Tea Cup Wisdom

Desire. Happiness. Peace. Desire appears desirable. Especially in love. For me it’s the design flaw. I want. I want it now. Yes, yes Veruca. I don’t always salivate over the material. Recognition. As a painter, it’s virtually the point. I console myself with matins of necessity and passion, which are true, but not wholly. Prestige. Possessing even a little influence causes me to stand a bit straighter. Importance. I want to matter. I do. To some. I have little knowledge of contentment. My perpetual state of dissatisfaction and a need for some sort of accomplishment before I quit this world dogs me. It does produce results. I mean, you can’t go after anything this hard without bearing any fruit. How sweet is that fruit really? Does it nourish? Does it sustain? Or is there always a need for more once that taste in my mouth has dissolved.

Tom Phardel and Laith Karmo created an installation with uniform white tea cups. On the tea cups, in black, are printed words. All sorts of words. Some are crystal clear, others bleed out to barely legible. The premise being, as we age, the definitions of some of these words get more and more difficult to clarify. Desire. Happiness. Success. Failure. Be. Critical. Attractive. Values. Hate. I was pleased to report at the show's opening I felt Values were sharper for me than the blurred version Tom chose. Happiness is my smeared word.

Way down in there, it’s peace I’m really after. I think it’s some far off promise. You know, after I accomplish that something, I can hit the rocking chair and chill. Smile knowingly at those who are still slugging it out. Nonsense. It’s here. Right here. Today. In my hand. Now. My dear friend Nick was hospitalized over a week ago with a dismal prognosis. He’s 53. Life is temporary despite the infinite feeling I get during those long winter months in a wasteland of frozen grey. I spent the last couple days jacked up and running, sent a photographer on a goose chase, for a commercial, only to have the deal scrapped. Instead of making a paltry sum, I owe the photographer $50 in expenses he incurred during his preparations. Fuck. That is it. Done. Enough.

I’ll likely never vanquish my need to succeed. I must dilute it or it’s gonna kill me. My bills are paid. I have lovely shelter, yummy food and more clothes that I need. I have an abundance of love. I even have a little cachet in some circles. It’s not going to be ok, it already is. The jobs ahead of me this week involve gardening. Just typing that made my heart relax. I have had very little peace since 10/08. It seemed not just responsible, but admirable, to be out there sacrificing myself for work. I’m willful enough to get a lot of it. The price just got too high. And where is God in all this? I had my finger on it a week ago Thursday. I’d hit another breaking point (there’s been a few lately). My wise friend Norman suggested it was time to let the Universe take over. Sweet relief washed over me as I put my bags down. The summer list emerged*. Oh baby, that feels good. I do want to deliver art to sets for a paycheck. It’s a kick ass job. But not at the expense of my mind. I can deliver the goods without going Nascar hauling $20,000 worth of art to the set. Remain calm. It'll get there. Peace. Don’t care how, I want it now.

*ref: Fear and Butterflies