To Switzerland

Market Day

This morning I set out to sell some paintings on the street. I had a location selected from last week by the East Side Gallery. Braden and I shared a cup of coffe in the apartment. He gave me some business advise pertaining to pricing and presentation. It felt like the first day of school. Braden also gave me a box, which was used for hos airmattress, which I sit on while composing this post. I put my drawings in the box and was off to Kreutzberg. I arrived as the sun began to some out. It was closer to morning than mid day but there had yet to be any direct sunlight. I found a lovely section of a piece of furniture which I thought to use for a table to display my apintings. I dragged it out from its garbage heap and carefully laid out my works one by one on the white canvas furniture. I took a seat and began to make refinements on a drawing while I waited for my first costumer. Within on e minute of sitting down, there was a strong gust of wind which sent all of my drawings into the air. I sprang up and chased them down. Some bystanders helped me collect them. I set them up again. The wind blew again. I decided to change locations. I relocated to a bridge, on which I'd seen plenty of buskers. I thought that surely the wind wouldn't be a problem in the interior of a bridge corridor, but I was mistaken. My works went flying as before. I packed my things and set out to find a solution. I walked by my friends, Vier and Jacob whom I'd met the day before. They were painting using a cherry-picker outside of a large music venue. They inquired what I was doing with such a large box, to which I showed them my drawings and told then my plans for the afternoon. Vier suggested that I find some souble sided tape to stick them to the surface by their backings. I thought this was a great idea, thanked him, and went to a nearby shop where I found some tape. 

Tape in hand, I walked back to my original location. I dragged out the piece of garbage furniture as before and taped the drawings down to the canvas surface. The system worrked quite well. I made a sign that said 'My name  is Kemeys Goethe. I hope you're having a lovely day.' and another that said '15 euros'. 

I talked with a woman who was interested in my drawings. Her name was Marian. She was a graphic designer and thai chi enthusiast. She'd lived in Berlin for most of her life and shared stories about how she has seen it change. She also practiced calligrapy and mentioned that she would not have the patience to make drawings as I had with a ballpoint pen. I had a bottle of ink and a brush with me and sked if she would demonstrate her work for me in my sketchbook. She happily obliged, and I was grateful to see her become quite playful and curious with her expressive markmaking. We talked about the power that art has to liberate the mind. She totally got it. 

I spoke with another woman about the drawings named Anne, who ws traveling from Barcelona, then another woman from Stuttgart. People seemed interested in the drawings, and interested in me, but not interested in dropping 15 euros on a coaster. I can't blame them. I trashed the sign that said '15 euro' and replaced it with another drawing that I'd just finished. I was honest with myself that this was less about the money and more about the experience to share my art, and talk to beautiful people.  Once the price sign was gone, more people began to come up to me and ask me about my drawings. I was much more plesed with the fact that our conversations had finances out of the equation. With the more natural flow of conversation too, the observer could ask about  buying as he/she felt comfortable. A couple from Luxembourg bought a drawing for 6 euros after I requested that they pay as the see fit. Another woman bought two drawings for 2euros a piece. And my final sale of the day was for three euros and fifty cents. 

I came to several conclusions during my time selling work today. I believe that leaving a price sign out can be intimidating for eople that amy otherwise be interested in talking and buying a piece. I believe that people want to support me and my passion for drawing, but not to the tune of 15 euros a piece. I believe that if there is an exchange that is most favorable for both parties, it is one that is inexpensive and practical. 

Practicality- I believe that the drawings on coasters are charming, but not totally practical. One woman suggested that I clear coat the coasters so that when she uses it, the drawing won't be ruined. I hadn't thought that upon buying one, it would return to its use as a coaster. Surely, I had transformed it into a work of fine art, seperated from the world of practical applications (I jest). This notion sent me into thinking about what these drawings can do for people- without effectively communicative content, not much. There is a quote from and NPR article discussing the definition of creativity. They say that creativity is something that is both novel AND useful. I felt that my drawings were novel, but not useful. And for something not useful, overpriced. 

