Daily Keemo. 01.25. Blue In Big Sur

Blue In Big Sur
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The music has changed. The sad German composers have been replaced with Thelonious, Dexter Gordon, Fats Waller, Coltrane and more and it makes me think of that beat writer, you know the one who was on the Road and some think he's the only one but I know better and I bet you know better too. I don't think of his stories of the road but I think of the days after he was on the road and he split to Big Sur to get away from it all and the only thing he found was

the bottom of himself and
it wasn't pretty.

The music has changed. The sad and dark and lonely sonatas have been replaced with Hawkins, Sonny Rollins, Coleman and Davis and more and there is a new lamp over the desk that shines new light on a new face and new colors and brushes and it lights up the empty paper and in it's reflection the only thing I see is

the bottom of myself and
it is just the way it should be.

 

 

Daily Keemo. 01.24. I Still Don't See It

I Still Don't See It
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She taught me that
sometimes when we search too much
we miss what we are trying
to find. 

When I look at your paintings,
I don't see anything natural,
she said.

That is too bad because it is
all in there,
I replied.

Your colors and your lines are
not natural, I don't
see it, 
she said.

If you look, you will see nature is
not about color and lines and I swear
if you look, you will eventually
see it. 

I still don't see it,
she said.
I still don't
see it.

...Enjoy!

 

 

Daily Keemo. 01.22. In His Eyes And He Talked (#1 in the Typewriter series)

In His Eyes And He Talked (#1 in the Typewriter series)
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There words are nothing more than just that. Words. There is no music in the air tonight. Only the sound of these keystrokes on this paper and the dog scratching on the floor by my feet and papers rustling as she goes through a drawer looking for something. I am looking for something but it is not found in the drawer. I know because I have already looked in there.

There is still only the sound of these keys and nothing more.

I think of the man in the wheelchair who asked us to get the cup out of his wheel and he had to be cold going around the city in just a t-shirt. You could see the drink in his eyes as he talked to us. As I think of him I am certain that he has forgotten about me and the cup and the cold and the talk and it all.

Daily Keemo. 01.20. No. 2 in G Sharp Minor (the purple paint is still drying)

No. 2 in G Sharp Minor (the purple paint is still drying)
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The purple paint is still drying and the Austrian composer, Johann Hummel, is in the air and it is No 5. in F sharp and before that is was Tchaikovski and before that it was Chopin and before that the paper was white and there was nothing.

The purple paint is still drying and I am thinking about how I might answer questions for the upcoming interview that is supposed to be centered around the business of art or the current state of the art business or something like that and to be honest I think it is much easier to talk about all that stuff than it is to try and explain everything behind all the color and line and words and why it all comes together like it does.

The purple paint is still drying and I am alone in this room like I am every night at 2:00 AM and I catch myself staring at the wall in front of the desk and am thousands of miles away from the black chair I am sitting in and Hummel has been replaced by Alexander Scriabin (no. 2 in G sharp minor) and I slide off the chair and lay out on the wood floor and just listen with my eyes closed.

 

 

Daily Keemo. 01.19. It Only Takes Three Blocks To Walk In Your Shoes

It Only Takes Three Blocks To Walk In Your Shoes
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Her eyes were full of tears and I don't know why because I was just walking by her and I didn't know her and she was on the phone, not talking, just crying and listening and I kept walking down the sidewalk away from the crying and I stopped at a store front window and looked at the expensive watches on display and imagined the person who would buy such a watch and I looked back where I came from and the crying woman was no longer there crying on the sidewalk and I imagined such a person who would make that woman cry and I couldn't imagine either one of them and I turned back up the sidewalk and kept on walking.

Daily Keemo. 01.17. In Books That Are In Rooms That I Am Not In

In Books That Are In Rooms That I Am Not In
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They are upstairs and I
am down here and 
the heater is blowing hot air
on my feet while I paint and 
I hear one of them
turn a page of their book because that is
how quiet it
is.

There is no music
because there is not
room in this moment
for it.

They are upstairs and I
am down here and 
I can tell when I am not getting out enough because
I write about the moment and
not about the time leading up
to it or the time
leading away from
it.

It is just about now and
there is no music and
there are pages being turned
in books that are
in rooms that I am not in and
this where we all move away
from this moment
together.

