NO REGRETS

I give you an extraordinary image from photographer Carla Coulson's new book, CHASING A DREAM.
I am half Irish and Scottish but have never been able to pull off a kilt.
I have in my day worn lederhausen to clean a wealthy eccentric's upper East side penthouse but worst of all, I donned diapers and wings while serving Halston, Liza, Andy and Liz their "drink requests" at Studio 54 on Valentines Day.
No regrets. Humiliation has made me the man I am today.
I must admit I was a bit of a prude at a young age, I never lifted my kilt in the age of aids and still got illustration jobs from the connections. Better to get a contract than contract a disease as the morning sun bathed the awakening Manhattan skyline with her fresh clarity heralding yet another walk of shame.
I suppose I could have made a bigger artistic splash in the pan had I accepted every offer but then, let's face it, I would not be alive to write about it. Carla photographs a new generation, a bit wiser I hope, and the beat goes on.
Click on my Carla Coulson sidebar image to purchase her book, I gave them out as Christmas gifts this year, that season is over, be selfish, buy one for yourself.

LET'S GET DRUNK

 

2011, the worst year of my life, let's raise a glass or two and bid good riddance to it, do not let the door slam your back on the way out.
I am looking forward to 2012 and the fact that me mum is better. I can now get back to my life, away from small town minds with small ambitions who tell me how to behave.
Big cities have protected me most of my life, I now know it is still too soon to go home, that I can never go home.
So, let's get drunk this evening and move on, at least we have each other.
Happy New Year.
X David

FIVE LOAVES OF BREAD AND TWO FISH

Six geese a-laying, seven swans a-swimming... hopefully you know the rest of these lyrics, I don't.
This illustration was commissioned as a non-denominational holiday card for a jewelry/accessories company in NYC, hence the rings.
My life is still a bit unsettled at the moment, less than golden, which is why I have been so erractic in posting of late but I see a light at the end of the tunnel.
Me Mum has regained her health and sharing this Christmas with her in Upstate NY has meant the world to me. I try to be a good Catholic son, sort of, but I am tired, especially of the limited local cuisine.
Two days before Christmas I received a chilled FedEx package from NYC containing Russ and Daughters assorted bagels, lox, cream cheese, cavier, and my favorite, sable.
This annual indulgence, which I was resigned to pass up due to geographical logistics, was sent to me by my friend Larry Silver, it was perhaps the most thoughtful gift I have ever received.
Martha Stewart yaks on about Russ and Daughters but I knew about them before she did, she does not yak on about Larry Silver's paintings, she should.
I want to wish you all the best this season has to offer, forget golden rings, geese in labor and swans. I wish you health, love and bagels from NYC, whatever makes you happy. X David

JUNGLE RED

NYC is a jungle and when your rep tells you to draw "A pretty girl with red lipstick." you do it. This image graced a promotional card designed to bring in new clients and I suppose it did to some degree, I prefer a quirkier image with soul.
If your lucky enough to be in the city this holiday season and yearn for the unusual, check out GaGa's Workshop at Barneys, lots of visual eye candy before you even set foot in the store. Half the fun is admiring her "Little Monsters" shopping who can actually afford many of the items up for sale. Barneys will donate 25 percent of the proceeds to lady Gaga’s charity, The Born This Way Foundation, which focuses on youth empowerment and equality.
To view Christmas through the peculiar lens of John Waters, reserve tickets to “A John Waters Christmas” a two night engagement at B.B. King Blues Club & Grill in New York on Dec. 19 and 20.
I have wasted many a youthful night with Mr. Waters and his ensemble cast back in the day in Provincetown, Mass. and at numerous New York Film Festival parties where he politely insisted he remembered me but I am not buying it. I still have a postcard he sent me, perhaps he really does recall.
This has been my annus horribilis as I am sure it has been for many of you as well, much of it spent upstate with my ailing mother in a village whose citizens, my relatives, want to lynch me.
I have learned that great cities are a safe haven from ignorance and violence.
I am merely caring for me Mum as a dutiful son, spare me the annoyance of cruel relatives.
Enough, basta!
As soon as me Mum is fine, I am back to the jungle where people celebrate their individuality and creativity in an honest and healthy manner. Until then, I am seeing red for the way I have been treated in this village by sanctimonious morons.
The fact that we have gone to court and received a restraining order against a relative who has physically threatened us and repeatedly harassed us by phone at two in the morning provides small comfort.
I would like to add that the more intelligent, educated family members have shown quiet support for which I am grateful but still...
I want out, but me Mum refuses to budge, so here we shall stay a little longer, a very little longer, until we can all reach the safety of the jungle, where people are civilized.