Although each coaster took close to an hour to draw. I was happy to sell them for 2 euros a piece, 3 euros a piece, because that is what the customer wanted to pay. 

I felt quite happy the whole time I was sitting by my drawings, taking with people. It felt like a more managable and organic version of an opeining reception. The subject matter was usually already understood to be your work, so ther was a natural starting point. Further, an easy out for people is buying a drawing, and going on thier way. 

In the late afternoon, my friend Carl (who has dressed as the 'Neighkid Horse' and played guitar for change every day for the past three months here in Berlin to make rent and pay for living expenses) came to join me in the busking quest. I was happy to see him again and to meet his friend Liz, from Vancouver. Liz was considering buying property in Berlin and I was curious as to how she was going about it, being a foreighner. She was courteous to walk me through the process which she'd used to find apartments, and to place a down payment. I took Liz to be a very smart woman. 

Carl decided he'd made his money for the day and the two of them set off. Moments later, my friend Rikard arrived as planned for our painting date. We went by the paint shop, where I used my money from sales to buy spray paint. We set off for the wall which I'd been to the day prior, to paint something quickly before the sun set. I managed a charachter and Rikard managed a small piece. We did not get good pictures due to lighting. Afterward, we went to a doner restaraunt where we sat for some time and drew together. I taught him about letter structure, as he was interested in graffiti, but had not been painting for long. Our server was named Huseyin. I thought to draw his name in graffiti letters, but it seemed quite long. He sensed my hesitation, and suggested that I draw the name of his wife, Anna. I spent the next two hours drawing a full page of letter designs for 'Anna'. When his shift ended, I gave him the drawing and wished him a good night. Rikard and I left shortly after. I walked back to Braden's apartment. 

Rikard and I plan to meet again tomorrow morning to paint pieces in the daylight. 

Drawing Day

I spent the morning with Braden. We went to a cafe in Kreutzberg, then split off for our own adventures. I walked around the block and across the river by the east side gallery. I saw a couple murals painted by Blu, an incredible street artist, and walked to take a closer look. At the base of the murals was a squat community. Tents and shanty houses abound. I walked in through the gates and stood in front if the murals. The community was just waking up. People were walking out of their tents and stretching. They were very friendly, nodding good morning to me. I walked around a bit and found a nice seat by the river, one of several chairs set around a fire pit. From my chair I could see a gentleman rolling out a section on the graffiti wall, to paint a mural. I began drawing on my coasters and there I sat through the morning, afternoon, and early part of the evening. He approached me to talk and inquire about my drawings. We talked for some time. his name was Julian. He was from Nuremburg. His painting ws of a dove in flight. He told me that he enjoys paintings birds because his last name is vogel; German for bird. 

I kept him company while drawing. When he finished, I helped him take pictures with his piece. He wrote next to the painting 'A new bird is born', because during the painting, he recieved a phone call from his brother that his sister-in-law had just delivered a beautiful baby girl. Julian had become an uncle. I helped Julian get his supplies into his car and saw him off. He will continue to travel and paint for the next two weeks. 

In the late evening, I went to antoher cafe with Braden. Through the course of the day, I'd made 13 drawings, which brought my total to 20. I'd reached my goal. In the morning I would try my hand at selling the drawings in the street. 

Berlin: Round Two

I recieved yet another extenison to my stay in Amsterdam by one day so I could wrap up a project. 

Once I'd completed aforementioned project, I set to minimizing befor I left town. I had some spray paint left over and decided to try to use it up. I went to Henxs to inquire about a good legal wall. My friend Lucanne referred me to Flavo Park on the Northeast side of town. I packed my bag and rode my bike out to the bridge which she said was an understood legal spot. By the time I got out there, the sun was setting and I was racing with daylight to make the painting. I decided to paint a charachter for a friend of mine who goes by the nickname wizard. I was pleased with the result of the painting, though by the time I'd finished, it was dark out. I was happy to be done with the cans of paint. I believe I put them to good use. Hopefully, I will be able to get a good photo in daylight next time I'm in Amsterdam. 

