Om

Om. Means anything you wish it to.  It's more about the inflection than what it is. It is release. Balance. 

In Buddhism there are causes and effects in all things. Causality. You do one thing and another results. 

And this is the rule of the universe... created by you. Seeing, doing or experiencing life is up to you as you create your own morality of how to live. You realize you are bound by yourself & no one else... 

So you escape to live or live to escape. You can't do both. Cause & effect. One sets you free the other makes you crazy.

I find its necessary to escape my work once in a while. Or it gets the better of me. Talks back in a sense. Through internal critique. Most people call that schizophrenia. I call it listening to the character because I control the volume on the din. Ha. 

Honestly, I'm really not myself when I go in character to write which is one of the reasons I'm glad I'm learning to find balance but I'm looking forward to leaving it behind again... For a while. Photography and design work beckons me again. So I am following that path...

Here's a story about escape from your work inspired by a comic book room that I designed as a concept. 

Do you escape your work enough? Escape to live. Or live for the escape?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Escape Plan

(4-22-10)

comic book wall. 2010.

Three more hours. Thirteen more sketches. Opportunity of a lifetime. Re-creating a master’s work. Unfinished. All of it’s pure garbage. I can‘t even manage to finish a single panel. Loren is going to call at 5 am and demand that I fax over the final copy.

My eyes are fighting to remain open. The walls don’t even speak to me. Wall to wall the greats look down upon my inadequacy.

Half a dozen panels left. Half a dozen times I’ve pushed back my deadline. Loren won’t be pleased if I try to back out of this again. My head is pounding and I can’t think. Too many distractions over nothing at all.

Sitting back in my chair, I lean my head upwards and stare at the ceiling. Pills don’t alleviate the pressure at the front of my head.

Frustrated I get up, tossing the chair as I cross the room. The dizziness of the movement sends me spinning. Rubbing my face releases the tired muscles into a state of familiar ease.

The old heater unit kicks in and a wave of cool air rushes through the room creating a disturbance of sound.

My movements become slower and more thought provoked as my mind attempts to concentrate on the next panel. Right arm stretches downward to grab my left ankle. Resting my foot on my leg I stretch into a Tree position. Focusing on my breathing I close my eyes and try to let go of the moment.

“That’s not how my face looks.” A powerful yet irritated female voice jumps out into the silence.

Open pops my eyes. Down falls my leg. Nothing. Back into my Tree pose.

Just when I’m about to close my eyes… “Seriously! You didn’t even bother to draw my good side. I’m not even getting started on the hair until you fix my face.”

“WHAAT THE FU-U!?” Words come out tangled like my left leg caught in my right as I spill out onto the floor.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get up off your ass and come fix this.” The boisterous female voice dictates out into the room.

Sitting upward, I watch the four walls and rub my head. As much as I don’t want to say the words, out they pour like gravy. “Who said that?” Silence.

Dumbfounded I manage back onto my feet and walk over to the desk. The unfinished panels are just as I left them. Frustration sends me spinning. I reach down to start erasing the left arm.

Before I’m able to reach the left shoulder, “Look, that arm isn’t the problem. Pay attention. My face is off. The right side is a little shifted. I’m asymmetrical.”

“WHOA! Who? What?” I quickly spin around.

“You are really thick! No wonder you’re behind on schedule.” The bossy female voice scolds me. “Look up.”

My head instantly tilts back until I’m facing the ceiling.

“Idiot. LOWER!” Guides the irritated voice.

There’s an aggravated woman standing in front of me… Where? I stare puzzled into the expanse of color until it shifts.

World within a world. State within a state. Through the looking glass. A place I never saw before, right in front of my ignorant gaze. Movement and life dances across the covers of hundreds of comics.

“There you go! What took you so long? Now that I’ve got your attention, please fix my face.” Smiling out from the excess of images is a gun-toting beauty. Point blank shot with her black hair waving.

“You’re Domino.” My simple statement of observation had a slight undertone of questioning behind it.

“Yes, but not in that drawing. There, I’m Summer Allsana. Blonde. Blue-eyed. News woman extraordinaire. Incognito. And you’re getting my face wrong.”

“Oh let me…,” words scramble off my tongue while I nervously look for my eraser. “I can fix this line here and it should change everything.”

Steadily I pencil in the new line and shift the corner of her eye to higher point. Dazed for a moment I stop before placing the final touch on the side of her face.

“I hate to be a critic, but that isn’t right either. Look at my right profile. It doesn’t match the one in the panel.” The words spill out like tiny bullets aimed straight for my ego.

