The Jewelry Maker. People who discuss what is art and what is not are wasting valuable time.
The Life of the Artist
is hard fabulous torturous redeeming humiliating enlightening isolating hilarious self-centered generous nightmarish… a dream. Some of these people I know. Some I know about. Some I’ve made up, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.
Low budget horror movie film makers.
Two drag queens. A mermaid and an aging diva.
The sculptor welds his steel parts. War is everywhere.
The Man who sells his poems on 8th Street.
Ballroom Dancing (of a sort). When I was four my mother and father used to dance the tango at night in their pajamas.
Woman novelist writing chapters of a Noir novella in local coffee shop.
Poet saxophone player performer as one. He doesn’t know where he is.
She’s not supposed to: but she’s singing “What’s Love Got to Do With It” quite fabulously.
The cartoonist haunted by Iraq.
A composer made an amazing orchestra only out of metal fragments, utensils, and trash. Very few people have heard it.
A religious painter makes ceremonial thrones.
The Bubble Master.
The drummer plays with his collection of world instruments.
Romeo and Juliet Robotics.
The Lower East Side S+M Circus Theatre.
A professional quilter creates a memorial for a young man’s grandfather out hos shirts, pants, coats, ties, a golf bag, and other precious clothing and objects.
The singer songwriter practices alone in his downtown studio.
Two actors in costume for “Waiting for Godot.”
Puppeteers and their puppets.