Juan Sputnik

I write my memoirs, it is spontaneous writing I don't edit, i just write what comes to mind

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There is a man waiting for a bus sitting on a bench with a shopping bag by  his side.The light is magnificent, and the image is poetic,  It makes me think of a thousand words. I am in a hurry, but  I pause. He is about  a hundred and something meters away. I take out my camera, aim and take the shot, and then another one, just in case, but this time, I  close the aperture of the lens  a bit more. I imagine how the picture would come out, and continue walking. Before I leave   the park , I turn around to see if the man is still there, and he has  not moved,still staring at the ground, like a mannequin left on display. I wonder where he is  going, it is Saturday morning, I like to imagine he is on his way to visit family. I get to my destination, a young girl asks for my name, and after my reply , she says , your are five minutes early. 

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As you squat down to feel the temperature of the watter, you see your face reflected on the water, you pucture the surface with your index finger, the image becomes blury, it is cold , and your are not suprisesd, the moment is only a second , but the memory will last a life time.

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Kodak 500T

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I hadn’t been back to my country for a couple of years when I took this picture. A friend was sitting to the left of the window, she took me there for a beer to chat about an art project she and her colleague had open in the heart of downtown. Although, there is not a spectacular view she was kind not to sit in front of the window, it was a gesture of elemental kindness. We had gone for a beer to billiard on the second floor an art deco building one of the few that have endured war, earthquakes, social riots fires, etc.. In order to enter the joint, you must go through narrow corridors of informal vendors who have set their tents on the sidewalk in front of the formal businesses. Blocking the entrance of the building, there is this guy with waist long hair, full of tattoos and piercings, and hardcore metal paraphernalia. He is a tattoo artist, he has been there for a while I remember him from before, and he has permission to be there, not by the city hall but, by the street code of downtown . The building is on a corner that once was controversial place to hang out, because it was kind of a borderline for street rivals, but now it is peaceful, at least for now.

We chat about the project, and the ferocious art market, and the oligopolies, and the monopolies of the art world, but we also talk about dreams. I am carrying a camera I have had ever since before I was a teen , it is a point and shoot, actually the first point and shoot an object of desire, a cult has developed around it in recent years with the revival of film. I had loaded it with an expired film, a 1970S Agfa, I found in a second hand shop where I live. I see the light coming in, I know I have the light against me but, it makes it oneiric, it makes it like a movie I like to be in, a Martin Scorsese flick. I take the picture, and imagine how it will come out.

[juanpublius]

The other one and the old house on the corner

There is a house on the corner in front of my workshop, it is an old house, and  I walk by every morning when I go to the convenience store. The house is run down on the outside, you can see how years have passed by looking at the camouflage of the variety of  colors that the house has been painted through the years. The blend of colors translate into a beautiful patina hard to describe as one particular color. As I walk by the old house on the corner, I take a peek at the windows, and I only see a cat laying comfortably on a circular baroque sofa with red velvet that takes the shape of the circular leaving room. The velvet is deteriorated and you can see it has faded in some parts, but it still shines on some areas. The frame of the sofa is dark brown wood with gold accents on the legs and armrests. On the ceiling, a bronze starburst chandelier, with white blown glass spheres hangs elegantly over a rectangular white marble coffee table with ribbed edges, and bronze legs, the legs of the table are not shiny, they are green you know, that patina that bronze acquires through the years.  In the center of the coffee table there is an oval green murano ashtray. The old Pandora cat stares at me deeply, and blinks a couple of times, then licks his tail as if it was the most natural thing to do in front of a stranger.  This is the longest I have looked through the window. There are objects, there that I have never noticed before, as the beautiful cast iron plant holders on each side of the stairwell that leads up to the second floor, the plant holders are empty and they are an exquisite work of craftsmanship, from the art nouveau period I will say.  I have never seen anybody coming in or out that house, but there must be some one that lives there, because the inside looks clean and the cat must be some one’s pet.

I continue to walk to the store, and think of the elegance of the details that people had in the old days, even an ashtray, was a work of art, everything was created with passion, and items were made to last forever. There was a sense of pride in the making things, and there was a sense of pride in buying things as well. Today people make things to sell and there is no pride in the making, because most things are made in sweatshops. Furniture is made to look expensive but it has no soul, because most furniture made today, is made thinking of how it can be produced massively and lower the production cost, they are designed in a computer and materials are assessed to the last screw, and if there is an interesting detail that delays the assembly line, it is taken off. There is no authorship in most of the items produced, so there is no designers or craftsmanship pride, only the corporate pride that is advertised in magazines, it is as if we live in a soulless world. The spice of  today’s world is created by advertising campaigns that try to insert in our minds a lifestyle full of glamour that does not exists, white interiors, minimalist furniture, electronic music played through Ipods, synthetic materials for every item, that is the conception of hipness now days, and we have learned to believe it. The reason they want us to believe in this concept is to accept the low cost model of production, that it is only made expensive through advertisement, and endorsement of famous luxury labels, that place their stamps on most of this items. The funny thing, is that most of this luxury brands, still carry the name of the creators that once became famous by doing products with passion as the one’s in the corner house, but now they have been death for years, and only their name remains. Think about Dior, Channel, Herman Miller, Thonnet, Rosenthal, Lalique, etc, those people have been death for quite some time, it is only their brand that persuade us  to buy soulless products today, but the production of goods today is beyond passion, most items are designed meticulously in  a computer by a team of designers,  and every single detail is calculated to meet the assembly line production cost, leaving no room for beautiful accidents or spontaneity . Perhaps the nostalgia of a bell époque is the reason why 20th century modern furniture has become so popular among some  sectors of society today.

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[juanpublius]

The Other One and the Museum Appointment

I had call several times asking for an appointment with the director of the only art museum where I live. Finally, I got to talk to the director and gave me an appointment for a couple of days later. The director is a retired artist who made his name in the 70’s doing abstract painting when most of his colleagues were still doing bucolic landscapes. He is probably in his late 60’s, and wears a suit and tie and sits comfortably in his office with a bunch of pictures of his glory days behind his desk. Next to his office is a cubicle where the director of exhibitions looks at his face book and sends email invitations of the upcoming exhibitions to a large list of emails the museum has collected through the years. He is a mid age men, with a quite conservative style, and a timid personality.

My meeting was with both the museum director and the exhibition director. A lady guided me to a meeting room, where both of them were seating in a large conference table with three glasses of water. I sat in the empty chair with a glass of water in front , and shook  hands with both men. We did the 5 minute protocol chat you know, and then straight to the point. What brings you here the older man asked? I would like to propose a sculptural installation project; I showed them the pictures of the different sculptures that will compose the installation, and a sketch of how the final piece would look like.  They were very serious, and hesitated  making comments. Although  both of them are very conservative, the museum has been highly influenced by a benefactor who seems to support young conceptual artist, not only because he likes their work, but because he likes some of the artist as well.  That made me think that their silence was because my work was not within the curatorial line . The conceptual line they have chosen is pretty much a postmodernist line that they insist in calling it contemporary, where the only substance of most works are the artist statements, which are not reflected in their work. There is no room for spatial art or architectural art. In which the artist statement has to do with variables such as light, transparency, shadow, reflection, distortion of the space, etc. If the work of art is not socially oriented it is not consider conceptual or contemporary. For this reason I though their hesitation to comment was because they thought, my work was not avant garde enough for the museum conceptual trends. I broke the silence explaining a bit about my work, on how I continue to work with transparency in the objects, and the deconstruction of traditional forms into geometric distortions, and that is how I had constructed the sculptures for the installation. I went on describing the concept behind “we are all fish” which is the title of the installation, and how I was inspired by a theory that believes that humans come from fish. They both listened to me with frowns on their foreheads. I felt intimidated by their anal expressions, but continued to explain the layout of the work.   I want to simulate an aquarium with different species of fish, hanging at different heights from the ceiling, where people could walk through it, and feel as if they were  under water. The aquarium was conformed of jelly fish , sharks, blow fish, and all sort of marine specimens of differente sizes  made of wire , using geometrical patterns. The installation will take place in a dark environment with a dim blue light, the hanging sculptures will be painted with glow in the dark paint, and   a shampoo bubble machine as the ones they have at dance clubs, will simulate water. When I finished talking the younger guy  looked at me with as if he was upset or something and said, I don’t like the shark because it looks too much like a shark, and I said ; it is a shark isn’t it ? Yeah but the jelly fish  looks like a jelly fish but also as something else he said. Really; like what?  A penis, I said He blushed and said nothing. The older man made no expression of my comment. There were seconds of uncomfortable silence, that the older man broke and said, why don’t we go over to your studio and see the pieces in person? I was about to tell him how the museum has turned into a club of the their benefactor, and the young artist he fancies, and how they did not have the balls to choose other lines of actual art, besides what they seem to believe it is contemporary, that the only people that come to the shows, are the same artist and the benefactor friends, and how passé that movement is becoming around the world how 1990’s it was, but I said nothing. I got up from the chair shook hands with both of them and then said; you are welcome to come to my studio any time. The older man looked at the younger guy and said;  we just have to check up on our schedule and we will give you a call. They never called back; neither had I expected them to.  

