A Man Can Only Run So Far Around The World Before He Starts Heading Back Home

Lately, I’ve been thinking about a picture I took in Milan. Their eyes were closed. In a ten minute embrace.

Couldn’t help wonder— was it a goodbye. Reunion. Mourning. It didn’t feel celebratory. I could be projecting. I visualized their entire life span. Sometimes when I meet someone I hear a Conor Oberst lyric—

“I watched your face age backwards changing shape in my memory”

The table scape reminded me of an Irina Rozovksy picture. One I’ve always liked.

Which might make you think of this great 6 foot tall Wolfgang Tillmans print. It was in his MoMA retrospective last year. I smiled at the first sight it. It’s embodiment of two people far away from each other. Connected.

I’ve only lived in Manhattan as an adult. Regret. When I visit other cities I’m consumed by thoughts of what my life might’ve looked like there. Maybe that’s why when I’ve got heavy shoulders, I get on a plane.

I run— you’re thinking to yourself. I’d say you’re right.

My picture and the search for tranquility always remind me of this 1970 Vija Celmins painting. It’s nice to see in person.

I’m in another country— I like to take the metro. See non tourists. Commuting to work. Get a sense of what a normal life is like there. I thought about this Jules de Balincourt painting. The figures watching the city from afar. I saw it at Pace, not long ago.

The main thing I want to do in any city— is go to dinner. Preferably, with someone I love. Sit at the bar. Order together. Share in it all. Be excited to return.

I took the below picture this time last year. La Latteria. Also in Milan. It’s owned by an older couple. They only speak Italian. I’ve had lunch there twice. And yet, I felt immediately at home.

Being in a restaurant— feeling like a regular. Treated as such. It’s what I need. What I constantly seek out. But I don’t feel like getting on a plane this time. I’ve traveled alone for years. In similar situations. I thought about something Bobby wrote and Ben posted.

“A Man Can Only Run So Far Around The World Before He Starts Heading Back Home.” Kinda like, where ever you go, there you are.

The tone of my picture made me think of Mike Leigh’s All or Nothing. A movie I love.

Watch the trailer. Especially the end. Hard not to think of Tom Wood’s photographs. Leigh must have been referencing him.

And Martin Parr of course too. Like this great picture of his I saw at Harper’s recently. It looks like— what eating alone with someone might feel like.

My interest in cities is often— in the details of what it’s like there. Maybe it’s why I appreciate Luigi Ghirri’s style of work. There’s a show up now at Matthew Marks. His focus on fragments of things. Like quick moments of life? They’re small. Fleeting.

Dike Blair paintings are also like fragments. The one below made me think of a Deanna Lawson picture I saw at Kordanksy in LA in October.

The mirrored frame beams at you— like the creamy paint on the lowrider.

In June, I was in the thick of dealing with being unhealthy. No answers in sight. I bought a 33 year old car I’d always wanted. Driving in a city is great. It’s like one part nostalgia. One part freedom. You can be alone. And at the same time— be out in the world. This is what that looks like.

“…and it was about sunset and heavy traffic and heavy life.”

That clip of a Bukowski poem has been bouncing around in my head today.

When I hear someone— so definitively certain. Acting as an authority. I think they’re lying, an idiot, making it about themselves, trying to sell me something.

This idea made me think of all the doctors around me. Trying to help. Smart enough to say— I don’t know. But willing to try.

The last month has been a stressful time. Noisy. My friend Dayo said, he wished he could just be a blade in the grass sometimes.

I thought of this Pierre Bellot painting we saw together at 56 Henry. We could feel the breeze coming off it.

I left the gallery. Parted ways with my friends. Walked long, back West. I was reminded of something my friend Val said to me. Be like water. An old Bruce Lee quote. Not be rigid. Something I’ve learned. Especially the last two years.

I thought of a David Wagoner poem. I used in my second book, IWUMC.

Following A Stream

Don’t do it, the guidebook says,
if you’re lost. Then it goes on
            to talk about something else,
            taking the easy way out,
which of course is what water does
as a matter of course always
            taking whatever turn
            the earth has told it to
while and since it was born,
including flowing over
            the edge of a waterfall
            or simply disappearing
underground for a long dark time
before it reappears
            as a spring so far away
            from where you thought you were
and where you think you are
it might never occur
            to you to imagine where
            that could be as you go downhill.

The Bellot painting made me think of a picture I took outside a restaurant in Rome. It was 102 degrees but we still went to lunch. Sat outside. Ordered fried artichokes. One of my favorite things to eat. It was last July. When I try and remember— it feels far away.

“I watched the stars get smaller tiny diamonds in my memory”

I heard Conor Oberst sing again.

All this talk about cities. What a different life there might look like. How it’s all played out. Regardless of place. Time. It’s more about my own decisions. I’ve made my share of poor ones.

I was a great baby. Terrible adult.

But you can’t be a perfectionist with an imperfect animal. And we are not defined by our worst mistake.

Getting sick and miraculously unsick— made me stop in those instances. I’ve always looked for them. My pictures are exactly that.

I tend to look to art, food, a song, my phone, a place— as an escape. But maybe that’s not the right way to deal. You have to sit with it. Then strike the set.

Maybe the feeling of home isn’t a place. It’s a person.

Despite the tone of this newsletter— I see bright spots. It might surprise you to know that I’m an optimist. Even if a lot of the time, the look on my face says the opposite. Oberst floated by me one last time.

”Victory’s sweet even deep in the cheap seats.”