Day Forty

Embarrassment and regret

Good morning. I thought I'd get an early jump on the writing today. The morning is the best time to work, either on writing or in the studio on the arts and crafts. I really need to get working on this large painting I started yesterday, but thought I'd start writing just a bit first. I took the subway this morning and I had shorts and flip-flops on, and a T shirt, and no backpack or bag or anything in my hands. Usually I have a backpack or something, but I'm trying my hand at being hands-free, whenever possible. I take the subway through midtown and I see all the slacks and bags and ties and skirts and shoes and I thank god I don't have to wear those clothes anymore and I can wear what I want in my office/studio. I used to wear those clothes. I used to work on 47th and 5th Ave in a big high-rise, so I know the drill and the attire. I kind of miss it a bit though. When Friday came along, it meant something. Now since I work for myself, Friday is just another day. But I also work longer, much longer hour working for myself. Actually, Friday's still have an air about them.....they still mean the week is at an end or is changing, but it's certainly not as noticeable as when I worked 9-5 for someone else in this case a large corporation. Fridays had other facets about them too, in the summer you could wear jeans on Fridays, AND the day would end at 1:30 on Fridays for the months of July and August....course you had to come in at 8:30 instead of 9:00am the rest of the week to make up for the time you were being 'granted' by leaving early on Fridays in the summer. I still can't believe, nor could I get used to the fact that a boss could tell you what to wear and employees would just put up with that. Can you actually get fired for wearing jeans on a Tuesday, if you had a lawyer backing you up if the company fired you for you choice of attire? And the woman had it worse off, they couldn't wear open toed shoes and skirts that were too high. I heard stories of woman asked to go home and change by their superiors if their clothes were not suitable for the office environment. That's one of the may reasons I quit. That and I just couldn't sit at a computer any more. It was physically painful to sit all day. I fantasized about a computer that I could stand at and work, but then everyone else in the office would wonder what the fuck was wrong with that guy that he needs or worse, wants to stand all day?
I do miss that schedule just a bit, that summer schedule where when Friday came around you really felt like you earned the weekend and then you went to the beach or relaxed, or at least didn't' have to put on another pair of drab, flat-front (never pleated!) khakis. Now that I work for myself I just work all the time. Granted I go to the beach or do some things with Jonathan on the weekends when he has his days off, but not always. Sometimes I find myself working on a Sunday or a Saturday night. I remember the black-out New York had a few summers ago (was it three summers ago?) and I was working in the high-rise on 47th and Fifth Ave. The power went out and everyone had to walk down the stairs, in our case it was 24 floors. Once we got to the bottom the streets were overflowing with people because every single one of the high-rises emptied out and all the people that were on all of those floors of all of those buildings in midtown Manhattan, were now all packed onto the sidewalk and the street instead of dispersed on floor after floor above in the buildings. I miss that kind craziness. I remember after Sept 11th there were constant bomb threats. The diamond district was on the block across from us and quite a few times there were bomb threats where we were instructed to stay in the building because the streets were cordoned off and all we could do was peer down 24 floors to the street and watch the wandering, police robot that would roll along the sidewalk and pick up the 'suspicious' paper bag that always ended up being just that, a paper bag - usually with an empty bottle in it. I miss that kind of craziness. When September 11th happened I wasn't working on 5th Ave, I was working on 23rd and Broadway, in the Flatiron building. That building, being historic and beautiful was a constant target for bomb threats (like many buildings in NY) so we would find ourselves leaving our offices and climbing down floor after floor, day after day, to evacuate the building. For some reason, I thought about September 11th a few times this weekend. I remember I was walking down 116th street, around the corner from my apartment, a day or two after the World Trade Center fell, and this door-front that led up to an apartment buildings was covered with flowers and pictures of this woman's daughter that had died, working at Windows on the World, the restaurant on the top floor of the WTCenter. She was sitting there, the mom, crying. People, strangers and neighbors were leaving flowers for her. There were so many scenes like that in the first days and weeks after after Sept 11th, that this woman grieving on her doorstop, on a dirty, busy cross street in Manhattan, was just another person dealing with total loss. Anyway, when I thought of her this weekend as I walked by that doorstep, I cried, just a tiny bit, because I felt so bad for this woman - and remembering those days after Sept 11th are real easy to do, no matter how much time goes by. I don't think of it often, but when I do, I start connecting all the crazy things that happened that day and the days immediatly after. The weird things you saw and put up with, from people putting up posters of relatives that were surely dead, but they put up the posters anyway, in hopes someone would find them, wandering the streets - to hatching crazy plans to take a backpack with Powerbars, water and a change of clothes and swim across the river to get off Manhattan if things got worse and the bridges and tunnels were locked down. I specifically remember Justin and I thinking that if we had to swim off the island, we would do it at the Harlem river because it was the shortest swim. Seems so nutty now, but at the time there was no telling what would happen or what one should do if it got worse.
Enough of that. I'm in my office now and September 11th 2001 is far away....somehow George Bush is still in office, there has been no immigration reform, New Orleans is still a stinking shit hole of crime and the Iraq war is still going on. The studio is nice right now - the AC is near me, and is on, the sun hasn't yet rounded the corner - blasting the room with intense heat. I've covered most of the windows, the sun is what gets you in the summer. That's what heats up a room and turns it into an oven. I guess we have ourselves a heat wave this week. It's hot, it really is, and humid, but I swear, when I was little I remember summers being VERY hot and VERY humid. Probably because we didn't have air conditioning at all. We had fans. I remember my parents had one of those small fans that was actually two, small, metal ones, kind of like exhaust fans you use in a kitchen window. Anyway, they didn't do much and I remember my sister and I crowding around and sleeping on the floor below the fan in the summer to get some relief....we would sometimes get bored and stick pencils in the fan to listen to the metal blades hit it. When it got really hot, we would put blankets on the porch or out in the yard and sleep outside, which helped a bit, but it was still very uncomfortable. For some reason I remember it being hotter in the early 70's, when the Bronx was burning and Son of Sam was on the loose in New York and the Zodiac killer was on the loose in San Francisco. Maybe as a kid it just seemed worse. With Al Gore's global warming, logic would say that it's hotter and more uncomfortable now, but I swear, the summers of years like 1976 and 1977 were hotter.


