I should have written this at 4:am this morning when I returned home pissed off and exhausted but exhausted I was.  Last night at 1:am I left my studio of sorts on the Lower East Side and swiped my card to enter the F train.  As luck would have it, there were no uptown trains running - I was on my way to Oriah's place for the night.  So what choice did I have?  Wait for the next downtown train to Jay St in BK then wait again for the next manhattan bound train to finally finally get home to some rest.  I had been painting and drawing all day and had a relatively upbeat and social evening - meeting some interesting new people over at Lucien on my dinner break.  But man, was I tired.  I eventually caught the uptown train and, after a few slow and grueling stops, I put my feet up in the empty car and lay down for a quick nap.  I wasn't off in dreamland very long at all before I felt a harsh yank on my ankle.  Someone was shaking me awake and I was shocked by the rough contact.  I sat up to see two police officers telling me to "Sit up," which by that time I already had done.  Half awake and pretty surprised I gave them a look like, "WTF?".  I hadn't actually said a word to them. 

"Off the train," the little white one said.

"Are you serious?" I asked.  "I'm just trying to get home."

"Off the train," he repeated.  As I stepped off the train, I sized up the two guys who were there sizing me up.  One was a tall, light-skinned black guy with an honest face and reatively pleasant eyes.  I had no beef with him.  The little white guy was not so pleasant.  A straight-up prick to be sure.  His hair was buzzed too close and his beady little eyes darted about like a junkie zeroing in on a fix.  His neck was slightly deformed so that his head rested off to one side in an odd way and he was short and slight - a kid who had been taunted and shoved about the playground... he was having his day. 

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked.  "I'm pretty tired and I just fell asleep.  I'm not a criminal."

"You were taking up more than one seat on the train and when we asked you to get up you gave us attitude," was the reply.

"Gimme a break," I said.  "I was asleep and had no idea what was going on.  I didn't say a word to you.  You pulled me off the train because you don't like the way I looked at you?"

"Lets go," he said to me and led the way up the stairs to the token booth.  At this point I knew I had to just shut up and take whatever bullshit was coming my way and let me tell ya - that was not easy.

I appealed to the sense of decency I detected in the second officer and again said, "Listen.  I'm no criminal.  I'm not breaking any laws.  I've had a long day and I'm tired.  I'm just trying to get home.  Whats the big deal?"

I could see in his eyes that he woulf rather be doing something worthwhile with his time but he had no real choice but to side with his partner.  The little one paced about menacingly as I spoke, throwing his hands in the air and saying to the other, "I don't care.  Do what you want with him.  It's up to you."

This little prince had gone through the embarassing effort of pulling me off a late-night train only to hand me over to his partner to deal with.  When they asked me for my license, they spotted my PBA card in my wallet.  That right there should have been more than enough to let me go instantly.  But they dragged it out a little more.  "You know this officer?" they asked me referring to the name on the card. 

"Yeah, he's a good friend of mine."

"I'm thinking of giving him a call right now."

"Please do," I said.

As the taller one called my friend on the force to ask whether I was actually worthy of my freedom after such a haenous act as I'd committed, the little douchebag continued to pace about like a caged weasel, clutching his little cap and darting piercing glances at me.  His oh-so-menacing glares were met with my look of "good lord you're pathetic."

And so it went for 30 minutes or so until these idiots got tired of wasting my time and handed me back my ID.  Using every ounce of will at my disposal I clamped my jaw shut, forced my eyes to the concrete and walked away.  I felt like screaming, like punching and thrashing, but I kept it cool.  I got on the next train - the wrong train - ended up more off base than when I had started. 

Furious, I called my friend - the officer who these vigilant warriors of truth had jostled out of bed moments before.  I told him what happened and his response surprized me for a second.

"Crime is down and Bloomberg needs numbers.  If these guys don't bring someone in, then they're the ones who will be going home without pay.  They need to make their quota.  If you weren't carrying that card, they would almost certainly had dragged you in."

"Are you kidding me?" I asked.  "They would arrest someone for laying down on a subway seat?"

"Thats just where it starts.  Its all about how you respond to them approaching you.  I tell everyone the same thing - 'Play the bitch.'  Otherwise, they can use any excuse to bring you in."