“Alright, give me another chance.” This came out sounding more like a frustrated lover after a rejection, than an artist discussing work with his muse. My pencil was mightier than my mouth and kept up the work diligently. Line after line followed by curve upon curve. The shape of her right now matched the image before me. “Well?”

“It’s no use. I’m still all wrong. You might as well be drawing Jean Grey. She doesn’t seem to mind when people get it wrong.”

“If you can do better, then by all means, go ahead! Why don’t you show me?” I toss the pencil across the desk and take a step backwards. Without a second thought I shrug and give the wall a taunting stare.

“If you insist.”

Movement on the wall seems to fall out of focus. Outward the length of her arms reaches forward, crossing the barrier between here and there. Pulling and trying to bring forth into the living world. Hands knocking aside paperwork as they claw at the surface of mahogany towards their freedom. Head emerges outward. Ebony hair shimmers in the small light of my lamp. Thick and flowing darkness cascades across my desk while her body rocks onto its side to grant movement to escaping legs. Finally coming to a rest before me, the ivory beauty shakes free her gorgeous black hair.

“Let me be of service.” Reaching down she grabs the fallen panels and hands them across to me. “Go on, take them.”

“Ok. Let’s start with the face. I’m not sure what I’m getting wrong.”

“See the line that starts at my chin and disappears behind my hairline. That’s not the correct angle. You’ll need to slightly curve it over to the left.”

Pencil in hand I begin the process of instruction from the subject. Lines slightly shift and give way to a new perspective. Panel after panel the images are reconstructed.

As the hours pass the critical eyes of my muse reveal more and more inadequacies. My hands worked to a tiresome frenzied state in an attempt for greatness. When it seems all hope is lost and that I may never understand the true work of a master, things seem to get interesting.

“We aren’t getting anywhere,” she pats a hand against my left shoulder, “If only I could show you.”

“What do you mean?” Spinning myself around I look up and into the face of my illogical company.

“There’s a chance, if you were willing,” she turns breaking eye contact. I can barely make out the blackened spot over her eye before she starts in, “If you were willing to…” Motioning to the empty page on the wall before us with her index finger. “Then I can show you.”

With an uneasy nod I swallow hard and shrug my shoulders.

“It’s the only way you’ll know.” With a wave of her hands, the wall comes to life. Thousands of tiny legs and arms reach outward inviting me in.

She places my hand into the opening on the empty page before me. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Once I’d said the words, it was too late. My arm was nearly swallowed whole, followed by the rest of my shoulder quickly disappearing into the void. Inch by foot pulled inward into the unknown.

Waking up in the opening of a wall to gaze out upon a world I once inhabited. A prison of the mirror. Hands and feet carry the lines of ink and clothing lacks the details of definition. On the outside I can see the ivory beauty glancing inward. The space between us seems more infinite than before. Patiently I wait for my tour guide to join me.

“Well, aren’t you coming in?”

“Actually, I’m not.” The dangerous muse stands on the flip side of the desk thumbing through the remaining panels. “I’m staying out here. You’re my escape plan.”

“ESCAPE PLAN! WHAT THE HELL? LET ME OUT!”

“Unfortunately it doesn’t work that way. It’s one of you, for one of me.” She plays with her hair and exaggerates her smile. “Oh, what type of work shall I do? Decisions. What do you think? Icelandic supermodel? Or rouge missionary?”

“Are you kidding? LET ME OUT! What about my work?”

“Not to worry there’s still time. I’ll fax these over to Loren before I let myself out.”

“Thanks, I guess…”

“Hey don’t be like that. Maybe you’ll get lucky enough to catch a break out. Although I doubt anyone will be tempted to buy a comic about an ordinary man called Dave.”

** This is Domino. This is Jean Grey.

Truths

Everyone lies. Some because they care. Sometimes the truth hurts but at least it shows you care enough to say it.

This is a really old one but still is pretty fun in form.

Do you lie? Do you duplicate?

Everyone lies but only a couple duplicate!

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Lies.
(7-10-09)

Lies. 

The ones we tell ourselves to keep going. Little white ones. Deep dark malevolent ones. Those things we can’t bear to be true. So often we lie just to cope. Defense mechanism.

I did not kill him.

Just another fabrication to get through the night. These ominous moments filled with a determined silence; and distant din of the city coming to life. Dawn will be here soon.

He’ll start breathing again.