Can and will Hillary Clinton actually win the election in 2008? She's not anti-war and her ambiguous stance on gay marriage is enough to make me find her and personally scold her (which if I weren't so busy an self centered like most people, I would go find her and scold her. She is my Senator after all. I have a duty to tell her my thoughts.) Her general turn to the right is more and more apparent the past few years. And anyone that's married to someone that signed the Defense of Marriage Act, the FEDERAL LAW signed by Bill Clinton in 1996 that "no state need recognize a marriage between persons of the same sex, even if the marriage was concluded or recognized in another state".....has got to be missing the big picture. Look, I'm sure the Clintons, in their private life, like gay people and support gay couples when they are off the political stage, but to be so two-faced and power hungry to publicly deny the rights and to stand with the republican half of this country just to stay 'mainstream' enough to win elections is totally fucked up. And, in my opinion, completely misguided because even though there is a HUGE swath that runs through the middle of this country that hates faggots and lesbians, I really do think, that the majority of the people in this country, as backwards and Christian that it is, would either support gay marriage, or at least swallow the bitter pill and come around eventually. I really do believe that. And for people like Hillary Clinton and everyone else that are sitting on the fence or worse, have no problem displaying their hatred outright, their lives will be full of embarrassment and regret - once they realise that this country actually is 'ready for' and willing to get rid of the discriminatory, violent and hateful attitude towards faggots and lesbians in this country.
So anyway, I'm not saying anything new or interesting here, it's just that I'm finishing my first and only coffee of the morning so I have some energy in my typing fingers.......oh, and having said all that about Hillary Clinton, there's good chance I'll vote for her. Hell, if a woman can get in the White House as the president and not the sidekick wife, I'm all for it. Plus, how fun would it be to see Bill as the first lady? Now THAT'S entertainment! Bill has his offices in Harlem, a few blocks from where I live. I have never seen him on the street but if I do, you can be sure I'll scold him for signing the Defense of Marriage Act (among other things)........and then I'll try to sell him a painting. It would be great to have a painting in his office. I do like him and I do like Hillary, and I want to like them even more, but they make it so hard. Fuckers.
I suppose I better get to work. Got painting to do. Have a good day and stay out of the sun. We got a heat wave here.

Day Thirty-nine

Nothing is drying


7:38PM Monday
It's hot today. I'm in the studio. I pulled out the air conditioner that was in my little storage area. It's on wheels, a portable unit. I put the hose out the window and covered up the remainder of the window with canvas. It's on, giving off cool air, but I can't tell if it's working because I haven't been outside since this morning. I do know that nothing is drying because it's humid. So I spent a lot of time today watching paint dry. In the winter, it's great because the heat is so high and dry, everything dries real fast and I can just keep moving along, but not this summer weather. I think I managed to get a lot done today, more than I thought.
This morning, I dropped off my stuff at the studio and then left to walk to the post office, which was nice. I got some stamps and dropped off some letters and some movies to Netflix. I think we sent back Spinal Tap. I added a couple more Fasbinder movies to our list on Netflix. After seeing the Fassbinder film with Douglas, "Fox and His Friends", I want to watch more.
I spoke with my friend Justin today. He's in Germany. Justin gave me 6 boxes of old Artforum magazines from the 60's and early 70's. I have four of the boxes here and two were sent back because the US Postal system is shit. The other two are being sent back to me. It is the best gift, these old Artforums. I love reading the old reviews and looking at the lay-out of the magazine before Quark and Photoshop existed. All the ads and the lay-outs are done by hand. It's fun to see the mistakes. It's also interesting to see ads for galleries that don't exist anymore, and for that matter, artists that don't exist anymore. It reminds you that everything is so fleeting. Everything.
I put on the radio today in the studio, Air America, to listen to what was going on in the world of politics. I used to listen to Air America a lot, but now that Al Franken is gone, I listen less. He was the funniest and the best and I hope he wins the Senate seat he's running for in Minnesota. Can you imagine how fun the news would be if Al actually became a Senator?
Yesterday, Jonathan and I went to play ping-pong at this place in the west village we go to when we feel like ping-pong. It's a great place - a basement with pool tables, a bar and ping pong tables. Jonathan won best out of five sets, which is a nice change (for him!). I think he won because I had a beer and he had a coconut mocachino from Dunkin Donuts. I was too relaxed and he kicked my ass. We made tuna steaks for dinner because I wanted to feel like I was on the island still (boo hoo).
That's it for today. It's too hot to sit here and type and I want to clean up the mess I made in the studio today. Enjoy your monday night.