I thanked him and apologized for having woken him up over such a trivial thing.  He said he was just glad to have saved me the hassle.  I began to wonder...  what happens if crime drops off so far that the police aren't truly needed?  Would that mean they would have no choice but to go around framing people just to keep their jobs? 

I know this isn't the gravest injustice perpetrated upon the people of this city - but damned if it doesn't make you feel like shit being treated like a criminal for taking a nap.  I'm a peaceful person but I would be a liar if I didn't dream of pounding that little prick in the face just a few good times.  What sort of person spends their night going around and wasting the time of innocent citizens?  I know that at the same moment, very close by there were far worse acts being committed.  Christ littering is actually more of a crime than what I was accosted for.

I only hope this doesn't get worse.  It made me think of people in situations of real injustice.  It made me think of how lucky I actually am that this is the worst thing that has happened between the law and myself in several years.  How would I ever deal with unjust imprisonment?  How long would it take me to shut my mouth and kiss their asses like I had to do so often in school?  I was bad at it then and I'm bad at it still. 

My heart goes out to people who are in these types of horrible situations all ove rthe world - people whose homes have been destroyed, whose families have been torn apart, murdered and imprisoned on trumped up charges.  I know this planet is evolving.  I know that human rights have grown much more integrated into the collective consciousness.  But sometimes the process seems too slow.  And at times it really seems as though we are losing ground.  But my lady put it in perspective to me the other night (as she so often does) by asking me, "When would you rather be alive - now or in the middle ages?"  Ok so things ARE getiing better.  But shit - can't we just fast forward a little bit?  Sometimes I don't have a lot of faith that I will see real maturity ever come to fruition across the face of humanity in my lifetime.  And when I see insecure little dicks like the one who pulled me off the train - not only caught up in the system but rolling on a rampant power trip designed by his feeble sense of self-worth - I feel like I know the answer.  Lets hope that I can see it differently in a couple of days.

After three months or more of preparations, organizations, carryings, loadings, installings, deinstallings, unloadings, more carryings, disorganizings and whatnot we have finally arrived at the absolute end of the 2nd Annual Governors Island Art Fair.

So Nix and Jack, two of the five 4heads, unable to stop organizing, loading, concocting and whatnot insisted on having a goulash party in Nix's garden in the outskirts of Crown Heights to celebrate with and thank all the artists involved.  She acquired her lovely German mater's family goulash recipe and cooked up enough of this fascinating stew to feed all the military ghosts of Governors Island at once. 

Her back yard - once a pile of rotting rubble and burnt out debris - is now the proud home of thriving rose bushes, xmas lights, bizzare scultpures, trees, bird cages and - on brisk autumn evenings - a couple of 55-gallon drums of blazing trainyard campfires. 

As much as I needed to be done done done with all the Governors Island garbage - I have to say what a welcome and well considered event this little sioree was.  After all the work and drama that seemingly must arise from such an extended affair as the GIAF, it was incredibly soothing to spend time with all these amazing people - old friends and new - gobbling goulash and sipping civily over the delicious flames of the Northeastern fall.  There were no more concerns of lighting, shipping, installing or cleaning.  There were no piles of garbage or bureaucratic redtape standing in the way.  There were no krylon sprayed floors or sharpie stained walls.  It was just a bunch of smiling, contented faces staning about with lots to talk about. 

Such a sense of community had been stirred up by this little (!) fair.  Lifelong friendships had been formed - and maybe a few broken.  We had all lived through something meaningful and beautiful.  Everyone involved took their crumbling little room and blew it out into a recreation of some corner of their mind.

Art is so funny in that way...  anyone is allowed to do it.  There are obviously no rules.  Artists - people - from all over say similar things... like, "I don't know...  I just had this thought, this idea... and I wanted to see what it would be like to bring it into reality."  The variance of presentations that we were able to enjoy through this exhibition - room after room of differing and overlapping voices; color, form, sound, movement, poetry, construction, scribbles, brushstrokes, hangings, pinnings, pokings, dottings... - it was really eye-opening. 

What were all these rather urgent voices?  Where do they come from?  What are they trying to say?  Is it just - "I like this."?  "This is some remnant of my life that maybe I don't even understand so well - but here it is."  "Here is a vague rememberance of a life I once lived, eons before, that is a mystery to me within the quietude of my own existence."  Its hard to say just what it is.  No one can, I suppose.    And I guess no one should have to.  I guess we should let these expressions speak for themselves in their chosen language and do our best to translate to whatever degree we are capable.  True - we can't help asking questions as the human mind is a catagorizing and labelling machine designed to aid us in our survival at the most fundamental level.  So that when the eye perceives, "charging bull", the mind can reply with the instant catagory of "danger - run away".

