I don't know why you inspire me so much, art is better with your brushes and your hand stretched canvases, I like you and you can tell by the way that I paint with your brush, painting with your brush is like using your tooth brush, with your spit still there, and your time still there in the handle.
Our relationship is a thoughtful equilibrium
Fall in love and die old
The first Day
You weren't my usual, but college changed me a bit, you were a senior. And I thought, I'm an adult now, I can make my messes.
He was a sculptor, and its something about a sculptors mind that's different from the painter. Well in regards to him and me, he was a lot more concrete, a lot more literal more here in this world than I was. Even my best friend a sculptor someone who worked with found objects and painted on them like he did, they were able to literally connect with everyone while I could only do it in my retarded way. The painters way, in regards to me, myself being a painter. A freelance messy painter who felt how she painted, and painted what she felt, I was barely conscious of my audience if the audience wasn't myself alone.
A sculptor, I don't know, they have to make sure the piece stands on its own. They have to ensure that it survives in the real world. They work with elements of real life, and turn it into a vision from inside themselves. They take it from the world and it becomes this collaboration between whatever it is and them. A mold of um three legs, made of plaster let's say, can't stand on its own, so the sculptor has to bind it using wire, and that still can't stand on its own so now the sculptor has to think. This makes the sculptor a good problem solver. Good at solving art problems, and thinking ones because once they do find a way for it to stand they have to develop a concept in three legs and no body. And then they make the bold decision of sharing that concept or not which is like all artist.
Sculptors know how to listen to me, and help me pick out the important things in what I'm trying to say. They take my gibberish, and help it stand, help it survive in the real world.
He was so good at that. He had long black hair, and loved showing me his stuff, like a kid he wanted me to see everything. He was a senior more of a man than I was a woman, I could barely breathe the New York air because my lungs weren't big enough but he looked up to me, somehow.
We first met on a tour. He was touring me around the school. My new school, my college. He scared me, because his voice was so strong and hip and it didn't look like it belonged to him. He said something about being an artist and what that meant, it is what it is, was his message. I didn't care about what he said, but it was the delivery. He cursed, I think, and he carried himself like he was falling a part and was keeping himself together in style.
I was so intrigued. The lady said everyone who didn't see the building was supposed to go to the back. So I went to the back, not the other girl, Dora. She was the other cool pretty girl.
I didn't feel any way, at first. He goes on the tour with us. Hops in quickly, like he wanted to do the tour with the other guy, his name was, Jasper, I think, and him, the one I'm talking about, his name is Luis.
But in my mind I called him Louie. Louie said hi to everyone, and made eye contact with me when addressing the group, and I think because I subtly forced him to. I made eye contact with him, smiled and laughed and appeared to be really receptive. So naturally, humanly he warmed up to me and became receptive to me, too. It was a reciprocated friendliness that later implied a relationship, a moment shared between us. It was a moment because out of the twelve others, I was the special one, and I loved being special. I had a deep craving for specialness, it was a dangerous hunger. I didn't know the origin of it, but it brought along jealousy and possessiveness with it.
I felt pretty special, and then I saw his work, one of the few who walked back to see it, and followed, and had been my easy goingly obedient self. It was color and sculpture, and messy but cool, but I didn't get enough of it in my mind to talk about it. Now when I see his work I stare for a long time, to give feedback and to remember. He was quiet with me seeing, and showed me other stuff too, I like being showed around, playing that part. The young part, letting someone else take the lead, consciously though, like how you let a child show you into their room, and walk you into walls.
I liked him, he liked my hat too, he's from Brooklyn. I liked him that first day. I liked Jasper too, and another guy who had his stomach out, he was white though so I didn't like him that much. If he was black with the stomach and the height, oh god, my ovaries would just crush.
But I liked Louie more than all of them, he was my type of person. Childish, and social, hip, but still off putting.
He was so well dressed you'd assume, he carried his bag like it was an expensive purse, and he walked and talked as if he was the flyest, I think he had glasses on too. He had on sneakers not fashionable at all but so human. If I try, I bet I can tell you about his aura, I bet I can paint you a picture of his spirit.