Day Thirty-eight

Robert Moses Beach


9:48 Sunday morning
It looks like it's getting harder for me to write every day like I had hoped to. But in the spirit of blogging, I suppose I should just take it down a notch and write a smaller amount on days when I'm too buys, and days when I have more time, write longer posts like I normally do. If I didn't have to workin the studio, I would devote my days to writing and improving in writing, but alas, I don't have that kind of schedule. I want to again thank Avo for his writing entry on Friday and for his pictures of the Jackson Pollock and Lee Krasner home out on Long Island. There are other folks who said they were interested in being a guest writer, but with my move back to the city and losing some emails (such a drag) I don't know any more who is interested, so please email me and we'll schedule you for a day to write, looking forward to it!
First I have to mention that Friday I went over to see my good friend Ruth Root and her new baby who's almost a year old now, James, or 'Baby James' as I like to call him. I was so happy to see Ruth, the baby and Ruth's new, larger paintings. They look incredible. The jump in scale in the paintings was such a good idea. She's doing well with the baby and working in the studio, it's amazing to see, because I don't have a child and I know that if I did, I would disappear into baby land and never come out. It's hard enough to hold a social life a boyfriend and a career together as a single, gay man, I can't imagine what it's like for my friends with children, some how they figure it out and manage to get it all done.
Now that I'm back in the city, I'm hoping to keep a more casual-St. Barth-type-schedule, (good luck) full of doing other things with my days instead of going straight to the studio and working for 10 or 12 hours and then going home at night. I'm hoping to meet more often with friends I often neglect only because I'm working alone in the studio. I hope to spend more time with Ruth and the baby, because that baby James is fun. Ruth and I used to spend more time together, back in the day. I remember she had a studio on Avenue A close to Houston and I lived on West 48th. I used to work in my apartment, which was a studio apartment that didn't have a bedroom and there was one window that if you stuck your head out you could see Broadway. I remember one Thanksgiving being home alone and really really sick with some sort of flu or cold and I wanted to go over to the Thanksgiving day parade and take pictures (with my big, Pentax, 35mm camera, before tiny digital cameras) but I couldn't so I watched the parade on TV. I remember the Garfield float going by, and I stuck my head out the window, looked left towards Broadway and saw it as it floated by at the same time I saw it on my TV. At the time, the Broadway play, "CATS" was still showing and I thought, flu or cold be damned, I have to run out quickly and get a photo of the huge, orange, Garfield float, floating by in front of the "CATS" sign hanging in front of the theater. If I had about five hours, I would go through the boxes of photographs I have to find this picture, scan it, and then post it here. That would make me really happy. Someday I'll hire someone to scan all the boxes of photos that I have, before digital cameras made storage easier.
Yesterday was a beach day. Jonathan and I met our friends Chris (Caccamise) and Christina (Moon)

and we all took the train out to Robert Moses Beach on Long Island, not that far from Fire Island. The beach was nice, but, well, it wasn't St. Barth (boo hoo). Even though the water was cold we swam a lot because the waves were pretty big at times and riding them was great. I think I was in the water for over an hour at one point, waiting for the next wave. Around 4:30 we headed back to the city and the four of us ate seafood at a restaurant in Williamsburgh and chatted late into the evening. I fell asleep on the subway back to Harlem, and I mean totally asleep. When we got home I just couldn't focus to write anything for the blog so I took a shower and went to bed real fast. Nothing like ocean swimming and being battered by waves to make you dead tired.
The train ride back to Manhattan rolls through random Long Island towns and you can get some great pictures, like this little, movie theater. The first picture (below) is a broader view of the street, complete with local fire house on the top left, a war memorial or memorial to fallen fire men on the bottom left, a petite parking lot on the bottom right - complete with perfect traffic island that showcases well groomed and very green grass, and an empty store-front to the right of the theater which could make a great studio to work in. It's fun to fantasize about studio space in small towns outside the city and what it would be like to work there. It could be nice, more space and less people, but eventually it would be depressing, I think.


