Last month I sold several of these "assemblages" to a local man named Terry. He also bought two small paintings.He seemed like a throwback to an earlier age in our history...an age when people sat around coffee tables on the floor rolling joints and listening to music and the door was always open.
I am happy when someone buys my art and likes it and talks about it. You don't see that kind of manic buyer much.
Then...no more Terry. All was quiet on Matillija Street...I investigated yesterday. I visited my friend Meg who owns a small business on Montgomery Street where Terry was supposed to have lived as well.
She said he would bring her bird's wings and rocks and even a tobacco offering; old furniture and the like. She had to tell him to quit it.Funny thing is these are my kind of people. I don't know why; I can't explain. I guess it is the novelty of it all. The way they find energy in the little things; the different things. I have to say they are only my kind of people if I have my own roof over my head and my own car and my own money. I know they won't provide in any manner of worldly security.
And these kind of people are losing their place in the world...if they ever had one. He was evicted for letting homeless people take showers at his house; for smoking pot; for painting Peter Max images on his walls.I knew I should have gone by his house while I had the chance; just to see the little vignette of doomed hippie-dom.