I’m the Damien Hirst of Soccer Moms

The only reason I even bought the cement was so David could fix the eaves-trough pad in the yard. I thought if there was any left over I’d make some cement butterflies or maybe a garden gnome. They’re hilarious! The problem is our cat Max loves tearing off paper, especially if he thinks it’s a big bag of kitty litter or food. He thought he’d ripped into a new bag of litter just as that damn eaves-trough started flooding the garage again. By the time I found Max he was completely solid. A statue. All twisted in panic and covered in hard cement like Medusa had stepped on his tail. God it was horrible! I miss Max so much. I wish I could thank that little cat for putting us on the cover of Artforum magazine. Of course, if I could, he’d still be alive and we wouldn’t be on the cover. I had no idea leaving a bag of cement next to the litter box in the garage would finally catapult me into art stardom. I’m the rebel MILF of sculpture now!

It’s exciting but am I going to stoop so low that I’ll ride our family’s dead cat to the top of the art world? What horrible things am I going to have to do just to stay there? To live out my dream as an artist? To stay relevant?! Fill the fundraising dunk tank from my son’s baseball team full of quickset and just keep dropping in one doe eyed creature after another? Scouring animal shelters and abandoned zoos for cuddly rejects to dunk into art history? Cementing them into an eternity as a conversation piece in some rich sadist’s living room? I don’t want to spend 50 hours a week killing Bambi’s mom for my art! I’m not a monster but; maybe that’s what I have to do! What other choice do I have?

Before Max’s accident I was a suburban stay at home mom. My art school degree and hundreds of pottery classes at the local community center had gotten me nowhere. I tried to get my work into the gallery downtown. I drove over there and double parked our minivan out front cause I was in such a rush that day doing mom stuff. Maybe they could tell. Or maybe it was the way I was dressed. Either way they locked the door and pointed at my scrunchy as soon as I made eye contact. I tried to show them my portfolio through the gallery window but they closed the blinds on me. I’m so famous now though that they had to close their gallery out of public embarrassment. When they did, I celebrated. That’s what I’ve turned into! What horrible thing am I turning into next? The femme fatale of animal sculpture? I haven’t slept in two days just trying to figure out a way to not have to spend my career selling off animals I’ve watched drown in cement!

I thought of going down to that strip mall that’s got the Italian deli in it, the one that leaves the heads on the meat, and just cementing those instead. I told my husband the idea and confessed everything but I was such a hysterical mess he couldn’t figure out what I was trying to tell him. He got really excited anyway though cause he loves animals and Italian sandwiches so much. It was ridiculous. I know I’m not going to stay famous plaster casting cold cuts. It’s been done already. I’m sure dead pigs have been drunkenly knocked into cement thousands of times throughout history by construction workers at countless company pig roasts.

I tried doing art like this using stuffed animals or taxidermy but it’s not the same. Besides the ONE TIME I forgot to lock the door of my art studio the kids caught me embalming a Build-A-Bear skin and they had to spend the next three weekends at trauma camp. Silver lining though; Chloe got top marks in her art therapy class! Too bad her school won’t accept the credits. They don’t understand that she’s just like her mother; more creative under emotional distress! The kids think our cat Max is gonna come back and that the real Max is a tribute sculpture I made. They said I wasn’t a good artist cause it didn’t look anything like him. I couldn’t tell them it looks exactly like him cause he’s inside!

I wish I could do like a Jeff Koons style thing and just make a sexually aggressive scented soap on a rope for Yankee Candle or something. It won’t work though. The bar’s been set so high for shock value in the art world that something that tame just won’t cut it anymore. Besides, I can’t become LESS provocative now. I’m forced into this animal dunking thing and I can’t back down!

Little Max getting cemented may have been an accident but so was my fame and I can’t just let it go. I’ve accepted my fate, I’m the Damien Hirst of soccer moms. It’s either I end up with blood on my hands or be forgotten as a one trick pony. Oh my god. Ponies! That’s it! Back to the studio!