I stole $5 from the piggy bank when I was a kid. My mom caught me trying to hide the broken pieces of the shattered pig under the front porch. I lied and told her I dropped the bank accidentally. Through my crocodile tears I sobbed how I was afraid she’d be mad, so I was going to use the money to replace it. A WHOPPER! But she bought it. So begin my life of deceit.

I did not hit him with the car and back over the body five times.

Small truths we keep to ourselves. The real honest things are what we're most scared to share. It’s the little pieces of genuine humanity that make us most vulnerable we don’t share. But the lies roll off the tongue; spill out the mouth like sweet gems of music being released for the first time.

I did not shoot him with a rifle.

Unprovoked deceit. Cold manipulative and calculated deception. “I was married once”, it’s what I tell them, the men. It’s my line you could say. They all eat it up. I explain that he beat me, raped me, etc. Sympathy for the liar. Smile a little. Put on a fake. Show them your false innocence. Devil in a blue dress. But it gets them each and every time… HOOK, LINE, SINKER.

I did not drive his unconscious body to the middle of nowhere in the dark hours of the morning.

You could say it was a bit like fishing. THE BAIT: Makeup, Tight Dress, Cleavage, Stilettos. And that was just for kicks. The first time it happened I wasn’t even trying… You see, I was lonely that night and being in, was far too unbearable. So I went out for a drink. Came up with a good story, and the rest was something I wasn’t prepared for.

I did not ask him to leave with me.

No one ever tells you that lying can lead to good things do they? See the first time it happened, was a bit of luck for me. A man offered to buy my drink. I was bored, lonely and didn’t see any harm in company so I accepted. We traded our fake stories. He hid his wedding band. Lovely line on his left hand was the give away. See most men don’t realize just how big an imprint that band leaves around your finger. Yes, I could see the line where his ring rested. And of course he was married. That was his lie.

I did not slip drugs into his drink.

Liars are we all. Everyone is a liar. Big ones, little ones. Mom’s to children, bosses to employees, government to the population for control. That’s all it is. Control. Like trained animals that jump through hoops for a false prize promised to them. For us, there is no promised land. Even lying to ourselves in the end. Heaven and Hell.

I did not offer to buy his drink.

He was married, I knew it. I went along for the ride anyhow. After two drinks we stop. He says “let’s get outta here”. I agree. Before he makes it to the car he falls down. Drunk. Lucky me. I ask him what he’s driving and attempt to help him up. He is spinning and incoherent. I take his keys and try to find it using the alarm. It’s a ‘68 Chevy P.U. Cherry red. Nothing more than that I could tell you about it. Not a gear head, but I do appreciate a pretty picture. I managed to drag this idiot over to it. As I’m shoving this drunk into the cab out of his pocket drops a bottle of pills. Date Rape BS. I get upset. He’s passed out. That was supposed to be me. So I shove his body over, fire up the truck and peel out.

I did not smile and sit down next to him at the bar.

Lying to myself always was the easy part of life. It was harder to swallow someone else’s story. That bastard tried to drug me. Idiot! Wasn’t he in for a treat? I drove out to some unmarked dirt road. Threw him out and was about to leave him when… the gears slipped! And just like that, the truck backed over him. THUMP! THUMP! “Oh God”! I instantly throw it in gear and go forward with out thinking. THUMP! THUMP! “Shit”! I get out and assess the damage.

I did not go to the bar last night.

He’s not breathing and his head resembles a smashed cabbage. Brains are falling out. I would panic, but everyone in that bar is a liar and not one of those people could honestly say they really knew who he was. No one would notice or bother to say a thing when the authorities came looking. No one would talk… unless these other cheaters wanted to admit these infidelities to their spouses waiting patiently by the phone at home.

I did not kill anyone.

Simple truths we continue to share with ourselves. The lies – complicated deception – we save for the eager audience that awaits us out in the world.

I am not a liar.

--

Bed

Sometimes in life you gotta make sure you're in bed with the right people... 

This one is from the ebook... Of the same name! It's in the amazon kindle store! Check it!

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Between The Sheets

(May 2012)

In the fading darkness of night we've found a moment

together.
We're between the sheets when he tells me to leave the 

lights on.

"I like it with the lights on" he says with a devilish grin.
It's both of us thinking the same thing but we know it's nothing.
There's a need that neither of us can run away from.

There's only a kiss to blame when it starts.

I'm telling him that "I want more" when his hands show me what he's got in mind.

