My short lived moments as a mega successful artist

The fat little birds are singing away, the sky is freakishly blue, and the gods have decided to set aside (for at least a little while) the grudge they've been harboring against me since 1997. Maybe they decided to take a "me day" and work through all that incest baggage...

Normally those relentlessly chirpy chicken fingers would drive me up the wall, but today I'm feeling good.  You know, that "stare in the mirror and ogle at my pure blend of genius/ greatness/ stunning good looks" kind of good?  I've got a bad case of that. Wait...am I starting to grow a unibrow? Go fuck yourself, mirror, don't ever contradict me again.

Anyway, back to the question on everyone's mind: no, I did not cure cancer while simultaneously beating Jennifer Lawrence in a bikini contest. My crowning achievement is almost as impressive, but let's be real: Jennifer Lawrence is flawless and somehow beating her in a contest of any kind would be extraordinary.  Anyone who manages to discuss armpit vaginas for more than 2 seconds without repulsing the world is a star. 

 Why am I am dithering on about armpit vaginas?  I am not an Oscar winning actress.  I can't get away with doing that without repulsing the world (sorry world) and this is supposed to be a dignified artist blog discussing my great artistic achievement of the day.   Suspicions are starting to arise that ADD and blogging are two of those sneaky bastards that seem totally harmless on their own but the second they meet up they turn undeniably ugly.  Think Britney Spear and that guy who baby daddy-ed her kids.  Pre get together: world famous pop star and vaguely attractive backup dancer.  Mix the two together: bald crazy lady and chubby mc chubbster.   

Actually, this is an art blog.  Scratch the pop culture reference; I'm supposed to be spreading my wisdom about art here.  Red: great color. Where would the stop sign industry be without it?  Green: my personal favorite.  Mix the two together, though, and all you get is a giant pile of shit.  

A diagram I spent a few hours whipping up for your viewing pleasure: 

Oh my god. I have a problem.  What I've been trying to say is that SOMEONE WANTS TO BUY MY ART!!!!!!!!!  They love me! They really love me! (I totally get you Sally Fields) Maybe the early death I inevitably face from using too much lead paint will be worth it after all! When I poke my ear out of my grave to catch the end of my eulogy I will hear, "...and some lady bought one of Anna's unique, provocative, insightful paintings for a shit ton of money" and I will die happy.  Well obviously not happy, I love the whole being alive thing.  Plus, I would undoubtedly throw a temper tantrum from heaven/ hell that my many cigarette- puffing friends outlived me.  Ugh...who am I kidding? I just freely admitted to future me being angry that my friends are alive; I am definitely going to hell.  

A very nice woman sent a very flattering message via this website that went a little something like this (and when I say "a little something like" I mean I am copy-pasting her email for the world to see),  "Hi Anna! I absolutely adore this painting of yours and was wondering if I can order... please let me know :) ." 

Did you hear that? She adores the painting! ADORES it!  You know it's really serious when the smiley faces start to be thrown into the mix.  I'm a sucker for emoticons, totally lost without them.  Dear lady, I wasn't sure how you were feeling about your adoration for my painting beforehand, but now that you have thoughtfully recreated your exact facial expression using only the tiny punctuation marks your computer has to offer, we are absolutely on the same page.  That's why I only respond to Tinder messages that include winky faces... helps clarify what the boys are after on the creepy smart-phone hook up app.  Thanks boys, other wise I would be completely in the dark.  

So the woman loves this painting and can you blame her?  I love this painting! The whole world loves this painting! I'm sure you love this painting, too!  The only problem being you have absolutely no idea what painting I am referring to and sadly, neither do I.  It seems as though my new admirer had forgotten to specify which painting of mine she was so enthralled with.  Obviously, she must have become so distracted by her excitement that it simply slipped her mind to worry about the silly details.  Not to worry, it should be easy enough to figure out which of my amazing paintings she adores.

Maybe she loves more than one! Maybe she wants to buy them all! Maybe she wants to personally bank role my life as an artist and send me to go live in Spain with a very handsome man she has hired as my full time muse! ! My mind is spinning with possibilities when I notice she left a small link at the bottom of her email.  Bingo, this must link to the painting she wants.

...And indeed it does.  I click the link and it opens to an image with my name clearly printed along the bottom.  There is no denying that this piece is an Anna Gensler original.  It has the strange animals, the colors, and it is ABSOLUTELY NOT MINE!!!!

