True True and Unrelated

I’ve been thinking about Paolo Sorrentino recently.

Youth & The Great Beauty, are heavy on symbolism and my rewatch rotation. The Hand of God, (2021) a reference to Maradona, is about many things and nothing. Loss and love and grief, unfinished life. About telling a story— or perspective, uniquely. It’s French New Wave ish. Sorrentino’s parents die in an accident when he’s young. And he can’t escape the superficial and fragileness of his friends. It’s set in 1980s Naples. And autobiographical. Sorrentino goes on to of course be… well him— a beloved, academy award winning filmmaker.

So Maradona returns to play for his home team, Naples. And the block is out on their balconies watching together. It’s euphoric.

I thought of the 46 year old $150/hr OC local golf pro Michael Block. He finished 15th during a PGA Championship at Oak Hill. And dunked a hole in one on the second day. His friends and family, watching from his club back home, erupted in cheers. Block, a guy with a day job, earned himself a massive following, entry into next year’s PGA championship field and a text from Michael Jordan. Block’s story made me think of resilience. Countless practice hours. What many artists do to perfect their view. Repetition.

Of course there’s Cy Twombly and Pollock and Matisse. Let’s keep it moving though. It reminded me of this Warhol I saw WillNYC post to his story recently.

Do I watch or play a lot of golf? No. Would I like to? Yea. Does it remind me of the Maradona scene? Yea. Maybe because we all want to be close to, experience or just share in a moment of greatness. Maybe this blog is a cure for loneliness.

Perseverance. But by Repetition. Art or sports, you’re practicing and perfecting. Or not perfecting. Usually alone. For years.

It reminded me of Alejandro Cartagena’s Carpoolers. In 2011 he started taking pictures from an overpass on Highway 85 off Monterrey in Mexico. Capturing a series of remarkable portraits of construction workers enroute to their job in San Pedro.

I’m always thinking of these pictures for so many reasons. Today they reminded me of Roe Ethridge collages.

Flipping through a Matt Connors book I got from Karma a few years ago. This page reminded me of the Roe collages. One of the few books I keep on my coffee table.

And in that moment— I remembered one of my favorite Viviane Sassen pictures from Parasomnia, 2007 - 2011.

The Sassen photo made me think of a Harold Nix painting Wilding Cran had up at their booth during NADA.

It reminded me of the Gerhard Richter show at Zwirner I saw back in March. I thought about him writing “mood” on it.

Marley Freeman popped into my head. I remember I liked this painting at Karma.

I saw this Christine Quarles painting at Hauser & Wirth in Menorca. They have an island called Illa del Rei. It’s a quick ferry from the port. They’ve got a great restaurant outside. Tables are spaced out. You sit under large trees. Branches reaching up. And there’s a breeze, you’re on the water.

The Quarles painting reminded me of the Marley Freeman. Her show is called “Come In From An Endless Place”. I like the title.

Back to Marley Freeman. That painting made me think of LA. And it’s sharp light. Cold in the shade, warm in the sun. I remembered a Saab I saw in Malibu back in February. I don’t want a red car or a Saab but this ‘80s 900 turbo was nice to look at. But it’s license plate made me squeamish.

I was reminded of this dupe of a 1967 Giancarlo Mattioli for Artemide. Happy wouldn’t approve. Dave1 probably just unfollowed me for this sacrilege. But I like it more than the original?

At the end of the first newsletter I mentioned getting sick. It’s been 3.5 months and 15 doctors. They still can’t figure it out. True True and Unrelated means just because two things are true isn't proof that they are related.

I’m lucky, I’ve always been healthy. Done everything right. Exercise, diet, meditation, never smoked etc… Not something I anticipated dealing with now. And there’s a shortage of doctors in New York! The ones left— they’re booked three months out. No lie. Insurance companies squeeze appts to 15 minutes. The docs that are left are burnt out. And New York is a litigious place to practice. So they’re precautious, hesitant. If you’re not dying, good luck to you. Like restaurants now, try getting someone on the phone.

A few of the docs I’ve seen I’ve gotten to know. They’re my age to early 50s. I found myself having a familiar conversation with them during in-between moments. One told me, he and his partner don’t socialize much anymore. Their friends have kids or moved away. He confided in me the same feelings of loneliness many of my friends have expressed. I found it unusual to have such a frank conversation with my doctor. Unusual— comforting. It reminded me of what I wrote about last time.

I thought about my friend Michael Cummings’ new song. Maybe listen to it while you finish reading this...

Mike’s song reminded me of an Anne Carson poem I’ve always liked. A few days ago another friend named Mike sent it to me. I remembered reading it in 2017 when The New Yorker published it. A particularly tough year. My favorite line, “We thought we’d be Nick and Nora…” It made me think about how we envision our lives playing out.

Which reminded me of Mike Tyson— when asked by a reporter whether he was worried about Evander Holyfield and his fight plan he answered; “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”

All of this, especially Alejandro’s work, made me think of a picture I’ve repeatedly taken in the car. From the driver’s seat, through the windshield. I’ve made thousands of pictures like these over the last 15+ years. Florida, Rome, Paris, Wyoming, Los Angeles, Cincinnati, New York, Mexico. Repetitive. Resilient. The pictures are laid out in InDesign. Maybe I’ll make a zine.

I took a train to DC on Monday. No one sat next to me. Last Sunday night I drove home from a friends in Bellport. Passenger seat was also empty. Both rides were analogue, quiet, enjoyable. No music was played.

But have you ever been in an elevator, you see someone running, eyes wide and wild, toward the slowly closing sliding door? I often wonder, how it must be the loneliest 30 seconds of that person’s life. Waiting for the next elevator to arrive.