Life can be tough if you're an artist, and I don't want to hear any agita about whether a potter is an artist or craftsman. Craftsperson. Whatever. A painter uses his hands to paint, a musician uses her hands to play; I use my hands to sculpt wet clay into interesting shapes. Then I use my hands to pint them.

So: I'm an artist. Stop arguing!

Being an artist, naturally I like art museums, which is why I was with my partner-in-crime Cindy perusing the exhibition of Mayan art at the Blanton. That's the Jack S. Blanton Museum of Art in Austin (b'God) Texas if you want to be formal abut the whole thing. Cindy is also an artist, she does jewelry and is cuckoo about gemstones. We share workspace both to save money and to pass the inspiration back and forth.

Those Mayans did some very interesting work in clay and I wanted to get a chance to get a close look. I fear Cindy wasn't as enthralled as I was since there wasn't a gemstone to be seen; those ancient dudes worked in plain clay and paint. They did use gemstones in jewelry, but apparently no one managed to put the two materials together.

I did manage to study the whole exhibit while Cindy amused herself with a game on her cell phone. Since we had all day, we climbed the stairs to the second floor and wandered through the permanent exhibits. Interestingly enough, there were a lot of paintings from the colonial period, where the Spanish missionaries managed to spread Catholicism far and wide. Very different art from the Mayans - and that's an understatement.

That imagery always seemed downright creepy to me. Not that European Christian imagery is a whole lot better, mind you, but to this unbeliever any Christian propaganda is downright creepy.

With an attitude like that, I was downright unprepared to what happened to me when I saw Claude Vignon's David with the Head of Goliath.

First impression: Damn, that's gory! Second impression: She's kind of cute in a medieval sort of way.

First realization: That's supposed to be David. David is a dude. Second realization: She looks sort of like me, but then I'm a dude, too. At least if you look at my birth certificate.

First aside: You have got to be kidding me. No way you can wear a dress like that to a battle and not have two entire armies laughing their asses off.

First conclusion: I think maybe that ancient artist is telling me that I need to lop off the phony male head I have been trying to project and let the real, feminine me come out, even if there is some blood involved. Second conclusion: The little sign by the painting says that in the sixteenth and seventeenth century androgynous males were the ideal. In the twenty-first century androgyny just isn't enough.

Second aside: She really needed to see a hairdresser before she got her portrait painted!

I recovered from my flash of inspiration and turned to Cindy. "Cindy love, as of tomorrow the your buddy David is history. Any chance you could make a charm bracelet out of five smooth stones for Davonna to wear?"