what am I doing #109
I am starting to wonder again what I am doing with my life, like a dog that won’t stop chewing on a sore foot. I make changes and they are slow… slooooow to show progress, but I still haven’t done anything to be myself. My life has been spent supporting and enjoying other peoples’ genius and talent. I’ve done pretty well at it, considering the main band I’ve supported is now semi-famous (seeing Cooley on VH1 kinda did me in, in fact) and most everyone I know is happy and healthy. I will always do that kind of thing, to keep myself sane, and supporting good music is what I love. Lots of great bands still need help; but these things don’t do much for my own self-expression.
I watched Man On Wire the other day. Patterson had been talking it up as well as my stepdad. Turns out Philippe Petit was the first street performer Steve saw when he went to Paris. I finally rented it and Matt and I watched it in two parts, splitting in the middle because I was passing out from exhaustion (warning: do not start movie after 18 hour day). What stuck with me most was commentary from Annie Allix, who was Philippe’s girlfriend at the time. She said that there was never any doubt she would support him; that was her role, and there was no thought given to her own dreams. He was all-consuming and she was there whenever he needed her. She does not resent this, however, despite being dumped after Philippe became a star. She says, “It was beautiful that way.”
Once I considered myself an artist. I think that, unfortunately, I was not so much an artist as a skilled laborer. I never came up with much exciting or good on my own, out of my own imagination. I could copy things, especially humans – expressions, the look in the eye – but coming up with my own stuff? Pointless. My imagination is barren or at the very least untended, underdeveloped artistically. I fear the lack of originality, of never having anything new or interesting to add to the art world. I do not see life in paintings or shades and shapes like so many of my artistic friends.
Monster was like that to an extent. He could play any instrument in any style, just about; you could put him on stage with any band and he would merge right in. He of course could come up with great solos, and had the most amazing voice, but writing and creating weren’t so much his forte. I think that is why we were so close; we did talk about it. His philosphy seemed to be do what you do and enjoy it, help who you can and live like you want – but don’t regret what you do not have.
I miss him so much sometimes.
I think, always, that I have found the answer, that this man/drink/house/job/show will make me happy. I don’t feel the need to express myself, but I find it hard to be happy for some reason. I wonder if there’s something expressive I am supposed to be doing…
March 3, 2009 at 5:30 am
Like a lot of talented people, I think you sell yourself short. Your writing, websites and other endeavors make a difference to many, and that is more than the 15 minutes of fame most artists never get. Often when I read your blogs, I am motivated to write, or at least think about writing, or family, or drinking… or drinking with family and writing.. Keep doing what you love even if you don’t know what it is. Sal
April 2, 2009 at 1:06 pm
well, I know what I’m getting you for yer b-day after reading this, a cat-o-nine-tails. I hear it does the job much more efficiently. Quit beating yourself up, meet me after work one day next week at the track for a short jog and a walk.
luv,
jj