Friday, May 1, 2009
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55th Street was a terrific wild zoo. I had to look around for 5 minutes to find a location close to the address but outside of the driveways. I was on a 10 ft. island between 2 driveways with an awning rising to my left, active construction, cars on both sides, the street in front and an entrance in back.
The morning began drizzly and I called Terenceo saying let’s just see how this develops. I decided to visit Chelsea to see what was left after the rain. The painting was about half gone – but I’m pretty sure it was all people walking across it, not the weather. I was very happy though because I thought for sure it’d have been swept up or washed away.
As I neared 55th Street and it was still drizzling I ate a big breakfast and around 11:00 a.m. came out to overcast but dry skies and called Terenceo, I was going ahead.
I set up shop and began with people as they slowly realized what I was doing, usually about the point 55th Street Playhouse is written out they become “involved”.
A gray haired lady said, “I know that theater”.
“Did it bother you, the male porn?”
“NO.”
Another old lady said, “What are you doing? Why are you doing that here?”
“Sand painting. This used to be a theater.”
“I know it did and I know what they used to show!”
“Andy Warhol showed Lonesome Cowboy and Flesh here 40 years ago.”
“I didn’t approve of it then and I don’t now.” She stomped off.
A smiling enigmatic figure squatted down to my height. “What’s this for?”
“This used to be a male porn theater location.”
“I had no idea. It did?”
“Showed Andy Warhol’s Lonesome Cowboy and Flesh”.
“So, does it etch the pavement?”
“No, it’s sand.”
“I know, but is it glued?”
“No. It’s sand. It’ blows away. I’m not here to create trouble I’m hear to create art.”
“I know it’s art. It’s perfect. You realize how much interest this is generating?”
“No.”
“Everyone is stopping to look. EVERYONE. “
“What’s your name?
“Kurt Bruno, I’m the London, New York’s manager.”
I was sitting in front of the London’s loading doc.
There was a fellow from the hotel who kept asking us to leave and I kept politely refusing. At first he left us alone but after Bruno had come he kept insisting we leave, “I’ll be liable if you’re hit by a car.” I mentioned Kurt but this lackey was unstoppable. He drew over a police car and while one officer sat in the car the other came to hear the man’s story.
Now, a few days before after my encounter with the PaceWildenstein staff in which I felt incredibly vulnerable, I’m sitting for hours right out in the open, my back to the crowd pushing around sand, and my mind is far away from thinking of defenses for my presence. Coming out of the subway heading toward 55th street I saw clearly a strategy. I told Terrenceo if anyone is giving me grief he’s to walk up to them, right up to their face and push his video camera in their face. It doesn’t have to be on, I said, they just have to feel their actions will be on the internet in an hr and they need to think hard about how they’re going to look.
So when this police man starting saying I have to leave and I was defending myself saying I’m hurting no one, I’m not in anyone’s way, my work is impermanent, Terrenceo is circling up close to him.
“It’s a ‘sand painting,’” I protested.
“I know that – I’m not an imbecile” he whispered, “tell him to turn that thing off.”
I didn’t tell Terrenceo anything and the officer backed down, told the offending petty man from the London that it was a public sidewalk and I wasn’t doing any harm and he had no reason to send me away.
Almost every time I’ve done a sand painting I’ve spoken with an officer. At Pace, they drove by,
“Hello. What are doing there?”
“A Sand painting. Just sand, it washes away.”
They looked at one another, “have a nice day.”
Alex Benenson, a graduate student I’d met at Scope NY came by late in the day to videotape. I finished up in about 5 hrs, I really tore through cause it was clear at any moment it might rain. I’d reconfigured my design sideways so that it would fit in the narrow horizontal space. Quite a crowd had surrounded us when it began to rain. The rain fell hard and began cutting up the drawing as we watched.
A woman behind me moaned, “Oh, no! All that work and it’s just going away! It’s was so beautiful.”
But I was elated, transported. It seemed like God was washing it away and I was a vessel of his work. People were walking over it oblivious, the darkened sidewalk, my having stood up ending the performance, it was ecstasy, and in 10 minutes the piece was a blotchy shadow. I would think long and hard about how a piece ends and see many opportunities and challenges in controlling the chance elements. Chance, was what I sought.
