I'm having the hardest time relating to people. I think I know someone fairly well, and they become the opposite of what I thought. I was so disillusioned by Sunday, that today I got in my car, put on a Red White and Blue afro wig that randomly happened to be in there and wore it the entire day, saying almost nothing and going about my Monday routine. It wasn't a matter of why I was wearing the wig, but more of, well, why not? I looked sort of like one of the characters from Waking Life and I thought perhaps I was just having a queer little dream. I would show some pictures of myself, but someone had stolen my digital camera on Friday. I guess I should explain a bit -
Last week, my weekend basically started on Tuesday. I went to school and wasted about six hours in a figure painting class trying to do a rub out of a figure drawing of Morgan, whom I've drawn and painted countless times. After six hours, I had a misguided painting of a head, part of a torso, and arm or so and a leg I'm fairly certain. I lettered, "Figure Painting is Gay" on top of the canvas and put it in the corner of my new studio.
I would show a picture of the painting, but someone had stolen my digital camera that Friday. But, if you could visualize some random scrumbles of Burnt Sienna mixed with Dioxine Purple on a Burnt Sienna ground, with, "Figure Painting is Gay" written on top with the same mixture - you basically got it. I hate how I am so moody when it comes to this kind of painting - like I can't always be on and I never know if I'm on until perhaps three hours into the painting, where all my mind says is, "it's not working, it's not working, it's not working...".
I think my problem today was that I really didn't understand first the reason to paint some naked nineteen year old lying on a collection of colorful linens as a way to express myself. Then I thought, well, what is the reason to paint anything? and got fairly depressed. I always have the thought that painting itself is such an outmoded form of expression - it's like doing the Jitterbug at a hip hop club. Why should I have to keep retro fitting this tired format on something hundreds of years after it's (perhaps) initial standardization? What's my mode of expression?
I start to argue with myself. I told myself that if I'm doing it, and I'm a part of my own culture, then the form is still valid, since it's still being practiced. I counter this with a sort of compromise upon myself. I told myself, "you're doing this to show yourself that you could, if you wanted to, paint like this all of the time, and if you can paint like the Old Masters, it gives validity to anything at all in the name of, 'painting' - say, what you really want to do which of course you have no clue what that is, cause you haven't stumbled upon it. And Hell, painting some naked girl for six hours ain't the worse way to spend your time".
I hope there's people that think as much as me.
Being the masochist that I am, I decided that after my class ended at 6:00pm, that I would stay for the free figure drawing session that starts at 6:45 and stay there until 9:45. I tried to get coffee at some random coffee shop on Colfax - but they were closed at 6:15 pm for some odd reason. I went back into the drawing room and drifted in and out of sleep, waiting for the model and more self torture.
My phone rang before that and that girl called, I'll call her, "Calista", so I don't have to use her real name - it's going to get fairly raw in my feelings for this person at the end of this entry... Calista called and told me about a show at Monkey Mania that was playing. "Dust Bustr", she said, "It's like two drummers, and, well, a dust buster". I was down and went home to do something and got to Monkey Mania at 9:00 pm where I met up quickly with both Melissa and Rudie. I guess they were down for Dust Bustr as well. I told them that I was to met Calista there and that I was fairly excited, having made a card in crayon to give to her.
Usually when I make a card in crayon, drawn with my left hand, it's a serious case of the puppy love. Fucking dangerous - reality distorts around me and I make the most stupid mistakes, but only know of these mistakes after they are committed - but I'm getting ahead of myself again.
Before Dust Bustr played, this guy called Captain Ahab performed from LA. Imagine taking like, Speed that only lasts for 30 minutes, setting a Powerbook to belt out electronic jibber-jabber, talk/rap how you want to sexually mount anything that moves, while girating beyond safety levels and you have: Captain Ahab. Brilliant. His songs were just so clever as to make me sad for my entire lonely, pointless, generation.
The craziest thing about it all was after he performed, he didn't do much of anything, except sort of stand in the corner quietly with his girl friend and snap a few pics. It's seriously odd how many acts do this total, almost Ziggy Stardust transformation when they go on stage; whatever they were, they drop and they become something absolutely different for maybe 15 to 30 minutes while they perform and afterwards, they'll become, "themselves" again. I wonder if any of those kinds of performers can see or look or feel while performing, or if it's more like the feeling you get when you jump of a cliff by accident.
Dust Bustr were basically two drummers and a vacuum. The vacuum was just turned on, held close to a mic to create this atmosphere of, "huuooooooooooommmmmmm", while the drummers free styled for a little while. Sort of interesting, as both drummers played off each other, dueling banjo style I guess. It was sort of an experiment to a different experimental band.