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[juanpublius]

The Other One XXV Frosty and the fake Bodum Coffee maker

I ran into Tony at the hardware store, I was browsing through the home section for a bodum replacement, and Tony was there looking at frying pans. It was nice to see him, it has been way too long since the last time I saw him, last time most have been at college party way too long ago. It was spontaneous reaction to me to say “hey Frosty” that is how we use to call him, in college not because he was pale or fat or anything like that. The reason we called him “frosty” was because he was the snow man, the one that made snow pour at  parties if you know what I mean. He looked about ten pounds overweight, thin hair and had a French mustache that made him look somehow sophisticated. We caught up in time you know; what do you do, are you married, any kids, etc. We did not touch the topic of the old college habits, but he did not seem to mind, me calling him Frosty.

He recommended not to buy an original boudum replacement, but rather  go to a dollar store across the street,  where they sold bodum imitations for a quarter of the price. I thanked him for the tip, and gave him an uncomfortable goodbye hug, he offered to walk with me to the dollar store but I said,  don’t worry it is just there.

I walked across a busy street to the dollar store, and looked for a fake bodum coffee maker, and there they were, all sort of sizes, and different colors to choose from. I picked a lime green , and made the queue at the only register in the store. People where buying all sort of stuff, one mid age lady had tons of umbrellas in her basket, and I wondered why on earth did she need so many umbrellas for. Another lady with three small kids had bags of glitter, nail polish shampoo, and a bunch of other things I could not identify. The queue must have been about ten people with baskets full of made in china stuff, everyone looked at me kind of weird because I only had a fake bodum coffee maker in my basket.

It was around lunch time when I left the dollar store, and as I exited,  the smell of hamburger franchise next door made me salivate, just like the dog on Pavlov’s experiment.  It is weird because I am a vegetarian, as a matter of fact I became a vegetarian over  15 years ago, but I still get hungry when I sense the smell of  death animals on the grill . It must be some kind of conditioning from when I was a kid that still triggers something in my brain. I decided to go and have lunch there; I usually order a grill cheese, French fries, and a diet coke and do the fast food ritual without meat. I love seating at this places and just observe people coming in and out the restaurant, while I eat.

I think what I love about this places, is that there is no formality about them, you can come in by yourself and no one will feel sorry for you, or if you are under dressed or over dressed, nobody really gives a shit and all customers are treated equal regardless of their order, and although they try to sell you dessert or a bigger portion of fries, after you have placed your order, they leave you alone at the table, no one is trying to make you leave the place or sell you another drink.

As I was getting a refill of my diet coke Frosty walked in through the door, he spotted me right away, and waved hello. He ordered a combo with everything enlarged on his order, and walked over to my table. Do you mind if I sit with you? Go right ahead I said, even though, I was pretty happy sitting alone. He had told me at the hardware store he was not married, and that he was involved in some sort of financial industry business, he did not specify what sort of financial business though. He unwrapped his hamburger meticulously as if he was unwrapping a luxury item and carefully folded the paper around half of the burger without touching the bun. He picked it up with both hands and took a small bite. As he was he was chewing, he placed the burger down and covered his mouth with his right hand and said , what kind of art do you do?. Although he spoke with his mouth, full it did not sound rude, but rather natural. I do geometrical art. Again covering his mouth with his left hand this time he said: what sort of material, then took a sip of his pop and grabbed a single  fry. Mainly metal I replied.

How is the business he asked? still holding the fry with his index and his thumb 

It is alright, I can’t complaint.

I like to see what you do; I like to decorate my office and will be cool to have one of your artworks there. Sure come over to my studio and see what I do perhaps I can do something especially for your office. Awesome he said, still holding the fry with two fingers as if he  was going to give me a flower.  He took his phone out his shirt pocket and asked for my number, then he dialed the number with a stylus and gave me a call, there you have my number put me in your system, so you know it’s me when I call. Cool I said.

Both of us finished our lunch and said goodbye one more time. He got into his BMW, waved good bye and drove off with his stereo blasting, wave of mutilation from the pixies was playing.

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[juanpublius]

The Other One XXIV "The Gallery Girl"

I went for a bike ride around my house yesterday after work. Not the sort of work out bike ride you know, but a cruising bike ride. I am not a cyclist or anything; I have a bike just to cruise around my neighborhood. As a matter of fact I hate cyclist, I think  they are some sort of street pollution. This people dress up in top gear to cruise around their mountain bikes around the city and have little respect for pedestrians, and they think they own the streets. It does not matter if a cyclist runs a stop sign, and an automobilist runs a cyclist over, the driver  will be put jail. They take advantage of the martyr mode they have proclaimed themselves to be entitled. On Thursday nights the take over the streets around where I live, there are hundreds of them cycling as if they were in the park or  at the velodrome. Cars have to pull aside to let them go by, and the most pathetic thing is that some of them don’t even have lights on their bikes. Any how, last night I forgot that it was urban cyclist night, and I went cruising on my bike. I don’t like to be associated with this people because they are pretentious and fake athletes, with expensive gear. I was not wearing cycling gear, just jeans and t-shirt. I waited for them to pass by and pulled over at a café to wait for them to vanish. While I sipped on a diet pop, my friend Angelo walked in and I got up to greet him.

He asked me If I was alone, and if he could join me. I said go right ahead Angelo. He ordered a Corona and a tequila as a chaser. He invited me to have the same and I said no thanks, I stick with my diet pop. I could see that he was bother about something, and had come to have a few drinks to loosen up. We chatted about work and old friends, but it took him three rounds of Corona and tequila chasers to open up. Angelo is a visual artist, he does these incredible constructions on paper, kind of an origami but in big scale and he sells them well locally and abroad, pretty interesting work this guy makes.

He began to loosen up to tell me If I had been to this new gallery that has just opened uptown, and I said yes, as a matter of fact I am installing a hanging sculpture there tomorrow morning. Oh, great he said, I have some work there as well. Yes I know I saw it today when I went to see the space, nice work I said. Who did you talk to at the gallery he asked? I spoke with Danielle . She is cutie right? he said. She is very young I replied. He laughed. Daniele is 20 years old cinnamon skin freeze hairs, fairly build and wears big frame hipster glasses and over all has this angelical naïve look, and a silky voice. Angelo is reaching his fifties, he has a 70’s punk hair cut shaved on the sides, and long on the top, and is full of tattoos, and a tong piercing that is kind of annoying because he never stops playing with it when he is not talking. She is not that young he said she legal  age. I guess I said. What is up with her, do you like her I said. Yes she is a cutie he said. We have been seeing each other he said. Oh man, you are going  get in to trouble If Fatima finds out I said. She already has, he replied. Fatima is his wife, brunette, with fine lines, blue eyes and a gap between her teeth kind of sexy I will say. What happened ? she  saw a text from Daniele on my phone, and she went crazy. What did the text said? That no one has ever made her come as I have. Shit I said that is quite bad. Yeah he said she has given me until tomorrow to get my shit out the apartment. Man, what are you going to do ? No idea he replied. Apologize to her, tell her that you are sorry, that it was a carnal mistake, that  you love her etc. I am not interested I like Daniele, she lets me accomplish all of my sexual fantasies, and Fatima you know I love her, but she is kind of uptight in bed you know, she does not like me to…. , Hey man relax I am not interested in hearing your intimate life I said, but he ignored me and continued to say that she did not like him penetrating her in her arse, or swallowing his come, and that Daniele would do whatever he pleased. I thought about Fatima, and Daniele as well. It did not surprise me what he was telling me about Fatima, because to me she seems as a classy  lady, but it did surprise me about Daniele, she seems so naïve and angelical or inexperience I supposed. He continued to explain to me how Daniele will grab his hair and pull him down to her knees, then she will open her legs and pulled his face right into her crutch, and how he would give her extra pleasure with his tong piercing, and how she would talk dirty to him: suck my nectar out and swallow it. Shit men I said kind of mumbling to myself I was perplexed at his comments, I sat on the chair chewing on the ice of on the glass of my diet pop kind of uncomfortable but caught in to the conversation by a morbous curosity. He continue to narrate how he will ask her not to take off her nerdy glasses when they fucked that it turned him on to see her crossed eyes behind the specs.

 I have to admit I was getting kind of excited, his narration was very explicit, and perversely erotic, but more interesting thinking how he had managed to make such and intimae proposition to someone so naïve looking, what kind of persuasion he used, how was their first encounter. I did not ask though, I just let him continue his narration, but the waiter interrupted, as he  came over to see if we wanted to order anything else. Angelo made a gesture with his index finger meaning tequila and corona for him, and you sir the waiter asked, another diet pop I said.

As the waiter left he continue to talk about how Daniele will say naughty things to him, when she was having an orgasm, or multiple orgasms as he specified , with a trembling but loud voice she will say spit on my face, spit on my face…, or how  she will sit on his chest and tell him, you are mine, only mine and piss on his chest, and how the warm urine will turn him on, then will rub the piss all over his chest and face and then stick her fingers in his mouth and say taste my piss so you don’t forget you are mine. I just sat there kind of in  awe sipping on my diet cola or pretending to sip . His phone rang, he looked at the number and he got up from the table to answer the call in private, he smiled while he talked on the phone and talked as if he was whispering a mischievous secret. He came back and did not sit down, he just took a twenty dollar note from his side pocket and dropped on the table, and said I have to go the pops are on me and left intrepidly through the crowd . I thought about what he had told me and thought that perhaps he was onto another sex rendezvous with Danielle, and imagine her telling him spit on my face…” I could not take this image of my head, it was kind of perturbing me imagining such a naive looking girl saying those words with her big black frame glasses on, you know,  It was hard to imagine her nerdy  face of lust saying those words.