 Early the following morning, I left for Berlin. My route involved one train change in Hanover. I slept on the first train. I noticed a woman sitting a number of seats in front of me. I was taken back by her beauty and charming smile as she spoke with the ticket inspector. At the Hanover stop, she got up and picked up a gorgeous dog which I'd not yet seen. It was a French Bulldog. I used the layover time to grab some lunch, then I found a seat on the ground at my next train platform. The beautiful woman appeared on the platform with her dog and took a seat next to me. I commented that I found her dog beautiful, and inquired if I could pet it. We talked about the dog, Lilu, then began delving into each other's stories. Her name was Judith. She was a stylist for a company which recieved contracts from high end fashion labels. Her job involved making aesthetic decisions pertaining to hair, makeup, and most importantly, clothing during photo shoots. She'd worked in Augsbourg for the past 6 years, and makes a weekend commute to Berlin to visit her boyfriend. Lilu was not hers, she was dog-sitting for a friend, which I believed was palatable in their affection for each other. It seemed new and fresh. Judith spoke english very well and our conversation felt natural. We boarded the train together, and due to overcapacity, found seats on the floor. We kept each other company and shared the task of managing Lilu on the train ride to Berlin. I drew three portraits of Lilu on the train ride, though I did not have a good opportunity to observe her features while I made the drawings. Consequently, the drawings missed the mark in terms of likeness, but I did manage to capture some spirit. We arrived in Berlin in the afternoon. I gave Judith her choice of Lilu protrait, and thanked her for the company. 

I took a metro to the apartment of my friend Braden, who has bravely traveled to Berlin to find employment for the duration of one year. I hosted him while I had my apartment, so he was happy to return the favor. When I got to his house we shared stories of how our past week apart had gone. Braden had mostly been fighting the German visa beaurocracy, to document his accommodations and place of employment. I'm happy to have a friend like Braden. He is committed to his career as a programmer, and incredibly efficient at attaining his goals. Beyond that he is incredibly easy to get along with. 

After some time of conversation, we both eagerly put our noses back to the grindstone. He began creating an automated system for application testing across multiple software platforms, and I continued a series of character drawings, which I'd been working on over the past few days. My intention while here in Berlin is to create twenty character drawings on coasters, then set up shop on Tuesday at the East Side Gallery (where I met my friends doing the same last week). 

I'd like to know that I can make 50euros in one day from my work. All focus is on this short term goal. So far I have six drawings.

Windmills

I met with Tin Tin this mornig as planned in front of Cantraal Staion. We bought our tickets, and headed toward Koog-Zaandijk, where we understood ( by refrence of her travel guide) there would be windmills. A woman on the train gave us the run-down on the best way to see the windmills. We were happy to take her advice and upon arriving at our stop, set out in accordance with her directions. We came across a bicycle rental entrepreneur. Tin Tin and I agreed that it would be a lovely day to ride bikes, so we each rented one from the kind man, and set off. The weather was gorgeous and we soon saw windmills on the horizon from the town of De Zaanse. We rode across a beautiful modern bridge and were soon at the village. De Zaanse was at one point a functioning cocoa mill, and grain processing hub. Today it is home to one of the largest tourist traps in Holland. There were lovely paved walkways along the stretch of manicured farmland. There was a line of seven windmills, four of which were turning in full force. It was beautiful to see among the crowds of other tourists. Each windmill, though part of the same attraction, charged admission between one to three euros. There were strupwaffel stands which sold individual waffels (note strupwaffel is very much different from a stanfard waffel) for a euro a piece. We chose to reserve our money, and spend our time instead riding our bikes around the town. We got off the beaten path a bit and found ourselves riding on a path through a field of barley. The grass was tall and the soil was moist. We got off our bikes and began to walk. After some time we came to a narrow bridge which we used great care in crossing with our bikes, as it only had on guard rail. We came across more bridges, these with both rails, which we forged. We used one bridge as a photo opportunity. I posed in a handstand in the center of the bridge and Tin Tin captured a great photo of it. We found a bench which overlooked the farmland, windmills in the background. We sat and took out or sketchbooks. Tin Tin brought a large drawing pad, and filled the page with observational drawings from her vantage point. I accentuated a drawing that I'd done earlier of a windmill. After finishing our respective drawings, we went to the De Zaanse Museum. We skipped past the ticket desk without paying. I was happy that we didn't pay. Inside, we found what was essentially another tourist trap, filled with a collection of rural antique whatever-the-fucks, most of which were poolry lit and unlabeled. There were several paintings whose frames cast a harsh shadow across the center of the painting. There was however, no shortage of things which could be purchased. We skipped out on the gift shop, and rode back to our bicycle entrepeneur friend to return the bikes. On the way we found a brilliant skatepark underneath a bridge, with beautiful graffiti adorning all of the walls. We spent some time taking photos and watching the skateboarders before continuing on and returning our bikes. We took the train back to Amsterdam, where we set off walking to the Houseboat Museum. upon arriving, I split off to return to Bloemgracht and prepare for travels ahead. Tin Tin offered that I come visit her in Paris, or during the summer months in Cheng Du, China. I returned the offer, and we parted ways. I will be hapy to continue our friendship. 

