I know it's over....and I'm at home in the apartment, trying to find a place to write. I need to sit near a window and was hoping to sit near the back window in the kitchen that opens to the fire escape, since there are plants there and it's the closest I could get to a place that feels like it's outside (St. Barth), but the wireless wouldn't reach into the kitchen, so I'm in the bedroom near another window. It'll do. It's cool and lightly raining outside, a breeze coming in the window which is nice. The sky is flat white with a yellowish tint, the kind of sky that looks like lightening is lurking. There's an empty lot next door to my building that I'm overlooking at the moment, and beyond that is the building next door which is brick and painted entirely white, making it almost disappear into the whiteness of sky above it. There's a tree outside my window, one of those non-descript trees that easily take root in the city wherever they can. They usually get cut down as they are almost like weeds but if left alone, can grow tall and have the same presence as an oak or a pine. This particular tree, when I moved into the apartment was much smaller and didn't even come close to my window, but now it reaches above my window and I can even touch it if I reach outside. Unlike an oak or a pine tree, if there were ever a fire in the building and I needed to jump to this tree, I'm quite certain it would snap under my weight. I always imagined placing a birdhouse in this tree once it got this tall but I've never done it. I hope it doesn't get cut down or the lot doesn't get sold or built on. I imagine it will at some point because nearly every lot that was empty when I moved into this building, has been built on. This lot next door is a hold-out and thank god because once someone starts building on it, there goes the light in my apartment, and with it, my sanity.
I woke a bit late today as I was out last night at Avo and Manuel's 4th of July party which was a nice time. They live on the top floor of a building on the east side and have a terrace, so viewing the fireworks from there was great. You could see the entire display on the east river and part of the one that was below Battery Park, near the Statue of Liberty. Avo and Manuel own one of my paintings that they got a few years ago, before I knew them. They had the piece up in their apartment last night and it was really nice to see it. I was a little self conscious looking at my own work at a party, but I really wanted to look at this one because it had a technique in it that I haven't used in a long time and only used a few times, and I had forgotten all about it and moved on to other things in the studio without doing many pieces like the one they had. Anyway, it was nice to see it. At the party I thought I had only three small glasses of white wine, but a cute guy that was serving drinks kept filling my glass intermittently while I was chatting with people and I guess I drank more than I thought because when I left, which wasn't very late, I was pretty tipsy. I walked it off and crossed Manhattan to the west side and took the subway home. Jonathan stayed home as he wasn't feeling well and he made brownies. I didn't have any, I was too tipsy to even enjoy a brownie.
Went to the studio today and did stuff. I don't even know what I did, I guess some emailing and administrative stuff, then I left for a therapy appointment. I hadn't seen my therapist since before my time in St. Barth, although I did speak with him once while I was away. We talked about a lot of things, including the blog. I told him there are many things I wish I could write about in here but can't because they are either too personal or involve other people. I joked that I was creating an alternate blog of writing that picks up where this blog leaves off...a more personal, salacious and sinister blog than the writing I publish daily in this blog. This (fictional)blog I dubbed, The Secret blog, The Black blog, could only be accessed with a password, or is not even a blog at all, and is just a secret diary that could be published upon my death. A blog that's much more interesting than this, censored and tempered blog that you are reading now. We made a parallel between writing in the blog and living one's daily life; all conversations with people are tailored to the specific person or audience you find yourself speaking to. Certain things are shared and one acts a certain way around one person, vrs another, depending on what the relationship is. There are levels to every relationship. What I end up publishing in this blog is one level of my experience, interactions and goings-ons, but just one level. Not that I have many salacious stories and experiences to write about, but you'd be surprised. Most peoples lives have very interesting, deeper and darker levels than what they let others see. I would say nearly EVERY person has levels that only few people in their lives, if any, are allowed access too. Can you imagine how dark the world would be if everyone lived and shared freely, every level of their lives and experiences? Or if everyone shared all their thoughts at anytime anyplace and to anyone? .......This is starting to sound like the blogs you see on Entertainment Tonight, or CNN that they dig up off of MySpace after some teenager goes on a rampage in a mall or a school where they take excerpts of the killers blog and publish them in sound bites to create the illusion that this kid with the gun was indeed a Satanist or insane when actually, this kid is like most every other kid, but this one had a bad reaction to medication and access to his father's hand-gun.
The whole thing (writing a blog) seems narcissitic too, writing about myself and my experiences for other's to read, which get's back to "Day One" of the blog when I wrote about my hesitations on even starting this blog. But then in the end, who cares. If people read it and enjoy it, at least there's that. Now that I think about this, while I was in St. Barth, I spent a whole afternoon writing about this very topic, about blogs and narcissism, but I didn't publish it.....and looking back on these past couple paragraphs, maybe I shouldn't publish this either. Then there's the flip side; I should just get over it and if writing a blog seems self-centered, who cares. Art is the same way, Art couldn't be more self-centered of an endeavor and that doesn't' bother me so much anymore, and making art is what I do and enjoy -- ego be damned.
