I'm really excited for this weekend, because as a second year Artist in Residence at BAX / Brooklyn Arts Exchange, I get to curate a weekend of shows, which is this weekend (Friday and Saturday). I've been very lucky to have Christopher Udemezue and isaac Richard Pool with Crystal Palmer present their work this weekend as NEWS CYCLE. I really hope you guys can come! Please, please buy a ticket and join us.
So much has been going on, I've been totally flabbergasted with so many wonderful and strange and very quick happenings and events. Last minute decisions and changes. Did I mention Mercury was Retrograde? I've been meditating every day this week so far. Three for three. Let's see if we can keep it up.
Been so obsessed lately with the deeper trenches of Annette Peacock. I mean, this song over and over too:
It's just so romantic and so angry and so beautiful and so crazy, all at the same time. That's what love is like, right? That's what romance is like. Or could be?
I'm behind on my New Yorker subscription. I'm catching up from a very long time ago. I read an article that described a guy here in New York who I'd gone on a date with. I liked him but I didn't think he liked me very much, so it didn't work out. I mean, he liked me, he definitely wanted to see me again, but the "me" that he liked, I think, was not actually the me that I actually am or could ever be, it was hard. But I was reading this article and he popped up and I thought how cool, how weird to be learning about him for the first time. I wonder if lots of guys will read that article and want to meet him.
I had a conversation recently where someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up. It was a really hard question. My reflex is to say that I'm an artist and I always want to be an artist but I know I'll never make my living off of it so I should try and have given up, and then I answer the question. But you know, I haven't given up. I don't think. I'm actually sort of excited and sort of horrified and sad that I have been and may continue to be wasting my life. But doesn't everyone worry about that, if they're honest enough with themselves?
I do struggle to articulate a perfect life though, a thing to be when I grow up. I literally do not know. I can't imagine a job or vocation or activity that I can say, certainly, would make me happy. Who can predict that accurately? Knowing me, I think, I'll always find a way to be miserable. Still though, I often fantasize about working for Rei Kawakubo or CdG in any capacity. Thus far it's been as a creepy customer. Like millions of other strivers. It's sad, for me. I'm sad about it, that I'll never get to do it. I don't know how to try, even. Not really.
Alan Ginsberg (who was a fucking pederast) asked America when he could go into the supermarket and buy what he needed with his good looks. This is a joke, of course, because he was an ugly person. He would have starved in a supermarket in America, then as now. Although, he is my type. He was my type, when he was younger. I would have been very attracted to him.
I don't want to go to the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks. That's not how it works these days. It's something more along the lines of America, When Can I Apply to College, Get a Job Based on my Skin Color, Gender, Class performance and Yeah, I suppose, my So-Called Good Looks. It's actually hard, you guys. All this is to say I wish I could get hired by RK on the basis of something beyond my inborn stuff, genes. That I could apply and be useful there. Is that weird. At what age do you totally give up the ghost.
I was at DSM NY and I saw a different guy, who I had gone on two dates with, working there. This guy I actually liked a whole lot, he looks nothing like Ginsberg, but he just sort of blew me off. I always end up dating people right when they move to New York, and inevitably they go on to meet cuter and cooler people, whatever. So I saw this guy, clearly working at the store, nominally living my dream, and I was scared. He didn't seem to recognize me (I was bundled up). I passed by him and heard him call out my name. I turned, but he wasn't looking at me. He was going through the cash register and speaking loudly enough for someone with my same name in a dressing room to hear him. "How did those work out? That 15 3/4? Okay? Are those good, or--?"
The customer (sorry, client) with my name hollered back "They're perfect."