Tag Archives: Berlin

Baby I Can Drive Your Car

I have returned from Berlin, and there stood Helen behind the velvet rope at the airport, holding up a sign that said “Morrissey!” It’s a good thing she was there as a witness, because this trawl through the airport has me not only convinced that ugly people have lives, and problems, and pay car insurance, they also go on vacations! Apparently, you can be possessed of a face full of chancres and still zip off to Amsterdam for a Holiday. (and they let you in!) Mouth-breathers with harelips still pack off to St. Tropez. The human spirit is astonishing, ladies and gentleman.

I have not even unpacked or taken my new iBook for a spin (Helen made the Morrisseydance my wallpaper!). ‘Ere I landed, I had to go back to work, and then off to shoot a scene for the My Little Pain in the Ass Movie. I arrive at the set and try not to think of the month’s worth of laundry that I need to do, the giant overflowing suitcase in the middle of my bed, the slides that need to be catalogued, the work that needs to be photographed with my new camera, the new biography I have to write for my gallery website, or the emails yet to send to notify Berlin that I arrived safely. Yes, I thought of none of those things. Good. Then the director tells me that in this scene I have to Drive. A Car. Yes, Drive. A Car. Everyone knows that I do not know how to drive a car! Everyone who has ever helped me move, or travel or go grocery shopping. Hell, even the Liberal State of Massachusetts knows that I can’t drive. I know this is as rare as an individual who has never eaten a hamburger at McDonalds. How did I reach the age of thirty without learning to drive? How did I miss this teenage right of passage? Like a lot of privileges of youth, it just slipped me by. Anyway, I took a cast of three careening down a dark street, screeching to a halt to dump a bloody man out, and tearing off shrieking with mirth. The fact that I needed to be shown where the gas and the brake pedal are, made this rather easy to do. We are going for realistic terror here, people!

So I may be tired, my manicure ragged, and things in general disarray, but I drove a car. Maybe I will even apply for a permit.

In between takes, I got to peer at the debate. I am chagrined to see that Bush has polished up his act enough to appear “likeable” and “compassionate”, so that Middle America will not think about the fact that this is a man unconcerned with the pileups of corpses, who has declared his feeling that captaining a dictatorship would make it easier for him to “get stuff done.” But how much can you really polish a turd? Kerry proved once again that he has a working knowledge of government and an awareness of such impenetrable concepts as human rights (for non-whites!) No matter how much we plead for sanity here at Vomitola, some of you are going to vote for a criminal regime with your own little flag waving hearts. Be our guest.

However, DO NOT VOTE FOR NADER OR WE WILL COME AND FIND YOU. We realize here that a healthy democracy means we have to break this two party jamboree. But the third candidate on the ballot this year exists only as a symbol of that fact. What is more crucial to the vitality of our freedoms, and the right to life of others–a symbolic move toward multiple party elections in the United States, or a Bush-free White House? We leave that for you to determine.*

*we know where you live.



Has the Perrier Gone Straight to My Head?

I have been working very hard in the manner of Jane, Get me off this crazy thing. The subjects for the portraits I have been comissioned to do showed up at my apartment on Friday afternoon. And I Morrisseyed day and night and finished the two pictures on Saturday. Which is like some kind of record for me. I wanted to be finished in time for my dear friend Smilla’s birthday extravaganza on Saturday night. With my work finished, and my mind awhirl, I was ready to get good and Awesome. The party had sort of a sixties theme so I secured a cylidrical structure to my head and sprayed and spackled my hair over it. Now that my hair has gotten so long, topiary is possible. Next time I will sculpt a giraffe.

I made everyone dance to an extended version of Crimson and Clover.

Sunday in Berlin, the clothes, the cafe brunches, and VIKTOR, Berlin’s most beautiful man. I went to my favorite fleamarket in dem Arkunerplatz, and I knew I was at his table before I even saw him, by the character of the clothes on the rack. He was dallying somewhere, but as I turned over one chic-y micky seventies dress after another, I knew his dirty smile and snarky glint could not be far. I wait all year for my five minutes to bask in Viktor on a Sunday. Sure enough, he is there to tell someone with a fleeting eyeroll that they look amazing and to say hello to “well, everyone…all those….people”. Everyone is a so-and-so next to Viktoriano. Of course for the fifth year running I am too shy to say much more than hello to the coolest cat around. One day I will get his picture, do a portrait. Put a lock of his hair in the secret drawer of an old clock, right next to the gold threaded swatch of Morrissey’s shirt from 1989.

Or something insane like that.

A second look at the paintings tells me I should do a little more work on one before I present them to the client tomorrow night. And five drawings still to do for the Kunst Ring.

Wish me luck, Morrissey!


Stretch Out and Wait

I made it alive to Berlin, despite Northwestern Airlines’ steadfast efforts to kill me. They offered a tray full of dumpster trailings for my dinner, and a thimble for my drink. This shallow potable must have been meant for the infant three rows back, who squalled interminably without his mother’s little helper. I long for days when “leave the bottle” actually meant something. I implore you all to fly British Airways and enjoy a hot Korma and some cognac. Next time I find myself in the cheap seats, I will pack a rag soaked with ether. I won’t say for whom.