Here's another nice image taken from the train back to the city:


So, it's Sunday. I'm wondering if I should just get to work in the studio as I have so much to do, but it's going to be another nice day, and it is the weekend still. Maybe we'll go for a walk and hang out a bit and then I'll work later and into the night. I know that I have to go to Utrecht (art supply store) and give them more of my money for more of their art supplies. I give them so much money they should give me a huge discount, but instead, you go in their and half the time they are out of stock. It's better than Pearl Paint though, on Canal. I hate that store for one reason alone, and I hope the goddamn owner of the store is reading this which I'm sure they aren't: Pearl Paint has everything, or close to it and they have 4 or 5 floors in an old building in Soho on Canal Street. I've gone there for years, but I stopped going a few years ago because of the simple annoying fact that they make you pay on EACH FLOOR for whatever you find on that floor. For instance, say you need two pencils and an eraser an they are on the second floor, and you also need five pads of paper, and they are on the 5th floor, you have to pay for the pencils and the eraser, before taking them up to the other floor to get the paper - and if you're using a credit care, well, you can see the lame-ass hassle it creates. So, Pearl Paint, since you put your inventory and your organization of the store before the simple convenience of your customers, you don't get any of my hard earned money. And I spend a lot of money at Utrecht, money that you, Pearl Paint, could have. So, anyway, there's that.

On the 4th, last week, I met Jonathan at Union Square (14th Street. 14th Street is the center of the world. I'll have to spend a day writing about why I think 14th street is the center of the world) and he was trying to hide behind his camera to get some snapshots of me before I noticed as I crossed the street towards him. Even though there were hundreds of people siting near him, juggling, skateboarding, smoking, protesting, hanging out, I spotted him first off and right away. There was a woman walking by pushing a wheel-barrow, she seemed very out of place as if walking into a scene of a movie, but she walked onto the wrong set. It was as if David Lynch were just off camera, directing here every movement, like the Log-Lady in Twin Peaks. Here is a progression of zoomed in photos of that moment on 14th Street:






I started writing this moring at 9:48AM. It's now 11:30AM. Have a great Sunday.

Day Thirty-seven

46th and 9th Ave

Day Thirty-six

Escapism
Avo Samuelian

(Editors note: Avo is a my friend and dentist and I welcome him as the second guest writer to the blog/novel. Thanks Avo!)

Many friends have been writing blogs lately but Carter’s has been my favorite. Actually it is the only one I read. The reasons behind it are simple. The first one is because I love St. Barth and have spent some time there. Reading his perspective on St. Barth life intertwined with art is fresh and interesting to me. Secondly and more importantly I like Carter’s work and this is definitely an extension of his oeuvre (pic of your pinned up blog at Medium here). Oh, and he is a very good friend!

So when I was asked to become the second guest writer, I felt really honored and nervous! How can I follow Carter and Douglas Gordon? WOW!!!! But here it goes.

When I saw Carter on the 4th of July after his 32 Day stint in St Barth, he looked relaxed and totally at ease (he is always like that) but his tan really suited him. He is the only person I know who has been to St Barth (known for its culinary excellence and lost weight) As we all know from his blog, he is having a hard time adjusting to NYC. I totally understand that feeling. Escapism is bliss (there is even a travel magazine called Escapism). Escapism is defined as “a mental diversion by means of entertainment or recreation, as an ‘escape’ from the perceived unpleasant aspects of daily stress. It can also be used as a term to define the actions people take to try to help relieve feelings of depression or general sadness.”

I do it almost every weekend. Manuel (my BF) and I head to Long Island (Springs) every weekend to spend some quiet time after a hectic week of work and play in the city. Our house (pic of our house, EH house.jpg) is not that much bigger than our apartment, but it provides much needed relaxation and escapism. I reconnect with nature, kayak and lounge lazily on the beach. It reinvigorates me and allows me to get back to work and deal with patients. The water here is not as warm as the Caribbean, but the beaches (whether bay or ocean) are spectacular. And at the end of August the bay beaches can get warm and on some glorious days the Atlantic Ocean aided by the Gulf Stream warms up to a delicious temperature.

In addition to the outdoor activities, the Springs (section of East Hampton) has been a hotbed for Contemporary Art. Jackson Pollock’s and Lee Krasner’s house and studio is less than a mile away. Peggy Guggenheim advanced Pollock $5000 to buy their house so that he can paint at peace. The peace did not last long. However one can see how the light on Long Island affected all these artists. Being on an island (even in Manhattan) with its reflective light qualities creates a completely different color palette. Carter discussed this phenomenon in his blog while in St. Barth. The Krasner/Pollock house is a huge attraction since visitors can see the edges of the famous drip paintings Pollock made in his studio. Unfortunately there are no famous Pollock drip paintings there and only one early small figurative painting, but some nice monumental Krasners adorn the living room. The bedrooms are left intact and you can see how they lived and worked there. In addition, Pollock, the movie was filmed there. If you are ever around here make sure you call and make a reservation for a tour. The tour is heavy on gossip and how the Pollocks lived, but just to be in the same space where those drip paintings were made is an experience you should not miss. www.pkhouse.org.

Lately, everyone has been escaping with the blog phenomenon, whether writing or reading one. But lets not forget the best way to escape. Reading a wonderful book, especially in the summer. The New York Times makes a list of books we should read in the summer and even I am waiting for the last installment of the Harry Potter series! Meanwhile I am in love with the most amazing book I have laid my eyes on. Robert Gober’s Sculptures and Installations 1979-2007 published by Steidl for his Schaulager Basel exhibition in Switzerland has been an eye opener. The book is not available in the US until September, but for some reason our friend Judy Roaman had a copy of it in English in her amazing shop in East Hampton (one of my huge sinful indulgences, other than buying art, is buying books) www.jroaman.com.

