Please Do Not Disturb For I Have Been Away On Rough Seas and Am On Leave For The Rest of My Life

Please Do Not Disturb For I Have Been On Rough Seas and Am On Leave For The Rest of My Life

It will be a private miracle if I get through the longest winter in one mental piece. I shall hang this painting up on our hotel door tonight with a $50.00 price tag. Those standard “do not disturb signs” are rude and arrogant. The hotel is a Hilton or a Hyatt so there might be some hallway passersby posing as art collectors. Maybe a hotel maid on a good tip morning. My worry is that there won’t be enough room to slide the money under the door… There it is! Caught in the act. The delusion of the artist. You can see for yourself where the thinking twists. I made the painting knowing no one will buy it, yet still plan out a procedure for selling. I have had over six months to accumulate a dowry for our daughter. Could have had plenty plus a new car if I hawked a square millimeter paint chip of Jeff Koons’ mermaid hooker to my local struggling museum. But I have not made one thin dime. Monopoly money and a promissory note is tucked in her wedding card.

So this is America. The Federal Reserve, the media, the President, the Governor, the mandated lawyer and insurance agent, the top, the bottom, the middle clump, all participate in trickle down anti-poetry. To the painter unfunded, every man and woman in the street becomes the antithesis of the following verse from Lou Reed’s Think it Over:

“She said somewhere there’s a far away place/where all is ordered and all is grace/No one there is ever disgraced/and everybody there is wise/and everyone has taste…”

You can read about my lame attempt at dowry here on this blog.

And then for the reading pleasure of Lou Reed fans, a homage to a master who cherished the best prop to poets: rhythm.

Only in crazyland would artists and writers be pushed into business. We all know it too, but remain a lifetime quiet practicing hope and patience, and begging. We need to band together as modern gypsies with soap, and elect our most flamboyant to entertain the mobs while the rest of us sneak up from behind to pick pockets. No more residencies. No more grants from the grantor class. We need mule and wagon communities and long nights by the fire sharing lessons in thievery.

Know a frustrated painter? Send her or him over to discuss our next scam.

 

 

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