The next day when I went to install the my art work at the gallery I was greeted by Danielle, with her naïve smile and silky voice , she was wearing a long lose flowery skirt with fruit salad colors , a white cotton bottom down blouse and yellow flat shoes. As I walked through the door,  she said I am excited I cant wait to see the piece hanging from the double ceiling. I felt a sense of embarrassment, but she did not notice, I said hello, intenting to smile naturally, but all I could think of is she saying spit on my face, spit on my face. I thought of her grabing Angelo by the hair and pulling him down on his knees and saying all the nasty words, he had told me.

I installed the pieces and, and she clapped when I finished  and said bravo, they look marvelous. Please come inside  and fill out  the gallery form . I sat on the visitor chair and she handed out the form with her pristine smile, I grabbed the form and looked down I was kind of intimidated to look in to her eyes. I read the form and asked her what do you mean by  “reserve price”, she got up from her desk and came behind my chair and leaned forward  towards my left shoulder,  I could smell her perfume, I got nervous, and exited at the same time, hoping she would not notice. She explain to me with her silky voice that it was the price I would be willing to sell the piece before the opening in case someone was interest. ok I got I, I replied  and got up abruptly to the opposite side where she was standing, and said thank you, I must go. She looked at me with a mild smile and said, visit us once in a while to see how the work is doing, and from the door I said, I will, I will, bye. 

[juanpublius]

The Other One XXIII THE VAGABOND AND HUXLEY

The gate of my atelier opens up to a main avenue in down town. My family has been on the neighborhood for over 100 years, and on this particular corner almost 65 years. My grandfather had one of the first public transportation bus lines in town. Later my father open a factory related to the automotive industry, therefore, I know the neighborhood well, and feel avery  comfortable sense  of belonging regardless of  the bad reputation of the neighborhood now days .  In the old days, this area use to be a pristine neighborhood, but as Mother Nature punished the land  with a couple of major earthquakes, the city grew elsewhere and down town became practically a, sanctuary for brothels,  contraband street markets, and homeless vagabonds. Very few old businesses remind here, and we are one of them. The family has been very kind to give me space to set up my atelier on this old run down industrial venue, and here is where I do must of my sculptures.

I get to work, and follow the same routine every day: my office is in the back of the workshop, and it is decorated with old black and white photographs,  mid century furniture, and old automotive paraphernalia from the business glory days I found in  warehouse.  I turn on the radio, computer, and coffee maker, and check on my emails while I sip on a mug of coffee.  Around 9 am I go to the front of the workshop where I have set up my work station over looking straight into the street. When I don’t have much anima to work I sit on a chair and observe people transit the busy road. There is an sculpture of a life size Rhino on the corner of the stores’ parking lot and people stop to take pictures on the sculpture. Adults and kids climb to mount the  Rhino sculpture and take pictures, they have been doing it ever since the sculpture was placed there 60 years ago, and has now become an icon of downtown .  A friend of mine emailed me a picture his father had taken of him when he was two years old, and made me wonder how many more photographs like that are laying around on old dusty photo albums.

I like coming here every day even If I don’t do any work, just to hang out, listen to music and watch people go by. There are all sort of interesting characters in this neighborhood. There is a homeless guy that sleeps under the steps in front of the workshop, he must be 60 years old, gray hair, cinnamon skin and deep blue eyes, but you can see some remaining of his blond hair, scattered around his freeze tangled hair. He does not talk to anybody, he talks to himself. I have never gotten close enough to hear what type of stuff he is mumbling. Some times when I am working on a piece, he approaches the gate, and stares at my work ,or he observes  me working, but when I turn around he looks away, as if he is just there by chance. He is my biggest fan, in the neighborhood, he has seen every single sculpture I have built here, but he has never said a word.

Yesterday, I was working on a piece I had been commissioned, a public bench, in the form of a cloud. I finished the piece around 5 pm. Every time I finish a piece I love to set it up at a distance and I like to sit on a chair about 10 meters away to observe it. It is a love affair every time, it is an incredible feeling, to see your ideas materialized. When I was sitting observing the cloud chair yesterday I noticed the old man staring at the chair mumbling. I tried to read his lips but his beard and mustache got in the way. He stood there as long as I was sitting on the chair observing the piece, it must have been over half an hour. It feels very  rewarding when he stares at my work, because I feel as if it is a kind of sincere approval, or at least some kind of interest in my work. I know he is not an specialist a curator, or a critic,  he is a vagabond,  but his stare is a great reward for me, because it feels sincere and spontaneous without pretentions. I have seen this guy hanging around here ever since I was a teenager; he still looks the same, as if time has not passed by him.

It was getting dark and I closed the metal curtain of my atelier, and got ready to go home. When I exited the gate leading to the exterior parking lot, the old man looked at me as he squatted to arrange his carton bed  under the stairs of the store front. I said hello, but he did not reply. He sat down on his carton arrangement, and pulled a corn tortilla out one of his plastic garbage bags, and stared to mumble looking at his tortilla. This time I was close enough to hear him speak. He was mumbling in French,” c'est fou ma Cherie” but I could not understand completely the rest of his monologue. Before I got into my car I said “Bon Soirée”, and he turned around abruptly and looked deep into my eyes, as if I had insulted him or something. I got scared, and turned my eyes away from him, got into my car and drove off.

I could not stop thinking about the old man as I drove home. I began to wonder who he was, where did he come from, how had he ended up on the streets of down town. Was he French or he just spoke French. My thoughts began to develop from curiosity into an obsession to find out about him.

I told Adela when I got home, about my interest, and how I wanted to approach him and find out more about his background, but that I did not know how to do it without perturbing him. I don’t think it is a good idea, she said. I interrupted her and said , it is not like he is going to hurt me, you know he is an old man. It is not about him hurting you she said, it is about you hurting him by  crossing his line of intimacy, maybe he is not interested in talking to any one;  you know, just because the public space is his home it does not mean that he wants to make his life public just to anyone, and perhaps that is the way he has chosen into anonymity. Good point, I never thought of that I replied.

But I was so intrigued about this guy’s life that perhaps I could approach him in a subtle way a step at a time. I thought that since he spoke French a good way to catch his attention without speaking directly to him, would be to approach him with something written in French, that  was assuming that he could read. I would pick a text in French and placed around his usual spot and see what happens.  I browsed through my bookshelf for novel in French. The first thing I found with a decent size of font, and not very long  was  an Aldous Huxley essay, Science, Paix et Liberte, an out print book I had purchased from a bookinist along the siene in Paris. I thought this is a good one to give to him, short and decent type of font. The next day I waited just minutes before his usual time when he came to set up his bed, and placed the book  on his usual spot under the steps, where he sleeps.  I got in my car with the windows up and waited for him to show up.

He got there at the 5.45 pm on the dot, as usual. As he unloaded  the big black plastic garbage bags he carries on his back to pull out his sleeping gear, he paralyzed as he saw the book laying on the ground. He stared at the book for over a minute without moving, and then he squatted down. The car windows, were beginning to get foggy, and I did not want to roll them down because I may interrupt his spontaneity and scare him off. I wiped the window gently with the reverse of my hand, and continue watching. He picked up the book looked at the cover, and opened gently. He pulled of a flash light from one of his garbage bags and began to read. He read two pages and laid the  book down on ne of the steps, then  turned his flash light off.  He  sat down looking at traffic on the road that crosses in front of the shop. It was as if had seen a UFO or something and was still meditating on his experience. One thing I was sure of was that he spoke French, or perhaps he was French, he did not look like the typical Salvadoran features. After a few minutes he turned his flash light back on and continue to read, this time he read like ten pages, before he put down the book again and followed the same staring routine. I know that book by heart so I try to imagine the lines he was reading, and suddenly realized  that the book I had given to him was a bit ironic to his homeless situation,  perhaps the wrong text to give to a social outcast, you know this essay by Huxley talks about the imbalances social power in  society.

He grabbed the book one more time but this time to put it in one of his garbage bags, he did not mark the page or anything, he just closed the book and placed in one of his bags. He laid down and closed his eyes. I turned the engine on and drove off.

The next day I did the same and hid inside my car, and waited for him to arrive. He arrived at 5.45pm on the dot, unloaded his bags, proceeded with the set up of his bed, and went to sleep. He did not pull out the book from his bag, maybe he had  finished the book, I thought, or he had lost it, or he just was not interested in reading,. I drove off and thought about what Adela had told me and how approaching him, will be intrusive to his intimacy.

[juanpublius]

The Other One XXII Aj and Third Rail

A.J was a physically privileged individual his innate physical attributes had paved the road for him to become a professional fashion model. He traveled around  the world posing for the camera eye on exotic locations to later  appear on mainstream fashion magazines representing high end brand of clothing, perfume, shoes, etc. He was originally from LA; his father had been a famous movie producer in the 70’s. Some people said that his background had made it easier for him to find success in the glamorous world of modeling, but I tend to disagree, AJ, had a talent of his own and his physical attributes, were obvious. What I do agree with, is that he carried the weight of his father’s persona with him, specially that he did not change his name as many descendants of Hollywood sacred cows do, to avoid biased opinions about their professional development. Arthur or AJ as we use to call him chose to carry his father’s name, and when he looked straight into the camera’s eye, you could see he was so confident, of being his father’s son.

