Summer in New York, which the calendar says started Saturday, but for me started last Thursday, when I caught my first whiff of a rotten molten summer dumpster. Ahh, the stink of the streets. I tell people that if the stink that makes your eyes water makes you laugh, then New York City is the place for you. It’s the place for me—I love all 8,336,997 of you, even if you stink, especially if you forgive my stink. But beyond olfactory offenses, New York in the summer means hanging out all day and night, appreciating the sun but appreciating shade even more, it means dark at 9, birds screaming mating calls at midnight, humans screaming mating calls at 4am, birds cooing sweetly at 5am and humans cursing out birds at 5:05am.
That’s how I finish, now here’s how I start: every day I’m on the train drawing on a piece of paper with a ball point pen. The paper is acid-free laser paper, foldable and hopefully archival. The ball point pen is usually swiped from the bank, but recently I made a line of ball point pens with Bookmarc. It’s the cheapest American-made customizable ball point pen. Sure it might come apart in my pocket, but I can put it back together blindfolded, like a good soldier with his gun. Anyway, gun—I mean pen—in hand, I draw, I mean draw, out whatever thoughts walk out my head, down my arm and onto the paper. The best elements of these drawings eventually emerge in my paintings. They work best as diary entries, they function perfectly to harvest the random thoughts in my brain and clear the temporal lobes for new data. In an effort to clear both my cache and my calendar.
Like I was just telling my muse, thanks for the amusement