A long time ago while I was still a worm a teacher once told me;
"Don't waste your time making portraits of prissy little girls for if you do you shall grant them more power than they already have. Instead search within you to fight you inner demons ,conquer them and project them into a painting and the world shall call you a true artist."
And so that became to me a sort of mantra; the flaw in the plan was that she was unaware that I had many demons to purge.
It was the middle of November. I became a loner for a few weeks; Daniel , my ex lover was gone for good, the bastard drained me more than he could ever imagine. It’s like he disappeared off the face of the earth and no one would tell me his whereabouts. I didn’t have the time for such nonsense.
In the meantime I was pouring my dark heart and soul into another exhibition I had planned for next year. It was destined to be displayed at a relatively new gallery up in Chelsea. They had already a sample of my work and on this occasion I was willing to push the boundaries to come up with something daring hence the reason why I remained in this ancient loft in Soho.
Some say it had a rather good history among other things having been a brothel at the beginning of the 20th century. Maybe that's why there was a special vibe in the air for so much sexual activity. Now it was colder than the blackest night especially around my workplace which was conveniently placed below my bedroom and connected by a long staircase.
In here is where I managed to unleash my anger like I was told and most of the time with fascinating results. One of the themes involved my early childhood where I developed this fixation with rabbits.
In a big steel cage rested a dwarf white rabbit I called Scraps. One time I was asked his origin and I spontaneously said because he stands for the "remains or scraps of my innocence." He had big eye patches which resembled eyeliner, a feature that made him look even sexier and worked well as a recurring subject in my drawings.
I didn't mind doing that since people weren't my specialty although if I was requested to I'd do it in a blink of an eye. The lack of such paintings once said a well known critic was a clear symptom of being introverted. Why the fuck would he say that? Everyone I had met wanted me for one reason or another.
Adrian Black; a sort of "enfant terrible", a criminal with the innocence of a child, one of the most desirable pieces of ass in Manhattan. The rest of the time I was too busy trying to get away with murder.
Friday came along and I had received a message from an old friend; Edith. She wrote that she wanted to see me do desperately in our accustomed place.
"God I miss you. This may sound crazy but it's sort of true."
For the record she was a roomie; nothing serious, we just made out a few times. I think they still call it ‘friends with benefits’.
About year ago I welcomed her into this high profile haunted house but only because she was so overwhelmed with the idea. How could I say no to a raven haired, milky skin, blue eyed, short tempered and incredibly adorable critter?
I met Edie, as she like to be called back at NYU at her sophomore year in Psychology.
It was one of those curious encounters that take place when you need it the most. She came to a collective exhibit I did in which I offered a simple piece named, Home. She was immediately engaged in it, especially because it looked so raw and emotional as I did at a major turning point in my life.
Of course when one is a newcomer to the art world they have this sort of feeling like a painting or any manifestation is like a puzzle waiting to be solved. Some use their few skills and try to interpret it while others study their whole lives but no matter how much time you´ve spent beating your brains out, even if you think you know the artist´s work he comes back and surprises you once again; expect the unexpected and Edith was analyzing each and every one of the pieces as they were inkblot tests. She gestured too much, that´s why I couldn´t help noticing her that night.
So what I did is that I patiently observed her making absolutely no noise. The girl exclaimed, as she was watching it, which was oil and pastel abstract composition that resembled a hole.
"This is truly amazing, I´ve never seen anything like this," said Edith to herself. And I whispered, "I´m glad you liked it, because I made it..." She turned around and was even more amazed; she must have thought I wasn´t able to come up with something like that.
"But you see the merit of this composition is the sensation of depth that it gives you, it doesn´t stay all flat," I continued trying to make a fulfilling conversation. "I´m Black; Adrian Black. The guy who made this is insane by the way so you should be careful if you ever stumble upon him."
"And just how insane is he, huh?" asked Edith crossing her arms.
"As much as you like it," I said.
"I´m Edith Paige, insane boy..."
She wasn´t snobbish or anything like that, she was like an open book; no mysteries. Still, one she finally confessed one day she had chosen psychology because a part of her was broken and wanted to see if she could manage to fix others since she couldn’t fix herself. Such people always follow me for some shitty reason.
Enough said I headed down to the corner of Prince and Mercer Street around five in the afternoon. She was standing there with her arms thrown on her back with a very optimistic look in her eye.