It's hardly a secret between strangers anymore.
Louder than anything I'm telling him, showing him, begging for more.
He's pressing his hands in harder and whispering for me to tell him if I like it.
I like it and he lets his fingers go looking for my pleasure.
What seems to be unreal is waiting to become a reality.
It's in this moment I know there's no going back.

Slowly his kisses stop and he moves backwards.
Reclining, he sits partly on the soles of his feet, watching me spread out
I have an insatiable appetite for more but he rests.
Laughing at my hunger he tells me that "it's late."
So I slide myself upward until I'm against his body.
My hands reveal that I want this feeling to expand.
He shows that he wants more by pressing me back into the sheets.

The heat of his breath collides with my face.
Our tongues dance in the darkness of a kiss.
My hands and legs react with force to his kiss.
Within seconds I'm wrapped around him not wanting to let go.
In this moment he's all I need.

Each passing moment we're running toward release.
When it comes we're shaking in unison.
As daylight slowly emerges we're together between the
sheets.

Mercury

Ok so there's something to this Mercury in Retrograde business June 7th-July 2nd...

I broke one of my new camera lenses (shouldn't have bought during retrograde), everyone's gone crazy (you too? omg! me too!), found/possibly caused 3 bizarre disagreements about nothing with 3 different people, & travel plans shifted a smidge. 

Insult to injury... It feels like my karmic shit is wrecked, I'm everyone's emotional ex, got no game, half my brain is missing and I'm struggling to interact, walk & talk. I'm slowly losing interest in interactions due to my inability to convey clear thoughts to others which makes conversations then feel awful since they all go in the wrong direction or are taken badly. 

Good news though... Finished up old work, spotted then said hello/goodbye to old friends/lovers and all the setbacks are giving me the chance to slow down, go with the flow & let mercury nudge me in an unusual direction. You can't put life on hold! And since this BS is almost over hang in there people! 

Kisses, 

m.

Sensual

Sensuality and the carnal action of most sexuality is felt to hinder enlightenment by some in Buddhism while it is adopted that you respectfully refrain from wrong doing in sensuality. You refrain from intercourse with underage, married and engaged partners and those protected by family or law. The Buddha held a very realistic view that can be possible in modern conditions. There's a respect and desire not to cause another suffering in Buddhism and this translates to sexuality. You see in most western cultures the exploration of sex, like most pleasure seeking activities can cause suffering between those involved. Either deliberate or unintentional. In Buddhism there are no laws, rules or commandments to obey. It is not a biblical religion and purely lies in your ability to restrain yourself and engage in behavior that is mutually consensual. Simply put: If a behavior does not feel good you do not do it; If a behavior feels appropriate you allow yourself to feel it. This premise transfers to sex and the connection people can experience with one another. Sensuality isn't a bad thing, being disrespectful of your partner and yourself is. 

Here's a bit of erotic flash fiction that I wrote a few years ago. I had it published online but the site has restructured. As soon as I hear back from the editor I will drop the link for you dirty birds. 

Enjoy! 

Kisses, m. 

Voyeur

(2-26-10)

Voyeur. People watching. Everyone does it. No one thinks anybody the worse for it. A simple glance over a busy room. Fleeting eyes across the open plaza. A thousand stories revealed to the anonymous bystander. Never been one for snooping on others. No intention of being the uninvited observer in the scene. Until I find myself all alone. Restless in the night. Unable to be entertained with the typical book and glass of Merlot. Pacing across the apartment, I catch the glimpse of light in the open view.  Familiar movement in the distance catches my eye. Something intriguing that can not escape my vision in the building across the way. Quickly I look around for my glasses when it becomes clear, the telescope. Jion sent it over as a housewarming gift three months ago. Devilish Jion, with his gift. The inscription, “Don’t worry about who’s watching you, as long as you’re watching back.” He knew I’d never use it. Or did he know curiosity would get the best of me eventually?

Curiously I grasp my new gift for the first time. Fingers gently find a home along the metal shaft. My eye dilates as it attempts to focus sight through the lens. Night opens up before my view. The buildings that surround are half alive with light and reflections. With a slight push I spin the arm. Winding down the building floor by floor until I can find my target. Along the way there are empty rooms and hallways filled with strangers exiting elevators, watching TVs, and making dinners. Once again discovering the movement, I stop. The golden hue illuminates the room in the building before me. Center of my attention is blurry but familiar. Carefully I lift my hand and move the dial. Click. Click. Aha.