The book is gorgeous and brings out the genius that Gober is. I am not talking about his art. Of course everyone pretty much agrees he is an American master. I am impressed with his simple and clear notes that accompany most of his art featured. He discusses with plain and concise words the ideas behind his pieces. I am not sure who else agrees with me, but curators and critics use adjectives upon run on sentences to make a point that absolutely makes no sense to me (was this a run on sentence in itself?) What I am trying to say is that here you have an artist like Bob Gober who simply conveys his idea not only in a genius sculpture but also in his simple and straightforward notes. It is just sheer beauty. I escape in his notes and just look at the piece of art accompanying it. It finally makes total sense. Art historians have their reasons to be around and convey the works’ importance to readers, but it is an amazing feeling when you can make a piece of art feel important to you and only you. This brings escapism to another level. It internalizes it and makes it special. No need to be on the same page with everyone else.

Or maybe I just love Gober’s work!!!

Last night, Manuel and I went to the movies, hey another escapist activity. But this movie was an eye opener. I am sure everyone has heard about Sicko, the new Mike More movie about the healthcare fiasco in the States.

This is a tough topic for me, but I am going to try and tackle it. I cannot be impartial about universal healthcare discussions since it directly affects me. I am a dentist. Dentists in the States are expensive just like any other healthcare service and some of you have avoided us because of it and I cannot blame you. More’s movie is a must see. After laughing (uncomfortably) to some of the jokes, we almost cried (I think Manuel did) at the end. I will not tell you what happened, but even I, as a health care provider, feel something must be done to fix this broken system. Insurance companies have been making record profits by not paying for necessary procedures. This means some people die because doctors are not able to perform the necessary procedures. Nobody should be placed in a situation where they have to decide between a hospital stay or paying their mortgage. In addition, no student should worry about paying their student loans because they received some “great” education. It is only in the States where students have ballooning education loans. Dentists graduating now pack a loan of over $250,000 just from their postgraduate work. Imagine that. You have not even started working and you have a mortgage to pay!!!! Nowhere else in the civilized world are students left with such huge burdens… We have our amazing government to thank for that. Congress has done an amazing job and lets not even get into our President’s and his almighty Vice-President’s job performance.

It seems we cannot truly escape this world and its problems. But we can try our best. We can physically go to some idyllic Caribbean island and spend a whole month there (lucky Carter). If we cannot do that, then a movie or a book will take you away from this world’s worries. Try it, you will love it….

Day Thirty-five

I Know It's Over


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 ...

Day Thirty-four

Orange tree, blue pants

Day Thirty-three

New York City

10:54PM
Yeah, I didn't think I'd get to today's writing today either, but it's almost midnight,and here it is, for what it's worth...

If you've made it this far, you know that the website for the blog has been moved. Talk about time consuming. I have to hand make evey one of the pages I wrote, with pictures, while I was in St. Barthelemy for those 32 days. But for consistances sake, it's worth it. I have part of the archive done, if you look on the side menu here, you'll see. I will get the rest of them done soon, so it'll be complete. I spent most of my day working on this. I got home last night just before it got dark out. I stumbled off the subway around 8:30 (?) and Jonathan had made dinner which was great, because I hadn't eaten all day on the flights (thanks Jonathan!). It was great to see him. I gave him the gifts I had for him, including two, "Rum Jumbies" which are glass bottles of rum shaped like a handsome, carribean bango player (I know, totally racist, or if not racist, just weird) but I had to get them because the 'shirt' on the Rumb Jumbie is hand painted and they have a small, straw at on the top of the bottle where the cap is. Who knows if we'll end up drinking the rum, but I like the bottle and looking at the hand painted detail on a mass-produced product. It's a mini Warhol. The other items I brought back for Jonathan were: French nougat-which he promptly ate, a T-shirt, some shells I collected from the beach, and the best thing was, an intact, dried, puffer fish that I also found on the beach at La Grand Fonde a couple days ago. It's got all the little spikes and the teeth and the tail. It's kind of scary looking, but not so bad. He liked it. It's amazing that it dried in the sun without breaking, and that I managed to get it home - by placing it in one of my sneakers in my suitcase.
We tried watching some Twin Peaks that Douglas had lent me, but it was getting late, so we watched part of one episode. I woke this morning and tried not to open my eyes because I knew I was in Harlem and not on the island in the Caribean. I could hear birds chirping (amazingly this is still possible. There is a surprising amount of birds around my building as the empty lot next door has lot's of weeded ground cover and some random trees that they like). So in my half awake state, I tried to pretend that If I got up, I would still be able to walk out the door and go right to the beach, or up to the pool, or just out on the deck. I didn't want to get up. I wondered what Douglas and John were doing back at the house. We took some nice Polaroids the night before I left:


I got out of bed, made some coffee, realized there was no milk having been away for a month so I walked over to the Righ-Aid across the street to get some. I called my friend Chirs Caccamise so I could go over to his house to get the keys to my studio which I lent him before I left for St. Barths. I went over to Williamsburgh and visited with Chris and Christina and we had some lunch. It was nice to see them and it was good to jump right back into meeting with friends. After that I met Jonathan for a quick lunch in mid-town and we stopped by the Tom Friedman sulpture show in the lobbie of a building nearby.