I met Arthur while he was on a photo shoot for Armani on a famous beach along a promenade of decadent art deco buildings mainly inhabited by old people and an emerging community of youth looking to build an alternative playground. They  took advantage of the low rent of the decadent art deco district. I met him at the Island Club, a bar that was popular on Monday nights. My friend and I use to organize raves and we had the routine to recruit ravers at bars. We carried a notebook and took peoples contacts to later call them and let them know where the party would be, you know the old school way before email.  Our job was to browse for a good mix of interesting people at popular underground joints to put on the list and make the base of the glamour of the party; you know the broth of the sauce. My friend Elizabeth spotted AJ at the bar, and  invited him to our upcoming after hours party the following Saturday, and when she asked his name to add him to the list of her hello kitty notebook, he said AJ, just AJ she asked, yes just AJ, he replied.

AJ showed up at the party later that week, there was a big line of people that were not on the list waiting to get in, Aj walked straight to the door and said I am ready to party, he was wearing beach attire, shorts, tank top and flip flops, and blue Harley glasses that merged with his deep blue eyes. you know, a big contrast to the people waiting in line that were wearing hip clothes, and perfume, but AJ did not need hip clothes, he had that presence that irradiated energy to those around.

Elizabeth and AJ, became really good friends, and when he visited town for a Photo shoot he will call her, and would come to our parties. On a visit to town he was accompanied by Gigi, a fashion model as well and  astonishingly good looking, but with a nose habit and who knows what else. AJ was in love and did everything to please Gigi, he even acquired her habits. He was not the same slow mode cool down person I 've met at the Island Club, but a hyper loud and paranoid individual. They will come to our parties and they will stay on the VIP all night blowing their neurons away. He had quieted modeling or as he use to say ‘currently and momentarily retired”. AJ had studied photography, and decided to take advantage of his background as a model as well as his college education, and decided to pick up a camera as his tool to earn a living  as fashion photographer. Photography was a less demanding lifestyle than a fashion model, he could take appointments according to his availability, and the rigorous exercise routine was not mandatory any more. It was  very easy for him to insert himself on the glamorous circuit developing on an old pedestrian road of town where talent agencies, bars, and chic boutiques were kind of giving birth to a hip neighborhood. He rented a ground floor venue on this pedestrian road, and became a very demanded photographer by pretty boys and girls that aspired to become models and actors and needed to create a portfolio. He would recommend settings props, and clothing for the photo shoot. GIgi, will help with the makeup, and lights, they made a perfect team at work and a dangerous self destructing team at night. Elizabeth and I came to visit him at his  studio often, we use to order Chinese and have dinner on a table he would set out on the side walk in front of his studio, as if it was an outdoor café.  People will often stop and ask the name of the restaurant and hours of service, and we would laugh, it was Arthur’s personal joint. Things began to get out of control after AJ, went on  a weekend photo shoot to California. He came back with this new substance that was supposedly, according to him, the new fuel of the stars the real “soma”. A granulated crystal substance used on race horses as a pain killer. Gigi and him became distributors of this substance on the underground scene, and began to use our parties to distribute it. I approached Elizabeth and told her that things were getting out control, and that I was concerned, and  did not want to ignore the situation, that we may end up in problems with the law. Elizabeth, said that it was not our problem that we did not have anything to do with it, that it was AJ’s problem, but I did not feel the same  way, I thought that by ignoring it, we were promoting it.

 I went over to AJ’s studio that day and had a talk with him andtold him  how concerned I was about him using our parties to do what he was doing. He was out of his mind and instead of placing any relevance to what I was saying, he insisted on persuading me to have a sniff of the crystalline substance. I said no thanks AJ, I must go, and I exited his studio and headed over to a dive bar a few blocks away to kind of have a think over a few beers. I ordered a rolling rock and played some music on the jukebox, and tried to forget about it momentarily at least. I did not want to give up the rave scene it was monetary successful, it permitted me to be economically independent, and not having to move back to my home country and look for a traditional corporate job. I liked the glamour as well, and I could see that we were constructing a scene that it was becoming more popular every day. From renting abandoned commercial spaces, we could move to something more permanent as a club or a bar. Real state was inexpensive at the time, and I could see that the neighborhood  was filling up with creative people, such as  models, artist, chefs, etc and that if we managed to join the scene during this early stage, our success will be with no doubt secured. My friend Gerogie walked in, tapped me on the back and, and  saluted me with his usual “what’s up bro “ and before heading over to the jukebox told Lucy, the bar tender to  serve me one more of what ever I was  drinking, then screamed from the jukebox any request? The Stones, I said, he chose “pait it black”. We had a couple of rolling rocks  and we played a few games of pool.

 Gerogie was a real estate agent, and a business partner, he will find venues for our   raves to rent during weekends. Gerogie's wife was a bartender at this bar in town  and they will cater the booze at our parties, we will split  the earnings between Elizabeth Georgie and I. We were making good money, we did a couple of parties a month, and that was enough to pay the rent, and have a glamorous life. I told Gerogie about my concern with AJ and Gigi, and he said to me, don’t worry, it has nothing to do with us. That has always happened at every party, we cannot control what people do. I agreed with him,  people have always  exchanged and consumed  all sort of substances at clubs and parties, but that this was different. AJ and Gigi, had become like a part of the crew. Although he had nothing to do in our business partnership, he was a well know individual in the underground scene, and since we had introduced him to this community people associated him with us. I did not feel comfortable, but Elizabeth and Georgie did not seem to mind, maybe they were in partnership with AJ I thought.

I became paranoid, we had a big party coming up, the biggest that we have ever planned, we had rented an old abandoned theater, and we were having a couple of DJ’s coming from NY. This time  it was an open party, not a private party, we were trying to move a notch up from the underground rave scene to the mainstream open party model at a popular venue. The place that we had rented was already popular for their Disco music Parties on Sundays, it will host about 2000 people every Sunday, but there was nothing else the rest of the week at this venue. Therefore, it would be easy to advertise and take advantage of the public the Disco parties had developed. The only other venue playing house music on Saturdays was a gay club a block away, , and due to the lack of clubs playing this music, the gay club will be full of heterosexuals, dancing their arses of to house music on Saturday nights. It was perfect opportunity for us to break into the mainstream scene. But it was also the perfect occasion for us end up mixed up underworld situation that I did not want to be a part of. We did not have a legal partnership or anything, we would do everything as an informal joint venture, Gerogies wife Elena, will provide the booze, Elizabeth,  would recruit VIP  public, Gerogie will look for a venue  and I will search for Dj’s and decoration of the venue, while all of us will pitch in dough for the production of the event, and then split the earnings, from the cover and the booze.

I had one more rolling rock and played a few more songs on the juke box, but I did not feel at ease, this issue was perturbing me, the idea that I will end up behind bars, and ruin my reputation, what would my parents say? What would my friends say? I may be a crazy bohemian mother fucker, but I consider myself as a person with principles, which I consider as one of my biggest assets, that eventually  I would like to  inherit to my offspring if I ever had any. Maybe it was my conservative catholic Latino heritage that was getting on my way I thought. I began to dialogue with myself; you are in a different environment now, this is life outside the little town you come from, you are on a different atmosphere, let yourself loose, but my ego mode will kick in and tell me get the fuck out. I asked Lucy to close my tab, Georgie paid your bill she said. I  walked across the street, to a sandwich shop, still thinking and trying to encourage myself not to worry and go along with it.

 Bonsoir, said Michelle, the french owner of this tiny little sandwich shop that was part of my routine of late dinners, on a night out. I ordered a Perrier and a tuna sandwich. As I waited for my sandwich Michelle gave me a cup full of olives and cornichon, as an appetizer, it was not customary to give this appetizer to customers, but Michelle was a regular at our parties, so he did it in gratitude because I had added him to the VIP list a while back. Merci, I said, Pas de Quoi Michelle replied.  As I nibbled on the cornichons, Mario, Michelle’s Cuban boyfriend showed up on his rollerblades. He sat on the stool next to me and said; AJ and Gigi were here earlier, yeah I said, everybody loves your sandwiches in town. They came to drop off an invite for “Paragon”.

Paragon was the name we had choose for the party. Shit man , AJ and Gigi have nothing to do with the party I said with kind of a defensive tone. Michelle turned his head from the kitchen  and paused as he looked at me with this French attitude you know, as to make me notice my tone of voice had been kind  of uncivilized. Mario ignored me and picked up the sandwiches on a bag ready for delivery and roller-bladed through the alley. I asked Michelle to wrap my sandwich to go, and headed home.

When I woke up the next morning I had taken the decision separate from the “third rail association”. That is how we had named or venture of rave organizers, after the three founding members,  Elizabeth, Gerogie and I. I paged Elizabeth with code 911, and she returned her call within minutes and said, what is the urgency? What is going on? It is only 8 am. Sorry I said, I did not mean to wake you up, but I have to talk to you urgently. It was Wednesday and the party was Saturday, and I wanted to end up our partnership before Saturday. Elizabeth and I, had been lovers, but that was a while back, now we were only good friends, and partners in business. It was she, who had the idea to make raves on empty commercial venues. I knew Georgie from college who had been a bar tender at a popular venue near school, and later a real state agent,  and  I thought that he could take care of the booze permits through the bar his wife bar tended and cater the booze, and that is how the 3rd rail began.

It was important for me to talk to Elizabeth because I considered her my friend more than a business partner, and would be more reasonable understanding my position. She could talk to Gerogie later and give him the news I thought. I did not want to talk to Gerogie directly because he was a crazy individual, with a "barrio" attitude, you know: a "Bro". Not that we were gonna get in a fight or anything, but it would be unconformable  and loud argument. 