But more often than not, in this phase of eveolution, we are tangled in the branches of complex thoughts and ideas - where our rudimentary catagorization device has led us into the often cloudy myre of layered meaning and inter-dimensional being.  We can philosophize and pontificate all we desire without having to suffer the brunt of a charging rhinosaurus - only to volley with the support or defense of more thoughts and ideas. 

On some level, there in the garden around the burning barrels, we celebrated the freedom from hard labor and the actual ability to create the expression of more or less complicated ideas.  We raise a glass to rational behavior since the middle ages are behind us and none gathered here have the need to attack the other with a battle axe.  We enjoy the aftermath of compromise - sometimes difficult but ultimately satisfying in the feeling of a small community growing around a single idea.  The idea of excavating unused space for people to express themselves.

Its 6:02 am and I haven't slept tonight.  I guess I should stop trying.  Earlier tonight I watched video on a surveillance camera of some guy stealing my phone from where it was plugged in charging by the corner of the bar at GalleryBar.  I was there painting live for the closing of my exhibition.  Strangely enough the video showed a guy in a white oxford shirt with a suit jacket over his arm.  He stood there a bit, made the grab, then walked straight out of the place with two friends following.  They were all dressed the same, in suits with button-down shirts. 

I spent a lot of time over the past decade getting past the changes that have occurred in the Lower East Side.  I know people from all walks of life now - very different from my angst-ridden early days in New York when I knew only artists and musicians.  So having friends and acquaintances from all types of lifestyles, its become silly for me to harbor ill will towards any one group.  But lets face it - when the LES started changing - 10 years or more ago - I was not happy.  And the change happened when the yuppies came.  I hated them.

For many years now I've made a concerted effort to let it go.  I've really learned to accept the changes that come my way.  The death of my father and three close friends over the course of a few years put a lot of things in perspective for me and none of my other issues or problems seemed so important anymore.  So even though my dear New York was losing its soul with bland suburban condo towers replacing beautiful ornate old tenement buildings, I made it okay and got on with my life. 

Until tonight. 

As the night drew on and the realization set in that I had been ripped off by a couple of Wall Street guys, I found my balance really being tested.  Fact is I had lost my phone just 2 weeks earlier and the insane loss of data and cash to replace it was hard to bear.  But whatever.  We get thru these things.  So this was a brand new device.  I'm almost embarrassed to admit how much it cost me to replace it.  And now I have to do it again.  Ten years ago this was not an issue.  Now we are slaves to these things and it really is a major pain in the ass when they go missing.  But to see some white collar scumbag steal it on video... now that is salt in the wounds.  We never saw his face.  The camera was to his back.

If it had been a kid from the projects or a homeless guy or a gutter-punk, I don't think I would have been so upset.  So why does this piss me off so much?  Its because whatever this guy gets for my phone - he doesn't need it.  Where does a guy like that even cash in a stolen iphone?  Does he have connections like that?  What will it buy him - a steak dinner?

I know it has to do with this person's way of life.  He clearly lives in a world where taking advantage and exploiting others is just the status quo.  You see something within your reach and no-one's looking so you take it.  Its an impulse to always get more.  Take take take.

So when something like this happens, I just have to ask myself, "What is there to learn here?"  I know that everything happens for a reason and I know that these reasons are not always apparent but I have to ask.  Will it teach me to go on accepting people no matter how sleazy they can be?  Will I let go and get on with the things that matter?  Will I slip back into my youthful rebellion and once again become angry at everyone who threatens my comfortable existence?

Being robbed never feels good.  Its a violation of your space and weakens your precarious faith in humanity.  We work hard for our money and New York is not an easy place to get by in.  I paint portraits and sell them for a living and I don't have a ton of expendable income.  "Especially in this economy."  Gag.  But thats part of it too.  All the fear that is put into us by the media just drives this gluttonous lust for everything we can get our hands on pushing us closer and closer to ignorant oblivion.

