Traveling Light

So I'm going to San Antonio to spend a week with my friends Jesse and Julie. I'll be flying on Southwest Airlines courtesy of the Kanner Lubbering Foundation for Peace, Love and Happiness which is hosting an event up in Kerrville, Texas called: The Total Eclipse of the Sun.

I'm excited. I haven't been on a plane since 2016 when Danielle and I flew from NYC to Los Angeles to see M83 at the Greek Theatre. I'm opting for the window seat since I'll be flying during the day which presents the perfect opportunity to playact the role of Helios looking down at all the mortals gazing skyward (on April 8th, the day of the eclipse), which I consider an appropriate prelude to my pilgrimage. I revel in dramatic flights of pretending, especially if they are inspired by the spirit of symmetry.

Pretending is manifest in a variety of fashions: such as the spontaneous improv, or the long contemplated ruse, and the most common pretense of all—the godforsaken habitual. I like to be equitable and taste everything on the appetizer tray, so I might start my 7am coffee ritual with a harmless bit of operatic wailing performed for a family of mice bickering in the laundry room, and naturally, I'm accompanied by Yo-Yo Ma who is all smiles as he encourages a skosh more soprano even though he knows, damn well, I'm a tenor. But honestly, I'm grateful for his nudging. And after lunch (grilled cheeses with a side of kosher dills), I'll lace up my sneakers with the intention of walking my requisite 2.5 miles yet inevitably I end up in bed reading another chapter of The Night Watchman by Louise Erdrich and just as I contemplate a nap I bust out the iPad and start writing a new blog and debate whether I should sit by the window or the aisle because they both have their pros and cons but I end up convincing myself the window is better because I can be Helios, and it's settled. Then night rolls around and I think about weed and how I haven't had any gummies or hit the pipe since the start of the year and I say, good for you, and wonder where I ended up hiding the stash even though I know for sure it's in the bin I tucked deep inside a dead closet so I wouldn't think about it—the "it" being whether or not I'll convince myself that weed helps me sleep better and eases my chronic-itis—but instead I'll get on the yoga mat and do my three sets because I'm reborn and I've put my hurts in the same bin with the weed and then tomorrow night I'll turn on the purple light and I'll think about how there is no way just one puff will make a difference. And these are the ways I pretend.

As my friend Doug would say, "We all got to be something."

I think I'll be a good listener when I get to San Antonio and I'll bring my camera even though I have a tendency to use the viewfinder as a doppelganger. But I know that somewhere between me and my pretense is the spiritual balance that I speak of and trust.

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Dawn Patrol

I saw a familiar face in the park; I couldn't remember her name, but she was approaching. It was early afternoon and I was lounging around some picnic tables; in the distance her gentle eyes looking at me, walking my way. I noticed something on the table covered in aluminum foil, the remnants of a small gathering, perhaps. I was curious but I didn't have time to poke around because she arrived sooner than I expected. She told me it was a Jewish holiday and this was food to eat; then she gestured (with a sweeping hand) for me to enjoy. I was hungry and excited about the feast, but I don't recall tasting what appeared to be a creamy pasta salad. Heather, that was her name; we met in 2000 on the TV show "Madigan Men" which was produced in NYC at Kaufman Astoria Studios. Heather was a writer's assistant. She was always nice. It was Heather that offered me the food. Soon after she arrived: I awakened. I looked outside my bedroom door and tried to guess what time it was, the quality of the light; I had no idea, I didn't really care, but I knew I was happy and relieved that I finally got that good sleep, which is my number one self-care goal at the moment.