We met at a breakfast place, famous for having news papers from all over the world on a rack you could read while you ate breakfast. She did not order anything to eat just a "Cortadito", I ordered a three egg white omelette and a double espresso in order to loosen my tongue. Before the coffee arrived she looked at me through her green Harley glasses and told me I am all ears, spit it out Dude. I began telling her how  far we have gotten with the 3rd rail project, but that we had got to a point where things were getting out of control with Aj and Gigi, dealing at our parties.Yes I know you told me that yesterday she said. Yeah, I know, but i have thought about this and don't want to take the risk and want out. I should have known that is why you called me this morning, when you told me it was urgent ant that we had to meet right away. You should have just asked me to meet at Denis again, she said.  I guess she new I was serious, it had been the same routine when we ended our relationship, I woke her up and told her I needed to talk to her, that I will wait for her at Denis, there was a Denis just around our apartment. she showed up a few minutes later, we ordered breakfast, and while we waited for our food, I told her that I wanted to end our relationship, that it was better for both of us, if each one of us had their freedom, and peruse our dreams separate ways. Together we were partying too much and were not doing anything constructive with our lives.   it was kind of a D’javu she said, but this time she did not cry she accepted my reasoning, and said you are free to do as you wish, but you leave us with a huge problem, we need your cut to pay the DJs, we don’t have enough money you know.

I had spoken to my friend Shalem to advise me, an exclassmate now in law school and told him about the incident  and how even there was not any sort of formal venture I was worried to be associated with the third rail if they had any type of legal problems.  He had advised me not to participate in any way monetarily because that will be enough to enforce my partnership, through a principal lawyers call “consideration”.

I said sorry Elizabeth, I cannot be associated with this party by any means, that includes lending you guys the money. Come on she said, you come and bail out two days before, this is not possible we are not prepared. Ask A.J to help you out I said sarcastically. She looked at me in silence for a few seconds. Fine, this is good bye then she said. She raised her arm and asked for the check. It’s on me I said, no worries she said, pulling a twenty dollar note from the  lunch box she used as  a purse, dropped the note  on the table and took off on her bike without saying a word. She did not even wait for the change. I finished my coffee and the waiter brought the change and made room to place it on the table. I got up and left, the waiter raised his voice to tell me if i wanted the omelette to go, no thanks, I said with out looking back..

I felt the same way as i had felt walking out of Denis a few years back kind of disoriented, guilty and doubtful , or the day i resigned my intern Job at the brokerage firm when i felt I will loose my freedom to the "golden cuffs" of the corporate world,  you know that kind of feeling you get when you take decisions abruptly, when you are not sure if it is right or wrong  but  you follow your instincts or impulses better said, and you  know it is too late to go back.

Saturday I drove by the party and the line was two blocks long it had been a success, I felt sad, defeated and disappointed, by my own fears, but at the same time I felt as if I had taken a ton of weight off my back. I sat on a cafe across the street and lit a cigarette, and wondered if A.J had provided the money to pay the DJs.

[juanpublius]

The other one XXI

I went for walk to the park yesterday afternoon. After I achieved my calorie burning walk, I laid down on the grass to look at the sky as if waiting for some sort of sing to appear above my eyes. I like looking at the sky and let my mind wonder around, it is pretty relaxing, once you stop thinking and the deepness of the sky engulfs you, it is as if you are in another dimension. I noticed a couple that sat on a bench just meters away, I guess they did not notice me laying down behind them. They were quite for about five minutes just looking at nowhere, but suddenly the guy began to speak and interrupted my sky gazing. “I am angry at you, and I would like to get some sort of revenge , but that would not serve any purpose on my evolution as a human being, it will just pull me down to that persona that I have escaped from”. We have a child you know, and I still love you and desire you, if we were a childless couple, this will be goodbye, I will suffer for six months or even a year, and perhaps two years down the road I will still feel sad when I think of you, but that is not our case”. The girl just sat on the bench looking at nowhere. The guy continued to say he had changed the perception he had of her, but that it did not hinder him from continue to love her; “you know love is not a bird you can just open the cage and set it free, love is like a scar that only heals with time. The girl continued in silence, but as the guy began to talk, she interrupted him; it is not as if I have done something really bad, then he raised his voice and told her, thank god it has not gone beyond that, but it has certainly hurt me. When you drink you lose control, you forget I am there and you begin to flirt with people, what you think it looks like to other people. So you are concerned about what other people think, the girl said. No I am only trying to understand why you do it, especially if I am there with you. It is as if you have lost total respect from me. I don’t do it with any intention she said. Well, weather there is an intention behind it or not it is something you will only know deep inside of you, but surely it is what it seems like to people outside of your head. It has happen several times now, it is not the first time, but each time it has gotten worse, specially that night you were dancing with that guy behind the bar, next to the stereo while I was sitting on the table on the other room. I wrote a letter to you to let you know how I felt, and you apologized, but then you did it again last night. I wonder what you would do if I was not there. You are an ashole the girl said. That is what you think of me? What kind of a person do you think I am?, That is why we are here talking the guy said, because I am confused, because I cannot dig inside your brain and soul to see who you really are, I can only see through your actions, and your actions show me different to what I thought you were. Imagine me doing the same, leaving you on the next room to go dance with another girl not to the dance floor but behind the bar. She didn't say anything. And then again last night when that same guy came walked in the restaurant, and you sat in front of his table to call his attention, and then going to him to say what you said. He did not specified what she said. I am only approaching you with this because I think you lose control, perhaps you want to lose control, perhaps our relationship has become dull, and we are just together by compromise, but you know what life is a compromise, a couple is partnership, through the thick and thin, very few people make it, and those who make it understand it when they are older, but you are young and you don’t see that, as kids don’t see that fire can burn them until they touch it, I am not your father an your are not a child for me to try and correct you, I am just your husband calling your attention, because I care about us, because I don’t want lose what we have. If you think I am over reacting, get yourself in my shoes, and look at the situation the other way around as if you were watching a movie what would you see? What would you think? Maybe it has been my mistake, to try and have fun doing things as when we were a young love and single, taking you to parties and bars, instead of doing family stuff, but you know I had faith in you I felt as if our love was unconditional, as if you were perfect and that nothing could perturb our security, our safety net, but I guess that if you play with fire your end up burning yourself. I am sure of what I want, I know the difference between desire, temptation and love, and how to keep a distance from it, because desire and temptation are like air, they rub your face but then there is nothing left. Love is deeper than that love weights a ton and you carry it stays with you even if it burdens you some times.

Adela came looking for me, and said that’s where you are I have been looking for you like crazy all over the park. The couple turned around and felt uncomfortable, I pretended as I did not heard anything, and got up as if Adela had just woken me up, she had a basket with sandwiches to have a picnic at the park, and she said should we sit here, No I said, let us go under the tree over there. As I walked away, I realized that the couple at the bench, were at the same Halloween party Adela and I had been, I don’t know them but remembered them form the party.

[juanpublius]

The Other One xx, and the Stinky Fish

  The Other One XX

  Adela and I were invited to a Halloween party last night. It was an 80's patty. She dressed very nicely on 80's attire, and I didn’t, I came as nothing I said to the host, he laughed, but really my costume is to dress as nothing, as a matter of fact, I wear that costume every day. Somehow when people see me for the first time, they see me as nothing, and most of the times I like to be perceived as nothing. It is pretty comfortable to be nothing, and to keep yourself to the ones you love or care about it, and your doors shut to those who  don't know you and you don't care about. I often open my mouth and make a comment or become opinionated about something, and then become the real me. Then people can see inside my mind very quickly because, there is no in-between for me, I am often very honest, regardless of the consequences, and perhaps that is the reason I have very few friends. 

  I was playing music at this party, not that I am a Dj or anything, but I collect music on  vinyl, and Federico the owner asked me if I could play some 80's music for this event. It was not only a Halloween party, he was also inaugurating a half pipe on the court side of his restaurant, Federico is skateboarder, and decided to build a ramp on the back of his restaurant. A pretty cool idea I would say, specially that most people view skateboarders as a bunch of trashy rebel kids, that do drugs and take over public spaces to perform their daring skateboarding tricks. However, by building a half pipe on the court yard of his restaurant, he can change the perception of some people to view skate boarding as a sport. You know when you bring street issues to a private space you completely change the perception of it, kind of what Marcel Duchamp did with the urinal, bringing a disposed common every day object to the white cube format of a gallery, changed the way we view art today. 

  I made some cool selection of 80's music, mainly new wave so that people could dance, but certainly some post punk stuff to inspire the skaters. I even tried the half pipe myself and revived teen age memories. pretty cool sport. It gets your adrenaline rushing through your blood stream, kind of like a natural high.

  I did not drink, I wanted to keep sober in order to concentrate on the music and not fuck it up, but a Adela did though, she started to gulp beers from the moment we walk through the door. At one point when I saw her having her 4 pint I got kind of worried because it was only 8.30, but I guess that dancing helped her to release some of the alcohol. It is pretty amazing how you dancing can keep you body sober, but not your mind. Dancing can release some of the alcohol from your body and keep you walking straight, but it cannot hinder you from opening the black box on your brain, I call it the plain crash mode, You can act sober, but you open up, you release the real you your hidden thoughts, your inhibitions, etc. As one of my friends use to say, if you want to know the real someone see  how they act when they are drunk. So it does not matter if you can manage to walk straight, your mind releases the secrets, it disposes you of your disguise, and that is why the hardest thing for some people is over coming  not the physical hang over , but the moral hang over. When you remember what you said and did you feel awful and feel ashamed, to the point you would like to call every one and apologize, and some people do. When you don't remember what you did it is even worse, because you spend the next day’s searching for clues, and calling people to tell you about how you lived your life the previous night. Yeah men, alcohol is a pretty amazing drug that is why I often recommend that if you find yourself having a hard time managing yourself when you are drunk, it is better to not drink at all. 