Extra Time

I was prepared to leave today, at least that was the initial plan. I worked through the early morning, and afternoon preparing the house for the arrival of the Dennis Family in coming weeks. Karen had agreed to store a painting or two while I traveled, a generous offer which plucked at my already resonating strings of attachment for two of my larger, unfinished works. I thought to use the offer to further postpone the completion of the paintings. The house shaped up well but by late afternoon, I began to feel the implications of leaving such a large task to be dealt with at the end of my forthcoming travels. It would mean that upon returning to Amsterdam, I would need to find accommodations, find a studio, transport the paintings, work for days straight to complete them, then deal with their packaging and shipping. The paintings, though they had taught me a lot, were beginning to look more like garbage. I called Karen to consult our options. She showed kindness in extending my stay by two days, so that I may come to the most-right decision. With the accommodation extension, I felt a heavy burden lifted from my shoulders. Time is an illusion, but one that I'd felt behind on. 

I notified Josine and Carlos down in the gallery of my extended stay. Upon leaving the gallery, I was asked by a beautiful young woman where the Houseboat Museum was. I fif not know, but thought my friends at the local corner cafe might, so we took a wak together. Nobody at the cafe knew the answer to our question, so we consulted our phones. The museum was just down the street by a few blocks, so I walked with her. When we arrived, we saw that it was closed. I asked if she wanted to geab something to eat, and she agreed. Her name was Tin Tin. She was visiting on holiday form her studies in Paris. She was a graphic design major, but has come to the decision that upon returning, she would like to pursue children's book illustration. She was happy to hear about my stay in Amsterdam, and excited to see my work, of which I had my Berlin envelope paintings with me. I showed her some other works of mine from my cell phone. We walked through the red light district, looking for a cheap fish and chips place. She had yet to enter the red light district, and wanted to see some of the girls. She commented on how beautiful they were. I mentioned that they were Eastern European, but did not get into discussion about human trafficking and sex-slavery, be it the case or not. We found our spot, Bobby's Diner, where I had a slice of cheese pizza and Tin Tin had fish and chips. We discussed illustrators and academic plans. I had been carrying a shipping envelope throughout the night. I placed the envelope on the table, took out a pen, and made a gestural scribble. I placed the pen in front of her as an offering. She understood. She took the pen and continued drawing from my scribble. A few shapes, then she handed the pen back. It was sexy. We continued drawing throughout our meal. She sat accross from me, so what I drew right-side up, she would interpret upside-down and visa versa. Intermittently, we would turn the paper around to work it from a new perspective. Our meal was finished, and our table was bussed, but we continued to draw. The back and forth was taking too long for her, so she did the hottest thing, pulled out her own pen. It was a blue ballpoint, smooth and bold. We worked the drawing harder and stopped talking. The page began to fill, and we began blocking in spaces with values. Shapes and forms were reinterpreted liberally, often reading differently from different angles. We began to stand up, and sit down, and walk around the drawing, and look at it while squinting. Towards the end, we began trouble-shooting; pushing things back and placing focal points with contrasting values. We'd spent four hours in the restaraunt. The drawing was done. 

