A Matter of Time

We move forward every day until we don't. I've spoken about my extensive work as a production accountant in Los Angeles and NYC. I'll eventually stop talking about those days and focus more on the now. When I moved to Lynchburg I didn't know what to call myself in regards to what I do. My business card in 2017 said, Michael Wiggins, compassionate. But, you know, that doesn't really work so well when you meet new people. Hi! I'm Michael Wiggins, I'm a compassionate. Crickets. But I never said, Hi! I'm Michael Wiggins, I'm a production accountant. Things change.

Today I was walking the aisles at Home Depot. I'm working on a new art installation, looking for some ideas. A kind gentleman asked if he could help me find anything. And this is what I said. Hi! I'm Michael Wiggins, I'm a working artist. Maybe I didn't say the Hi! thing, or the Michael Wiggins, but you know what I mean. I'm a working artist, that's what I said. It just came out of my mouth. I told him I was cruising the inventory looking for inspiration. His smile was genuine and wide, there was no confusion about what it means to be a working artist. He casually pointed to the forklift he was sitting on and said, this is art. We understood each other. He told me if I needed any help just let him know. Beep, beep, he rolled on.

Having photographs or an art installation exhibited in a gallery does not make me a working artist. Although I've been fortunate enough to sell a few photos, no one paid me to take a picture. And my video installation was also self-funded. Honestly, if it wasn't for my years working as a production accountant I would not have been able to move to Lynchburg and reinvent myself. Life is glorious this way. And now I'm a visual artist , but I ain't working. Until last week.

I get an email from Kim the executive director at Riverviews Artspace. I've known Kim nearly the whole time I've lived in Lynchburg. And Dee and I had the pleasure of being one of her guinea pig vendors at the first Riverviews Makers Market. Kim gave our company, Koh-Dee, a chance to sell our wares publicly. That's just Kim, incredibly supportive. Hi! I'm Kim Soerensen, I'm a compassionate. And I would say, yeah you is sis, yeah..you..is. Anyway. Kim's email said some glowing things about my work and basically she hired me to be the staff photographer for Riverviews. I mean ...

This was a good day. Kim immediately put me to work documenting a screening of Fritz Lang's, Metropolis. I did ok. And I was sincerely giddy for the opportunity. I told myself I would be better at the next gig if I schmoozed a bit more during the process. It's really important to let people know who you are and to make them feel comfortable. And two days after that Kim had me working a fancy-pants breakfast event. In attendance would be a senator, a mayor, women campaigning for Congress, founders of the organization, news media and a ton of good-hearted Lynchburg folks. I perfected my pitch. I took 440 photos. Hi! I'm Michael Wiggins.

I'm a compassionate, a dreamer, a working artist.

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Perpetual Tea, or, Preparing Our Minds for Anything

When I graduated from college I was a mess. I left UC San Diego with a degree in visual arts and moved in with mom. She lived in Los Angeles. Slowly but surely I stopped rolling cigarettes and the craving for hallucinogens and speed eventually faded. I found work as a security guard but I spent the graveyard shift smoking reefer and sipping pints. Long cold nights in the VW Rabbit, writing big ideas on a tiny notepad, patrolling the scene with only a Maglite 5D for protection. Mom almost bought a Dobermann to keep me company. She was worried. Got a battery powered black and white TV instead. Crap reception mostly. So I would reread what I wrote. Here's an actual note-to-self from 1986:

Character 1 - "Yes, I made dinner. It's chicken. I hope you like chicken."
Character 2 - "Chicken. I like chicken. Chicken is good.”
(Montage of chicken bones with small amounts of moist meat still hanging on. As you see the image of the chicken bones we hear ...)
Character 1 - "You like chicken? Shit, you'd kill for chicken."

So yeah. Thankfully mom's landlord knew a guy that worked in Hollywood. I got the job as a set PA on “Kids Incorporated” and writing copy for the music video show “Night Tracks.” Mom was less worried now and she moved out of Los Angeles and settled in a small town called Springville. By this time I was living in Silverlake with my good friend James. I kept up the PA work for awhile until I landed a job as an assistant production accountant on the “Father Dowling Mysteries” in 1990. I didn't see that coming. But then I worked on another show as an assistant and then another and then another and by 1995 I had moved to NYC to be the production accountant on “New York Undercover.” Oh my god, is this happening to me, will I ever be an artist? I was afraid of my fate. But then I worked on another show as the accountant and then another and then another and then it was 2016.

But let's back up for a second. I was lying in bed with my friend Kat staring at the ceiling. It was my last year in San Diego and we passed our time doing acid, smoking bowls and drinking beers. Kat asked me if I ever meditated. I gave her a long-winded no. But she got me curious. I consider that day lying in that bed with that woman in that city the beginning of my meditation training. When I eventually left San Diego I had a misty vision for myself. I was going to be a visual artist and meditation was destined to show me the way. 