  I was beginning my second set of music, when the City Mayor walked in with a couple of his colleagues. He sat at a table behind where the sound system was set, and ordered a whiskey. The music I was playing was kind of foreign to him The Smiths and the Cocteau Twins, may have sound as Korean to him, but he pretended to like it , you know as a public figure you have to keep your disguise at all times. 

  Girls were soon attracted to his table like flies are to rubbish, or perhaps, a stinky fish, because power is a dirty sort of attraction for some people. He played cool, and pretended it was just admiration, but felt uncomfortable at times because people around him were conscious of the situation and he did not want to appear as if he took advantage of his political status.  I continued to play  music, and searched  for a selection  to get people to the dance floor. I played the cure followed by a two pack of the beastie boys girls left the table and headed to the dance floor; it was as if someone had scared the flies from the fish. It is interesting what music can do. However some of them were still flirting with him from the dance floor, you know there are that type direct flirt and a more discrete but still obvious indirect way of flirting. The one you pretend to be mining you own business but the one that is directly aimed to someone across the room. I continued to play music, but this time a set of hard rock: The Cult, Pixies, etc,  I guess I was expressing my repulsion  through the music I was playing, and I did a good job, because, after a couple of songs, the politician and his colleagues gut up and left. It figures, if new wave had sounded to him like a foreign language, the rock I was playing was kind of an alien voice whispering in his ears. As he left I played a cool down set of three songs, and then unplugged the sound system and packed my records, and Adela and I went home.

[juanpublius]

the other one 19

One of the things I miss the most from my younger years is skateboarding. It is such an amazing feeling to feel the wind on your face and the adrenaline that rushes through your bloodstream when you do daring tricks. last time I skateboarded was when I was a teenager, but last night my friend inaugurated a half pipe in the patio of his bar. He thought that inaugurating it during Halloween party was more than precise. It was a 80’s party and invited a couple of friends to play new wave records on the patio while people tried out the half pipe, I was one of the persons invited to play some records. I made a good selection of 80’s music to fill the background with music for the skaters and the people to dance. You know, The Cure, DMode, Pixies, some upbeat Smiths, Echo and the Bunny men etc.

After I finished up my first set, I decided to try the ramp, and surprisingly it felt familiar, and was able recapture that feeling from teenage hood again. I wiped out a couple of times, but lucky no injuries. At the party there the best dressed ones were the girls they did an amazing job dressing up in 80’s style. Older people were not dressed up but  sat on tables at the courtyard to have dinner and admire the daring boys do all sort of tricks on the ramp.  Skateboarding is kind of a subculture you know, and bringing it to a private place is pretty cool, because  it brings it closer to society to appreciate it as sport, rather than have the stigma that skateboarders are just a bunch of rebels appropriating of public spaces to skate.

While I was on beginning my second set of music, my phone rang, and it was Debbie from my galery in Miami, to tell me she had just sold one of my pieces to a very important collector from  Austria, she told me his name, and everybody in the field knows who he is. It came to me as a bucket of cold water especially on a time that I had decided to slow down with my work, and maybe even quit the arts. Earlier that day, I had been commissioned a 6 x 10 meter sculpture, and the day before I had sold two other pieces to local clients. It made me wonder about how luck comes in waves, and that maybe it has something to do with astrology. I wish I could identify the pattern so that I could keep calm during the dry season, but I haven’t been able to. There is no precise connection with the months of the year it just happens all of the sudden.

Today I woke up a bit hangover, but made the effort to come t work early, to keep riding the wave, because when the energy is flowing Is when I feel more creative.

[juanpublius]

The Other One 18 Matzazi, and The Ability to Forgive

The phone rang early this morning, it must have been some time before 5 am,  I did not answered the first time, but it rang once more a few minutes later. It was, a friend that lives in Australia. He was very excited, and wanted to share “some exciting news” with me. I met Matsassi, when we were in elementary school, he spoke only Japanese, and I spoke only Spanish, but that was not a hindrance for us to communicate. We became very good friends and besides sharing the same class at school, we lived in the same neighborhood just a block away from each other. We use to play after school, I would either go to his house, or he will come to mine.

His father was an engineer, and had been posted here, he worked within the only “free trade zone” at the time in some sort of assembling of technological products to export to North America. I never met his father, though, I met his mother, a very thin lady with extreme controlled expressions, and very polite. Some times I will eat at his house, but the food was so strange, to be honest I did not like it, it was so different to what I was use to, but I would eat it until the plate was clean. This was a rule enforced at my house, my father will make us eat everything that was served at the table, there were no excuses, so I would do the same at Matsassi’s house.

I often think, and try to remember if we used gestures to communicate, but honestly I don’t remember, maybe because we did not see the language as a barrier we did not pay attention to it , but rather communicated in a universal language, kind of like musicians do. I love to see this spontaneous music  jams where you have musicians from different nationalities, going on stage, and they communicate through music rater than an idiom, pretty amazing how they manage to synchronize and speak to each other through the sound of their instruments. Maybe we communicated mentally and were able to read our thoughts, or maybe the spontaneity of our expressions, just as dogs do. You know, after all we are just another specimen on planet earth.

But, one morning, Matsassi did not showed up in class. After school I went over to look for him at his house, and Matsassi was not there either, just a bunch of guys packing furniture and putting it on a truck parked outside his house. I went back the next day and rang the bell, but there was no response. I told my mom about it, I was sad that I could not find Matsassi , I might have even cried.

My mom inquired at school with the principal, and was told   that his family had returned to Japan, and that is what she told me. As I grew older, I understood what had happen and,, why such an abrupt, departure. Matsassi's father had been kidnap. Although, his company had paid the full amount of the rescue without any negotiations , he was not returned alive. Matsassi and his mother were flown overnight to Japan, and I never heard any news about Matsassi again, until a couple of weeks ago.

I went to visit my mother, she still lives in the same neighborhood and as I drove pass the house where Matsassi use to live, I saw a moving truck parked outside, just as I have seen the truck that day after school decades ago. My mind played a joke on me, as I thought Matsassi is moving back.

After I had coffee with my mother, I decided I had to  find Matsassi. I drove to the elementary school where we had met, and asked to speak with the principal. I told him the story, and told him that I need it to see his files to try and find an clue to aid my search. As it is obvious, he told me; that sort of information is private. I understand sir, but I really need to find him, can you at least tell me his last name, so that I can look for him on FB. All I can tell you is that his last name carries the name of a park in the city. There is only one park with a Japanese name in the city, so it was not as hard to figure it out.  I realized that this park where I had gone several times when I was a kid, and spent marvelous afternoons, was the park he was talking about.The park  was donated by the Japanese Government, and the company his father worked for. What an awkward way to commemorate the death of some one I thought. Some one is murdered in a foreign country and in return a park , is donated to its people.  The deepness of the message they left to this country has not yet  been interpreted ; kind of embarrassing, but what an amazing message they left to us. 

It made me think of an attribute of the Japanese culture besides discipline, and persistence, but a much more relevant one, perhaps the nicest one: the ability to forgive, and move forward, as they did after WWII, and decades later, and how you can create through kindness  the punishment of embarrassment.  

I left the principals office, and thanked him with a big smile, the information he had given me was more than enough for me to start my quest. I went home and got on my computer, and that is how I found Matsassi, I found him through, LinkedIn. He lives in Australia now, he is a musician, and he plays the violin for the National Orchestra of Sydney. He called me this morning, to tell me he would be playing in New York at the Lincoln Center during the “Mostly Mozart Festival” and that it would be great for us re encounter.

[juanpublius]

The Other One XVII; From the smell of perfume to the archives of my mind

They say that “smell” is the last thing you forget, and it may be true. Today as I was on the elevator, I was sharing the elevator with a mid age lady, and the smell of her perfume made me go years back in time, gouging my brain for old memories that I had no idea that my mind had filed deep in to its archives.

The perfume remind me of “Gerogio” a very popular perfume during the 80’s among teenagers. All of the sudden I started to remember my high school years, a series of memories started to appear through the reflection of the silver elevator door. They also say that when you die you go through your entire life in seconds, and it maybe true as well, because today as I descended from the 10th floor with the aroma of Georgio, it triggered   hidden memories, I must have gone through numberless amount of memories of my high school years, until the door opened at the lobby, and the lady exited the door, yet the odor was still impregnated in the elevator. I wanted to ask her if it was Georgio, it had to be.

I exited the elevator one floor below, and as I was going to my car, I saw the lady coming down the emergency stairs, and when she said: excuse me do you happen to know if there is another parking lot within the building, I am lost?, I thought she was not talking to me, but she repeated her self, so I turned around. Yes I said, you are in the parking lot of building A, there is another parking lot for building B, you have to exit through the food court and you can take the stairs that are next to the drugstore. Thanks she said, I wanted to ask her about her perfume again, but I didn't. Maybe it was an old bottle she had kept from high school and  found it by chance going through her stuff at her mother's house,  and decided to remember as well, maybe the perfume made her feel younger, and perhaps even made her revive an old love.

I got in my car and could not stop going through my high school memories, I even thought of the cologne I use to wear, which was the equivalent of Georgio but for men, it was Halston Z14, and it had this particular smell that all of the sudden it was triggered in my mind, I can not describe it, but I felt it so real while  driving out the parking lot. As I exited the parking lot my memories started to take me to the perfume my mother use to wear when I was a little kid, Fidgi and later and my sister; Poison , and my father’s Eu de Sauvage by Christian Dior, even remember the bottle it was kind of boring looking compared to my Halston Z14.

