Cult Collective

So, after a very long and grueling cat and mouse chase to get in touch with this evasive crazy artist I finally got to meet him.

His name is Sergio and he runs what he likes to call an underground layer that caters to the needs of the not-yet-disillusioned creative type that seek solace in their idea of Picasso's Paris (ie. me.)

After responding to a craig's list add "in need of a studio assistant," outlining a chance to help an artist in return for some space... I got no response. I e-mailed and e-mailed, sent a CV then an e-mail saying that I did not appreciate being ignored (politely though... but I realize now that was a little bit too much) and no response. I gave up hope until more than 3 weeks later, he sends me a link to this and asks me if I would be interested:

http://www.nytimes.com/indexes/2008/05/18/style/t/index.html#pageName=18metcalf

Just like that... the link and then, are you interested?

I said hells yes. And I made a remark about Hillary Clinton being a failed mother figure for the US (because he's working an ass shakingly massive portrait of her as Bernini's Extacy of St. Teresa.) He misunderstood the comment and thought I was referring to his mother. I thought, at that point, I had no chance in hell... but he still told me to call him.

So I called him and no response. Again, no response. One more time and he answered and we got disconnected. Finally we spoke and he had this really thick russian accent and he told me to meet him at the stairs of a subway station at 9 pm.

I get there at 8:58 and i called him. He told me he'd be there in 3 minutes. About 5 minutes pass and this tall guy who does look like the picture in the article, but with a bit of a softer face is just standing by the newsparper vendor. He's not looking at me or anyone, he's just looking up. I stood there and stared at him for about 2 minutes and decided that he was testing me. That he wanted me to go up to him because that would prove that I was bold. So I did, and I asked him if his name was Sergio. The man looked at me and asked if I wanted him to be. I said that for the sake of convenience, yes I would, but its ok if he's not. He said he wasn't, but still smiled... at that point I thought he was really fucking with me even though he spoke french like a french man and not a russian.

As all of this was going on the real Sergio rounds the corner very swiftly and is sort of pacing back and forth. I knew it was him at that point and we embarked together to a beautiful shithole.

We talked until 1 am, at which point I had to catch the last metro. We talked about art and expectations and the place he was running and clocks and russia, the US, harvard, Clark, classical music, work ethic, family, sleeping patterns, and very very slowly his illusive front melted away.

So he offered me to be the nomadic studio user in return for 24 hours of work a week. I'll get the biggest studio space for now, and until someone who pays him comes and wants it I move on and on and on, and in the worst case, end up in the hash hut... seriously.

So I start tomorrow. My tasks include, helping him mix paints, teaching his son how to repair a clock (which he is sure a 7 year old can master), fixing the rest of the clocks around the place, contacting galleries, etc.. a slew of things.

I don't know what I have just got myself into, but whatever it is it will be interesting and we will see tomorrow after I ring him once... just once... and then hang up.