Month: April 2006

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Preview

Panic attack panic attack… My show’s less than a month away. I approved the final C-print today, and will take the color work to the framer on Monday. I’ve whittled the plum blossom component of the show down to 12 images, but will probably hang only 4-8, and keep the rest in the back room. If the gallery had higher walls, I’d just make a big grid, but, actually, I like the idea of a linear progression with this imagery. I’m very nervous about showing these images, as I just shot them a few weeks ago, and haven’t figured out how they relate conceptually to the other components in the show. They’re pretty, though, or at least I think, and that seems to be enough for now, and they make sense in a fucked up way with the testicle grid. I just know I’ll look back on this installation years from now and roll my eyes and say, “Oh brother, what was I thinking??” I’m not used to being this close to a show opening and operating in such an intuitive way, but control is something that I want to learn to let go of, so here goes.

Here’s a sample of one of the pieces, 29″x29.” The image hasn’t been manipulated in any way, just how I see.

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Crrash in the Castro!

BC stopped by for dinner last night and we heard helicopters over the house, and then smoke coming from down the street. We rushed down, like most of my neighbors, to see that a man driving a white buick evidently lost control of his car and ran the redlight at Market and Castro, heading south on Castro, and crossed to the northbound lane and smashed into several cars, sadly killing a man who was turning into the parking lot behind the Castro Theater. Luckily, no one else was hurt, but here’s a video of the chaos, as well as amusing interviews with Dane, the homeless guy (wrongly identified as “Dade”) who pulled the guy who died from the burning BMW, and some other excited queens. Is that Timzilla? The other heroes of the evening were two gay men who saved a little doggy from almost certain death.

We got back in time for some split pea soup, yes, the same split pea soup from two weeks ago, like the miracle of the loaves and fishes, and something I whipped up from the back of the polenta bag called “San Francisco polenta bread.” The other San Francisco treat!

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Arkadin

I just watched Mr. Arkadin, the supposedly comprehensive one, recently re-edited and restored for the Criterion Collection. It really does make sense–like finally. (I’m a little behind on my dating news, sorry, it’s getting to be a big blur, and nothing substantial to report, although I did get a hottub invitation that I had to take a rain check on, from a guy that was practically sent from Central Casting–“Chris’ Type”–but unfortunately after I had already accepted a date with a gentlemen less impulsive. More on him As the Suds Turn.) So Mr. Arkadin is this just wacky story, filmed all over the planet, with fantastic European actors that you’ve never heard of, and cut in this dizzying fragmented fashion. Orson Welles’s vision, in general, I think, is not so much a vision as a record of the attention deficit disorder of a genius. And all of his films have at their core a mysterious, elusive and self-destructive man that everyone is trying to understand but ultimately can’t. If you’ve sat through the previous almost unwatchable versions of this film and come out shaking your heads and asking, “Now, why did he he…?” “What was he….?” and “Who was…?” then see the new version.

In other news, I’m really enjoying Exile in Guyville, which is pretty entertaining. I’ve made a deal with myself that for every hour I spend on Bear411, I’d spend reading. Tonight Dave White, tomorrow Proust. Internet dating will make a literate poof of me yet.

And the Word of the Day is onychophagia (on-i-ko-FAY-juh, -jee-uh).
“If bad-tasting polish, gloves or fake nails haven’t cured your onychophagia, reading Coco’s Journal may help.”

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The Dating Game: Bachelor #1, Again

Last night Bachelor #1 and I saw Spike Lee’s latest, his first mega-budget film, the thriller Inside Man. He got Jodie Foster to swagger and teeter on these 6 inch spiked heels like a circus perfomer. Her performance alone is worth seeing the film, all cocky and confident. While the lights were still up, #1 announced that he likes to hold hands during the movie. My palms immediately started sweating. I tried everything to keep them occupied, scratching this and that, tucking my shirt in, tying my shoes, putting my hand under my arm like I was cold. To no avail, as soon as the lights went out he snatched my hand from under my seat and smushed it into his big hairy paw. I was able to focus on the film, because it was so gripping and well-made. But I was still sweating, as I do when my anxiety level rises. I figured out a way to switch hands and let one dry off, while creating a little air pocket between my hand and his to let the air circulate between the held hands. The lights came on and I quickly withdrew my hand to point out something in the credits, I think about the “clapper loader.” We had a nice dinner and a nice chat, and thankfully I was the one in the driver seat and the one to say, “Thanks, not tonight” when he asked if I wanted to come up. The thing is, I had already given him the “I’d like to just be your friend” shpiel, and next thing he’s holding my hand, asking me up to his condo… I suppose I need to be even clearer, like, “Just being your friend means not holding hands or having intimate relations.”

Earlier, I had coffee with KrispyBear, who should be called “CreamyBear” because he’s such a smooth and easy fellow. Bloke. He says these very English things like “Brilliant, aaaabsolutely brilliant” which I just adore. Anyway, after cohabitating on LiveJournal for the past year or so, it was nice to finally meet the real person, who is every bit as charming and delightful as he is online. Welcome back to town!