I extended her arms and contemplated her. She was the voice of reason under so much nonsense, like Alice stepping into a modern Wonderland, not that she looked like her at all.
God, she looked more beautiful that I can remember.
We spent roughly two hours catching up on old times sipping as much coffee as I could while I was curled up in my black jacket.
“I'm an artist, it's not that unusual to have some scars in my life to inspire me. Actually I wondered if that was my fate; to have a tormented existence watching everyone around me being hurt or let me hurt them back.”
“God no,” she said swinging her hand in mid air, “you’re too young to be carrying too much grief, what are you, twenty something...”
“I’ll be thirty next january.”
“Oh, that’s bad, that’s way too bad,” she said cynically. “In a number of societies and subcultures being over twenty means that you’re practically washed up.”
“I’m not old!” I replied, “I’m just experienced.”
Edith threw a very unexpected comment, “Was he experienced as well?” referring to Daniel. I felt intimidated talking about my same sex relationships with her but I continued as politely as I could.
She retracted, “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that, I’m sorry...”
“Well...” I said while I took a sip of black coffee, “I don’t mind talking about these things. You can imagine what we did. You know, for the first time in many years I felt unwanted back there with his folks like some damn criminal or black sheep.”
“I understand that, Adrian but you have to look less obvious,” she said with arms crossed.
“How obvious?”
“You may not be guilty per se but somehow I think you should reach out to them to make the best of it.”
I became slightly upset, “He was so manipulative, I can’t let that get to me. I have things to do, more important things, did you know that?”
“Ok, I do think you need some extra time to cool down.”
“So why did you come back, really?” I said taunting her.
She fell silent and mumbled, “I...can’t a girl just come and have a regular talk with an old friend?”
“Old friend, sure, I get that a lot.”
“Actually I was doing some serious thinking and I wondered if...”
“Go on.”
“If we could try to get to know each other a little bit better.”
I paused. My devious side was craving this moment but I had a lot of mixed emotions running around in my head. It was like the offer you can’t refuse, like watching a rainbow at the end of the storm. It was just too damn good to be true so I secretly decided to punish myself and playing hard to get.
“I can’t promise you anything, Edie, but um, you’re always welcome to know me better by experiencing what I do best.”
“Which is?” she continued and playing with my double entendre.
“My work, of course! Damn.”
“I was just playing,” she said smiling.
“You scare me sometimes. Will you look at that? The rain just stopped. You know, we’re actually not that far away from my loft. If you’re not that busy I could show you some stuff and tell me what you think of it.”
“Is that an invitation?” she said smirking.
I laughed feeling somewhat embarrassed, “You really are something...come.”
This damn november climate seemed to be intentionally made to chill your bones and this wasn’t the exception. Edith kept hugging me all the way back.
My workplace that was basically where all the magic happened was located on top of a building down Mercer Street, narrow and paved with cobblestone. And there, on the seventh floor it seemed as if we stepped into another time, another realm, a sort what I’d like to call Bauhaus on fire style with the minimal technology and the only the sound of vinyl records.
“Not much has changed, I see you still have it,” she said as she stepped into the foyer and pointed to a painting she believed was Home.”
“You see, um,” I continued, “it´s not the same one that you saw back then, it has a slightly different color pattern if you look closer.
“Oh, how about that?” she said impressed, “why do that?”
I kindly explained as I removed my jacket, “I make twin paintings sometimes or duplicates. It´s kind of personal why I do it. This one has more heart anyway.”
“Adrian, can I ask you something?” said Edith as she approached me. “Are you happy now?”
I began to grow concerned, “I’m not sure I’m able to answer that question in a way that favors you since I am surviving a breakup.”
“No, aside from that,” she said. “I’ve been watching closely, more often than you think and you know that I always wanted for you to be happy no matter who you end up with.”
“Calm down! I guess I’m alright for now; being in a relationship is not my priority and what I do actually brings me that sense of satisfaction.”
“I see,” she said and remained crestfallen. “I guess I must be going now, I have to work early tomorrow...”
“You’re always welcome, you might as well call it a second home,” I said.
I grabbed her hand because I refused to let her leave; a part of me took over and ignored all reason. It was at that precise moment that we stared at each other and she examined me with caution; I didn’t make a single move until she began to wrap her arms around me.