A band from LA was the headliner, Rose For Bohdan. They showed amazing energy, callous at the same time timid; gnarled out and constricting. You know it's going to be good when the lead singer is wearing part of a rabbit costume. They did a simply amazing cover of Love Will Tear Us Apart and gave me an entire bag of balls to throw up in the air during the crescendo of their last song - which I did. The entire place became a battlefield, with people throwing balls at each other, which escalated to the couch cushions that were lying around everywhere, which escalated to anything not nailed down, bed spreads, whole sheets of plywood, an empty keg - people took sides and switched them without telling anyone else. No one got hurt. My glasses that aren't even my prescription got destroyed though, but not a large loss.
After the show, I actually met someone with a Seirpinski Triangle tattoo, a little higher on his arm that I want to get the same thing - it was a trip. We talked fractals a bit and I went home after saying goodbye to Calista. A very fun night, and Calista said she call me on Saturday to do something, with an extended hug. I went to sleep much too late on Tuesday and was wreck for school on Wednesday. I had to do actual work and was living off of caffeine. I was supposed to go to a show my friends were putting on, but I was too tired to even listen to them whine about how i'm not there. I hung up on Meghan, I talked back to Jeana. Courtney tried to mouth off to me after I hung up with Meghan, but I explained, as slowly and carefully as I could how I was simply tired. I don't think many people went to their show - it was in the middle of the week and there were a few other shows playing. I felt bad, but at the same time thought I needed a break from everything, that I needed to be recluse for a little while.
I had my Art Industry class on Thursday. We interviewed each other to get a feel on how we should create our Artist's Statement. Since I could never put myself in such a constricting box as that, I wasn't very stoked on doing the assignment, and when it did come to my turn to explain myself, it came out as an argument against all that I thought was art - or I guess what everyone else thought it was. My classmates weren't really impressed with my different views - I guess it's all about fitting in, like every where else, how utterly contradictory.
I guess my main argument was that the techniques and skills of the Old Masters must be learned and understood, before you can go out and just rip with your own style. That statement to me doesn't seem incredibly controversial, but I was seen as "Western thinking", and "constricted in my views". I really really hate it when I get misinterpreted with my views... I sort of felt that I was one of only a few people in my class with a view.
Maybe it's that I just cannot except less than fucking amazing, and if that means being at least as good as the best old masters before setting off and discovering something completely mind-bogglingly new - so be it. I always like the long way, if I do have to make a choice - I like those views, those, "points of interest", exits - you know? There's so very useless, but it's the journey man! everyone else seems to just want to paint something pretty. They just want to road to drive a car to the top. I left school very very sad.
I had lent my digital camera, you know, the one that got stolen, to a friend of mine who was moving and couldn't keep all his art work, so he was throwing it away. Before he did that, I told him to use my camera, take as many pictures as possible and that we'd work together and put his stuff online, just for the hell of it. I really enjoy his work, he makes me feel, more than anyone, that there's still a reason to paint - all his work describes feelings; sadness torture, feel - but feelings nonetheless.
I was supposed to meet him at his studio at 10 that night to pick up my camera, but at 9:30 pm he calls me to tell me he's at school, looking for me. I tell him, that I was supposed to meet him at his studio at 10. I guess that didn't work for him. He told me he was going to give my camera to his girlfriend who would put it in a safe place in my studio. I told him exactly where to put it, in a very secretive place, somewhere out of the view of a casual wandering person looking for something the size of a deck of cards that costed me the same as rent, who could easily and slyly put in their pocket as if it was a nickel on the street, shining, smiling, upon them.
Friday, I got to school around 1:30. I didn't have a class, but I had work to do. You see, Mr Pacman was playing that night and I was going to get dressed up to match his performance. Mr Pacman usually wears what looks like a costume thrown out from a Mighty Morphin Power Rangers casting call, donning a helmet with gold painted face shield that he can't see out of. Completed with a pair of moon boots, Ninetendo Power Gloves and a key bass, Mr Pacman is quite an incredible performer to behold. Coming at least close to this without looking completely ridiculous during the opening act is no small order.
I brought to school a pair of faded black jeans and a belt - both of which I was going to paint. The pants got three silver stars painted on the back, three on the front, one right on the crouch of the pants. It was lovely. The belt was to have a green background with purple space invaders swimming about. I bought a t-shirt at a secret thrift store location that had a silkscreen of ET in "83" (whatever that meant) which was perfect. I would show you a picture of all this, but someone had stolen my digital camera on Friday at about this time -
Before going to work on the clothes, I made sure that my digital camera was brought back to my studio space. I checked the secret location that I told Adam to tell his girlfriend to put the thing - not there. After a few seconds of searching, I had found it on my shelves, next to my trusty AE-1. Not where I wanted it, but it was there. I was in and out of my studio all day, and halfway through painting the belt, I thought, well, the shelf wasn't the best place to have that camera. I looked, and it wasn't there.