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Mugging

BC was beaten up last night. He’s visiting his mom and family in Illinois, for his mom’s 70th birthday. He was hanging in a gay bar across the Mississippi and offered to drive a guy home who seemed to have had too much to drink. The guy directed him to his home in a dark alley. He staggered when let out of the car, and when Chris got out to help him, BAM, punched Chris is the face, demanded his money. Well, the first rule of mugging, I think, is something like, “Always pick on someone smaller.” Chris is a big dude–he’s “Big Chrissy,” remember? He fought back, and ended up with a piece of the guy’s pants. He didn’t lose his wallet, but ended up with a black eye, some cuts to his face, and bruises. Gay on gay violence, I didn’t think it was possible. “Ape has killed ape!” I started crying when I talked to him this morning, imagining that I had received a call that he was found dead in that alley. Poor Big Chrissy, I feel just awful that I wasn’t there to protect him, but am so grateful that he’s (relatively) okay.

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Dinner at Dosa

Last night I had dinner with Peter and Luis at Dosa, on Valencia, although without Luis. Really great south indian food. Peter goes there a lot, and is treated like royalty. He had made the reservations for the wrong night, and even though it was packed, with people crowded around the front door waiting for a table, they immediately whisked us to a cozy little table. All the wait staff came by to kiss him, one by one. Since Peter began losing his sight, his intelligence, wit, and charm seem amplified. He’s my age, but he’s a gay man from a different era, a voracious reader, conversant about everything. Sometimes walking with him I forget that he’s blind, and he bumps into things and just laughs, neither frustrated nor upset, just accepting and amused. He uses his hands to push things onto his fork, which is almost shocking at first, and then endearing, to hear this brilliant man talking about Buddhism and his new Ming cabinet with his hands dripping lamb curry.

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Dean, Coco, and Now, Stan!

I met with Dean, also showing next month with me at Meridian, and Konrad, last night, to discuss Konrad’s programming an evening of film in conjunction with our show. The meeting lasted about 5 minutes. After Dean and I explained what we were doing, he offered to show some films from his collection by Stan Brakhage, from his Arabic Numerals series. These abstract films are really just about light interacting with film, light itself the subject. With both my and Dean’s work hovering between abstraction and representation, each of us focused on how light falls on our subjects and how we re-frame what we see, Brakhage’s films will be a perfect accompaniment. I’m super excited.

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The Dating Game: Bachelor #7

#7 came over for dinner last night, and a movie. I made risotto and green beans, and chocolate chip cookies for dessert that I made with a leftover white chocolate brick that I found in the freezer, from I think my 30th birthday, and chopped up. In a twist of the Italian vin santo and biscotti, I served my limoncello with the cookies. It didn’t all come quite together, but his company and conversation were nice. He’s the one who has the sex ads all over the place. When discussing one of the sites with him, he complained that he just gets hit up for sex. Like he was surprised. I suggested that he change his user name to something without the word “sex” in it, and take down the pictures of his nether regions. He’s very charming, sweet, but oddly respectful of my honor, giving me just a little hug before toddling down the hill–yes, another neighbor–and too tired to stay and catch a flick. Perhaps our different announced goals–mine to make friends with an openness to dating, his just for sex, resulted in too much mutual respect, or a kind of magnetic repulsion that kept us from getting too close. I get the sense that he’s a bit nervous about a relationship beyond a night or two, and that’s why all of his ads are superficially about sex. He may see me as not in the category of his one-night-stands, which is great, I’d like to get to know him better. Or he could just not find me attractive. Anyway, it was a very nice evening with a very charming man.

It would be nice to feel on the same page with someone again. There are specific ways of relating that I need beyond just proximity, to be stimulated by ideas and thoughts and experience. I am enjoying the dating game, and the time I’m spending growing and developing alone, but a part of me is already longing for the kind of deep relating that only comes with companionship.

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Pipe-Smoking Hairy-Chested Coco

A bonus last night was bumping into Ed at Nayland’s talk. He recently completed a portrait of me, and took the opportunity of our bumping into each other to deliver the piece, collaborative in the sense that I provided an image for him to work from, an image of me in a pose that was originally taken from a painting by Giovanni Bellini and tweaked by Jack Radcliffe for a portait that I did of him. I suppose it would be called something like “Ed’s Portrait of Coco after Coco’s Radcliffe after Bellini.” Ed was kind enough to augment my chest with a denser pelt and perky red nipples. It looks fabulous on my mantle, the pink of my skin playing nicely against the fake pink carnation that Reeses puts in front of Mack’s portrait–also on the mantle–whenever he comes over, to cover Mack’s nudity. They make a very nice installation. Thanks, Ed!!

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Lecture

Nayland spoke tonight at the SF Art Institute about his work. I’m really sorry that more of you didn’t get to hear him, as it was a very inspiring and entertaining presentation, with Nayland challenging us to make and look at art by extending our experience beyond that of passive fixed voyeurs and gimmick-seeking provacateurs. Frustrated by the limitations of documentation, and the “tyranny of the image”–that is, the experience of art reduced to a documentary photo that denies the viewer of an experience of the art beyond one frontal perspective–Nayland recently placed an ad on CraigsList, offering to finish reading books that people haven’t been able to finish. His expression is an experience shared between him and the person who responds to the ad, documented through telling people about it. Isn’t that just great?!