Skip to main content

12 step program (drawing)

untitled (12 step program) graphite on paper, 1995


When I moved to Chicago I had a small pile of cassette tapes and a shoe box that was full of charcoal and some gummy tubes of oil paint. I was a painter some but I came to the city for its weather. I wanted to live next to a park and have better access to public transportation. So I moved to an apartment on Augusta Boulevard. I've always kept books for drawing and writing in. They were in my backpack or on my lap when I commuted across town on the Chicago Avenue bus every day. Then when I moved from Humboldt Park to Bucktown the books traveled with me there. I was in the backseat and they sat in the trunk of the cab when I rolled by the Western Round Up for the last time. We went up Western Avenue and turned right onto North. 
The apartment that AN and I were splitting was right there between Bell and Oakley. It was a smart 3 story building and my room was in the back of unit2 right over the recording studio. I slept on the floor and my books lived in 2 milk crates that I stole from a liquor store back in Michigan. I slept in a small pile of wool horse blankets that I got cheap from a thrift store earlier. At night the bass and the drums from the studio were a gentle pulse that I eventually got used to. After work I'd listen to Bitches Brew or Duane Eddy while I sat on the floor drawing pictures and diagrams in my books.
I drew this picture in one of those books around this time. The people in 12 step program are actually mirror people. They're on the Chicago Ave bus at night drinking beers on the sly during a terrible heatwave. I was in the center of the bus that night, its they're reflection that I've drawn here.  


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

In fashion, passive is to envy the figure smote.

Juniper, cedar and all that's old tends to settle on the bus in the corner by this door. It's not quick, joints are popping like failure. Left alone in the kitchen, looking for matches until it can light the stove. "There once was a night here," I've said as much before.
Corn conjured syrup from the corn that I brought from the back of the store. The simple pleasure of falling into that warm slip isn't like drying off or tempting the man at all. It's a lottery with pages of never knowing it all the first time that I was there.
A three way intersection where the street is wet. There's shrink-wrap that's been spooled across each of the pedestrian walkways. It's secured with bulky knots to the street lamp, the sign post and the scooter at each of the corners. There's a garage door or something else done up in yellow with blue steel doors. In the street there's garbage and soon enough an umbrella will join your car keys.
There's alr…

Got a dog in my earring (an instance of 3)

H' after everything is a mailbox stamp knows. Don't, it's all bad. Like a captain bad.


Own Mah Own Rose

What say the fallen in the Vestibule, late to dinner  Warm as a garden chair Yes to that, to tea and all  in the green as pale as peaches will get 

Turd Grinder IV: Keep me in line for a little while longer, just until you have to go again. The dark wave and the first jolt from my morning coffee are elements that have yet to sheep. Looking through a ton of old glass is hard. Sitting down and sifting through the odd bits of sparkle and dust left inside this hidey-hole at the bottom of this calendar. There's almost always more bitter mixed in there then there is the sweet.  Fontso: I'm so happy-happy to see that this work is being edited down. All of it's been sitting on the back of my desk forever. Where plastic gets soft in the sun and the desks window looks out south all day long it's always so hot. Turd Grinder IV: There's safety in warmth, freedom from reprisal among the pillows, in the soft down. The clock inside is as deep as a clouds kiss.  Fontso: Onion thugs, yello…