Those 3 Days

Can I just say that Sarah makes incredibly beautiful Christmas cards? I was so totally clueless that she had made them herself. I am so jealous. Always want to do that, but never do. And the few ideas I bat around in my head tend to be more sarcastic than beautiful. But then, Sarah is special.
And yesterday I found out Indri was seriously looking for a job, again. I thought it was a very… good thing. But I didn’t want to say that. Right now, I can’t remember exactly why. But yes… I was happy. She IM’d me today while I was working, to tell me that she got the job. And you know… even more happy now. Happy that she has something to do again. Happy that it sounds like it’s in her industry, again. (At least remotely). Happy that she has one more reason to stay here, where she seems so… um… happy. (As if I was gonna let her leave.)
Pixel is sleeping and being cute, as always. Well… usually. I did wake up the other morning to find her wandering around the apartment with a plastic shopping bag wrapped around her middle. She was perfectly fine… no potential injury unless she had found a way to gain 15 pounds overnight. But she had somehow gotten halfway through the hole for the handle, and couldn’t make it the rest of the way through. (I was too tired to even think about where she found the bag in the first place.) I de-tutu’d her and carried her back to bed, where she immediately curled up and fell asleep, without a care in the world.
I finished up the final details on my most recent painting and shipped it off to New York, this morning. I did forget to take a picture of the finished work, but oh well. Assuming UPS doesn’t succeed in destroying it, I’ll see it again in a little over a week. So now I REALLY want to work on the new painting. But my schedule is so full, I don’t know when that’s going to happen. I have enough work to keep me busy through the end of the year. Tomorrow night I have a holiday dinner. Saturday I have errands to run during the day, a party in the evening, and a club closing to attend at night. Sunday SHOULD be spent doing more work. But depending on my mood when I wake up that day, I may throw common sense to the wind and work on the new painting. Much more fun than my last one, which had way too much purpose behind it and not enough … release. I still owe someone some drawings too, though frankly they can wait, since I doubt they even remember.
Only one Christmas gift left to buy. And it’s really just a little something extra. So I won’t feel bad if I don’t manage to get it before going home. It involves a lot of potential walking on Saturday. But if they weather is still as nasty as it has been, I may just say ‘fuck it’. I’ll be in New York for the few days around Christmas. (Rob my place if you want, but I take all my valuables when I travel, and you would be left just to face the wrath of the attack cat). All bets are off as soon as the plane touches down in NY, but so far it seems like it may be a fairly calm holiday this year.
No idea what to do for New Year’s Eve yet. But it wouldn’t be the first time I just ignored it when nothing better came along.
Um…
yeah. That’s all, I guess. Just wanted to talk for a while. Thank you, and goodnight.

Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!

Part 4: Christmas Trees

I meant to do some drawing tonight. Not gonna happen. I owe someone a picture, but I am barely conscious enough to write, much less draw. I’ve had a finished sketch on canvas done for a few days now, waiting for me to start painting. Want to finish that painting before Christmas, too.
The main cause of my delay, and the reason I don’t feel too bad, is that I finished my Christmas shopping. Amazon.com is my bitch. And… you know… they have all my money, now.
Mostly just want to respond to Indri’s comments in my last email. I could have just left my own additional comments, but if I’m going to take the time and thought to write this, I might as well get credit for a whole journal entry. Plus… it extends the number of journal entries she’s caused to 4.
“If you are commissioned to decorate the National/State X-mas tree what will you embellish it with?”
The idea’s of the smaller, state trees is fine. Having organizations local to those places create some ornaments, and then hang them on a tree surrounding the national tree. But I think many of the places didn’t put much thought into it. I mean… these decorations are representing your entire state to the fucking nation. DC’s sad decorations were just the most obvious example I noticed. DC is nationally and internationally famous for it’s food, it’s arts, it’s music. But do we feature anything done by these local residents? No. We cut out pictures of national monuments to a bunch of dead white guys who never lived here longer than 4 years. Didn’t color them in. Didn’t add sparkles or decorations. Didn’t even worry whether the buildings were actually in DC.
The national tree, though, is just heinous. Trash the gaudy snow flakey things, and the star topper. If I was actually going to do it, I’d obvious put more research into it. But off the top of my head, I just want something more tasteful and traditional, instead of something that looks like it came from the after-the-holidays sale bin at K-Mart. White (water-resistant) cloth sashes going around the tree. Ornaments of unpainted wood and brushed metal. Stripped away about 90 percent of the lights. They should look like a sparse field of stars… not Times Square.
Better?
You’re the one who went to fashion school, Indri. What would you do?

Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!

art.

I know blind, one-legged Buddhists who decorate a christmas tree better than our national tree. The tree itself is kind of frumpy, to begin with. Shouldn’t the national tree be the perfect specimen of Christmashood? They proceed to cover it with a blanket of lights. You can’t go more than an inch an a half in any direction on this 50 foots tall tree without running into a light bulb. Scattered over those are the largest, gaudiest, cheapest baby-blue, foot-wide, opaque, plastic snowflakes. And that’s it. (Besides the clear plastic, 2-foot tall star on the top. It looks like something that ghetto liquor store on the corner would have in it’s window, with cases of beer wrapped beneath it. The state trees aren’t much better. Washington DC’s particularly bothered me. Inside the clear balls which house the ornaments on every tree, were pictures of all the major local federal landmarks. Monuments, Memorials, The Capital, The Pentagon. (Okay… the pentagon isn’t even located in Washington DC!) There’s a half million people living in the District, with a rich local history going back 2 centuries, and all they can find to put in christmas tree ornaments are pictures out of a fucking tour guide book?
gilliam artChristmas trees aside, it was a pretty nice day. I ended up going to the Corcoran Gallery to check out their current exhibits. I first ended up at the Sam Gillian retrospective, even though i knew nothing about him. But oh my god, is his work… impressive. He basically ignores the traditional differences between 2D and 3D; working in non-traditional materials, or traditional materials in unusual ways, almost always on a grand scale. Bold use of color and texture on such an overwhelming scale can leave you briefly shocked looking at some of the pieces. (i.e. The Perfect White Paintings) I’ve never seen a collection from a single artist that showed such a clear progression in his work. You can see exactly how he got to every stage in his development. I felt a clear sense of purpose and planning, that I wish I had more of myself.
maoI eventually found the Andy Warhol exhibit, which was originally my main intention for going into the Corcoran. I was skeptical at first, and almost didn’t go, because I saw a Warhol show at the Corcoran just a couple years ago. But this was a much more comprehensive show, examining the artist over his entire fine arts career. Some of his portraits are so dead-on to the person represented, (such as the Dolly Parton or the Clint Eastwood), that I almost laughed. The skill and dedication with which he examined the media as a source of culture, and eventually his appropriation of it in the creation of something completely new… it’s impressive by today’s standards, much less 3 or 4 decades ago. I can’t believe he came out of the incredibly conservative advertising industry of the 1940s.
But yes… go see the shows. I could write about them for hours, and not convey how much I got out of them. (Although, as usual, the best part was a desire to create more on my own.)
indri.jpgWhat would a journal entry be, recently, without reference to Indri? Pretty sad indeed. She asked, after the last entry, why she wasn’t yet “freakishly beautiful”. But I think being “disgustingly cute” is much better. Cuteness requires an integrated package of looks, personality, and action. It’s your whole being. And it’s applicable to every part of your life. Beauty is so much more limited. It seldom refers to more than one aspect of an individual. (“She has a beautiful face.” “She has a beautiful soul.”) And it doesn’t often come up in a positive manner outside an intimate relationship.
So Indri… do I think you’re beautiful? Of course. There were times during my recent visit when I looked at you and couldn’t help but smile like an idiot. And I don’t often do that. So I guess that makes you abnormal as well.
But I still think being disgustingly cute is better.

Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!

Part 2.

