#artist #RobertRauschenberg
I have often danced naked atop the white cresting waves of the the “Seven Seas”. I have often used the moment to assimilate sailors climbing the rigging to get a better look at land “ahoy”. I have often wondered what the Blue whales thought; as massive waves draped them. The waves rise and fall
I am still atop.
The people who have lived in front of my camera represent moments. I estimate that I have had more than eighty-thousand moments in my photography days. I have always wanted those memories to reflect on my kinship to Don Quixote. More and more I feel that I have married the sensibilities of two women; Patricia Highsmith and Flannery O’Connor. I have read thousand of stories. But only these two women shake me throughout the night. It is not merely the words, but the darkness within their light that stirs me.
I read something about Mahler near his death. He was composing his “Symphony No. 9”. He would beg for silence. He would plead for quietude. Each note had to be heard separately from the one before and the note that follows. I breathed. My god, that is like my 6x7 Pentax shutter; so loud, and separate from all other sounds; Until it goes off again.
I have always understood Highsmith and O’Connor to manipulate their words and provocations in the same manner as Mahler’s “9th”: A quiet power reigning over our minds.
Jimmy Page stood. A single chord was heard around the world. The opening chords of Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” followed. My fingers flailed on to my computer keys like a turtle swiping at the sand preparing to lay eggs. Mahler, O’Connor, Highsmith and Page gathered in my dreams. Mahler and Page stepped a minuet.
Not a day goes by without a vigorous repetition of “Stairway to Heaven” dancing in my ears as I write. It is almost my personal anthem. My headphones will swear by it. When my ideas get strewn throughout my brain, I begin to hear Mahler’s “9th”. It slows me down, paces my thoughts. Maybe it is me imagining wearing Mahler’s long black tailcoat atop the ocean’s waves that bolsters me. I am cautiously focused. “Stairway…” still plays on.. Somehow, someway the song helps me write about a life lived. It helps me see the artist striking a pose, It helps me see the light that bends buildings. I dream about many things.
Lately I have been dreaming about many of the artists who have stood before me, and now have passed away. I think that is where the words of Highsmith and O’Connor come in. There is so much grand storytelling to do. But a shock of life’s expectancy carries the day.
#Artists #AnneMadden and #Louislebrocquy
The artists Anne Madden and Louis Le Brocquy entertained me one afternoon. My camera made sounds. It was there wonderful raconteur that I remember as their accents lilted through the rooms.
The art critic John Russell had introduced them to me. He warned me to beware of their mystical transcendence.
I left their place late afternoon wondering what had happened what was said. Mostly I remember my smile. When I received their invitation to visit a summer in France, I guessed that all went well with our session.
When I met with the artist Jack Tworkov, his studio was filled with art and barely a whisper. There was something painfully empty in our moment. Maybe it was our age differences. Maybe our histories didn’t mesh. Just maybe something was amiss. When he invited me back for drinks and cookies, I guessed that it was a very good session. Why wouldn’t I want to share time and try and add a voice to an empty room.
#artist #Jacktworkov
The life photographing artists was obviously a ton of fun. At first so many were much older that I was. I felt that death would catch them before I saw them again. Even when the sessions were electric like with Bob Rauschenberg who was mostly like an “African grey” on steroids. I loved every minute of his scat. Maybe I was impressed with a refrigerator filled with Sake. Maybe it was sharing the sake. I wondered if that glorious day was the last.
When the sessions were my final moments with art stars and excruciatingly talented men and women who lived a life just to be an artist, where is the down side.
Philip Pavia asked me, “ How long is a great life anyway?” The voices keep coming at me from every direction.
I keep fielding them in my mind because they are like Odysseus’ sirens reminding me of the days…
#artist #Philippavia
#artist #PhilipPavia