I made it over to the studio in the early afternoon and that's where I've been for the past several hours.
I'm not sure how I feel being back, and I'm too tired to think about it. Maybe tomorrow morning will be a better time to try and write. I either miss being in St. Barth's a lot, or I'm already back in New York with no problem. I can't tell. I do know that several times today I was trying to think what time I should go to the beach. I went to the beach every day, for 32 days straight, that's what I'll remember about St. Barths. Swimming in the ocean.
Well, tomorrow is the 4th of July. We're going to our friend Avo and Manuel's for a party on their roof. Scooter Libby has been cut loose by George Bush, avoiding any jail time. Happy Fourth of July America........good times.
That's it for today, see you tomorrow.


Flying out of St. Barth:

Day Thirty-two

Au Revoir


Following a truck that is transporting a large rock.

12:16PM St. Martin/St.Maartin airport.
Woke this morning and had to say au revoir. Everything was packed, for the most part. I got up, jumped in the pool for a last swim and said goodbye to John Shankie and then woke Douglas Gordon who was still asleep. Big hugs all around. Martina Ashbacher picked me up at the house at 8AM, always the good hostess. We stopped at the bakery at the foot of the hill in St. Jean to get one last, crab sandwich, but alas in true island form, it was still not open. Got to the tiny airport, said goodbye to Martina and then got on the tiny plane. There were six seats, plus the pilot. An American couple in front of me, seated next to me was a handsome guy with dark hair and long eye-lashes. Behind me was Terry, a woman I struck up a conversation with at the airport when we landed in St. Martin. She and I shared a taxi together as we had to cross the island from the French side, to the Dutch side to get to the bigger airport. She is originally from Maine and works somehow with hotels. She was staying in St. Barth for a week. I told her I was an artist and I was on the island for a month. I’m glad we started talking and shared the taxi, as the taxi situation was so sketchy in St. Martin. They are basically just regular, beat-up cars that drive you where you want to go and having never been there before it was hard to tell what was a taxi and what was just someone driving a car. She said she had called a taxi ahead of time, a woman she’s used before but after waiting for a half hour, we went with this man who asked us we we needed a ride. He was a cab driver named Mr. D. Charles. He gave me his card. The name of his business according to his card was, “JUSTICE Car Rental” The “T” in justice is drawn in the shape of a judge’s gavel. It looked like was affiliated with The People’s Court or Judge Judy. This guy, Mr. D. Charles was from the island, thick accent but spoke english very well, and he was about 45. Such a nice guy. The three of us chatted the entire drive. Terry said, “The French side is much nicer - the Dutch are just pigs”, I don’t quite know what she meant but I think she was talking about the appearance of the island, the Dutch side being less desirable than the French. We got to talking about politics, Terry asking me if I liked Mr. Bush, and I went out on a limb with some profanity to drive the point home and said, “Fuck no, are you kidding?” and they laughed and joined in on the Bush bashing. Mr. D. Charles said he loved America and goes to New York whenever he can, for visits. He said, “I loved that Clinton. I’d take a bullet for him any day”, actually, he said it twice, to convince us. Judging by the courtesy and hospitality he showed us, I really think he was serious. “There may be another Clinton in the White House soon”, I said, to which he replied, “INDEED”.
I want to continue writing but I have to start boarding the plane. American Airlines, to JFK airport. I’ll be in the city at 6PM and I’m looking forward to seeing Jonathan and giving him the gifts I got for him on the island, including an intact, dried, puffer fish I found at la Grand Fonde beach yesterday.
Good bye Caribbean.

4:42PM I’m in the very last aisle seat on the left hand side of an American Airlines flight back to NYC. I think we have about an hour left before we land. I doubt I’ll be able to write much when I get home tonight so whatever I don’t finish today I’ll be sure to write about tomorrow.
American Airlines sucks. The fact that they charge you $2 for the crappy headsets so you can watch the crappy movie they offer is reason enough to not like this airline. And they have offered no snacks whatsoever. I wouldn’t eat them anyway, but what about everyone else? They don’t have to serve a meal, we all know that’s a thing of the past, but they could offer a small snack just so people don’t pass out or get grouchy from low-blood sugar levels. After the bombings in Glasgow this past week, and the other car bombs in London that were related, and with the 4th of July in two days, I’m sure the airport in NY is going to be in lock-down.
The movie that is showing on the tv’s in the ceiling of the plane is a movie called, “Breech” with Laura Linney, Chris Cooper and Ryan Phillippe. It’s so predictable, that even without the sound (I didn’t pay $2 for the crappy headset) you can tell exactly what is happening, almost down to what the actors are saying to each other, with Hollywood body language that is so rote it’s depressing.
After being on the island for 32 days and meeting so many people that speak 2 and three and four languages and that have lived and traveled in so many places, I feel really American, and limited. Watching this American movie on the plane, with it’s predictable pantomime and story line, camera angles, timing, lighting....everything....somehow illustrates this feeling of being limited. I’ve lived in a many US cities and traveled a lot within the US. I’ve been to Europe three times, but I know only one language. This woman Terry that I met today, said she was originally from Maine, owns a home in Maryland but has lived in the Caribbean for over thirty years. I met a lot of people like that in St. Barth; people that were permanently or semi-permanently away from their home country for whatever reason, some just because they prefer the tropical climate and some for sketchier reasons. I don’t know what my point is, but it’s interesting to meet people who have much more of a global wanderlust than myself.
Anyway, I can’t concentrate very well on the plane so I should go. The pilot just made an announcement saying we are 80 miles away from JFK and we’ll be landing soon.
St. Barth this morning, New York this evening.

