I’m sort of drifting in and out of consciousness… I only got a few hours sleep because I’m on an early morning plane to LA and I never can get a good nights rest before I travel. My mind stays alert to an extra series of potential nasties... must put all the garbage out, turn off the water mains, check X… don't oversleep the alarm, will the taxi show up?… check Y… will I have any money when I retire… will I always live in New York… will I… And that’s after I've engaged the battle of packing, which has been known to take days — though speed was on my side in this instance — taking full note of that handy piece of advice my friend Charles Lahti proffered, “never pack an outfit you haven't worn before”.
It occurs that I’m often writing on a plane or in a car — in transit. It’s a pattern. A repeat pattern so to speak... I’m often returning to a place I was before. Sometimes that’s unconscious. Like (the way?) I’ve noticed I might wear exactly the same clothes each time I visit a particular friend… but I’m now alert to cycles — in history and in my life — the mistakes made over and over… that clearly highlight what NOT to do and the need, to be aware of how I impact others and the earth… to live Consciously.
I’ve been spending time lately at the Chelsea hotel — what’s left of it — with “Secondhand Rose” Suzanne Lipschutz. A living time capsule, she’s boarded up in her wonder world of idiosyncratic antique ephemera, battling for her ancient rights of tenancy. Eventually she will have to move. Her apartment will be stripped of all it’s character and plaster boarded —the fate of all the rooms, in what was perhaps New York’s most notorious hotel. In a year or two it will look just like the thousands of other bland (they’re turning it into a hotel, or will there be apts also?) apartments in the city — low ceilinged, white walled, air-conditioned.. Someone may have profited financially, yet so often this endless reconstruction (renovation instead?) of old New York is devoid of beauty — something the whole world could enjoy. It’s a great irony in a city that attracts creative talent by the truckload…
Suzanne is a Pisces… her lair otherworldly. It’s most appropriate to her sign. Dreamy, mystical, psychic Pisceans are said to swim between spirit and matter — reality and fantasy. Extremely emotional - its best never to make fun of them. They can be melancholic and over indulgent but full of heart. My friend Angela Mccluskey (Piscean) embodies every trait in her magical Piscean voice. It’s transporting - as deep and troubled and beautiful as the sea.
Some claim Christ was a Pisces. A love machine invariably depicted draped in rather fab garb — something I thoroughly approve of. The recent-ish return of the man dress in fashion (tunic, smock, skirt, very long shirt etc.) circles back to the early 80’s for me (die hard new romantic… the best era ever…just my personal opinion) and umpteen other periods of history. My otherworldly fantasy is life as a sort of gender free-for-all dress up party…
On the subject of appearances… it’s hard not to judge a book by its cover… I’m so attracted to how things look and make all sorts of consequent assumptions — invariably wrong! I’ve been photographing the house of Tom of Finland, whose erotic drawings are the embodiment of the hyper-masculine ideal — and had expected an environment hard like concrete — but it’s cozy, quaint and lived in…. warm and ready to be loved… I guess that’s what we’re always looking for.