Anyway, Morrissey, I find myself in dem Vaterland, with my work cut out for me. I have been engaged to do several drawings for an organization that will reproduce them en masse to sell at their bookstore. In looking through the brochure from past years, I see that there are many prominent artists taking part. Apparently one of the organizers saw my work in the gallery, and asked for my grafik. I can hardly wait to get started, and will fill a small biplane with the results, and rain them o’er the land!

My second task is to paint two portraits by Monday. Yes, that is a terrifying three days from now. I met my subjects today and they are lovely, fresh-faced little things, so I am not too worried (this is a lie-ed.)

By Morrissey, I had a lovely day though! Before my meeting in the gallery, I was free to roam about town and it was a lovely autumn day. I had a superb lunch in a french cafe. For seven dollars I got soup, salad, a lamb ragout, and some glazed pear slices. All served in those appropriate dollops that leave you feeling sated but not stuffed like an armchair.

I restocked my studio here this evening, and have the evening free to drink wine and wait for the first sitting tomorrow. So ignore all the codes of the day, let your juvenile impulses swaaaay….


Guten Tag, Berlin

For your viewing pleasure here in the Vomitorium, treat this is one of my newer paintings. I have sold it to the Ladengalerie in Berlin for the next exhibition in 2005. So if you want to see it, tadalafil get on a plane to Tegel. I promised the Kids in Germany that I would report to them once a week-ish in a language they can understand. Humorless and efficient? No, German!

Ich bit seit einer Woche wieder hier in Boston und wollte sagen das es richtig schön war, wieder bei Euch zu sein, auch wenn nur kurz. Es läuft prima bei dem neuen Job- das Büro is wahnsinnig cool, viel feiner und hübscher als das alte (Ich habe einen neuen windows xp mit einem flachem LCD Bildschirm- geil, wahr?). Ich habe auch schon angefangen einen Galerie hier zu suchen für die Ausstellung 2005 und werde berichten wenn was davon geworden ist. Mein Zimmer ensteht noch eine Explosion aus dem Gepäck. Ich habe zu viel zu tun gehabt, um mich darum kümmern zu können. Zwei Wörter: David Bowie.

Unter dieser Meldung kann man auf Comments klicken und nachrichten lassen. Also, ihr könnten meine viele Fehler beim schreiben merken oder mir einfach sagen wie toll ich bin!

Bis Bald!

Das ist Playboy

That’s what he said when I held up an enormous pair of vintage sunglasses. When Viktor says it looks good, it goes into my pocket. I love the fleamarket on the Akunerplatz in Berlin’s Prenzlauerberg. I love the rows of stands with all the shiny clothes and mod furniture, I love the fashionable people that get dressed up to browse and haggle there. But most of all I love Viktor, the fashion guy. He’s gorgeous, stylish, and delivers a snarky running commentary, “oh, that looks SO GOOD on you”. I have been buying things from him for years, and harboring a massive “he doesn’t know I’m alive” kind of crush. I can only share his stage for the length of time it takes for him to look me over, help me with a zipper, tell me I look fabulous and trade my admiration for 12 euros and a beautiful dress. Then I no longer have an excuse to remain, so I can only steal a glance at his gray eyes, and the fringe of long hair sweeping into them, and go.

Tomorrow morning I catch an early plane back to Boston. Ciao Berlin, ciao Viktor!

Yes, of course I realize he is gay! Shut up.


Public Works

I was sitting in a cafe in Mitte with an old friend and a girl came to our table with an entry form for a contest in the Kulturbrauerei (culture brewery). It’s a group of studios, galleries, and spaces where things happen. At any rate, they are building a word in giant steel letters that will adorn the plaza, and are handing out flyers to people who do nothing but sit in cafes all day thinking up words to be cast in giant steel letters. Naturally, we entered Vomitola! We will no doubt soon become a landmark in Berlin’s Underground art culture!

Plus, I stole her pen.


The Man Without A Past

I finally got to see Aki Kaurismäki’s last film, and it was just as weird and gripping and lacking in emotional display as you expect from a Finn.

I, too, am erasing my past. Bringing some more of my things back to America. It’s all crap anyway. Closing the door on old relationships. Buying new shoes and planning for an exhibiton in 2005.

Everything is changing and crazy, but it’s ok. It’s about what you expect from your lambchop. Tomorrow I will take some photos of my new work in the gallery. It’s already been purchased, expressly for the 2005 exhibition, Kampf Bilder.

Rock in Pictures

This is my roomie S. at our impromptu karaoke party on Saturday. I tear up when he sings I’m Not in Love. Even with the pornorific pencil moustache.

Last night one of the greatest rock bands ever was in our neighborhood. The first time I ever had a psychedelic snack, I was watching the video for Under the Milky way when they kicked in. I have not been the same ever since. Which is why I had to do a urine test when I applied for a job at a movie theater. Don’t worry, I always carry a spare. Oh but they still got it. Marty informed us that he has so much talent and charisma, it was bound to ooze onto the first two rows and coagulate there. At one point he needed a stool to support the weight of his genius. WE LOVE MARTY!

I quit my job. But I got another. I am going home to watch Bartleby.

Here are some more things that ROCK:

1. Leaving for sunny Berlin in a week-ish.

2. Orange Julius

3. Going to the roller rink this weekend.

4. Starsky and Hutch!!!