Legs part as she reclines backwards. Open mouth, as her fingers run along his skin, savoring every movement below. Lifting himself upward and pauses before pursuing further. Waiting she trembles, never looking away. Hands rest upon bare breasts then trail down the front of her body as he kneels against the chaise. One leg remains on the ground as he rests slightly above her. She leans back on elbows against the lounge. Down he leans in and kisses her neck. Hands remain downward between her thighs. Every movement sends her head back with an open mouth. Pleasure. Descent continues. Further. His hips drop against hers rocking inward. Pelvis tilting upward. Legs lifting and falling in a hypnotic rhythm before circling around torso. Sweat dripping down. Faces alive with bliss. Open for view. Open for me. Open to me. Returning my view.

Turn away I think. Despite my blushing face I can’t look away. Smiling. Caught while I’m catching the act. Adjust the front of my coat to reveal my bare skin to him. His eyes continue to lock onto my position. All the while pursuing his fulfillment. I should stop now. But the show is far from over. My mind still wandering as I watch my hands began playing with my bare skin. Wet places explored as hot breath escapes my warm mouth.

The progression continues. She lifts his neck and makes tiny bites below the chin. Tongue crawls along the neck leaving a wet imprint. Hands lift and fall with frenzied intent. Gripping outer thighs. Tugging at waistline. Eyes are open and locked with intent. Wet lips meeting to consume before falling downward to devour at flesh. Heads rocking with sheer involvement of their arrangement. Arms pull and push as they grasp for more. Faster. Deeper. My thrusting fingers compete with the movements that climb toward a purpose. Quietly the act of passion declines. A final embrace quakes in unison. Smoothly he lifts himself upward. Standing over her open legs he smiles with sheer satisfaction. Her hands reach up and caress his torso while he turns and edges towards the window. Sliding onto her side she connects with my stare now. Fingers circling her bare breasts while she calmly watches him watching me. Boldly revealing himself, he leans in and nudges at the glass with a hand that entices. Inviting. So inviting.

Addison Kelly

Finding out who you are can be interesting... Finding out who other people see you as is even more interesting. Hmm... 

I started a project many years ago at the urging of a dear old friend [who has been on my mind as of late. Now I or our friends don't get to see him often as he can be forgetful and occasionally absent-minded due to a lack of phone but I'm not nagging or complaining, not at all. that would be a bad reaction.]. We'd traveled to Spain and met a ton of people. I enjoyed the experience of hearing their stories and wanted to collect them to share eventually. So I did and planned to put them out in some capacity. I am finally in a place to do that & have been. The process of reminiscing on these letters reminded me that I was working on another story simultaneously when I started that project.

Needless to say as a writer I often absorb my friends quirks to write a story. One of my all time favorites became a short book I haven't published. It's an idea I borrowed from Chuck Palahniuk's Rant in structure. I mention this many times over but I modeled my character Addison Kelly after three of my favorite guy friends who I adore. Add somehow always felt like family & home when I was working on the story so it's a favorite.

This passage is an excerpt from many parts of the book between a narrative from the book. 

Enjoy if you've never read it!

Kisses, m.

A day in the life of Addison Kelly

(1-31-2011)

It’s 3:30 in the afternoon and I’m hanging thirteen stories above the ground looking up at the sky. Somewhere below there’s a man making sure I don’t fall off the roof the wrong way.  Addison tells me one more minute before disappearing over the top edge of the roof with a harness strapped around his waist. It’s the last place I thought I’d be twenty four hours ago but it’s the first place that I can think to start. About to tumble head over heels, thanks to a man.

Well, don’t get ahead of yourself. No it’s not like that. I wouldn’t call it a love affair, because it’s not. Or for that matter love at first sight, cause it isn’t like that either. But a lifelong friendship is what it has become. I’ve known Add for nearly six years and it seems like a lifetime. I’m often told that Add’s a strange looking fellow. Not at all what you expect, but I just don’t see it. He’s as good looking as they come and just as strange in his own way. Aren’t we all though?

Friend.

Madison Henry - (friend)

How did I come to such a friendship? Addison Kelly is a remarkable storyteller and me as a writer; I can’t pass up a good tale. Always with Add -“give me more.” And I could spend hours if not an entire day listening and participating in Add’s latest invention, meeting a new stranger or taking in a story. Often much to my husband’s dismay.

James Henry - (Collaborator/Friend.)

Madison likes to believe that I’m a needy creature. That it disappoints me when she spends the day in the middle of or listening to Add’s nonsense. Hell I can’t blame her for that. He’s always a got a story to tell. And it’s always a helluva day with Add. But I suppose it is a little interesting when your wife has a childhood friend that’s a grown-up.

