It's Friday morning. After some serious contemplation and a ride on public transportation across town, I decided to play hooky and spend the day alone. I haven't had much time alone here in Philly. It's almost impossible in fact, for me to spend any time by myself here except when I'm in the bathroom. Needless to say, I really enjoy being in the bathroom.
Bear with me, I'm attempting to begin writing again, and having not done so in such a long time, everything is scattered and lackluster. My apologies.
I moved to West Philadelphia a week or so ago at the invitation of my friends Pam and Kellzo, a married couple who inspire me a great deal in many ways. Their house (our house) looks like some sort of esoteric art museum and is decorated almost haphazardly with their combined artwork (many mediums), random furniture, plants, plants and more plants of all varieties, self designed light fixtures, books, cassette tapes, records and various audio equipment, a plethora of spices and culinary oddities in jars,clothing and gems that Pam seems to find on her wanderings around. The house is seemingly endless, with so many rooms, each dedicated to different function and purpose, each with their own creative flair. Kellzo has a room for audio recording and creation, There is a shared room for the making of just about anything with catalogued materials including filing cabinets labeled-"adhesives, markers, pens and paint, paper, fabric, etc. There are tools for carprentry and building, screen printing supplies, a sewing machine and needles and threads and yarns, a dummy for tailoring, wood stamps used for printing on fabric, rulers, a paper cutter and a collection of various kinds of tape. You get the idea. Pam and kellzo share a spacious bedroom which is comfortable and homey and wholly embodies the characteristics of both of them. There is a bathroom on that floor which is sparse and has a hose attatched in the bathtub to clean up any artistic processes necessary. On that same floor is a door to the attic. Up the creaky steps and illuminated by christmas lights you will find a lounge of sorts. An old table and high stools overlooks the city out of two windows on either side of the cavernous room, which is musty and has exposed insulation. Old projects of theirs rest up there as well and sit about in little heaps that seem to converse with one another about times when they were created, in use and maybe on display. Kellzo also used this room to spray paint cds he'd made and so the design still remains imprinted on the floor. It's surprisingly cozy up there and it easily feels as though you've escaped the world and entered into a portal to another time and space. Downstairs on the first floor is the kitchen-the warm epicenter of this big old body. Spices, dry goods, sauces and seasonings are all in a makeshift order on giant shelves. A variety of cookware hangs from the shelves as well. There seems to be an endless supply of anything and everything needed to make whatever you can dream of. Photographs line the walls and homemade light fixtures create a soft ambiance over top the table and chairs. There is a collection of things both old and new and it feels as though I could take days trying to catalogue everything that is in that kitchen. It is inviting and comfortable. There is a bathroom-with all of our varying natural toiletries, herb tinctures, historic looking grooming devices, a small shelf of books for reading while on the crapper or in the bath and of course-plants. At night, white christmas lights softly illuminate the space, making it calm and comfy even though it tends to be so cold most of the time.
The living room is one of my favorite rooms in the house. I think it's also one of the warmer places. It's large and holds the most organized part fo the Pam-Kellzo collection. More homemade light fixtures light up the living room in a warm tungsten glow. Plants take over the front bay windows-some viney and draping all about. Pam has a keen interest in amateur botany and she will if you inqure, tell you about each plant and how it came about to be in her garden of sorts. Vintage furniture makes for comfrtable sitting and or sleeping. Pam recently built the library and all of their books collected over the years are catalogued and in alphabetical order. Paintings cover the walls and thier record and cassette collection is somewhat organized on shelves under two giant mirrors which give the room even more depth. The sun comes up in this room in the mornings, making it a melted buttery orange-yellow and creating a quiet peacefulness I haven't much felt in a city environment. My room is at the end of the hall. It's often very cold in there, but inviting nonetheless and like the rest of the house, museum-like. It was Pam's old sewing room. It's furnished with her furniture and some remaining belongings and so I feel as though I am staying at some historic hotel run by mad artists as opposed to having my own room, which in fact, is a blessing considering that I own next to nothing and am a severe minimalist as far as decor goes. It already felt lived in before I moved in with my meager belongings. There is a giant bed complete with many giant warm blankets, two desks, three giant windows, and a massive closet adorned with mirrors taller than my body. Some of Pam's collected paintings and photographs adorn the walls, and then of course, there are the neat piles of the only things I own=Camping gear, my clothing in a suitcase, boxes of negatives, prints and film and my cameras. The house is an old West Philly structure. It sits at the edge of the very distinct West Philly Activist/Artist/Hippie/University/Ghetto/Alternative area of the city. Bordering it, is the straight ghetto-which is blighted and dilapidated. It's certainly an interesting mix of culture, history and environment. It feels wholly more spacious and less congested than anywhere else I seem to spend time in the direct metropolis. Their house, our house, in a sense-is an oasis in an overcrowded, over-burdended, over depressed city. I feel like it's a proper place to unravel and untangle all of the massive knots I've accumulated and developed in my brain over time. It's a resting place for now. A much needed much anticipated resting place.
It's also a place where my own creative juices seem to flow. Pam and Kellzo promote that kind of lava river inside of oneself-and they do it both collectively and independently. They, unlike most people that I know in life-do not force their way into your inner space, rather-they invite you in when they feel comfortable and gradually and slowly come into you as you yourself invite them. It is symbiosis at it's best. No bossing around, or pushing or pulling, just, being. They are inquisitive and informative, intimate yet distant. The give a closeness that requires almost no maintainance. They are a rare find. Wonderful curators both of themselves and their abode. I'm lucky to have been asked into this residency. I'm sincerely hoping that I have to the time to properly assess things I've been storing inside of this broken vessel of a body over the years. I'm hoping to take some of their behaviors with me to aid me in my anxious frenzy of too much thought and feeling.
I'm sitting here now at 11:12 am, smoking a cigarette, drinking a Yards Thomas Jefferson Ale listening to the traffic outside, not worrying about the things that normally plague my brain and thinking about how lucky I am to have this place and this time to just r-e-l-a-x.
I woke up at 7am on Jude and Erin's couch-worrying about heading off to Chestnut Hill to go to work. Looking at the dreary gray day out there. Jude held both of my hands for a minute and massaged them..as he softly talked to me and told me I had to get up. I happily arose, knowing I'd get to spend some time with him. I rubbed the crusties out of my eyes (all brown from the endless wood dust of sanding at work), put on my glasses and went into the kitchen to drink coffee with him and listen to the sing song sound of his voice. I spent the next hour and a half quizzing him on blood and the heart for his midterm and then dashed out the door to begin my own day-walking through south philly and hopping the subway to get to the trolley to come back home to the museum with all intentions of going to work. I carried Jude with me and felt too tired around all of those people on the train. Watching West Philly come into view I knew I had to take a day off, to sit here in the museum alone, think, lay low and just put everything into focus.
Home isn't so bad sometimes. Sometimes, home is a necessary thing. And you can bet your sweet ass I'd like to be skiing in Alta with my friends, or up at the cabin in Maine with Nate, or out on my farm in Kauai listening to the chickens yelling and the bees swarming above my tent and the mountains welcoming me in the new morning light. But shit-I'm here in Philly-so why not just drink a Philly beer and listen to the sounds of the city and digest all that I've been eating over all this time.