Day Thirty-one

The four o'clock hour



4:28PM
The four o’ clock hour on the island really is nice. It’s late afternoon and the sun is preparing to go down in a couple hours. The light is really steady, and still. The wind is light and the ever present clothes on the line are at their happiest in the four o’ clock hour. The sun is giving the last of it’s steady, constant heat and the blue hues of the sky fade to a flat white.


I woke today and went down to the store to get coffee and gum. Came back to the house and chatted with Douglas and John for a bit and then I drove around the hill to La Grand Fonde and walked along the dead coral that covers the beach. The coral looks like smooth boulders or discarded ceramic pieces. After taking some nice pictures

at Grand Fonde, I went over to Saline for my last swim at my favorite beach. When I first got to the island, I set out to swim in the ocean every day of my visit, and I have. Today being day 31 in the ocean, most of those swims were at Saline. I took a movie with my camera while driving to Saline, so I could remember the drive and watch it when I get back to the city. The waves were big and a few of them nearly snapped me in half. It was also the gayest day at Saline today, figures, on my last day. I swam for about an hour and a half and only got out once. As I rode my last wave and gathered my things, I took a few pictures of the gays that were with me on the beach and then walked to the car. On the radio driving away from Saline was a calypso version of The Carpenter’s, “Top Of The World”, if you can imagine that. Luckily I caught it towards the beginning of the song and I couldn’t have been happier.
I’m basically all packed and I fly tomorrow morning from the tiny airport in the tiny plane. I really don’t know what it’s going to be like when I get back to the city after being here for so long. Chances are I’ll jump back into things like it never happened, or as Martina reports, most artists when they leave, have a bit of a time readjusting when they get back. We shall see. I’m looking forward to seeing Jonathan and getting back to my studio and routine.
Tonight, I believe we’re going for pizza and rum, easy and breezy. I’m going to miss it here.

Day Thirty

Other voices, other rooms




Welcome to day 30. I woke today thinking I’m ready to leave. The show is up and I’ve been here a long time. I guess I’m a little depressed. I’ve had some serious things to deal with back home while here that I haven’t written about that I’ve had to put on hold while working on the island, so that has been taxing. Anyway, probably shouldn’t write about that here, although I would really like to write about it, writing is helpful. I’m feeling self conscious about the blog too, like I did when I first started, but whatever.

I went to Gouverneur Beach this morning. I took this photo (above) on the way down the hill. I’ve only been there once since I got here, as I usually go to Saline beach which is very close to the house. I thought I’d go to Gouverneur for a change and to spend some time at another place on the island before I leave on Monday. I got there and swam for about five minutes and then left. I should have went to Saline, my routine. Routine would have been a better thing today. I was also driving on Empty, because I haven’t looked at the gas tank lately. Gas stations and everything else close in the afternoons for a few hours so they were closed. I made it home and I’m hoping I make it to the gas station later, coasting down the hill.
It’s a very sunny day today. The usual, weird birds are jumping in and out of the terra cotta bird bath to my left, just near the railing of the deck. I placed new water in there for them this morning. It needs new water every day, those birds use it a lot. There’s one of the large lizards walking on the path by the birdbath. I looked at it a few minutes ago and I thought about evolution and I thought, how can people not believe in evolution, it was very clear to me that the weird bird in the birdbath at one time, was related (and I guess still is) to that lizard on the ground. Who knows, maybe that’s not true.
I think I’ll do something constructive and wander around the house and start gathering my things that have dispersed around the premises during the past month. I’m going to have to pack a box and ship that separately. That’s the thing about having ROOMS.....you put down your glasses or your gum or your cell phone or your sunscreen or your diet coke or your shirt and whammo.....it vanishes into the ether of ROOMS. I can’t count how many times I’ve had to call my cell phone to listen for the ring to find it again. Back in the city, I have a one bedroom, so objects can’t travel far. My studio is one big room so that’s easy too. I think people who live in big places with ROOMS end up buying several of everything, because they lose them in the ROOMS. People that have the luxury of ROOMS usually have money, so if they temporarily misplace their hat or their sunscreen or their shirt or their shoe, they just purchase another one, eventually having doubles and triples of everything. That way if they misplace an item, there will be it’s twin or triplet ready to be found just by the sheer numbers of new purchases of twin items. I guess that makes sense, makes things easier, but think of the clutter and the funds needed to keep purchasing lost keys or chap-stick or socks or favorite books or sunglasses. Not to mention the lazy factor of just buying something to replace something you can’t find right away. Not to mention the TIME it takes to wander around the ROOMS to find misplaced items. It’s good exercise though, and it’s kind of fun wandering from room to room, except when you’re in a hurry and need to leave the house and your looking for a misplaced item.