I don't understand.  It's me, but it's not me.  Did a spirit possess my body and force me to make art of freakishly happy, childishly drawn circus animals? What is this black magic?  The gods must be back to work after their family therapy session. Gods, you already made me that kid in elementary school with the crooked glasses, the inexplicable obsession with worms and the peanut allergy.  I had to sit alone at my own lunch table for crying out loud!  Couldn't you have just given me this one?

To clear up any lingering confusion: while the art is an Anna Gensler original, it turns out that I am not an Anna Gensler original.  I'm not even an "Anna Gensler the artist" original.  Against all odds, there is another Anna Gensler.  She is also an artist.  This woman adores her art, not mine.  

My name is Anna Gensler and I am a doppelgänger.

I would love to at least be able to say, "My name is Anna Gensler and I have a doppelgänger", but it is quickly becoming abundantly clear that this is the story of Anna Gensler 2.  I am the mildly amusing anecdote in the peripheral vision of Anna Gensler 2's success story.  Because this is the story of Anna Gensler 2, let me allow myself to tell you a little bit about our unlikely protagonist.  Yes, I stalked the shit out of her.  

Anna 2 is a Polish painter.  Her official website (which, I would like to state again for the record, is not this one) says that she graduated from the Academy of Fine Arts in Warsaw in 2012.  Thanks for stealing my exact age, too, you sneaky cow.  Her website also answers the question of why my email address is [email protected] instead of the much more sensible [email protected].  No, it was not backwards day when I made my email account.  Anna 2, the bane of my existence, stole that from me too.  I would like to console myself by saying that at least we probably don't pronounce our names in the same way.  My name is Anna and it rhymes with fauna, iguana, and Botswana.  In the US of A it's safe to assume that most Anna's are the of the Anna Banana breed.  After a few hours of researching, I feel comfortable saying that that is not the case in Poland.  If you would like to check out an extensive website of "Anna" pronunciations by country (I know you don't), click here: www.forvo.com/word/anna/.  Point being, we are both Anna Botswanas.  We are basically exactly the same, except she is a slightly better version because she has the mysterious European thing going for her and the great gmail name.  

Oh, and she has an art sale and I don't.  The one thing I can't manage to get over is how did this woman, the woman so in love with Anna 2's art, come to this site, see my work on this site, and still believe that I was the right person to be contacting?  (Maybe there are a few other things I haven't gotten over.  I vaguely recall possibly calling Anna 2 a sneaky cow.) 

This is the adoration worthy, smiley face inducing, animal  art of the great Anna Gensler 2:  

Let's compare with a few of my animal themed paintings:  

Okay, let's just get the most striking difference out of the way first.  WE DON'T EVEN PAINT THE SAME ANIMALS!  I would never be caught dead painting a camel and anyone who knows me at all could tell you that.  

Besides that though, I will admit that the works are pretty similar.  A minor detail though: her animals are cheesing out in their prozac induced oblivion, which would be perfectly ideal for any child's room, dentist's office or day care center in the country, while my animals are busy being...well, not at all suitable for a child's room.  But really, I think my animals would rather forego the prozac and be completely disturbed individuals, than be numb and void of  real emotions.  Is it fair to compare my work with an illustration that is clearly aimed towards small children?  Probably not, but it literally fell into my lap.  I'm sure Anna 2, despite her stealing of my life, is not a cow and is a fine artist.  

Do I wish that I could give my former admirer a good shake and shout, "no takesy backsies!  You promised! You said you loved me! No takesy backsies!"? Yes, of course I do.  Unfortunately, she lives in Israel.  And to be honest, I think the short lived mega success got to my head a little bit. Note to self: stop being such a sore winner.  Also note to self, stop being a sore loser. I will have to try to work on that in the future.  

You know what, though?  Disturbed is interesting and confusing and real.  We're all a little disturbed and I love my animals for being a little disturbed, too.  There are lots of people out there who I'm sure would prefer Anna 2's work, maybe even the majority of people would, but I have faith there are those who would prefer mine, too.  Hopefully one day I find those people, but until I do, I will be coming to you (possibly the people of the internet but most likely my two invisible friends and one invisible work acquaintance) live from right here with "Honest Anna: life as a struggling artist".