I imagined my future every day I drove around LA delivering scripts and picking up lunch at Le Dome. I kept writing. A friend turned me on to the Siddha Yoga Meditation Center in Santa Monica. I participated in a huge group meditation session with Gurumayi at the Shrine Auditorium. I kept dreaming. I discovered “Lilias, Yoga and You” on PBS. She taught me yoga as I prepared for another day at the office processing accounts payable and auditing petty cash. I took photos. I bought a piano. I created soundtracks. I kept writing. I bought an HD video camera. I made simple movies. I learned how to process payroll, prepare a budget, apply for a tax credit. I kept writing. I was meditating 12 hours a day now. I slept the rest. When someone didn't get their check on time I was meditating. When I grossly miscalculated a production overage I was meditating. And when I say meditating I don't mean smoking weed. I was really meditating. Definitely jacked up on coffee but breathing deeply and moving forward, solving problems, being mindful. I got frustrated. I hated everybody. But I loved everyone. I learned how to paint with oils. I shared my art on social medias. I'd work until 2am perfecting cost reports. I sexted. I stopped eating chicken. I kept making art. And then it was 2016.

When I moved to Lynchburg with my partner Dee I relied on meditation to say goodbye to a city I cherished for two decades, to acknowledge a profession I depended on for 25 years, to rent a truck, to pack a hundred boxes, to throw away a heap of useless and to drive to a town I basically knew nothing about. But our apartment on Main Street. What a dream. It was all the inspiration I needed (besides a thousand tiny kisses every day) to take another photo, to do another downward dog, to just be at the piano, to write, to believe.

When the Bower Center for the Arts offered me a blank wall to express myself I turned to a trusted friend. A companion that allowed me to appreciate the past. An awareness that gave me the courage to acknowledge my fears yet move forward. Meditation showed me the way. 

This is Perpetual Tea, or, Preparing Our Minds for Anything.

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Sisterhood

This is how my hand woven photo looks in the Academy gallery. I really like how Dee and the intensely costumed girl to her left play off of each other. Dee is naked and vulnerable and making an effort to reach out, to connect. And the child, who is a bit imprisoned by her suffocating wardrobe, glances at Dee in a sympathetic and understanding way. These two have formed an immediate bond, a sisterhood, plotting a silent escape from the bondage of their picture frames.

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This is Poetry

I am living a two key existence right now. One key for my vehicle and one key for my front door. I have no other keys. I cannot remember the last time my keychain was so barren. I find myself in a constant state of letting go. One day I will no longer have photos. One day I will no longer have a memory. One day I will disappear into essence. But today I have two keys. One key is for movement and the other for stillness. In motion I roam the universe with a profound hope for humanity. At rest I am the consequence of my faith.

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The Composition of Stasis

This is what I like about the bike. Those two horizontal sidewalk lines. So common in my work are the clean recumbents. The skewed vertical crease in the sidewalk guides my eye to the textured concrete wall where another unbent seam ends at a dominant perpendicular, the purple neon. This tableau was shot at night. The main light source is fluorescent and lively. In order to properly render the bluegreen in the bike tires I had to overexpose some of the key light which thankfully morphed into seductive bands of pure white hot. The frame of the bike is a more docile shade of perfectly exposed pale. Those exquisitely round rubber tires form a strong visual foundation that hug my face like a groovy pair of Ray-Bans. The kickstand and the lock assist the perfect dismount. The bike stuck the landing. A complimentary angle gives me a nice sense of the thick curvy pipes that form the bike rack. The public restrooms sign is a bit of text which feels hopeful and beachy to me. Plus the bike is a cruiser. Oh, and the fact we were slow strolling Virginia Beach at the time. I'm a sucker for a good boardwalk. Playful is the curve of red neon reflected off the window, just enough courage to compliment the bold mercury-vapor and the whimsy lavender. The band of solid black at the top of the frame keeps my eye from wandering off the page. And the shrubs, how their welcome shade of green embraces the light and subtly echoes the palette of the rear tire slowly ascending upwards like a plume of dust whence the bike is untethered. My eyes take refuge in the symmetry of the spokes. There is a feeling of movement in all the stillness.

This is what I like about the bike.

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The Power of the Soul

I was digging through the archives yesterday trying to see if my friend Kent sent me an Aretha Franklin postcard from San Diego back in the 80s. He didn't. It was Billie Holiday. But in the same ziplock was this picture of me and all my friends from Mr. Warner's class of 1973 at Hamlin Street School in Canoga Park. I forgot about Kent, about Billie, Aretha, everything but that photo. I held it in my hands and took a long look into each beautiful face. Then I'd let my eyes wander about the image admiring the drapes, the tiled floor, the felt letter board, the wooden bleachers, the flag, the bell-bottoms, the overall composition. Then I'd return to another face. I knew everyone. I remember the tenderest details about each personality. These faces have been living inside of me all this time. I never imagined that 5th Grade would have such an influence over my being. A fun expression from the 70s was, everything is everything. I guess it is.

Live in the moment, because it lingers—a long time.

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