Insomnia (which I rarely have) drove me to read.  I finished a book called, "Life is so good", about a guy who lived in 3 centuries.  Born before the turn of the 20th, he finally died around 105 in the 21st.  George Dawson was his name.  He went to school to learn how to read at 98.  And if you can't learn something from a guy like that, you can't learn anything at all.  So I figured the fact that I just happened to be wide awake reading this book right after having been robbed - must mean that there was something in it for me to learn. 

George Dawson was a black man raised in the south in the wake of slavery.  He live thru intense segregation.  As time went on and he was allowed to eat in the same restaurants and ride the same train cars as whites, he didn't trust or believe it was true.  His childhood hero, an older boy named Pete, was lynched right before his eyes on a false accusation of raping a white man's daughter.  The guy worked his ass off doing hard labor all his life.  And when he became known for going to school for the first time at age 98, a guy came to him to write this book about his life. 

When they met he began asking George some leading questions about the hardship and cruelty he had experienced in his life.  The writer was taken aback to find not anger but gratitude in everything the old man said.  George Dawson never held anything against anyone.  If anything he felt sorry for people who took advantage or mistreated him and his loved ones.  And they were really truly mistreated - not just robbed of electronic devices.  But he just felt bad for them.  He would simply say, "These folks are a little mixed up and thats just the way they are and there ain't no sense in tryin to change em," or something like that.  It was always just straight forward common sense.

When the writer would bring him books, George, who had just learned how to read, would pour over them with deep interest.  In reading books on food and money, George became a little disappointed.  He was surprised how much people worry about things and how reading about them just made it worse. 

"People worry too much.  Look at this one.  Carbohydrates, fats, vitamins, calories.  You know what all that will do to you?"

"Improve your nutrition," said the writer, "help balance your weight?"

"Maybe," said George.  "Most likely though it'll just make a person worry."

So thats all I've been doing is worrying.  Worrying that I won't have enough.  Worrying that my health might fail - as I've seen happen with many good people.  Truth is - and I know this in my heart - that if I could stop worrying, nothing bad would happen.  I know that we create our lives.  I know I had that phone stolen because I needed to see something more clearly. 

But how can you just stop worrying?  I remember Alan Watts, the great Buddhist philospher once said, "Try not to picture a pink elephant."  He was referring to religion and disallowing the congregation certain pleasures and activities via commandments and whatnot.  But this is a real illustration of how our funny human minds work.  The more we want to be free of something, the more it will haunt us because our minds latch onto things and will not let their images fade.

What is the credo that this 105 year old gentleman lived by?  "Life is good.  It just is."

So forget about the phone, forget about money or your health.  Stop worrying about everything.  Just stop worrying.  Everything is cool, baby.  Be cool, Hunny Bunny, be cool.  Everything always works out and there's no room for anger.  Some people just need to learn the hard way that taking from people is not the way to go.  They'll learn.  Sooner or later they will learn.  But thats their deal.  My deal and your deal is: what will we learn?  If we learn to stop worrying then we will have learned the secret of long life and happiness.

And now the sun is up.  Guess I'm gonna learn how important a good night's sleep is. 

CLOSING RECEPTION FOR

THE SECOND ANNUAL GOVERNORS ISLAND ART FAIR

Sunday, September 27 from 3-6pm

PRESENTED BY

THE 4HEADS COLLECTIVE

Sponsored By GalleryBar, Golden Paints, Two Boots Pizza, and Frame It Brooklyn

On Display Saturdays & Sundays thru September 27

Governors Island, NY (September 27, 2009) – The Second Annual Governors Island Art Fair compiled by the 4heads Collective and sponsored by Gallery Bar will culminate with a closing reception on Sunday, September 27^th from 3–6pm.  Visitors will be allowed one last chance to stroll through the abandoned army barracks of Governors Island while viewing a selection of work by 150 independent and international artists and performers as well as a selection of art galleries. A large number of paintings, photographs, sculpture, video, sound and object installation pieces are showcasing a vast cross-section of the New York art scene.  Guests will be able to view these collections every Saturday and Sunday now through September 27^th from 11am – 6pm.

