Misguided ghosts.

Last year in March I had my exhibition for the 31 paintings in March project. It was my first (and last, at the moment) exhibition. And it was aaaalll mine. I had the whole gallery to myself.
The paintings weren't amazing but they went through a month of my life and each one had a story and I think that's what made it interesting. I made a lot of money and sold quite a few of them (which surprised me, personally).
It was good. I think the first picture, which is my friend Keira and I sitting on the floor of the gallery says pleeenty about how the day went.
I had a group of people who were there with me all day and we spent a lot of it on the ground in a circle. It wasn't lots of people who didn't know anything about what I had spent the month doing. It was a group of people who I had been in contact with all through the month who were interested in what was going on. Rachael, who was there, got to watch me frantically try to paint a picture on one of the last days before The Clock Struck Twelve and I was DOOMED. It turned into an odd self portrait which I did in 15 minutes. It's my favourite of the whole month. It is exactly how the whole month made me feel. Keira is someone I met when I was about 8 or 9 who didn't seem to realise that I liked art until I told her I was doing this (she also offered to pay me for a specific picture of a character she likes but it never happened).
The people who couldn't be there were the worst part for me. Some wonderful friends who had donated to my project and talked to and inspired me over the month but lived in other countries obviously couldn't make it. The girl I was sort of seeing and ended things with as a result of being busy with this and her being busy with her exams couldn't make it (partly because she was busy and obviously partly because she didn't want to), even though we'd spent lots of time in our favourite cafe discussing and her watching me draw on the little postcards I gave to whoever donated. My mum couldn't make it because she had work, my two best friends couldn't make it because they live in Australia.
But anyway, we sat on the floor in a circle and talked. It was more of a really nice and relaxing little party.
The way the gallery (The Papered Parlour...I think it's mostly used for craft classes and hen nights though.) is set up is: when you open the door and walk in, there is a wonderfully decorated little room with a table and chairs and some cute stuff. There's a door at the end, behind which is the actual gallery space. Through another door is their studio and then their office and a small kitchen.
Most of the day leading up to when I was starting to let people in was spent in the studio, making sure all the tags and numbered cards were with the correct paintings. When we let them in, we started in the area with the table and chairs, waiting for everyone to arrive. When everyone did, we read a speech and a poem written by a friend for a woman some of us knew who had died recently and for whom one of the paintings was done in tribute. Then we let everyone into the gallery area and started putting party food on the table (despite my friends all telling me that I should be all fancy and have wine and cheese because apparently that is what you do, I had party rings, cheese and crackers and fruity mineral water. And someone brought along two bottles of wine anyway). After everyone had stared at the paintings a bunch, after we all did our weird sitting on the floor and chatting thing, we went into the other room and ate lots of biscuits and things. When it got a bit dark, I closed everything and we went to a place for a break and some drinks other than fruity mineral water and (for those who actually drank it) wine. Then a few people went home and a few people came with me to pack up...and Rachael and I snuck off to have McDonalds and when we got back, everyone still there was lying on the floor. It was weird.

I don't know. I haven't really had a chance to recount the whole thing to anyone and I just saw the pictures, so why not?
Now you know about the weird thing I did last month that you didn't go to or (probably) know about, let alone care about. Thank you and good night to ye.