear my little cries of protest! And they do, but they assume it’s a request for a clean diaper and some more grub.
Just one last thing: I was always being described as a “summer baby” and how great that was going to be cuz I’d be able to hang loose in minimal clothing and see what a beach looks like- DID I COME OUT IN THE WRONG SEASON? Help me out here people.
I look forward to meeting all of you sometime in the future, hopefully somewhere other than that dreaded project area or whatever it’s called.
Love, Oliver Smith Van Nostrand aka “Bubs”