"I see you're writing again."
"What do you mean? I write every day."
"Yea, but for awhile it has all been. . . you know. . . just sort of like adjutant to the photography or something."
". . . "
"C'mon man, you know what I mean."
"Did you say "adjutant?"
"Sally says she doesn't care for your photo series."
"What do you expect."
"What do you mean?"
"Sally doesn't know what she's doing."
"She's been selling work like crazy. She just got into some big gallery in Connecticut, in Rye. She can't make enough work to keep them stocked."
"O.K. She doesn't know what I'm doing. And Rye is in New York."
"It was supposed to be a compliment."
"Really? I see. I don't do so well with compliments."
"Did a cockroach really crawl into your ear?"
"Would I make that up?"
"Yes. You make everything up. Did you see what Q wrote about you on his blog?"
"No."
"His readers think you're nutty."
"And they think he's normal, right?"
"I guess."
"Well. . . sometimes you can't catch a break."
"You going to keep taking pictures of naked girls?"
"Sure."
"Does your mother know about your studio yet?"
"Do you want a drink?"
"O.K."
"Good. See you later then."
"You don't have to be a dick."
It's what I signed up for, I guess, when I started putting things in public. It was better before. All the work was good then. Back then, I really had some talent.
I was at a "woman's cocktail party" (briefly) on Saturday night. These women (or wimmen as my best bud might call them) get together for what they call "Women's Weekend" twice a year.
ReplyDeleteI am usually absent from the festivities despite always being invited because quite frankly I can never really be myself. I grew up with boys, my best friends have almost always been men -- women in large groups like that intimidate me.
Anyway -- point is we were talking about our kids, well one kid in particular, who is a real anarchist -- and one of the wimmen was telling the rest of us that it is important for kids to learn early in life that "despite the ugliness of the Wendy's vest - all of us must learn to put it on in life if we want to make it in this world. We must wear the fucking vest" she said.
I was on my second glass of red wine (which is considerable for me -- was good Bodega Elena de Mendoza from Argentina and only like 8.95) and I've learned not to bring up art and artists in certain company because it is like politics or religion but was thinking about Picasso about Artaud, about Gertrude Stein and Coco. I'm not sure they ever wore the fucking vest.
I was thinking how all my favorite people probably never put on the vest and the ones that did are miserable much of the time and always still trying to personalize the vest.
Oh sure there is a misery associated with never donning the vest but it is different misery -- one necessary it seems in the quest for the creation of things that people will care about, talk about, think about for a long time.
But in the words of a very good and absent lately friend, what the fuck do I know.
I'm a lot more talented in my journal than anything I post online....more clever, more enlightened, more everything.
ReplyDeleteBut I am trying to take off the vest...tricky stuff!
L, I want to go to a woman's cocktail party. I want to go to the Women's Weekend. That's what I'll talk about for a long time.
ReplyDeleteR, Yes. And it's fun to win every argument, too.