ROOMS are nice to have though. I like walking from one room to another and that it actually takes me some time to WALK there. In New York, I get up and walk over to get something on a table across the room or in the kitchen and it takes a moment, here, walking from one room to the deck or from the driveway up to the kitchen is like a mini adventure.....you get to walk or stride or meander, depending on your mood, to get from place to place and you notice things about the ROOMS on your walk from place to place; the way a room has been painted, how the furniture has been arranged, the way the sun comes into a window during different’ times of the day, a plant enjoying a hallway all to itself, an abandoned towel that was dropped on the way home from an outing to the beach last thursday. I’ve seen some items never move even ONCE the whole time I’ve been here in these ROOMS....there’s a half spent candle on a coffee table I’m looking at right now that has never been lit while I’ve been here, but someone else enjoyed it on a previous evening. There’s a large, ceramic bowl or urn that was moved once when I got here, as it was used as a trash can until we bought a much needed new one. This bowl or urn isn’t necessarily in the most convenient or desirable place, sitting on the patio near the entrance to the kitchen, but there’s enough ROOM for it to sit where it is without someone being bothered enough to move it to a nicer spot, for instance over by the top of the stone stairs that connect the upstairs deck to the downstairs, or over in the sun by the steps that go up to the pool. Actually, when I’m done typing this, I think I’ll move it. And I think I’ll go around the house and move everything I can....a chair here, a lamp there, a towel over there, a plant here, the garden hose there, the birdbath over there. That will be fun, and I bet no one will even notice. If I moved any item in my apartment back in the city or in my studio, I know exactly where it is, when I moved it and why (well, for the most part).
ROOMS....ample......luxurious.....privileged.
Jonathan asked me last night what I was going to miss the most when I leave and I said the space (ROOMS) and the time it takes to get to the beach (six minutes) without the need to pack anything, just a towel, water, sunscreen, sunglasses, and optional shirt. I’m also going to miss the missed opportunity to finish the sewing/’outfits’ project I started and that I put in the show unfinished. I’m looking forward to continuing that project back in my studio in the city. I’m also going to miss wearing JUST a pair of shorts, every day, all day.
If I stayed here any longer and tried to continue with my work it would be interesting, some things would change, and it’s nice to explore new things, but you also lose a little bit of your identity that you’ve forged since day one of your birth. Which is interesting but also a little scary. This is kind of what I touched on yesterday when I mentioned Marlon Brando and Jim Jones, leaving urban environments and retreating to remote areas and letting eccentricities flourish, for better or worse. The city, even thought it’s jammed with thoughts and ideas, also gives you a set of self-imposed blinders and lets you work more in a straight, progressive line, with subtle and thought out discoveries played out in small, one bedroom apartments and conservative sized art studios vrs an eccentric loss of self that can happen on a remote island, with ample ROOMS.
That probably didn’t make much sense but it made sense to me. I’d like to go back and fix it a bit and try to write it in a way that makes more sense, but that would take the entire afternoon. I think it’s interesting though and important because where people live, wether it’s by their own choosing or more often by financial circumstance, and the objects they surround themselves with, effects every thing about them - their work, their well being, their interactions with people, everything. This is a pretty basic concept though, just ask Martha Stewart, but I think the differences between living in a remote area vrs an urban area and how that effects people is interesting.
It’s 2:28. I think I’ll go move some items around the house and find new homes for them. And then go for a swim and start packing just a bit so I don’t have to do it all tomorrow. I’m looking forward to seeing Jonathan. I wonder what it’s going to be like flying into NY and getting on the subway. Going from ROOMS on the island to the subway.


5:27PM I went over to Saline for a swim and I’m really glad I did. I swam nude too, one of the last nude swims I’ll get to do before I leave the island. It was so nice at Saline today. I love it there. Got back to the house (without running out of gas) and talked with Douglas and John. We’re going to dinner tonight for some seafood. That will be nice. The sun will be setting in an hour and I’m feeling much better than I did this morning, when I was rambling on and on about ROOMS.
Monique landed in Newark last night and today she’s in Manhattan for the day before she flies back to SF in the morning. She sent me this picture via camera phone, she was on 53rd and Park....it’s Damien Hirst again:So there’s your semi-live shot of Manhattan, via sell phone to the Caribbean and then to the blog. Thanks Monique for the picture.
That’s it for today. Jonathan, I hope you are having a good day in New Jersey. Mom, I hope you are having a good day in Maine, Liz, I hope things are going well in Florida.