Back to work. Stupid Monday. Woke up before the alarm clock. I really hate when that happens. It happened frequently a while ago and I thought all had returned to what could be known as ‘normal’. But no. Not this morning. I even thought it might’ve been Sunday. It wasn’t. Did my morning routine/ritual, only without much hustle. Didn’t really care much you see…

It was a pretty good weekend, now it was back to reality. I ambled on up to Washington Street, waited for a bus since I had seen 2 fly by as I approached. I didn’t care, didn’t curse, I just accepted my fate since I really didn’t have any choice in the matter. Read the New Yorker about some auctioneer at Sotheby’s. It was interesting to read about how other people’s work is to fly over the world and arrange for the sale of very expensive artworks. Me? I ride the bus and the art is wherever I can find it.

It’s like Marcel Duchamp and his Ready-made’s. Art is where you find it sometimes. Yes you can create it, sometimes it’s there already, like a Campbell’s Soup Can or a Brillo Box, sometimes it’s just the way trash falls into a gutter or the arrangement of leaves on a tree or simply graffiti. You just have to keep your eyes and your mind open. Not easy to do sometimes when you just don’t want to see anything at all. But it pays off in spades. Epiphanies abound. And it’s great when it makes you smile or laugh.

I suppose this could be the after effect of going to the galleries with RoDa the other day. The third eye gets opened and you can take it all in. I must remember to get other friends involved in the next jaunt. Perhaps when Annemarie is in the area over the summer we can do some gallery hopping. But given the choice of the beach or a gallery in hot and humid Manhattan, the beach will win out.

As I tried to leave work Song called. It was odd though because I couldn’t hear him, all I could hear was my voice amplified. That was annoying, the amplification. Song could hear me though. I called him back and we plan to have dinner or was it lunch sometime this week before he flies back down under.

Tonight was an evening with Phillip Beansprout. We’re making some progress, and trying to get to the ‘issues’ earlier in the session rather than get all heated to find out, our time is up. We talked about last weeks session and how we are communicating a lot better.

I expressed my desire to have more time with Bill though on the other hand I do encourage him, to drive his buses, go on auditions. You can’t have it both ways, true, but just because I can’t have it doesn’t mean I don’t want it both ways. I would like us to do things together but he’s working all the time, for the betterment of us. It’s a real Catch 22 situation sometimes.

Phillip didn’t seem as exasperated as previous visits, and Bill and I seemed to be in the same wavelength. It ended on an up note and we wound up talking quite a bit about it. Now we are home, eating chicken sandwiches made by yours truly on the George, listening to Laraaji. Nice meditative music produced by Brian Eno years ago. Not quiet new age stuff, but soothing nonetheless. And it goes well with chicken, though the poultry might beg to differ.

Feeling a bit better. Actually a lot better. Slept about ten hours and woke up refreshed. Felt pretty good. Bill ran off and got bagels then did his errands in the city. I hung out, had a nice breakfast and called RoDa to see if we were still on for this afternoon’s trip to Chelsea. He was and we were headed to the Path train at 2PM. A nice walk down 23rd Street where we finally saw the Jean Michel Basquiat exhibition.

Bill from St. Patricks Night

It was great, not the big show that RoDa and I missed last year at the Brooklyn Museum, but still I was great to be able to see the work up close, inches away from your face. What a great talent Jean Michel was. There were 13 pieces total and 2 were amazing, one was very powerful. The powerful one was Untitled. The other was named ‘Self Portrait as a Heel’.

RoDa JOZ

Great stuff. I’m glad that RoDa and I were able to get it together, he’s such a great fan of Jean Michel Basquiat. RoDa is a great artist too, and of course suffers from self doubt like me. Am I saying I’m a great artist? Why not? My father would say more like a great bullshit artist.

After an entertaining stroll with a jazz cigarette we wandered through a few more galleries, really liking Shimon Okshteyn at the Stux Gallery. Funny and macabre, a perfect foil for our red eyed states. The Okshteyn show was paired with Martha Colburn, and she wasn’t as good.

We also enjoyed the Tom Sanford exhibition, which featured hip hop and rock and roll themes as well as a big portrait of Stefon Marbury from the New York Knicks. That was fun. He also did 30 draft pick portraits from 2005 all in pencil and framed quite nicely.

There was also an outdoor exhibition, a group show, called Survivor. It was set up rather haphazardly, almost like an outlaw show. A running theme I believe was Bin Laden Youth. RoDa and I made plans to go visit the galleries next week if possible, starting a lot earlier than we did today. And perhaps the weather will be warmer than it was today.

RoDa and I did a lot of walking, we wound up on the east side, he running into Forbidden Planet and me running into Farfetched so I could buy a present for my niece’s birthday party tomorrow. Jessica, sweet Jessica was able to help me pick out a mirrored jewelry box, despite the fact that I don’t know if she ever has any jewelry.

I also picked up a book called ‘The Bridge of Stars’ containing 365 blessings. prayers and meditations from around the world. I know, it seemed like I’m encouraging religion, but I think Meg would like it, or at least accept it graciously and rolling her eyes later on when she got home, saying ‘Oh my Uncle John’.

RoDa and I took the Path back home, he headed for the Light Rail and me strolling up Washington Street.

Watching Basquiat on cable now.