A couple little addendums to my last entry.
The other thing you should know about Indri is that besides the whole “disgustingly cute” thing, (which she is apparently not going to let me forget), she is disturbingly smart as well. Smart enough that if she let it show, she wouldn’t appear anywhere near innocent. But beneath every puzzled look and cute grin, there’s another question that belies the engines churning away inside her head. And while she may not seem to always like being an adult, her reactions show an acute self-awareness and consciousness of everything she does.
If she’s anything like me, that probably drives her a bit crazy.
And then there’s New York City. Addendum Two. I think had been about five years since my last visit, and changes were visible. We arrived in Manhattan through the Lincoln tunnel, which comes out pretty close to the place I stayed the first time I visited, so I was able to immediately compare. That area just west of the Empire State Building has built up with traditional commerce a bit more. New movie theatre. More restaurants. Signs of life. SO for much of the city I saw. Certainly Starbucks has exploded since my last visit. More banks. More shops. Most of the national chains for just about any industry you care to mention. But what I love — what makes this New York City — is that even with all that, it’s still just a drop in the bucket. There’s just so much squeezed into every last inch of this city that even if every national chain of every possible industry opened a storefront in every square mile, it wouldn’t begin to fill all the businesses. In some places, the store fronts go three stories high. Indri, who’s been there for two years now (?) was saying how she still frequently finds new places when she goes out on the street.
Okay… maybe that wasn’t a short addendum.
Okay. Here’s another New York City thing for you. It’s dirty. It’s worn. It’s lived in.
And that really feels soooo good.
In most of the well travelled areas of DC, you’d be lucky to find a building that was older than 30 years, or hadn’t been significantly remodeled in that time. (The Washington Monument requires a complete face-lift every 8 years, or it starts to deteriorate. No joke.) We have people running machines that do nothing but take bubblegum off the sidewalk. Billboards are regulated nearly out of existence. Everything is square and anonymous. Soot and stains are sandblasted off at regular intervals. Vacant old-time department stores are remodeled into wonderful new office complexes. It doesn’t feel like people live here. It feels like people are here as an afterthought to the city. (Which is pretty close to the historical truth).
Whereas New York City bleeds people. You could never question it’s “lived-in” status. I looked at an ornate door handle in a lobby, that must have been at least 60 years old. It was on the door to the staff toilet. I’ve never seen a better example of organized chaos than Manhattan streets, especially after dark. The buildings are all from an age that remembered art wasn’t something in a museum, and design wasn’t just for brochures. There’s a visual maelstrom of shapes and sizes, between the buildings, and the parks, and the stuff that fills the cracks.
I read an article once talking about how Star Wars, when it came out in the ’70s, it was so accessible because it showed a grimy, lived-in future that reflected our own world, where so much of the sci-fi of the last 30 years had told us the future would be sanitized and soundtracked for our protection, (a la Star Trek). So if Washington DC is Star Trek, then New York City is Star Wars.
I actually thought this stuff about Indri and New York City would be brief. I had much more to say about work, and personalities, and cultural underpinnings. But it’s after midnight, and I’m starting to get tired. So go away and leave me alone until another night.

Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!

Indri in New York City

indriani
I spent last night in NYC, with Indri. Two words to describe Indri: disgustingly cute. You know… in every possible way. She’s got chipmunk cheeks, big anime eyes, and bouncy little outfits to match a bouncy little personality. She rambles on about anything and everything, and still comes across as fascinated with life and her surroundings. And those occasions when she doesn’t seem to know what to say, a look overtakes her face like she just stepped in pudding. In the nine or ten years I’ve known her, she’s never once let on that she’s anything more than sweet and polite, with a little bit of innocent mischievousness, which I take as reality, since it would be a shame to believe anything else. In her presence, I can’t bring myself to spout my more lurid innuendo that someone like Sara might experience. It would be like drawing a mustache on the Mona Lisa. I can’t even be as stubbornly negative as I occasionally still tend to be.
I swear… she’s a living pixie.
(There, Indri. NOW you can be embarrassed.)
Hopped the Washington Deluxe each way, which turned out much better than expected. I’d heard them referred to as the “pauper’s limos“. But I personally think it’s a pretty amazing service, for only $35 round trip. Top of the line busses, that make Grayhounds look like mobile shithouses. Clean and well kept up. Televisions with movies at the start of each ride. convenient pick-ups and drop-offs in the heart of each city. Couldn’t get all that if you drove your own self.
New York City always fascinates me. I came from New York to DC almost exactly 8 years ago. And although I’ve dug out my own niche, I’ve never fit perfectly here. And each time I visit New York, I’m reminded why. While I grew up in Geneva, somewhere up in central NY, there’s a certain ruggedness of personality, about any New Yorker, no matter where they call home. And no where does this essence seem more concentrated than New York City. It’s especially visible in the women, most of whom have the air of just having castrated a potential mugger with their umbrella, and are now on their way home to slip into pink, fuzzy slippers. Where women in DC confronted by lurid behavior may go the other way, cry, and sue, (not necessarily in that order), the same New York woman would probably grab the man by the balls and threaten to remove them manually if the assailant doesn’t grow a brain cell. You know, it’s there in the men too, but harder to notice since aggressiveness is more universally common in them. I remember a line from Crocodile Dundee that was supposed to be funny, about how New York City must be the friendliest place on earth, if 20 million people all wanted to live together. Joke or not, there’s a tiny bit of truth in there. I don’t know if you can call it friendliness. But the residents all seem to realize they’re packed in like rats, and naked hostility and apathy aren’t going to help anyone. New York City is really one of those places you can only experience first-hand.
Oh… yeah… happy birthday, Indri.

Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!

tough

I don’t go more than two days, without thinking of something I want to write here. Some of them are so prolific and meaningful, that it almost makes me feel intelligent. Some of it’s just pointless crap that’s pissing me off. Okay… some of the pointless crap ends up in the “…bites” section below. But that’s what it’s there for. All those personally meaningless little thoughts or stories. Trying to preserve the real estate at the top for something more personal. But part of my problem is that I’m my own worst audience. No one could hate my work as much as I do. Wether it’s something I design, or some picture I took, or some words I wrote… as long as I know they’re mine, I’m incredibly harsh towards them. And often when I’m thinking about writing, it’s as I walk around town. In just a block or two, I’ll have an entire entry written in my mind. And even assuming I do remember it by the time I get home, I’ll already start picking it over, and editing it to death. My best writing is stream of consciousness. Thinking with my fingers, I guess.
I mentioned design. Yay, I’m a designer! Even started my own studio. And ya know… design is really fucking hard for me. Long before I get to the above mentioned critiquing of my own work… it’s hard. Somewhere along the way, my mind decided that when it’s time to be professional, my otherwise highly creative thought processes go pfft… out the window. I have an extremely hard time getting into the mental space where I can do design work, as well. And when I travel? Forget it. No work I’ve ever done on the road was worth shit. I’m just obsessive enough to worry about every project. Each new job means that every drop of my energy, concentration, and … you know… brain juice, goes into that effort, for at least 4 days. It inevitably ends with me staring at an email telling myself to press Send so that I won’t be able to make any more changes. And as soon as I hear that whoosh of an outgoing email, a 20 pound weight drops from my chest. I bounce up from the chair, smiling, and looking for something to eat and someone to talk to. (Unfortunately, my friends have real jobs, and don’t want to talk at 3 in the afternoon or 2 in the morning). If I can keep a string of design work going, it kind of eases up. I can stay in the mental place I need for doing that work. The ideas continue to flow. But once I’ve shut it off… I have to go to all the work again of getting back there.
God, I so much prefer being a manager.
This, folks, by the way, is one of the most beautiful women I know:
stunning sara
That is all.
Hmmm… since the Juliette and the Licks show… what have I been doing? When the hell was that show? Mid-October, I think. So there was Halloween, of course. Went to Autumn’s party early in the evening, followed by chiarOscuro around 11. Both parties went better than expected, with opportunities for me to talk to several people I don’t get to see anywhere near as much as I’d like to. Think I’ve finished my last painting, since then, as well. Well… mostly finished. Still some small details I want to touch up. May send it to New York when it’s done, since that’s where the unwitting models live. Went to the Uruguayan Embassy for an art auction by a friend of a friend. Jill visited last weekend. No change since college. Still a tiny little ball of energy crying out “love me!”. Her visit led to me seeing Regina and Raphael for the first time in 5 (!) years. They’re still way too fucking cute.
Lot of work. Not a lot of money. I’m tired. In, oh, so many ways. But still… I’m here. And that something to start with.

Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!