I attribute my delicious rest to a few things. First, I only had three hours of sleep the night before; I closed my eyes at 3am and woke up at 6, then I stayed in bed for two hours reading Trust by Hernan Diaz. I thought I would doze off after several chapters of incredible financial success followed by crushing personal loss but I dreaded the thought of waking up at 3 or 4pm and having to restart my sleep cycle again. So I begrudgingly got out of bed, but at least I was happy to look out my window and see people doing morning things, like the police on horseback patrolling the trails of Woodberry. You see, I had recently texted my friend Jesse and asked when his household awakened. Rise at 7, shine at 8. Ok, that was my new goal, to wake up at 7am so I could be social with my San Antonio family. Jesse and his wife Julie recently bought me a Southwest Airlines ticket to visit them for a week in early April to watch the solar eclipse in Kerrville which meant I had around six weeks to get my sleep schedule correct. But today I woke at 11am, hungry with thoughts of pasta salad glossy in the sun, which was a bit of a letdown in regards to the hour, but I knew I was making up for the previous night of near sleeplessness so I wasn't really mad, in fact, I was thrilled to feel this alive and positive and the only thing on my mind was a fresh cup of coffee: a delicious medium roast from Mom's called Dawn Patrol (DP). As I walked into the kitchen and greeted my Chemex I reflected on my buoyancy and was thinking my new haircut followed by the nice hot shower I took last night probably contributed to my heavenly slumbers, along with my prolonged yoga session with all the doors and windows wide open to air out the cooking smells from the apartment below despite it being just 28 degrees outside. I was still dressed in the four mitigating layers of various types of fabric (cotton, microfibers and a baja hoodie) as I vigorously stirred dark chocolate and raw honey into my pint of DP while admiring the inside of my refrigerator which I had thoroughly cleaned the day before chased by a solid hour trying to figure out how to reinstall the shelving and the crispers. But today—nothing but sparkling glass and shiny apple skins, a loaf of sourdough begging to be grilled cheese and a glistening jar of sliced kosher dills. Yes, I had worked myself into a tizzy yesterday, yet I haven't mentioned the best thing I did, the one prescient moment that might have morphed my pathological nightmares of disorganization into thoughts of Heather's smiling face: sending an email to my friend DML asking if the trip to DC in late April (to admire the orchids) was still on the table, which was a long shot considering she moved out of our apartment 48 days ago, but the mere inquiry lifted a sadness that had been lingering for weeks.

My mind and body was at peace, for the moment, and tomorrow I might set my sights on 7am, but for now I would sip my coffee and enjoy the sounds of garbage bins emptying on the streets.

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Awakened by a Dream

January started out with a gut punch. It hurt, and so far it has taken me 11 days to recover. Although I had a job as a bodyguard for a three year old kid back in 1987 when I lived in Los Angeles, and even though I had martial arts training every day of the week in the event I actually had to confront a kidnapper, I wasn't a fighter. I had a hot temper, but that was inherited from my father. And what taekwondo and aikido taught me was, when you are confronting the opposition, a hot head is precisely what you do not need. I was punched by love, and I staggered, sleepless, for 11 days.

In those 11 days I accomplished a few things. I got rid of some unnecessary, like a 17" aluminum pizza pan which I knew I would never use again. Back in NYC I had a moment where I got into making the perfect pizza dough, but that was a dozen years ago. I got rid of a tabletop easel which was also from the NYC epoch when my friend Doug taught me how to paint with oils. I completed one painting, which my friend Yvette ended up buying, but I haven’t painted since. I really loved the oils and I would happily do it again, but I only have so much time to dedicate to art making, and for the last several years photography has been my main creative effort. I also started cleaning the apartment, patiently, not all frenetic or anything, just a small corner here and there. I still have a lot to degrease and scrub, but I'm seriously not sweating it. It may take me the entire month of January to get through it all. I'm in no rush.

Today is day 12. (It's also my brother's birthday. John is two years older than me and he lives in Las Vegas with his wife and two kids). But honestly, my insomnia hasn't been that tragic. I've watched a ton of movies, in bed, on the iPad, and I have also started reading a book I purchased eight years ago called H is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald. This morning, in the wee hours, I watched the Korean film Burning which is two and a half hours long and thusly perfect for the sleepless, and, I was immediately hooked from the first frame. Lee Chang-dong just might be my new favorite director. A perfect movie. And Helen Macdonald is writing about melancholy, which is one of my favorite subjects. Helen is bereaved and she is eloquently telling me all about it.

After a few chapters of Hawk I turned off my Hindu night light, which I've had for at least 25 years, and shut my eyes. I kept the iPad nearby and listened to my current go-to playlist: "Meditation Moments" by Apple Music Classical. I started to get drowsy, which was a good sign, and at some point I was at a groovy rave where everyone was laidback and chilling to "Dream 3 (in the midst of my life)" by Ben Russell, Yuki Numata Resnick & Max Richter. I was big time relaxing on a poolside chaise lounge, dancing with my eyes closed, using just my right hand to emote my deepest feels when I realized someone else was touching my hand. I tried to see who it was but I couldn’t recognize their face. Our hands danced together and it was tender, and loving, and peaceful. When I eventually opened my eyes (for real this time, I wasn't dreaming anymore) my right arm was outstretched as though I was still dancing with my partner. I bolted upright and smiled hoping to never forget this feeling. Then I heard some music so I immediately grabbed the iPad to see what was playing; it was “Dream 3" coming to a close.