The day starts by merely planning. And we’ve started planning out the night at 4pm. Add says it’s happening somewhere on the side of building before telling me that we have to stop in on a friend of his.  After that friend it involves a handful of spray paint and a few more tools. But that won’t happen until later. Dinner is spent with Addison telling me about the necessities we need at the hardware store and trying to convince me we need to visit the Iron Anchor for a little while.

Friend (cont.)

Strain aka John Strand – (Artist/Friend)

Addison Kelly. Sounds weird to say his name like that. To me he’s always going to be Add. Add’s a cool guy and I’m not just saying that cause you’re asking. I met him while I was hanging off a bridge putting the finishing touches on a piece. Armed with two cans of my best Krylon, he leaned over and asked if I wanted a hand. I said ok and before long he was using my harnesses to work on his stuff. We were just kids back then, he wasn’t anything like this artist that’s got work in a museum or on some rich fucker’s wall. Ah, but he’s not like that. He’s still Add and we don’t talk about the work like it’s a commodity.

Michael Cranston (art dealer)

Addison isn’t merely a commodity. Yeah, I like to see him as a friend. A colleague. We don’t often see each other but for dinner discussions about work. And it’s on occasion that he brings me a bottle of wine to celebrate the completion of a new project. Every bottle is accompanied by a delightful yarn. And see that’s the one thing I like to tell people about Addison; it’s his knack for a good story.

Beckett Sinclair (friend/dog walker/sculptor)

Friends. We go way back. There’s this one time he bailed me outta jail on account of me getting arrested for breaking into his house. See, he didn’t mind. Some people say don’t mix friends with money. Add don’t think like that. He figured it was his fault being that he asked me to come over and get a set of acrylics from his studio and forgot to leave a key under the mat. Nah, Add ain’t like nothing else.

Two and half hours in a hardware store produces enough materials for a small military settlement. Paint, tools and wires are nestled safely within two shopping carts. The man at the counter smiles and nods as we make one more pass through before checking out.

The Iron Anchor introduces us to the lovely Svetlanka, a bartender who isn’t at all afraid to tell you what she’s thinking, quite heavy handed on the alcohol and wears her female facial hair with a sense of pride and duty. It takes Addison two hours, a couple of interesting stories and a handful drinks to get the lovely  Svetlanka to listen to his idea about her posing for a wall piece. A piece that will take place if she cooperates. Three more drinks and she may promise Add an unborn child whether it’s his or not.

Friend. (Cont.)

Madison Henry.

The first time I met Addison Kelly we were both in line at the DMV. Addy was registering an old DODGE truck and me I was paying dues on my 94 Honda Civic. Our first conversation was about cars. Mostly odd since I know very little about cars. And Addy well he wasn’t so much talking about cars as he was telling me a story about a car. A story much like your grandfather might tell you. Sounds pretty odd coming from a young man, but that’s just Add.

To describe Addison Kelly is much like referring to all old man. How we are friends at all I’ll never know. To this day my husband wonders how we are friends. Sometimes I just tell him to go along with it instead of wondering. Its how I’ve come to understand things.

James Henry.

Addison was in the middle of telling a story when Madison introduced us. The middle of a story. It’s funny but that’s the best way to describe the friendship. You’re in the middle of something that’s about to take place. And although you don’t know it at the time but you are in the middle of a story.

Celine Patrick – (friend/artist)

Addison introduced himself to me in the middle of the biography section at the public library. Apologized for bothering me but instantly said he had to tell me how beautiful I was. I wanted to be icked out by the whole thing, but somehow he was charming and I simply said thank you. The whole time I kept thinking who does things like that anymore?

Strain.

Add is a good friend. Not that it’s hard to get along with Add. Actually there are a few people. But it’s not that they get along badly. Wait that’s not it. They just don’t know how to take him or bother to get to know him. Most people are surprised to realize how much they have in common with Add when they start talking to him.

The night gets started somewhere in the middle of a convenience store its 12:38 am. Addison says we need Corndogs and Reeses Pieces. Svetlanka the non-model bartender from the Iron Anchor is standing outside the store with a handful of posies smoking a cigar. We’ve become fast friends after spending the last two and a half hours at the Iron Anchor getting familiar while discussing how she will be posing for Add’s next piece. I’m feeling like this is more like a bad joke than an art project when he tells me these things will complete our painting. Add has a tad twisted sense of humor so I’m waiting for the punch line to kick in. It doesn’t. Somewhere around 12:45am with his serious face he reassures me, “No Joke!”

Artist.

