Stayed in Hell's Kitchen with my gracious hostess who will be getting a surprise in the mail in a few weeks and then immediately shuttled into Brooklyn to hang at the painter's studio. Much wine, beer, whiskey, art, career talk, discussions of size and heroic painting into the morning. Dragged my hung over self out of bed and crawled Chelsea all morning until my eyes hurt from looking at art. Brice Marden's concurrent exhibitions, -still taking that in, and saw the good, the bad and the utterly banal elsewhere. Work that made me think, re-consider, wonder and yes, a hell of a lot of bullshit that just pissed me off. Too beautiful a day to stay mad at lazy artists and the lazy gallerists who promote the ever-shifting "now," I climbed onto the High Line and dug the City from a higher vantage point then dipped back down underground and up into a crazy Turkish parade which winded and flowed and sucked me in, dancing to crazy music and hugging happy people in the streets. MoMA and the wall of exhaustion hit me simultaneously but I was lost in Siqueiros' wonderful bound woman painting on burlap for a long time and then Miro before eyeing the usual suspects at length. Back to the Kitchen and Pakistani food before heading back uptown to catch the opening. Met the amazing James Little, many more people drinking and laughing and arguing into the night. Walked alone through the cool night after coming out of the hot tunnels again and was wonderfully lost in thought and delight at all seen and experienced. Black sedan out of town and into the harsh Laguardia light, then on the open road listening to Campbell and Moyers talking about god and art and everything.
And it is amazing, and there is clarity, and there will be epic paintings about god and art and everything.
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