She tasted my lips and I felt naive, I let her take control of the situation and proceeded to fulfill her fantasy in the depths of my bedroom. Quite frankly it was going to happen sooner or later. I felt she was saving herself for this moment because she was so inspired and zesty. I didn’t deserve this, it was way too much for me to handle.
A few weeks later what turned out to be a quasi romantic encounter suffered its first attack.
That night It was pouring like there was no tomorrow. The weather was practically busting my health and it wasn't convenient to go in and out all the time or I would get worse.
Yet being inside wasn't exactly equal as being safe. Like I said this old loft had a lot of history enough to say it left some invisible traces behind.
At least that's what Lisa Summers thought when I was growing up in Elyria used to say. Little bitch witch; the first girlfriend always hurts the most.
I made a portrait of her which included my favorite cat, Sade. He was a sand colored siamese, blue eyes. We sure made some mischief back then, but who could stop me? I was born an only child and I still had issues of feeling abandoned.
That painting stayed with me as a token of the supernatural experiences I wanted to have even though I despised it. She was into the whole goth scene and I was sort of a slave.
She brought me out of my isolation and from the risk of being pursued.
It was growing colder inside my studio and considering how dark it was clearly I was up to no good.
A full body mirror was carefully placed in the middle of my workplace not for its original purpose; it was more like a fetish or a big turn on.It was an antique from the art nouveau period circa 1907. It was oval shaped with neatly chiseled fringes. It had a minor crack on the top. We enjoyed watching each other fuck in front of it.
My so called assistant or intern worked here for about a year; he was roughly about twenty years old.---We met at a bar which doesn't exist anymore, a place called The Void where most of the time was particularly dark. That kind of ambient doesn’t seem that unusual nowadays.
From the get-go I felt his intentions were beyond simple collaboration. Besides getting a rather good fuck which I didn't mind was the fact that he wanted to make a name for himself.
I for once personally analyzed his work and remained completely neutral. It wasn't my style to discourage anyone but some shitty reason they ended up thinking I was some kind of poser who was begging for attention.
Ironically things turned around when he was the one who almost was in control. One time he asked to make a portrait of his completely nude and of course I refused to do so.
I argumented that I would never paint anyone because instantly they would be immortalized when I was the one who called the shots so he made a huge deal about it and thought that he wasn't good enough for me and ran off to who knows where.
Since then he stopped calling me or texting me thus the sensation of coming back home every night into an empty house felt like a splash of icy water.
Edith came downstairs to check on me; it was around 9 or 10, I wasn't sure since I rarely kept clocks in the room.
"Are you going to be working late again?" she said as she wrapped her arms around me.
"You are trembling, dear, it's incredibly cold in here...you must be getting a fever."
"Yeah," I responded in a lower voice. "I still can't figure out why that happens. The rest of the apartment is warm anyhow."
"Do you still believe this place is haunted?"
"Why do you ask that?" I said surprised.
"Nothing; I just read it's a sign that indicates that there might a specter nearby. Anyway, take care, I'll be waiting upstairs."
That was the last time we exchanged words; the remainder of the evening was a blur, a nightmare of epic proportions. Everything passed in slow motion.
All I had as a companion was an old song from the nineties; "The Day Way The Whole World Went Away." Music helped me to translate ideas into an empty canvas yet this time I might have overdone it.
The piece I was working on a childish drawing of a red rabbit with the infinity symbol on its forehead. It was supposed to be all done on acrylic but accidentally one day while I was preparing it I cut my left hand and a few drops of blood blended into the canvas so I just painted around it.
A few hours later I plummeted on a big leather couch I had in the center ignoring what time it was, probably three or four AM.
The rain kept coming down mildly but it was so annoying that I got up. I rubbed my shoulders vigorously and made sure the windows were shut firmly.
Everything seemed to be in place however except for the fact that the cloth which covered the last painting was falling. I collapsed and realized my fever was getting worse.The best thing to do now would going back to my room, back with Edith. My body felt like a ton of bricks.
“You, can never leave...” said a childish voice.
There was also a noise that I couldn't describe, like the sound of some rusty fans and machinery in a very low tone. Even the maplewood floor began to look shabby.
I stepped away and stood still. For a while I couldn't move let alone breathe normally.
A soft masculine voice said, "So it is finished, then?"
I couldn't answer, he kept saying, "Good...soon everyone will know our story." He placed his arms around me as he whispered, "Adrian..."
I had no reaction but to breathe heavily.
"You still can't get over me, can you?" His heavy and icy hand ran across my body and reached inside my pants.I fell on my knees and faded away.