James Henry. (collaborator/friend)

By true calling Add’s a pretty damn good painter. You might find something he’s done hanging in a law office or on a wall at the Modern Art Museum. My work? I’m strictly a paint man. And don’t get me wrong I like to get down and dirty. But that’s not like what Add’s doing. He’s a bit of genius with what he’s got going. It’s not often but occasionally he lets me down to work on something with him. And cause he’s Add, occasionally he’ll throw in a few things for flavor. Mixed media is what the art dealer likes to call it. I call it a big ass mess. Albeit a bit fun. BIG. Anyhow, that’s just something the missus and I joke about though.

Michael Cranston (Art Dealer/Colleague)

Addison Kelly. Now the thing you have to understand about Addison is that he doesn’t work like you or me. Doesn’t pay the bills the same way. And sure as hell doesn’t pay the tax man the same way. Yet he is the most upstanding individual I’ve ever met. Most people wonder what he does. At this moment he might tell you “a little of this a little of that” and that’s not entirely untrue. Snake Charmer? Lion tamer? Musician? Builder? Repairman? If you can think of a name for it, then he’s done it. The world to Addison Kelly is that of possibility. Anything is up for grabs. And for the last three years or so he’s made his living creating something from things that most people toss out. With a little paint or other odd’s and end’s thrown in there’s a masterpiece every time.

Madison Henry.

Addison and Work. Work with Addison is never work. It’s that age old saying, if you’re doing what you love then you never find yourself working a day in your life. Which brings me back to how I ended up where I’m at now.  Spending an entire day in the life and shadow of Addison Kelly. This wasn’t my idea. But Addy’s got a “grand ol plan” and he tells me the world has to know about it. When that mind starts to work there’s nothing that can stop it. Also he knows I’m outta work, needing a challenge. What are friends for?

My biggest fear as I hang dangling thirteen stories above the ground? A day becomes a week and that becomes a year. Add says no. And I know that he’s right.

Four and a half hours and thirteen popsicle sticks later, the sun is coming up Svetlanka has called over her girlfriend. The four of us, we’re standing in the middle of the parking lot at a closed Dairy Queen with a newly painted wall mural that looks a bit like the outline of Svetlanka with her hands above her head somewhere in the middle. There’s a pile of cigarillos next to the scene of the crime next to several cans of Krylon with freshly painted popsicle sticks hanging out of them with candy paper wrappers. Add tells me there was no way the corndogs sticks would have worked as I swallow another cold bit of cherry ice. Svetlanka covers her girlfriend with a dozen kisses and I watch Add snap a couple of Polaroid’s before telling me they’re playing his song on the copy machine at my house. I tell him James is asleep and we shouldn’t. He tells me, “No he’s not” while stopping to look at his watch.

Artist (cont.)

Svetlanka (Barmaid/Model)

We’ve met at the bar many times. He tells me I’m beautiful. I know this. In my home country I am very beautiful. No I never posed for artist. It is honor for such gentlemen. Is this ok? My speaking is bad. I can talk about anything. You want cigar?

James Henry. (collaborator/friend)

Last time we’d visited he was working with a 79 Datsun and an 87 model that looks like she’d rather be entertaining a fashion ensemble than being worked into some mechanical artwork. The entire time she spent waiting for the plaster to dry with a cigarette crooked in the corner of her mouth. Addy kept telling us about the interested buyer while flipping the pages in Italian Vogue for the bored model. When he says, “there’s a man in New York waiting to see this painted body work,” for the most part this means he’s already sold the unfinished piece. We decided to leave as the last pieces of plaster harden around the thin woman’s legs and Add brings out a sledgehammer.

Anastasia Peterson (Model)

Oh no, I don’t mind it so much. Dirty. You definitely get a little dirty. The last time I came down to work with Addison he was re-envisioning this color scheme on a landscape mural while working in a tube of lights that required a harness and buckle. He was using the curve of my torso as a… I don’t know how to explain. He was using me as a paintbrush. It was all so very interesting. Funny. And amazing. You’re probably wondering where the funny comes in the equation. It’s all very serious until you’re strapped in a harness swinging buck naked covered in paint. Before your mind wanders, it’s not very sexy. And Addison, well he’s a gentleman. Let me just say, they don’t make ‘em like Addison anymore that’s for sure. His ex-wife… it’s a damn shame she left him. A shame for her that is. Some girls don’t know what they have.