MONSTERS ARE REAL

As children we instinctively believe in monsters that lurk under our beds or patiently wait in closets to pounce upon us the minute our parents say goodnight and turn off the bedroom light.
Eventually we foolishly trust in locked doors and the comfort that a 911 emergency call for help will bring. We grow lax.
We do not expect a psycho to rifle through our trash or sit quietly outside our door to listen to our conversation and worse...
I have recently applied for and won an order of protection from a monster who took the form of a seemingly benign jelly bellied fool, sigh, trust no one.
Consequently I have kept a low profile of late which is blogger suicide. I apologize.
I give you a photo of my sister Nora dressed as a highly flammable Morticia from the Adams Family and myself dressed as an acetate Dracula, neither of us is convincing. Please note my scary fingers which are natural and that my sisters crazed gaze is not an affectation.
I still love Halloween and I am not going to let  spooks take that away from me.
I wish all monsters lived exclusively in the imagination of children and never become real.
That said, Happy Halloween, X David

Amy, Amy, Amy

"I cheated myself - Like I knew I would - I told ya, I was trouble - You know that I'm no good."
Amy Winehouse never sugarcoated her lyrics, she never sugarcoated any aspect of her life and I respect that. I never tire of playing her music and am capable of playing the same album over and over again until someone stops me, trouble is, now it is tinged with sadness.
This artist had it all, great voice, amazing songwriting skills and a quirky sense of fashion style. She was a unique hot mess of retro girl group eye shadow meets heroin chic meets New Jersey big hair and it worked, at least for me. I mentioned her in an earlier post and included a video that pretty much visually summed up everything I like about her, take a look. Do not get me wrong, she is not a video star, she is best savored sans imagery, simply listen.
In the end, her prophetic lyrics "I cheated myself" rang true, unfortunately we are all cheated and must settle for the small body of masterly work she left behind, of which I shall never tire.

Savage Beauty

Alexander McQueen puts on a good show, even in death.
I shall not regurgitate every word you have already read about the exhibition “Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty” at the Met.
I will however advise you to hail a plane, train, or taxi to this uptown institution for a glimpse into the gloriously bizarre and sometimes dark mind of a genius.
Despite what we know of his untimely demise, all sadness is banished by the brilliant light of his creativity.
I thought of many of you while wandering about the exhibition and wished I could make you appear by my side. McQueen makes one believe that anything is possible, especially the improbable.
The show runs until July 31st.
Photography by Sølve Sundsbø

March, April, May be better

I have not posted a word for quite some time, I succumbed to March madness and break out in hives every time my phone rings.
I used to welcome phone calls but lately they concern the funereal dates of elderly relatives and the horrific untimely death of those too young.
NYC is great until a friend gets shot in the head or your much admired sculptural artist's child dies from a seizure.
I should not be writing about any of this, I do not want to remind anybody of their pain but oddly, those closest to me never read this blog.
Death is an invitation we shall all receive, hopefully in our sleep. It is the burden of those who awake to mourn, to hopefully appreciate life and make the best of the day that they are given.
I give you yet another image of Venice, it is my wish to be cremated and have my ashes unceremoniously dumped off any bridge into the Grand Canal, until then I shall drink and smoke and enjoy every minute of every day in memory of those who have passed.

