Friday, April 9, 2010

IN HER YOUNGER DAYS: from my journals, 26 July 1977

PHOTOGRAPH: DAN BRINZAC N.D.


Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?— William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night


A DAY IN THE LIFE OF…

—an intolerable situation. It’s come round to where i must do without cigarettes, without a beer—“without grass” is already a wicked fact. I’ll be able to keep painting for as long as there is a bit of money saved but this scrimping is an absurdity. To work and to work at a job & just maintain oneself is a pain in the ass bore! In this past week i’ve come round from a lot of things—put off the notebook as a luxury in strength i didn’t have. All of the stories and phrases & pictures kept running around in my brain trough—Let’s look at the calendar—an unrecorded week—Thursday evening unexpectedly dined with SW. Dinner turned into drinks and mad conversation. Seven o’clock became a drunken 11:30. The evening helped ease the tightness in me concerning the job—We argued politics, art—disagreed on almost everything except drinking—SM drunk—pays for it the next day—heat gets to him—fainted in the studio—turned to marble before my eyes and kind of swooned to the studio floor—My edginess turned rapidly to fear. U. was at the studio, and so after all were ‘recovered’ somewhat, U. thanked me for an “interesting as usual” visit. Friday i had barely enough energy to pick up stretchers & come back here to build and stretch. This evening i can begin a drawing of the flower—though the canvas is a bit tacky. Mario begins [sitting] Friday (if he remembers) i’ve found a beautiful, huge branch—stripped it to its skeleton and so minus its dried leaves it will become part of Mario’s portrait.

—Somehow, as usual, every thing i expected i should record now goes by me sort of blandly and none of it wants describing. I do know i’ve passed out of that muddled overwhelming depression i was in—i’ll never resign myself to this job thing—a handwriting analyst at The Express last night does me—“Tenacity—a great deal of it—appearances of outgoing but keeps things deep & hidden—blinders on—can work that to my advantage but sometimes involves personalities—relationships with people—an artist—could be equally successful at commercial or fine art (how depressing to even breath those two together) Will always see a thing through—must have an amazing fantasy world—needs room to breath fresh air—absent minded. Already i feel i’ve wasted enough time on these pages and so to the canvas—sans cigarettes & beer.

8 comments:

J. Lemon said...

Adorably interesting.

Druidhead said...

My past is littered with the bodies of men who have called me that.

paul said...

I've told you before ... clean up your litter.
Didn't we have some young thing pass out on the kitchen floor not so long ago.
Yer still know how to give em an "interesting as usual" visit.

Druidhead said...

How sweet. You remember after all these years…

Belnu said...

And this beautiful picture of yours! Tenacity you have, this is clear... And obviously you did clean your litter!

Ken Mac said...

love this photo! her overalls, the old receiver behind her head, the photos on the wall, the ashtrays. She is cute. That you? Thanks for posting my blog on yours, stellar.

Druidhead said...

Ken Mac: I look forward to the Daily NYC photo. I am a native New Yorker and have seen this city go through many changes in 60+ years. That is me in the photo. I was an artist when it was a city that a poor artist could live in.

Druidhead said...

Bel: Soon you shall be tramping these NYC streets with me! Tenaciously!