Archive for April 2006
Thirty minutes of what…
The bathroom was scrubbed yesterday – but goddess am I out of shape. After very few minutes on my hands and knees I was headachey and wobbly. The Laundry is in bags. Lehigh is back from staying with my mom and sister. Piles of magazines and mail have been sorted, and much has been bundled for recycling. For today’s activities I’m shooting for actually doing some of the laundry and doing some writing. Been working on rewriting my CV for work.
For some reason my wireless network is uterly dicombobulated here at home. Can’t quite figure out what I’m doing wrong in trying to set it up again.
My desk, as I’ve said before, is inadequate. I’m sitting at it now plotting to replace it.
The lost day…..
…was yesterday. I had the idea that I’d still have the day available to me by taking the 7:45 am flight instead of the dlayed one that I had opted outof. As it was, Ididn’t really get much sleep at the hotel, so the early morning rush meant that I was tired and irritable on the flight home which was so crowded that I had to check my bag (something I hate to do) and also to endure the scrum as people fought to get their bloated “wheelies” down the aisle to the exit. By the time I got back to Sterling Street it was verging on 6:30 pm. And I was nodding out. So much of what I had to take care of didn’t quite happen. Today has been a bit lighter of an experience. I’ve been reading Jonathan Letham’s book of essays, “The Dissapointment Artist” which is intriguing and galling because with each sentence it reduces me to a type, the same type he is, and at the same time it makes me ponder the flimsiness of the critical examinations in my own writing. So reading letham and then struggling to put into practice the principle of spending a good 30 minutes on something as opposed to sitting in the procrastinating haze that is my usual weekend state. Not so easy to do. especially once I get onto the computer which is the portal to endless distraction. I managed to 30 minutes in on the laundry. Which is good news.
On this trip I bought Queen’s greatest hits to convince myself that I was wrong when I decided that they sucked and that I just didn’t get it. But as I listen to it now, I was right the first time: they really do suck. Eno’s “here come the warm jets” however, excells.
Adventure…
The flight was delayed. And overbooked. So when they asked for someone to volunteer to give up their seat and get $250 worth of travel and a free hotel room, I decided to make someone else happy and catch some hotel bed quality sleep. SO I’m typing this from the doubletree near the airport. I fly out tomorrow 7am. Now I have to check where Continental flies to se where I can go for free.
Countdown to redeye…
Just a few hours left here in town, and I’m suffering through the point int the trip where it turns into ever more regrets about all the connections that didn’t happen. I’ve seen many people while I’ve ben here and met with over ten students at two different schools, but sheduling is fallible and somethings that were hopefully on the agenda for this trip didn’t happen. Luckily, it looks like I’ll be doing a smal show here in October or November and that will make for another oppurtunity to carouse with people.
But beyond the regets I have to say that LJ is pretty remarkable as a social phenomina. I spent time with so many charming people during this trip here, thanks to that miracle of coding. It’s given me a whole new appreciation for the city. Last night I got to spend some quality time with progbear and albadger who both were gracious enough to let me pick the contents of “bad movie night” which meant that we watched Maria Montez’s “Siren of Atlantis” and the audience participation flick “The Hypnotic Eye”. Then progbear very sweetly drove me back across the bay so that I could hit the hay at a reasonable hour.
And now I’m awaiting the arrival of final_girl who will be my last chat before flying back to NYC.
Racing the bay…
Today’s report on yesterday:
Met with students from SFAI at the studio building on 3rd street. Midway through the lunch break I received a lovely call from thornyc gently reminding me about filing my taxes. And amazingly enough I already had done so the day before. I finished with the students who were a mixed bunch that included one old friend who was coming back to school to finish up after pursuing a variety of carreers, and then I was whisked of to Best Buy where I looked at digital cameras before deciding that I just couldn’t swing the money involved and that they were a crappy place to buy them any way. I finished the copy of moroccomole‘s book I had picked up the day before. I went once again to the Flore where I met my old roomate Patti Davidson and relayed to here the everyone’s comments on how she hasn’t aged a jot. I tried to pres her for her child sacrifice techniques, but she downplayed the whole thing. I went into Streetlight records and scored a used copy of Ape Escape 2 as well as a few cds I’d been hankering for. And then down to Zuni for dinner with my old pal Glen and excellent artist James Gobels who is a recent transplant, and someone bearbait should get to know. In the midst of dinner Fred called me from London to remind me about the image they needed for the ad by today. By this time it was 10:30 pm and I hauled myself down to the eagle for a long talk with devldog that ranged over candy making, art schools, hideous government policies, the complexities of porn production and consumption, and many more topics that I can remember. By 1:30am I had to stagger back home and plunk myself into bed…
Today promises to be just as full with business meetings and more friendly encounters.
When you can’t think of a catchy title…
or remember the title of one of your own pieces…
Last night I gave my talk at the SanFrancisco Art Institute, the ostensible reason for me being in town. It was my usual speed jaunt through an asortment of my work from college on up to now. But last night was different than the other talks I’ve given lately maily because the audience was filled with the people who were responsible for me being behind the podium in the first place: Patricia Davidson and Glen Helfand, my first two roommates from when I moved to San Francisco in ’84 (Patti founded Media, the gallery where I had my first ever solo show and Glen and I founded a short lived art newspaper, and worked on various projects on and off through the 80’s.) Renny Prititkin and Judy Moran, the directors of the artist run space where I participated in my first group show and where I eventually worked, becoming program coordinator and board member. Paule Anglim, the owner of the Gallery where I now show in SF and art world doyenne. Brett Reichman and John Difazio, amazing artists I’ve been lucky enough to work with over the years. Kevin Killian brilliant poet and playwrite who’s productions I used to wish I had written. Vince Fecteau, who was once my assitant and actually made some of the pieces I was about to show slides of, and who is now an amazing sculptor. Bob Riley, former media curator at SFMOMA and current director of SF Camerawork. And any number of others I’m forgetting. And then LJers itsolivia, bearbait, chriskomater,armaroundyou and mrs_french. So how do you tell the story of your artistsic fumblings to a crowd of people who witnessed it the first time around? Somehow I managed to get through it but it was a wonderful experience, very very apt given that this marks the tenth year since I moved back to New York from San Francisco, and the first year since the death of Phil who was such a part of my experience here. I meant to take a picture from the stage of the audience to post here and just forgot to do it.
It has left me with a lot to ponder. Today will be a day of meetings with SFAI students and some more reconnecting.
I'm the King of Jubilee Jumbles 