In ten minutes, my entire studio was completely gutted out, in an attempt to find where exactly the camera had scampered off, Brave Little Toaster style. No luck. Someone had stolen my digital camera. I could do nothing but be pissed at myself and throw a juggling club into the hallway. I called Adam's girlfriend the news in a matter of fact way and continued to paint my belt - angrily. I couldn't think of a better way to ruin my night. I had shelled out a few clams the day before for a larger memory card for the camera so I could take movies at the show tonight and have Adam be able to snap more pictures.
As I was painting one little space invader after another, I realized how udderly useless the camera was at this point. The battery was drained and it needs a special adapter to charge it - which was right beside the camera in my studio, but wasn't taken. It also needs a special connection to hook it up to a computer, which I still have at home - someone just stolen a $400 deck of card-sized useless piece of metal.
Good going, fool.
I finished my belt in silence, went home for a bit and made sure Mr. Pacman was playing that night.
I couldn't find that he was.
I hate this blanket of fear that I had gone to school, made this art star outfit for a show that was not taking place. I had told everyone at school about how they should check out the show. They're all going to hate me - I thought. I would hate myself.
Calling the venue, they seem to indeed be playing and my hopes rose. I met Jack, alex, Jason, Jerimiah, Melissa, Rudy and a whole bunch of other people and felt relieved that they weren't all mad at me for the wrong show date at that Mr Pacman was playing. Although he wasn't, but he was there playing -
Mr Pacman, aka Avery, was actually playing in a side project called Baby with a girl named Brandy. Avery was in a black hoody playing keyboards and Brandy was wearing a hot dress, looking hot a sounding hot, with hot... ok dorky wraparound sun glasses. They showed a video projection and showed random movies while the lyrics to their songs were shown at the bottom. They passed a mic around for anyone in the audience to sing along and kept telling everyone that they were from Canada. It was strangely overwhelming and worth it to me at least in getting all dressed up. I decided then and there that I'm custom painting all of my clothes. I have pictures of this show, since I brought the Polaroid camera to the show - it's as clunky and as large as any camera you'll ever see, and is ridiculous to have around, since it doesn't even fit in my coat pocket.
But, it has the sometimes forgotten ability to have a physical print of your picture right then and there, with a little area at the bottom for people to write trash on, and that, people did. I got Brandy of Baby to sign hers, and snapped a pic of an ass during, "Rad"'s performance -
Rad's performance was similar to Baby's, except that there wasn't any lyrics on their films, and they didn't say they were from Canada. The lead singer swayed back and forth in a dress right out of Pat Benatar's closet of 1983. Her left hand, held the mic as her right sat precariously close to her inner upper thigh. They would point at things, like rock stars point, because they said they were rock stars. Between two songs, some random girl wearing black pants and a see through shirt and red tape strategically placed runs up on the stage, turns around, sticks out her ass, and runs off. Her ass had, "RAD" written in the same red tape. I didn't understand exactly why, but I took a picture anyways, it was my last polaroid left
I spent the entire rest of the show looking for that girl so she could sign her polaroid. I never found her, but introduced myself to at least half of the people hanging out at the back patio by holding up the picture in my right hand, looking at their face closely and seriously, then at their ass, looking back at the picture, shaking my head with failure, muttering, "you're not her...", and then with a bit of a revival present in my throat, asking, "but, who are you?". It worked better than , I have to say.
People, rather being slightly annoyed seemed to always want to see the picture - they were slightly curious themselves who this girl was, why she was on stage sticking her ass out at everyone, and how I was able to snap a pic in time. I wonder what the phenomena is called where more interest is put upon a picture of something, rather than the actual thing itself... It's fascinating.
Another group played, whom I forgot the name of, and then the after party.
I left with Melissa and Rudy with a friend of theirs to her house, which was really a warehouse a few... feet from the Larimer lounge. I had been to it a few weeks before after a pirate theme party, hanging out on the roof, talking geodesic domes, watching someone get stopped by the cops on Larimer and get seriously beat the shit out of. The after party demanded that you go in a costume, so Rudy and I got ready. Rudy found a Red, White and Blue wig, some odd white colored wind breaker and funky, goggle sun glasses and was all set. I put up a black and white striped top, a dragnet-esque hat, a trainer bra, a cat collar as a bracelet, and a full on American flag used as a cape. We got in, no problem.
Inside, there were a few djs spinning, lots of lights, crowds of people in odd costumes, neon lights and about half of the people from Denver that went to Burning Man a few weeks ago. I had fun just walking around and watching everything go down. After a bit, I found some hula hoops and the night found me at 3:30 in the morning learning to hula hoop with two hoops while a crowd watched. Fairly sureal, but just what I like finding myself doing.