Which brings me to what I wanted to write about today, and that is a Smiths song from their 1986 album, "The Queen Is Dead" called, "I know It's Over". I heard this song recently on the radio in St. Barth ("94.7 The heart of St. Bart") mixed between a Commodores song and a Fleetwood Mac song. Being the age that I am, and being a Smiths fan, I'm sure I've heard this song over 500 times (is that possible?)
but this time the radio was fading in and out and I could barely hear the whole song. Back in the studio today I searched for this song on my iTunes. I have every Smiths album in there but not "The Queen Is Dead". When I was transferring my CD's to my computer, the only copy I had of that album was not even an album or CD, but a well-worn cassette, so it never made it into my iTunes. I emailed my friend Nancy in Chicago and asked her to email me the song, which of course she had and promptly sent. Now that I've got all the unnecessary back story of this song that leads me to my point, here it is:That song inspires me to continue writing. I know, I know, this is a sentiment I would have had (and probably did) while I was in high school...being inspired by a Smiths song (!) but this time around it's different. There are some songs, paintings, sculptures, poems, books that are so profound (like this Smiths song), it's a wonder how they get lost and left behind over time. It can be a inspirational experience rediscovering lost gems. And when I say inspirational, I truly mean inspiring...hearing a song like this one not only brings me enjoyment, it makes me think and then do.
Listening to this important song and hearing Morrissey's complicated vocal arrangement, Johnny Marr's guitar, I imagine what it must be like for them to perform such a song and also, to hear it on the radio, years later. Their are only two people in the world who can experience that song from the other side, and that is the singer, Morrissey and the guitarist, Johnny Marr. When they hear this song, do they hear how beautiful it is, do they experience how profound it is? When Morrissey performs this song, does he have a profound experience and if so, wouldn't it be wonderful to be be able to experience it the way he does, from the other side, as the creator of the song? It's like Cubism in painting, seeing the same thing (or hearing the same song) from different' vantage points, but all at the same time. Morrissey's experience as the singer is a completely different experience than mine, as a listener and fan, but how different are the two experiences?
I'm losing my train of thought. I'm just going to post the lyrics to this song below, and a bad video of it live that I found on YouTube. If you have never heard this song and are just seeing the live video below, my apologies because it won't do it justice. Go out and buy the album, "The Queen is Dead".....if you don't have it, you've lived without it for 21 years already, and that's far too long.
I feel a little silly spending all this time writing about a famous Smiths song, but it's testament to how art, even old and popular art, can still be inspiring and vital.
And if you're still reading this, I'm not on the island of St. Barthelemy anymore, I'm back in Manhattan....so no more exciting stories about going to the beach or watching the bats come out at sunset.....the blog could get boring now and if you go away and stop reading, it's ok, I'm still enjoying the exercise of writing. I feel like I'm learning something new, because writing is hard and people who can actually write well have an amazing skill that I really appreciate, more now than I ever did. It's very time consuming though, and I've got paintings and sculptures to work on, so we'll see how it goes.
Oh, and here's something to look forward to - tomorrow we have our second guest writer!
Enjoy your evening.
I KNOW IT'S OVER Lyrics
Artist:The Smiths
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
And as I climb into an empty bed
Oh well. Enough said.
I know it's over - still I cling
I don't know where else I can go
Oh ...
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
See, the sea wants to take me
The knife wants to slit me
Do you think you can help me ?
Sad veiled bride, please be happy
Handsome groom, give her room
Loud, loutish lover, treat her kindly
(Though she needs you
More than she loves you)
And I know it's over - still I cling
I don't know where else I can go
Over and over and over and over
Over and over, la ...
I know it's over
And it never really began
But in my heart it was so real
And you even spoke to me, and said :
"If you're so funny
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
And if you're so clever
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
If you're so very entertaining
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
If you're so very good-looking
Why do you sleep alone tonight ?
I know ...
'Cause tonight is just like any other night
That's why you're on your own tonight
With your triumphs and your charms
While they're in each other's arms..."
It's so easy to laugh
It's so easy to hate
It takes strength to be gentle and kind
Over, over, over, over
It's so easy to laugh
It's so easy to hate
It takes guts to be gentle and kind
Over, over
Love is Natural and Real
But not for you, my love
Not tonight, my love
Love is Natural and Real
But not for such as you and I, my love
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my ...
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can even feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my ...