A Near Death in Venice

For over a decade I have survived gloomy February by booking a flight to Venice. My internal clock is nagging me to go but such a trip is economically impossible this year.
I have always avoided the madness of Carnevale preferring to arrive the day after when rates go down and the city is hungover. Wet confetti lies in worn cobblestone cracks bleeding bright colors into the canals and one can have a Campo or even Piazza San Marco to oneself.
I was a carefree young fool when I first laid eyes on this surreal city, it was love at first sight despite our vast differences in age. I have since grown older, more worse for wear but she remains hauntingly beautiful.
I always try to dress and act with dignity when traveling, if you show a little respect you will be rewarded tenfold, better tables, invitations to private homes and occasionally, free drinks. This rule holds true for Venice more than any other major city as you will shine like a beacon amidst the fanny pack, sneaker wearing cruise ship crowd. I am not a snob, I am merely stating the facts.
While visiting Venice for the sixth time I had the misfortune to catch one of those airplane colds, I suffered with it for two days before seeking help from the local Farmacia, apparently codeine is an over the counter drug in Italy, at least it was then. The entire visit passed like a dream that I never wanted to wake from. Naturally one does not need drugs in Venice, her grandeur is intoxicating enough but I do recommend that you catch a cold at least once while visiting.
The last time I visited Harry's Bar it was filled with Americans all shouting into their cell phones to the folks back home, "Guess where I am. I'm at Harry's Bar and I am drinking a Bellini!" It was awful, they also shot daggers at our table because we were smoking, I have not been back since.
My first experience at Harry's was quite different, my companions were beautiful and handsome, everyone smoked, yes we enjoyed the ubiquitous Bellini but quickly moved on to Prosecco. The crowd was a congenial mix of travelers and a few actual Venetians, life was good.
I was wearing my new suit purchased in Florence the week before.
Sufficiently soused we planned to return to our respective hotels when we were approached by Venetians who convinced us the night was young. Venice is not known for it's nightlife but we were escorted to one of the three places I know of that stay open late.
We were treated to yet more bottles of Prosecco which is why my new suit and I needed fresh air. I excused myself from the table and exited a back door which opened on to a small dark canal.
I thought for a moment I may be sick so I leaned forward over the canal and braced myself with one hand to a gondola pole which promptly cracked in half sending me head first into the canal. I was completely underwater. It was pitch black. I imagined for a moment that this would be a wonderful way to die but I was not ready yet. Upon surfacing, the only sound I heard was of the splash still echoing off the walls that surrounded this murky dark canal. I collected my thoughts and realized I would have to swim a yard to some slimy moss covered steps which I pulled myself up on to. No longer sick, in fact completely shocked into sobriety I contemplated my situation as I dripped. There was nothing to be done but return to my playmates who did not bat an eye concerning the state of my being.
We all met the next evening for dinner but my suit never hung quite right ever again.
Katherine Hepburn was required to fall into a canal while filming Summertime and suffered from a permanent eye infection for the rest of her life, she should have fallen in with 80 proof blood, she would have been fine.
There is nothing I can write about Venice that has not already been said far more eloquently than I ever could. This drawing is my valentine to a city I love. I hope you all get a chance to experience her glory, that is my valentine to you. X David

Town and Country... sort of

Friends from Venice have sublet my NYC apartment for awhile and I have subsequently taken on what I loosely refer to as my country home.
My new upstate New York retreat is buried in snow, five foot icicles drip from the roof in front of my windows like Swarovsky crystals which is breathtakingly beautiful and convenient as I have no curtains.
I'll keep this place as a respite from the city and attempt a garden in the summer months.
I sublet my city apartment fully furnished and have been living the past few weeks with a few essentials, one chandelier, one old red velvet chair, tons of books and a mattress. I am happy.
Concerning Pixie Marie, I found her at my door, a tabby cat, a godsend I spent four glorious days with. What I did not know was that cats roam freely in the country, they are not necessarily abandoned or homeless. I saw a poster of her in the village post office as a missing cat the other day and sheepishly let her go. She continues to come crying at my door which makes me uncomfortable as I am trying to keep a low profile.
I have another Pixie Marie in mind but she will not be available until she gives birth. She is a nasty looking little mutt and I loved her on sight but have learned to take cautious steps though I will not judge her past loose behavior.
Happy belated new year to all of you, you are loved. Show up at my door and I will take you in, at least until the authorities report you missing.
Apologies to Sarcastic Bastard and Beth, I had no idea I would be making so many last minute changes in my life.
The above illustration appeared in House Beautiful.