It took forever to find parking at four in the morning and had to walk from Downing to my apartment. I realized that my right knee was having major problems walking. It wasn't my hip, but my knee shooting sharp spikes of pain to my head. I layed down on my couch and after a while, gave up on trying to get comfortable and just dealt with not being able to bend this right leg at all.
I woke up with my left eye red and infected, the leg hurting more than ever. I don't know how I these odd things happen to me, but they do, at the most inconvenient times.
My plan today was to work on some work work which I deparately need to do and then have dinner with Calista at the Watercourse. I spent a minimal amount of time working, as Penny came over to get some help with a Photoshop project and I'm the local Photoshop guy. Calista did call at 6:30, but my phone didn't pick up and she left a message. I called her number but then she didn't pick up and I left a message. This is not good.
I found myself at Penny's coffee shop at 8:00 pm in the same position I was weeks before, waiting for a stupid girl to call me so I could, you know, take her out and pay for stuff. This sort of wait is mind-numbing. I called again at 9:30 pm and gave up all hope and went to "work". At around 1:30 am, she calls, somewhat drunk, and some reason, without having checked her messages in the five hours I had originally called her. We replanned for tomorrow at 7:00 pm. I told her not to call, but just come down. She had forgotten where I lived. Weird.
I awaited her with the minimal amount of effort possible. She actually did come, just a bit late and to the Watercourse we drove. It's only a few blocks away, but we drove.
Our dinner started out as regular as possible. Then, she started talking about wanting to join the Peace Corps, and how she was going to start modeling for figure drawing classes and if I would have a problem with that. I don't, because I could care less who I was drawing, the model is by necessity, just a little higher in my mind than, like a really neat piece of fruit to draw.
She started asking me more questions -
"alex, do you want, kids?"
I told her I didn't, for the obvious reasons that I can't keep a plant alive. I told her that I would never have kids unless I could give my entire life to my child, and that's something that I just can't do right now. It doesn't even register. What this nineteen year old opposite of me was thinking when she told me that she did want kids, I don't know.
"alex, when's the last time you had sex?"
I told her a few weeks, slightly put back by such a blunt question. I wanted to make silly comments about the menu selection, not this.
"A few weeks ago," (which was true), "why do you ask?"
"Oh, just wondering.. you know what? I don't think I've been at my house for two weeks! I must have slept with... well about four guys since then!"
This comment wouldn't have bothered me, but the reason I hadn't had sex in a few weeks was that I called off the little thing I had with another girl because I thought I had met a really cool girl, that was into my Art and into me and wasn't crazy. That girl was sitting across the table from me, slowly tearing my heart out.
She went on.
"So yeah, I found myself with this guy yesterday at like 1am, drunk, and I realized he had taken me to his parents house! There were all these weird hokey things hung up and there I was naked in his livingroom. Someone starts walking downstairs and he yells, 'um, people are down here!'. It was unreal!"
An interesting change came over me. I didn't look at her much more that night. I stuck to the intricate patterns located on the table in front of me and played with my glass of water, wondering if I should make a dash for the door and get the Hell out of this weird, stupid position, with this girl that was obviously, a bit flippy. Man, puppy love is a hell of a thing.
Now, I don't know if she knew that she just confessed on standing me up the night before for another guy, but it gets better -
"Yeah, so before that, I'm hanging out with Joan (again, name changed), we just gotten her out of the halfway house (she was committed for reasons I never really found out). and, well, we knew she was going to do this, but we found her not an hour after huddled in the corner of the kitchen with a knife. She had cut her entire forearm - I mean, I could see he muscles and shit. It was crazy. The paramedics came and everything. She's back at the halfway house, I'm supposed to visit her at 9:00 pm tonight.
Well within my shell position, the food comes and I start eating. Out of right field I hear,
"Hey alex, know what? I have cervical cancer. I'm going into surgery next Friday."
If I was uncomfortable before, I was feeling as if I had been standing in the middle of a busy intersection for the past year. What do you say to that? While eating Jerk Tofu no less?
I offered my amazement and support before and after whatever goes down.
Our night together ended as soon as I got the check - she paid when we had a jaunt to Chiles. This one was on me. We went to Blockbuster to return Waynes World Two that she rented the first time we had dinner and she went to see her friend at the halfway house, dropping me off shortly after.
I got into my car and visited Penelope at the PSI Lounge where she was guest bartending for the night. I didn't have one drink, but took the time to take every single girl that I thought I had a thing for off my phone's address book and left after a bit with a long face and an air of total defeat.
The next day, I got into my car, put on a red, white and blue wig that I had found and wore it for the entire day, not for any particular reason, but really cause I couldn't see a reason not to.
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