An Afternoon-to-Evening Time Unit

On Friday, My concrete guy called at noon saying it was time to sail; he would pick me up in 20 minutes. 15 minutes later I was in the car with the beer on the way to the boat. A beautiful day of sailing commences.

On land in the evening, I walked a mile down the street over the river to a gallery; things were starting well, many interesting bodies there. Went to the corner intersection to collect some more friends. There seemed to be performance art going on. This is a 6-cornered large intersection marking the center of the gentrified former artist district. One corner had 3 people twirling batons with fringe standing in the street. A pretty spectacle. A standing jamming guitarist accompanied them. Then on another corner, a guy was on a pedestal in a white wedding dress loudly reading poetry from a notebook with his beard. Beside him on both flanks were conga players; the guys were making a heavy rhythm. Across the street were some dudes in dresses doing karaoke requests with an unplugged microphone. Another corner had a guy in a wig holding crackers softly yelling “this is matzo ……this IS matzo” to a woman in a chair looking forward while making tai chi gestures. One of the most surreal things I witnessed was a woman in full burger king uniform, visor and nametag, walk through a group gawking, not noticing the irony. There were more acts and costumed people. Occasionally they would stop the acts and just yell heyyyyy while pointing across the streets at each other. I asked some of the guys how they were affiliated and what the occasion was. He said they were on their 9th week there. The performance art pleased me, making me think the artists were retaking the neighborhood.

I found one of my guys and went to look for the others in a coffee shop. I was required to talk to a couple of single girls in front of me. I asked them about my missing friends and the establishment. I told them about the party down the street at the erotic gallery.

My guy and I went back there and chatted up the leather and rubber girls and some normally dressed suburban girls with outstanding bodies. There was a rubber dress girl with a slave guy who held an ashtray and followed her. The coffee shop girls showed up with wide eyes. They learned new things there. The show contained very well done drawings and many small top quality remarkably sexy/clean girl photos with little nudity. Buy a large print. Also in the back room were digital prints of a woman and her copy wearing different sexy outfits or spanking each other. There was a poorly dressed transvestite talking with a sexy redhead in a miniskirt and her boyfriend. Red was saying and gesturing how she always takes the stairs and parks far away. They must have been discussing why her ass and legs looked so good. Fun atmosphere. Proprietress Ms Marilyn was dressed nice with her short leather skirt and fish net rest. With her wild hair she was the perfect hostess.

July , 2001

New Architecture

Learning is Entertainment.

I like to command a corner. My alertly seated view from the window, all the way down to 0’-0” AFF. I control much more power simultaneously observing down two streets at the nearby corner. Even though big firearms are not even useful these days, and not very legal in my neighborhood; I can see where they could be helpful with some projects.

My view provides an advantage over ground pedestrians. While they are busy scanning their 2 dimensional world for danger or pleasure or both, they rarely notice an observer from above.

Phone conversations are pleasantly revealing. Especially the small pacing radius of the soon to be extinct pay phones. Gestures and postures are readable from afar.

I can often deduce the thoughts of walkers below. I can see the top of that woman’s head turned slightly, with enough eye rotating angle left - she is watching that stylish man across the street, while attempting to not appear so. I can tell from his gait, he does not notice her, even after she stumbles on a crack.

I can read the thoughts of someone staring, head forward of the shoulders, his line of sight down the sidewalk to a large man. Then he gets distracted by a tire squeak, turning his head toward the sound. When he remembers his original interest, he looks back down the sidewalk. I see he cannot locate that guy using the shoulder and head weaving technique. He looks at the ground forgetting why he was tracking the man. Looking up, he makes a quick scan around to see if anyone noticed his confusion (or maybe looking for something else). He turns and leans with arms cocked, stops, turns 180 and trots away.

Though the talkers sometimes have enough leftover brain processing to actually look up.

I fully enjoy my leisure time. hmm perhaps foolishly.

Skeletons are for Archaeologists

The loud red drive to Massimo's exhibition

March 2001

I offer to drive gallerists Peter and Mari over the river to giant art venue P.S.1; they invite Edward the restauranteur. We meet at his restaurant Clay on Mott street. Some guys on the street offer to buy my super cool small red cargo van.

Pleasant view filled drive over the East River with the subwoofer. Spectacular group show, great venue, nice party. Massimo the Italian had installed a pool in the ground with a wave-making device. It had a consistent wave sloshing back and forth. Quite beautiful. We were hanging around outside talking and I offered him some tobacco. He says “ah MS, these are good”. He remembered the evening at Forbidden City. I was glad to complete that circle.

Cubist View

Space Capsule

Adding to the madness of the cramped area, the noise and smells; all of the water faucets are wired backwards. The opposite of everywhere else, with some faucets labeled correctly, most not. Being confused and rethinking my hand instincts is erasing a part of my hard wired brain system. Making me think about something I never thought of. Is this brain exercise or brain damage.

Sculpture transportation. Serra. Cold day spring 2007