After Christmas

Originally Published Thursday, December 27, 2012

Even when you don't participate, there seems an empty blankness after Christmas.  If you have been inculcated with it, anyway.  But I would think an alien would feel it, too.

I never look forward to New Year's Eve.  It has never interested me, and I have participated only a few times.  One memorable occasion took place in Key West.  I'll go back and see if I can locate some pictures, and if so, I'll do my damnedest to tell an interesting tale.  But I don't plan on making one this year.

I am no different from other's though, in setting out new goals to accomplish with it's arrival.  My new goals are always the same as the old goals, though they seem somehow new and doable each time.  Slow down.  Simplify.  I will, however, cook more. . . again.  This was the year of not cooking though that was never the plan.  I just didn't have time.  I will cook and drink less and read more.  I will begin practicing yoga once again as well. You might think there would be something in there about art, but there isn't.  I have no goals there.

But on Christmas Eve with the losers and miscreants, there was a woman who had been there the year before.  She owns an art magazine and represents a good number of artists.  Or did.  She says she quit that.  It was too much trouble.  Last year, already drunk when I arrived, she was fairly abusive when one of my friends introduced me as a photographer.

"No I'm not," I said, but she would not let it go.

"I don't need any more fucking artists.  I'm done with artists.  I can't represent you.  I don't want to see your work. . . ."  Etc.

This year, she wasn't so drunk and she wanted to know about my work.  I told her I wasn't interested in talking about it, especially with her.  She wanted to know why, and I told her I'd taken enough abuse the year before.  She began to explain things to me, and eventually I showed her a few images on my iPhone.  She gave me a self-published book she was hawking at $20 a pop and asked me to read it.

"Give me some feedback," she said.  "It starts off slow. . . ."

"Oh, that's the best way to start a book," I interrupted.  "Make it difficult for the reader to engage.  Where should I begin reading?  Toward the back?"  I lifted the book and parted the pages about three-forths of the way through.

"You can be honest.  Just say one or two good things, though.  Find two good things to say and I'll just hold onto them."

I might.  Then I'll ask her to get my work into one of the bigger galleries.  That's the way of commerce, right?  I'll make up a book review and she can tell people how great my images are.

But that is not a resolution.

It is cold here this morning.  Many of you are looking out over fresh snow.  The college radio stations keep me informed about the weather where you are with kid-like enthusiasm.  I love hearing their non-commercial voices, so cool and fun, and the silly music they play.  It often makes me happy.

You try, too.