 

 

Daily Keemo. 01.16. When Your Head Hits The Pillow

When Your Head Hits The Pillow
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It is very late or very early depending if you are awake like I am or asleep like the rest of the people on my street. When I pause in between things, I can look out the window into the night and the silence on the street is visible and as I look at the houses all tucked in, I am thinking of recent events that have resurrected thoughts of the old man and the old man's ways and the old man's words and everything else the old man dragged around with him and heaved upon everyone in his wake.

He has been gone for more years than I have fingers and all his garbage has been cleaned up and dealt with but there are times in these very late hours of the night (or early hours of the morning) that I am weakest and I look back and want to rethink things and I question the distance that he and I have created.

Let me rephrase that. He created it and I have kept it.

It is then, when you take the top of your head off and have a good look around and you unbutton your shirt and let your chest beat a little louder and you let the clock push on towards morning because you know eventually, when your head hits the pillow, it will all go back to how it used to be.

 

 

 

Daily Keemo. 01.15. My Night On Earth (in 4 acts)

My Night On Earth (in 4 acts)
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Act 1: Years ago, I gave up caring what people think about me and my art and my words because they are mine and it is me and it is what I do and it is what I am. There would be no purpose to all of this if it was for any other reason. It really is that simple.

Act 2: I was working on the king painting and the dog was at my feet and I put a pillow behind me in the chair because my back is still in bad shape three months after hitting that tree and yes I took a pain pill tonight not only for the pain in my back but for other reasons, I suppose.

Act 3: It was late and we were talking about life and people and art and I remember saying to her, "It doesn't matter what art is, it just matters to understand that all rules in art are self imposed." It sounded good at the time and it sounded like I knew what I was talking about but I know inside that I am learning just like everyone else.

Act 4: Don't look for answers from people who don't ask questions.

Daily Keemo. 01.11. Portrait Of A Man Calling From Detroit

Portrait Of A Man Calling From Detroit
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He drove up from down South and he had made it Detroit and was at a mall buying a Red Wings jersey. That is when he called.
"Hello," I answer. (I didn't recognize the number)
"Hey Man, what size jersey do you wear?" He says.
"What?" I say.
"Jerseys, man. What size? It's Jack!" he says loudly.
"Umm, I don't know, I don't wear jerseys," I reply. There was a long silence.
"Hey man, I'm coming to see you tomorrow! I need a couch for a little while I get on my feet. Maybe a month. Two, tops! Now, what size jersey do you wear? I want to buy you a jersey."
"I don't wear jerseys," I say.
"Everyone wears jerseys!..." While he went on talking, I replayed the all the things that had happened in the past and all those things added up to the reason we hadn't seen each other in 10 years and as he talked at me on the phone, I knew I couldn't do it because I knew he was running from something because he was always running from something. I hated to say it but I did.
"I'm sorry Jack, I can't do that." I said.
There was a slight pause and then I could no longer hear the mall crowd in the background as the phone went silent.

Daily Keemo. 01.03. There Was Nothing To Mix With It

There Was Nothing To Mix With It (portrait of guy at grocery story in Gaslight)
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There was nothing to mix it with so I ran to the store to get some tonic and a lime and while I was there I figured I would grab some crackers to go with the cheese and olives and all the other good stuff she picked up at Russo's on 29th St. As I put my stuff on the belt in the lane, I look up to see that the guy in front of me is frantically patting the pockets of his pants and checking his coat for his wallet but he is not having any luck and I look down and see a six pack of beer and a bag of chips that is waiting for someone to pay for them. It is at this point that we all realize that he obviously is not finding his wallet. I can honestly say that I have never found myself in this situation but it is indeed one of those situations where you have to stop and ask a little something of who you are and what is important to you and frankly, it is not that hard to put yourself in his shoes and feel a bit bad. I push my stuff forward into his and say, "I got it," while pointing to his beer and chips. "No, you don't have to do that," he says. "Ah, it is no big deal. Don't worry about it." I say. "Really?" he questions. "Yes," I say. We made small talk while the cashier rang everything up and he seemed like a nice guy and we headed in different directions and as I walked out into the Michigan cold, I couldn't help but think that we are faced with things all the time that should make us pause and ask a little something of who we are but it just never seems to work out that way and in the end it isn't good for anyone until we do.