Whatever happened after that was a complete mystery. Random sounds of people here and there, confusion and chaos everywhere. I heard sometime ago that usually chaos precedes important changes but I do recall Edie's sweet voice welcoming back to the real world.
"Hey baby, you're awake," she said. She stared at me and held my hand with the curiosity of a child and at the same time a huge deal of compassion.
"Why am I here?" I said since it was the only thing I could think of.
Edith carefully explained, "Well, um, you see, I found you so I had to bring you here .You had been in observation for the last two days, you know, just to make sure there were no complications. You need is some proper rest , plenty of fluids and then you'll be okay to go home.”
"What's wrong with me?"
“You have a bad case of pneumonia, that’s what. You stopped breathing for some time.I went back downstairs because I heard some strange noises too but then I figured out it was you.”
I rolled to the side of the stiff bed, "So...that's what it was? Nothing else?"
“No, dear, but you could have told me if you were feeling that bad.”
All I had to do was to worry about healing. I asked for the time and she answered, "Well, it's about 11:11 AM, why?"
“No reason.”
"Sweetie, just relax and get some sleep, OK, do you promise? Your imagination is so darn wild!"
At this point it would be rather hard to explain that a ghost kept me there so I tried to pay attention to whatever they had to say to me.
"I think you're starting to get to know me better," I said. "But you're right, I’m so exhausted and sore, it feels than a hangover.”
At that moment she became quite aware of how dangerous my midnight experiments could get, all for the sake of art, I always said.
“By the way, I found this lying beside you, it’s a little messy but I think you might need it.” She handed me an old college notebook with my name on it and drowned me with kisses; she would come back until next morning.
As I slowly opened it I noticed that some of the pages were stained in blood right where it had the date, 11/11, or November 11th. The craziest thing about it is that it was exactly that day that I was still recovering, as if it had been some coincidence or sign.
As I was writing that night I made a recollection about all the random supernatural experiences in my life and it took me all the way down to my hometown, my dearest Elyria, Ohio.
When I used to date Lisa Summers back in high school, she did this bizarre reading by using my date of birth:
JANUARY 29TH, 1981.
How was that done, again? I did the math in my diary:
Your date broken into numbers is:
1 + 2 + 9 + 1 + 9 + 8 +1 = 31
“The trick to reveal your life path is by reducing it to just one number, so three plus one is four.”
“So what the Hell does four mean?”
FOUR STANDS FOR THOSE PEOPLE WHO ARE INDEED HARDWORKING AND HAVE GREAT CHANCES OF SUCCEEDING. Plus, your sign is Aquarius, right?
“Yeah, so?”
IT MAKES SENSE IF YOU WANT TO USE YOUR TALENT TO OPEN UP TO OTHERS AND REACH OUT TO HELP THEM. YOU´RE SUPPOSED TO BE FRIENDLY TOO…
“Woman, I´m not God. I don´t think I´ll ever be, no one is. If you want to make me one, go ahead.”
That was probably one of the multiple reasons why I stopped going out with her. One time she begged me to visit this old structure that looked like an abandoned castle. It was rumored that it used to belong to some dude who got lucky and was hiding in the outbounds of Elyria for some shitty reason, you know, that kind of people that everyone talks about but no one messes with, probably some gangsters. Anyways, Lisa said that an evil force or vibe or spirit was lurking. Not that the place was haunted, it’s just that she said:
MANY OBJECTS THAT PEOPLE CHERISHED LEAVE TRACES BEHIND.
And I went, “like fingerprints?” I’m sorry, I was sixteen and horribly naïve.
NO, YOU SEE, THEIR PSYCHIC ENERGY INVADES THINGS, EVEN THE SMALLEST ONES.
Ever since she laid her eyes upon me she felt I was capable of picking up that so-called voodoo energy like I was a radar for the dead. She was thinking like I was to join her legion of fucked up teens or something and before things got even worse I declined her invitation. Unfortunately she told her friends that I said Goths suck and they’re a bunch of wannabe vampires.
Was I so overwhelmed by that? No, I don’t think so. That was part of her game, since she was the one who wanted to have a supernatural experience so badly to compensate her need for affection. That I can understand, but I did the civilized thing to ignore her bitching, which is why I stopped calling her. So as you can see, I did learn a few magic tricks on my own.