What a wicked trip I had been submerged to by the sense of smell  in the elevator.  I  even forgot where I was driving to, I was just driving thinking all this crap in my head. Then I started to think how important odor was to me, and how one time while in Paris,  I was watching a performance, the equivalent to Stomp but a bit more experimental by the name of Mayumana, a guy started to make a riff with a metal grinder and the smell of burnt metal traveled through Le Theatre del’ Atelier Montmarte, it made me think immediately how much the smell of burnt metal meant to me, how involved I have become  with the media to create  art, and how accidental it was. I remember how rollerblading through Royal Street in New Orleans one morning, I glimpsed into a gallery and saw some interesting paintings on the window.  I turned around and peeked through the glass door and saw a chair, inside it had the back rest in the form of a spiral. It was such a delicate piece, standing alone in-between, all of the “traditional art” displayed at the gallery, but she was the Sun within that galaxy. I went by later on and the chair had been sold. I asked the lady what was a chair doing in a Gallery, in between all of the art. And she said, what do you mean. You know, furniture displayed with the art..

Isn't it the same she said. I suppose I said, I had seen it in  that way, but certainly my idea of art did not include furniture in it. But you know, it is not typical to see furniture displayed at a gallery, I said. Well she said, it depends on your gallery doesn't it , I guess I replied. That was the first time I saw a chair displayed at a gallery, and also the first time I saw furniture as art, that was so long ago. Ever since I have got this discussion with fellow artist who do not see furniture as art, but that approach is not only the one of my  fellow artist friends, but it is a predominant position in the art world. Daniel Judd  once said, “If you can seat on something it is certainly not art”, and that statement has been solid as steel for over 50 years.

However, I see no difference, and there are some curators, and artist, that see that comment from 50 years ago,as it is; old,  and see all of the arts, minor and mayor arts merging into one.

Anyhow, as I returned to my home country from New Orleans, I asked a friend of mine to teach me how to weld, and I remember so clear the smell of burnt metal and the excitement it use to produce to me when I was learning how to work in metal.it  had awaken nostalgia. it made me think what a prominent economist I would be now if I had not quit the corporate world to become an artist, where would I be today, what would I be doing? Would I still be wearing expensive ties, and still be single? Would i collect arts instead of making it?

It is strange how the sense of smell has taken me through memory trip this morning. All of the sudden I remembered I had to go pay the phone bill; and that I must turn around and go back to the lobby of the building I had ran into the lady wearing Georgio at the elevator, and  pay the phone bill, the phone carrier's office is  just to the right exiting the elevator. 

[juanpublius]

The other one 16 and The Silver Angel

It is 10 am, and I am out down town, wondering around. I need id some excitement this morning so I took a trip to the narrow corridors of down town to look for things to buy, not that I need anything, it is just a habit that I have of buying old collectible crap, from the informal corridors down town. It is cloudy

this morning, and the breeze is smooth not to hot. I have my headphones on, and I am listening to Richard Hawley, “tonight the streets are ours”, I like this song, it sounds like Morrissey, kind of nostalgic. I get lost in to so much stuff they sell on the streets, packs of contraband are loaded on the streets, as if it was legal. You can get any type of brand names knock offs, for a few bucks, or even the real thing for a couple of more dollars. Some of the clothing, are knock offs of famous brands, others are merchandises, that have some how been produced at free trade zones, and smuggled out into the streets for local consumption, Levis, Lacoste, Polo, etc. That is not what I am looking for, I am looking for old Vinyl records, books, and perhaps I can run into some 20th century modern gem. Last time I was walking around here, I ran into some Harry Bettoria Dimond Chairs, but I did not have the money with me, they wanted 150 usd for each one. The guy new they had some value, and was selling them expensive. I went back to my atelier, to gather the money and when I went back some one was putting them in the back of kick ass SUV. But what I managed to get for only 14 bucks was a Gio Ponti metal chair. That has been my best buy yet. I carried that baby 12 blocks back to my atelier, and is currently my desk chair at home. Today, the streets, are not as packed as usual, and some informal commerce are closed.  Maybe, it has to do with a public protest I saw a few blocks away on my way here.  Some informal sector vendors are protesting  because the the Gov’t is building a new public transportation system and intends to replace the old buses that run through down town. Vendors believe that if they ban buses from entering down town they will loose clients. Maybe so, but it is not like we are in NYC or London, the new buses will run 4 blocks from the center of town, and people could walk a few blocks to do their shopping. Any how, I have not lay my eyes on anything interesting this morning, except for a nice silver angel I bought for 2 bucks. It appears to me it is a 1960’s Mexican craft, a very delicate object, I can’t wait to get to my atelier and goggle it and see what did I get. As I walk deeper into the allies on the side roads, it gets more interesting. There is this side road behind a church, where the whole road specializes in products for witchcraft. They sell all type of herbs, dissected snakes, armadillos, birds etc, for whatever spell they may be used for, as well as candles red, white and black. The whole street smells like incense, ceremonial incense, which the native Mayans and Pipiles use to use for their rituals. They have some wicked people buying stuff, there are stores for white and black witchcraft . You recognize the white witchcraft ones because they mix their herbs and other paraphernalia, with religious motifs. I kind of feel uncomfortable walking through here, but is a short cut to get where I am going. The pixies “gouge your way” is playing while I walked through this street, kind of weird coincidence. I thought about fast forwarding the tune, but I said nope, it is part of your soundtrack today. As I exit this street, I crossed a main avenue, and entered another narrow alley, this time it was a street of beauty parlors. As I walk by the girls are offering their services, from haircuts, to relaxing massages, you know, in down town beauty parlors also offer relaxing massages, which means they give you a massage with happy ending. I continue my way and arrive to my destination, a huge store named “The Empire”. The venue where this store is located use to be a Bank during the 70’s, it is an old art deco building with a huge lobby, and really wide staircase at the end of the lobby leading up to the second floor. This is a used everything store, they sell used clothing, house ware, toys, and whatever you will imagine. This stores, are proliferating through the city, and they buy the merchandise in bulks in the states, for peanuts, and they import the stuff here and make quite a killing. The type of crap you will find at a salvation army, but some times you can find incredible furniture or lamps, or other valuable stuff that they are not aware of their real value. This time they did not have anything I was  interested in, with the exception of a 1960’s yellow Samsonite suitcase, but what would I do with it??. Kind of cool to make a table, or just to have it as decor at a restaurant or bar, but I don’t own either one of those business. I ask one of the attendants where the rest rooms where and she said, they are not open to the public they are only of employees. Please make an exception I really need to go. She smile and said,  walk towards the end of the hallway, and take a left, the second door on the left; thanks I replied. I emptied my bladder, and headed back to my atelier with only one finding of my thrifting quest : a silver angel.

[juanpublius]

The Other One 15, Pizza, Beer and Art

At the beginning of the year, the director of a sculpture association that I am member of called me to propose a solo show, I gratefully accepted. At that time I was working on a new series works, which was turning out entirely satisfactory beyond my expectations. I had just returned from a NY  group show, where I presented one piece, an sculptural chair, which is mainly what I specialize in. The piece chosen by the curator, has been a successful piece, it was short listed on an international competition, and have got lots of press attention. I wanted to present new work in this show, but the curator insisted on this particular piece, and that is the way it was.

When I returned home, my mind was full of ideas and of inspiration, and I started to work the next day on some new Ideas that had emerge while in the big apple. It was not sculptural furniture though, because while in NY, and even before, I have got the feeling that my current style had reached its climax and felt the need to move on to something new.

I have vague ideas where I would like to go but, I am not 100% certain, so I decided to work on some unfunctional art. Mostly I have done abstract sculpture, but something inside is bugging me to try and embrace the human body in my works, and so I did. When my friend called me to propose the show, I had one piece made, and it had turned far beyond my expectations. Ever since I can remember I have been trying to draw the human body, but have never been successful, I have even taken lessons, but there has been a wall in my mind that hinders me from learning no mater how hard I try, but not any more. I wonder what happen in NY, some sort of magic I suppose, or simply a new stage of the brain that comes with age, all I know is that I was able to do a bust in one day. This type of work is what I wanted to show at the show my friend had proposed, but the energy I have gathered in the big city soon was depleted with real life issues every day realities,  you know what I mean. Months went by and I didn’t do any work. Then I realized that I had three weeks for the show and I had no work. I called my friend and tried and cancel the show. He was very disappointed he said , but more than disappointed I interpreted  as pissed off  . He told me he had reserved the space, and that another institution was involved in the show and that they will be disappointed as well. He implied how the other institution will be disappointed at me and how inconvenient that will be for my career.  I understood what he was trying to say in a polite way and I said, what can I do I have no work. Borrow from clients, he said. Most of my clients are abroad, locally I only have a few clients I said. I am sure you have some work stored from your previous work plus the few pieces you can borrow from clients and we will make a show he replied. Ok I said, I will do my best. The show is next week and I have been able to build another new piece , borrow three pieces, and undusted 8 other pieces I had in storage. Right now I am on the final stage of restoring the some of the pieces for the show. It is kind of awkward, because all of this effort I am making to make the show comes in a time where I had decided to quit the arts. It is like a supernatural power is hindering me from quitting what I love to do.