The morning continues at my house around 7 o’clock. And James isn’t sleeping. He’s been up all night in the studio working out something. It feels more like 3 in the afternoon, but it doesn’t matter as the Xerox machine is counting down from 1000. We’re still sitting having a coffee and talking about the plan for the day. I can’t see what he has in mind as the hot water comes to a boil. It involves paint and a tall building. Two things that I’m not at all sure I want to participate in. James pops his head in to find out when I will “really” be home. I tell James later and then tell Addison that there’s no room for negotiating on time. He says then we better get moving soon.

Copies. Nearly 11 am. Dozens of inverted images are strewn across the street in front of my house. A hand, a face, an elbow. It’s odd to see the brightly colored body parts scattered on the lawn. Addy’s pulled together a make-shift contraption to color the copies. The wind is kicking in and making the production line a bit of a problem. I’m watching and waiting for the neighbors to intercede over the chaos of color. And somehow it never happens.

The damn shame.

Madison Henry.

Addison’s wife. That’s a sad story. And it’s something that happened long before I met him. But I can tell you a little. She’s… she was pretty fucked up how she left. It wasn’t what I’d call reasonable. There wasn’t a time when she was ever satisfied with what he would do for her. Took him through the ringer with all of her cheating. Blamed him for refusing to commit over and over again. When he finally did she accused him of every type of indiscretion. Add’s not that kinda guy. He never would’ve cheated on that girl. Would have given her the moon and somehow it wasn’t enough. It’s a shame that she left, even after he put that ring on her finger.

Beckett Sinclair.

I wouldn’t call it a bad relationship. Being married to someone is a strange thing. It’s not that you want to upset the other person. You want to be the thing that stays true to you and true to the relationship. Upset just happens sometimes. In their case, there was a bit of bitterness on both sides. And in the end she left him.  

James Henry.

The way Maddie tells it, there’s nothing like the way she left him. It makes you wonder how someone can drag another person through the mud before heading out. Maybe they grew apart. Maybe there wasn’t anything there to begin with.

Somewhere it’s noon and somewhere it’s actually 1 pm but the important thing is that the corner of Amsterdam and 9th are now covered in freshly painted copies of random body parts. There is a faded picture of Madonna with a strategically placed magenta foot in her mouth. And three oversized symbols mocked up out of the remaining pieces. A crescent moon is looking back at me when Add tells me about the crane at 1:30.

At 1:38 there’s a man that keeps handing me the keys to a crane while Add talks to a homeless man. The crane is large enough to lift and move a car. Add says we’re not moving cars between talking about street art with the homeless man. I wonder if he knows what he’s doing. He must get the same impression as me and keeps making phones calls instead of stopping. Between being kept on hold and waiting Add tells me about the building and paint again. I shrug and nod. There’s no real sense in avoiding it. I know that there will be no change in plans when the homeless man says he thinks there might be a Van Gogh of street art.

The crane is next to a building that is next to a large empty lot. The space directly next to the building contains a large canvas and drop cloth. The canvas rests across a pad large enough to catch a falling person. Add tells me this is what I’m doing. I tell him, “Really?” before shaking my head yes. Saying no won’t do anybody a bit of good.

The damn shame (cont.)

Strain.

Damn shame. Add never talks about it unless asked and even then he’s pretty tight-lipped. You can’t really talk about something that never gets talked about. I remember how they met and even though we all knew each other pretty well it wasn’t a good idea back then. To say there were problems before it ever started would be an understatement.

Anastasia Peterson.

I take it you’ve never been in a love situation if you can't relate. I mean, you don’t just say forever and mean something else. That’s not the truth. You have to understand that with a man like Add there’s no room for deceit. And that’s all she was. Demanding the truth from a man and lying. Giving it to some other guy. Who does that?

Celine Patrick (friend)

I think with Addison it comes down to the last thing he ever wanted. It’s what happened with her. She wanted something different than what he wanted. She gave him no choice. It’s all very sad. There’s nothing worse than losing your heart.

Not a bit of good is exactly what I’m thinking as Add yells over the side of the building, “Ready?” and starts to pour the paint onto me. I think of the color red although he’s pouring black and purple. Somewhere below me the man that is supposed to make sure I land right is giving the signal cause I can see the look in Addy’s eye change. Its then I look up and back down before telling him, “Only if you are,” With my agreement he snaps the harness securely into place and takes a dive over the edge. A dive that will pull me down with him.

 It’s 3:55. Nearly 24 hours later, sheets of color blanket the sky before both my head and heels find themselves back on the ground. And after I finish wondering if we’ll do it again, Add tells me “Ready?”