I finally slept on day 12, holding hands with love.

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Benefit Exhibition: Maryland Art Place

I am honored to be included in the 11th Annual Benefit Exhibition at Maryland Art Place (MAP) this Friday, November 17th from 6pm-10pm.

This will be the second year I have been invited by MAP to exhibit my work in this festive show in which 50% of the sales benefit MAP and their mission to provide thought provoking, contemporary art and other cool things.

At last year's benefit I contributed a larger print (13 x 19") and two smaller prints (9 x 12"). But this year I wanted to submit three works that were more cohesive as a whole and all the same size (13 x 19" which includes the maple frame). My cohesion philosophy was based on a few things: 1) the concept of a beginning, middle and end, 2) the color blue, and 3) confident horizontals and strong verticals.

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The First Time We Met | Baltimore, MD | 2023

The beginning, middle and end, like all good stories, is the structure of my triptych. The beginning suggests an encounter (The First Time We Met), the middle hints at the good days, bad days (Mostly Sunny Skies With an Occasional Thunderstorm), and the end alludes to closure, Act III (Curtains).

Is this a happy ending?

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Mostly Sunny Skies With an Occasional Thunderstorm | Baltimore, MD | 2023

On another level, The First Time We Met, was captured in Pigtown and was literally the first time I walked this wonderful neighborhood in March, 2023. Mostly Sunny Skies With an Occasional Thunderstorm was taken in Old Gaucher in July, 2023 and was the second time I shot this location, so I knew what I was getting into, and of course, the weather was as reported—mostly sunny skies with an occasional thunderstorm. Curtains was taken downtown in May, 2023 and is probably a five minute walk from MAP with the title character of the photo being a wide swatch of curtain seen through a window looking up to: nothing but blue.

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Curtains | Baltimore, MD | 2023

When all three images are lined up side-by-side, there is a through line of horizontals and verticals. For example: The First Time We Met (Act I) has confident horizontals by way of the glass bricks which pair nicely with the third string of red-white-and-blue streamers in Mostly Sunny Skies With an Occasional Thunderstorm (Act II) and continues through the building reflected in the window of Curtains (Act III). And the vertical line in the middle of Act I flirts with the confident flagpole in Act II and foreshadows the climax of the vertical blues in Act III.

And yes, it’s a happy ending.

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Preach

Sundays are my favorite day to take pictures.*

The Gift was composed outside a church in Pigtown on a Sunday in October. There was a group of folks conjugating in front of the temple when I walked by, so I slow rolled without taking a photo hoping to return later in the day. The thing that drew me to the sign was the florescence of the humble letters. There was a warmth and timelessness to the message, even though I wasn't totally sure what it meant. My goal was to capture the feeling, and do the research later.

I learned that the message was referencing a verse from the Bible (Ephesians 2:8) and in short it means: By the grace of God we are forgiven from all sins through faith in Christ.

Heavy.

To be honest, I don't go to church, but I have used the expression seeing Jesus! when dancing into the wee hours, which in this regard makes me a—faithful devotee. Our lives are diverse and if the Bible is your guiding light? Alright, alright, alright. I believe everything is connected; we are all one people, one flower, one star. Do unto others (Luke 6:31). Amen.

Now, let's go shake that booty! It's about to be a sermon up in here.

* Because they are quiet (like a church mouse).

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Thanks for Inviting Me

It was your wedding day.

I always thought you and I would be a couple. Buy us a brownstone on 116th in Harlem. Sell it for a million dollars and move to Echo Park. Get a convertible and drive PCH whenever we wanted. Write that screenplay together in our bathing suits and drink lattes all day. Stay up late watching French films in that midcentury-modern we talked about, remember, the one with the fireplace and the view of downtown? Your art would brighten our walls and my best sellers would lively up the shelves. And we would get stoned and listen to Harry Belafonte on the Hi-Fi. Naked in the hot tub, candle drips and patchouli sunsets, ecstasy and laughter. Oh the laughter, but alas, not from the bellies of our children. You wanted to raise a family and I wanted to be Charles Bukowski.

We almost had everything.

I picked these blossoms for you. Aren’t they dreamy? I still have the self portrait you painted for me. It's in storage right now. Things haven't been going exactly the way I expected. I'm renting an apartment in Burbank with a friend from college. I sold the Volkswagen, but I can still take a bus to Santa Anita. When I get my book deal, I'm going to buy that place we always wanted, you know, with the swimming pool and the herb garden?

You look happy.

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