Recently I went out to dinner with my friend Adela, she called me to go out to dinner, she was very excited because she has been offered a show in L.A , she is a talented expressionist landscape painter. We went out to this Pizzeria we love in an old town on the outskirts of the city, and ordered a pitcher even before we sat down. This place is always packed of people, and you must make decisions fast if you want to get your order soon. The pitcher arrived a few minutes later and the waitress filled up the mugs. I raised my mug and said cheers to your show in L.A., she smiled. The waitress interrupted her smile to ask if we were ready to order food, yes she said. We want a medium “loroco”and onions pizza please.

Loroco is a local wild flower that grows in vines and it has a particular taste that provides a kick to your food kind of like basil does for Italian food. But loroco does not taste like basil it taste like loroco it self, I can not describe the taste as I think of it , but it is wonderful with cheese or anything creamy. I often discuss with Adela, that it is the undiscovered spice, that one day it will go main stream. Every Italian that lives here and is somehow involved in gastronomy have incorporated loroco to their recepies. A couple of weeks ago my friend Vittorio, made a batch of home made pasta and shared some with me. I invited him over for dinner in return, and I made some Loroco Pesto with orange zest. The recipie is the same as regular pesto but instead of basil you use lorco, and to give it a sort of a extra kick I added the orange zest. When I invited Vittorio for dinner he said , I accept, but with one condition, you can  make the sauce, but I will cook the pasta, you know Italians are very anal about how their pasta is cooked, they can talk for hours about the ideal texture for the different types of Pasta, I agreed, and that was the way it was, and he loved the loroco pesto.

The waitress took the order and filled our mugs again. We ordered another pitcher so that It will come by the time we finished the half that remained. Adela told me all about her show, how excited she was that she have got a gallery in L.A , and a show at once. To get a gallery represent you in L.A, is quite a big achievement you know, they receive hundreds of artist catalogues each week and they don’t even look at them they throw them straight to the bin, and to get a show at once, wow, I said, you have a star.

The inevitable question came, something I did not want to talk about was about my work. You have a show next week right ? she asked, but the tone and expression she used to pose the question was more of an affirmation. I replied with a hesitant yes. She recognized my hesitation and said what is wrong, you are not excited? Yes, yes I am, bulshit she replied. I know you what is up?

I took a sip of my beer,  and said oh it is just that it has been very stressful to gather the work you know. I did not want to ruin her enthusiasm of L.A show with my never ending crap about how art sucks and how I want to quit it but that I have this show coming up which is a compromise, but she insisted that there was something else inside of me that I was not telling her. The other pitcher of beer arrived, and the waitress filled up our mugs once more, but this time we did not clash our mugs, instead there was a moment of silence you know,  uncomfortable silence.

Then I just let it out and said: you know I just want to quit this shit,   referring to art, it is the never ending torture, it is like being a masochist, it hurts but you love it too, and I am not willing to put up with that roller coaster of feelings anymore. She laughed sarcastically, and said, oh no don’t give me that crap again, how many times you have told me the same, common, when you are preparing a show or when you come back from a show you tell me how you are compromised to art and how much you love it, but once that adrenaline rush is over you come with this love and hate crap and how you want to quit it. Give me a break , she took a sip of her beer, and turned around  as to see if our pizza was coming. You love art, how can you quit what you love?

Because what you love is what can hurt you the must , I replied. Now it was my time to talk. I was felling kind of tipsy as well so I reminded my self while I sipped on my beer that I must control my emotions and my words, I did not want to say anything that will insult our friendship, she is very special to me you know, we are more friends than anything else, and that is hard to find. She turned around once more to spot for our pizza, and then she glimpsed at me waiting for me to continue.

Because when you love something you place expectations and when the expectations are not as you envision them it hurts, and..,

She interrupted me and said, that is life man you aim t to the sun  to reach the clouds, and if by luck you reach the sun you may burn  like Icarus. I tried to interpret her analogy, maybe she meant that if we get everything as we want it we may not appreciate it, or maybe she meant that some people become so inhibited in their success that they change and become awful persons drowning themselves in their success, I pretended to understand, and said, I will just take a break for a while kind of to end the topic, but as I said it it did not sound as a bad option.

Our pizza arrived and she lifted her glass and said cheers to that.

[juanpublius]

The Other One 14, Olga my Guardian Angel

When I was on my teens I had dog named Olga. She came to me by chance or maybe it was destiny. I saw the dog on the street I use to live  when she was a couple of months old, hanging out with two little kids from the neighborhood. She  caught my attention because it was a very good looking dog, not cute, but good looking if you know what I mean.

She was a Stafford Shire, black with very precise accents of white, on the tip of her tail, paws and in-between  her eyes to just before her black nose. Some dogs have spots that look accidental, but  this spots where perfect as if some graphic designer had place them precisely to balance the black and white pattern. She had one blue eye and the other one was brown, just like David Bowie.

The owners were brothers a 5 and a 7 year old, and Olga use to be their inseparable companion. She use to follow the youngest one on his tricycle and the older one on his bike. When they played soccer on the street Olga will sit down and watch them play as if she was watching the horizon on shore, and when they were hanging out she would just hang out observing the kids behavior, as if she was a chaperone. 

I on the other hand, had a dog then, an Argentinean Dogo, his name was  Drago, after Rocky Balboa’s rival in one of his movies, a good looking dog as well, but very aggressive. I could not enjoy Drago of his lead because I was afraid that he would devour someone, yes literally devour someone. If you have ever seen an Argentinean Dogo you would know what I mean, they are like a pit bull on steroids. If there was a football league for dogs they will be center guard.

Drago passed away, from an spider bite, and I was left pet less. One day while I was away back at   boarding school, Marina, the mother of the two kids,knocked on my parent’s door. They have gotten a new dog they had order from a kennel ,  a German Shepard, and they intended to replace their pet. They were looking for a family of dog lovers, to give Olga away, she commented that they could only have one dog and that the German Shepard was their kids dream dog, they were infatuated with the TV series Rintintin, and they wanted their own rescue dog.   She asked my parents I we would like to keep her, she new that our family loved dogs, and that  Drago had passed away. My father said no, but my mother insisted on how it will make me happy when I came back for the summer, and like that   Olga became part of our family . She was six  or 8 months old by then, and they managed to keep it a secret until I got back from boarding school. I had just graduated, and was coming back home for the entire summer. It was a surprise to find Olga, I had met her and admired her beauty and behavior when she was just months old. It was an instant love affair, she chose me as her alpha, or better said her best friend as soon as she saw me. It was kind of weird the instant chemistry between Olga and I. As she saw me get out the car she came to me and sat down in front of me waiting for me to pet her, and I did. Then she followed wherever I went, at night he would follow me to my room and lay down on the carpet beneath my bed. I took her on walks with no lead, and she would walk by my side, when I went to the super market she will wait outside for me. I did not use any commands whatsoever neither had submitted her to any sort of paplovian dog training. It was natural, I would talk to her as I would to any homosapien and sometimes she would hesitate but I would say it again and she would figure out what I was trying to say. We became inseparable, I would take her anywhere I went even to my summer job and she would behave so proper. She was a silent dog, she hardly ever barked, and she would not jump on anyone for affection, if she liked someone she would just approach them and sat in front of them waiting for them to pet her. If you were sitting down, she would approach you and lay her jaw on your lap. If she did not like you she would totally ignore you completely, even if you called her with a cookie on your hand.  

One day on a walk in the countryside, we had entered the deep into the woods we played for a wile and then we took a knap on the grass. When I woke up from my knap it was getting dark, and I rushed back to try to get off the woods before it got dark. I started to walk at double time pace, and I notice that Olga was not following me, she would run the opposite way, and then back to me and then back the opposite way. I got pissed and screamed lets go, and she did the same.  I understood she was trying to take me home her way. I hesitated to trust her, but I did, and certainly I was walking the opposite way, I had gotten disoriented, and she knew it, she lead the way through the forest.

 Another memorable experience was the day one of my friends dropped a ring. We looked for it for about thirty minutes, and then we realized that Olga was sitting down starring at the floor behind a door. I knew instantly she had found it, I went and looked behind the door and there was the ring. She was a very special entity, she was gifted. At one point I thought that she could read my thoughts, and she expected me to read hers, , but I was not as proficient as her.

One weekend I picked up a book out my father’s bookshelf, by Pedro Geoffroy Rivas,  “ El Tigre del Sumpul” , it was a story  of a brave, Chortis warrior that inhabited the southern territory of the country, and how he was protected during his battles by his Nahual. According to native americans philosophy, it is  believed that every  person has a sacred spirit  as a companion from birth till death , they manifest in the shape of an animal. and they call this a Nahual. The presence physical at the time of birth and spiritual for the rest of their lives. Often the name given to the child commemorated the Nahual in the case of the character of this story, a "Tigre" (Tiger )had been present. 

I guess a Nahual would be the equivalent to a Guardian Angel in  Christianity, except that only very few chirstians name their kids after their guardian angel or saint. 

From that moment I started to see Olga as my nahual, and felt secure with her, not only because she would defend me against anyone  trying to attack me , but as an entity or spirit, or better said my Nahual.  

Olga shared 14 years of my life and passed away one morning while asleep. I refused to cry, not because I did not feel sad, but because I loved her too much, and I respected her time to go. It is kind of weird to explain this feeling, but I felt as if tears will not solve anything and will only hinder her departure. I have heard from many eastern philosophies and ancient local philosophy that death should be approached this way, without tears, because it makes the process of departure or the process of transformation easier for the deceased. Today as I was sitting down smoking a cigarette she came to mind and I imagined sitting next to me, and felt her presence.