“THE MORE YOU TALK ABOUT SOMEONE, THE MORE POWERFUL HE OR SHE BECOMES.”
Of course, there’s the portrait I did of her as well, I should bury it, burn it, rip it to shreds but I’m still scared.
Almost dawn, I can’t go on, need to sleep.
Mother called in; she wanted to know how I was doing and as usual I was utterly sincere and I made her cry. Sorry, I had no reason to lie, it´s just that she doesn´t trust Edith that much. Makes sense, also had to postpone some events, that part I hate.
YOU´RE HUMAN AFTER ALL…AT THE RATE YOU´RE GOING, YOU SHOULD BE OUT IN NO TIME…
“Thanks girl, you’re beginning to get to know me better.” There, I said it. This is one of the very few times I actually admitted that a woman was right at something, I´ve been tripping with the same stone too many times, ´guess this event was my wake up call, hitting rock bottom, or whatever you wanna call it.
I wish there was a mirror so I could see if I looked pale or emaciated. Edie was the one who noticed I looked different the day we decided to get back together. Not that I cared about my personal appearance but then again like I said many times, “Don´t worship me, worship my work!”
I found it odd still how she came freely as if somehow she knew I was in trouble, intuition I guess.
But then the work is me. As I said once in an interview,
“My art is just an extension of me. Like an oversized limb trying to reach out and touch others.”
Have I touched anyone yet? That I´m not sure of, unless I get the proper feedback. And I don´t bother to rummage in my website to find something positive; guest books are so much more intimate and even define personality. Now, I´m not saying that I´m into graphology, but you can tell some things that resembles high school yearbook signatures, such as:
YOU´RE THE BEST, PLEASE NEVER CHANGE!
LOVE YOU, PLEASE MARRY ME!
I´M YOUR NUMBER ONE FAN…
But who´s really sincere to tell me; who´s got the freaking balls to say that I´m not that good enough and I should do better. That´s why I fall again and again into the arms of depression. Have I reached the top, am I a God to them?
I was feeling like a boulder again, so weak and beaten up inside, I felt a big sting in my chest, knees shaking…
IT´S CALLED RELAPSE, HONEY; MAYBE YOU SHOULD LIE DOWN BEFORE YOU WORSEN…
“I´m sorry, who are you again?” so I asked desperately.
I´M MARLA, THE NURSE FOR THE NIGHT. SO YOU BETTER LISTEN TO ME IF YOU WANT TO LIVE.
This was gonna be a long night indeed. Some people lack empathy, but in my case you need more than that.
EDITH TOLD ME TO TELL YOU THAT SHE’LL BE BACK IN THE MORNING.
“You do know who I am, don’t you?”
IT’LL BE ALRIGHT, MR. BLACK, SHE TOLD US TO TAKE GOOD CARE OF YOU, IS SHE YOUR WIFE?
Damn, she got me cornered now. “She is my girlfriend, what makes you think she’s something else?”
The middle aged woman answered politely,
I KNOW SHE ISN’T, BUT SHE SHOULD BE, YOU PEOPLE NEED TO SETTLE DOWN AFTER THE LITTLE STORY SHE TOLD ME.
“I would recommend you to be discreet about my private life, alright? Especially that part I’ve a reputation to sustain. And why are you asking me too much about Edith all of a sudden?”
JUST MAKING SMALL TALK.
Well, that sure stirred me up for such a casual conversation. I don’t know whether I was pale because of my illness or because I was freaking nervous. “What do you mean by “you people”?” I asked her as she was forced to go back to bed.
I DON’T KNOW MUCH ABOUT ART, MR. BLACK, YET I THINK YOU HIDE BEHIND IT. THAT DOESN’T HELP VERY MUCH, IN FACT IT ISOLATES YOU FROM THE REST OF THE WORLD, THEREFORE NO ONE UNDERSTANDS YOU.
“Why do you tell me this, you’re supposed to make me feel better. At least my ‘wife’ knew what I needed to heal faster. You say I hide in my art to avoid getting damaged, is that it? You think you know me, but you have a lot to learn!”
OF COURSE NOT, YOU’VE BEEN GIVEN ANOTHER CHANCE, BOY, USE IT TO TURN THINGS AROUND, NOW BE A DEAR AND HELP ME OUT...
She gave a shot of something that resembled a milky white substance but whatever it was it knocked me out before I could even ask her anything else. Ah damn...
No comments:
Post a Comment