Along with the critically acclaimed exhibition organized and curated by The 4heads Collective, at the closing reception will be a live painting competition by Art Battles, live music by UOM from Miami and German folk songs by Tine Kinderman (just back from a tour with Iggy Pop).  Within the exhibition itself, the public will be invited to commission private and intimate verse with The Poetry Brothel, to experience a multi-person live performance in the installation created by artist Kikuko Tanaka, and to revel in the depression of the recession by playing metal-sculptor Robert Spinazzola's  game, "Lay-off Bingo".  In the spirit of true end-of-the-summer festivity, the closing reception (featuring food by Two Boots Pizza and drinks by GalleryBar) will be a mid-day costume party and outdoor masquerade ball with mask-making booths for any unprepared revelers.  The public are encouraged to attend in costume and to engage in the many interactive adventures that will be happening on the Island, in order to send the wildly successful fair off with a bang.  

“On our opening day there were 9,700 people here,” says Preet Srivastava of The 4heads Collective.  "We were overwhelmed with the positive reception to our event and we hope for even more of a spectacle at our closing."

While Governors Island is a place that few outside the military have ever seen, its rolling hills, sprawling lawns, colonial homes and ancient forts have made it a focal point of the New York art scene.  In recognizing this point, The 4heads Collective organized the first Governors Island Art Fair in the fall of 2008 featuring works that ranged from emerging unknowns to established working artists.  This year, the organization has brought on GalleryBar from the Lower East Side to act as a partner in the project in order to help expand the reach to artists and appeal to a younger New York crowd.

“We were blown away by the attendance at the opening of this event,” says Darin Rubell of GalleryBar.  “Working with The 4heads to bring all this amazing art out to this exotic little island has been an unbelievable experience for us.”

Just a (free!) 5-minute ferry ride from Manhattan, Governors Island includes a National Historic Landmark District featuring 18th century fortifications, pre-Civil War arsenal buildings, Victorian and Romanesque Revival housing, as well as early 20th century neo-classical architecture.  Twenty-two of Governors Island's 172 acres comprise the Governors Island National Monument, which is owned and operated by the National Park Service. The island boasts sixteen acres of recreational facilities encircled by a one-mile esplanade for jogging and walking which features New York's closest view of the Statue of Liberty from land.

About The 4heads Collective

The 4heads Collective is a New York-based group dedicated to cultivating interest in the arts through community involvement and interaction.  Ernie Sandidge, Nicole Laemmle, Preet Srivastava, Antony Zito and Jack Robinson formed the group in early 2008 with a mission of forging new opportunities for the growing community of artists in New York City.  The 4heads Collective offers each selected artist a chance to exhibit in his or her own room in a historic building on Governors Island.  The 4heads has established a hands-off curatorial environment inviting the individual artists to create their own experience. For the public, it’s an opportunity to see and buy artwork from some of the city’s most sought-after independent artists in a beautiful, historic park setting.  www.4heads.org

Today's NY Post page 25!!!!!!!!

m.nypost.com/ms/p/nyp/nyp/sH3YYPfOjcSkPSkOd_cicLg/view.m

So the GalleryBar show got extended and everything got a little messed up...  its coming down this week so we are finally ACTUALLY going to draw the winner of the big portrait.  So come down and hear my friend Marteeen and his buddies play some amazing live improv upbeat jazzy numbers and get your portrait painted.

This Wednesday the 23rd from 7-10 is my closing reception at GalleryBar 120 Orchard @ Delancey.  Its your last chance to grab one of those quick cheap masterpieces, and its the night that I will be drawing the winner of the 4ft x 5ft canvas.

I've been working with my pals in The 4heads Collective on the Governors Island Art Fair (closing on Sunday!! Come out!!) and its been a huge success.

But do come out for one last hurrah at GalleryBar and get yourself one of those cheap cheap Zito portraits.  And yes, this time we will actually draw the winner!

Open to artists in all media, The 2nd Annual Governors Island Art Fair, New York City is seeking talent. No cost to exhibit if chosen.

Visit www.4heads.org for info and submission form. Each artist gets their own room to exhibit in a former military bunker on the island for every weekend of September. Over 100 exhibition spaces will be available. The fair is also open to galleries. Volunteers are encouraged to sign up to help make it all happen.

Sponsorships available on barter or cash and donations are graciously accepted.

Good Luck!

Zito

Gallery Bar Turns Studio With 'Multiple Personalities'

Gallery Bar on the LES, as the name implies, can't seem to make up its mind. And weekends from now until September 7, it'll go you one better and triple as a studio. The artist Zito, whose collection of portraits called "Multiple Personalities" currently hangs in the gallery, will be on hand painting at the space on Friday and Saturday nights and Sunday afternoons throughout the duration of the show.

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