“Who you see today may not be the person I am tomorrow,” writes my friend of 20 years in a recent essay. He’s in town for a brief stint and I ask to take some pictures. He agrees. I read over his emails, the essay…any words I can find he’s written…to reacquaint myself with who he may be now in his life, art and writing.
He’s an artist, writer, performer. I remember seeing his journals years ago. Not exactly the written words, but visuals he would draw with pen on paper to capture a particular moment in time. The entries were fascinating. He’s the real deal, and a bit of a chameleon. A boyish face belies his age, ethos and the depth of intelligentsia he is part of.
I move my suburban living room furniture around for his visit. Make a quick trip to Hobby Lobby to find something he can draw on that might allow him to contribute to a picture. I decide on some black presentation board. Buy four panels and chalk. I’m thinking of those journals. First we take some portraits.
Between takes I hand him the chalk and one of the black boards. He draws. I run to the closet and get out an unopened box of 48 feet of rope lights. We improv a box from the black boards and duct tape–with his featured drawing in view. He has to leave in 30 minutes. Click. Click. The results are magical and strange. A gesture to his oeuvre and a portrait version of the subtext that his writing and art might instill in a reader/viewer. Happy New Year.
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