I signed it "The pizza eater" and tried to give it to the waiter. The waiter, to our astonishment, was incredibly rude. He did not want to take the drawing, and criticized us for spending such an extended amount of time in his restaraunt. He insisted that if we want to spend four hours somewhere, it shoulf not be here. He noted that he didn't mind, but the fact was it was a restaraunt. He was the only one working and I thought afterward, "If he didn't mind, then who did?" 

It should be nmoted that through the duration of the drawing, the Bobby's Diner was close to vacant. We left, saddened by our friends lack of enthusiasm. We wishes him well. I now know of one place in Amsterdam not to go back to, 

Tin Tin and I walked to Centraal Staion, where she offered that I join her the following morning to see the windmills. Overcome with serendipity, I did not have to think about saying yes. We agreed to meet again in the morning at a designated meeting point outside of the station. I saw her onto her train back to the hotel, then walked back to Bloemgracht to turn in for the night. 

A Romantic Day

 I'd had a difficult nights sleep as I was disrupted by hunger pangs from fasting. I woke with the sunrise, and brought the garbage out to the street. The weather was pleasant, so I took a walk and picked up some good garbage to draw on. I planned on drawing a street scene from my vantage point at "De Hoek" Cafe, which I'd attempted two days prior, but upon arriving, saw that the cafe was closed until 8. I used the time begore its opening to draw instead the Westerkerk Cathedral which could be clearly seem from a nearby bridge. The drawing was difficult, but I was not wholly dissatisfied with the result. When I finised the drawing, it was nearly 9. I decided instead of breaking fast at De Hoek, that I would extend the fast until I saw my beautiful friend Giulia. With this new goal, I walked across town to Henxs store, where I knew she would be working. The store didn't open for another hour, so I used some time to explore the neighborhood. I came across a market, where I bought two juice drinks and a modest boquet of flowers. I stood at the corner of the intersection where I speculated Giulia would ride by, hoping to suprise her before work with gifts, but the time when I expected her came and went. I walked back to the store. I knew it would be open at that point, perhaps she had taken another route to work that morning. When I arrived at the shop, I was informed that Giulia had gotten the shift covered by a friend in order to travel to London. I walked home, and called Giulia to confirm. Indeed, she had booked her flight the night before and was due at the airport shortly to get on a plane. By this pointm, my fast had gone for 48 hours. I thought I could meet her at the airport, it was after all a matter of life or death. But instead I acknowledged her holiday and wished her safe travels. I sat by a window, broke fast with one of the bottles of juice, and prepared a vase for the flowers. The church bells of the Westerkerk sang out as I finished the bottle of juice and the sun poured in through the open window with a wintery clarity. I thought to myself, surely this is a magical place. 

I finished the Siddhartha book and made a few drawings in my sketchbook in the early afternoon. Afterwards, I went to the gallery downstairs and helped Josine wrap paintings with packing materials. She will have to clear out all of her collection shortly, after being in business for 20 years. 

The evening was spent preparing belongings for the road. I shipped a couple boxes back to the states filled with books and small paintings. I will soon be on the road, lean. 

Letting Go

Today I fasted, a continuation from yesterday afternoon upon which I began reading Siddhartha, by Herman Hesse. The abstinence from food and drink has allowed me further distance from my thoughts and I have felt a sense of calm throughout the day. 

I set to packing up some of my belongings, and shipping them back to the states. I accomplished this by noon and thought it owuld be a good time before Case arrived to retrieve my bicycle which I had left at the Rijksmuseum on Friday. I found my bicycle without problem, then rode to Henxs Shop, where I hoped to see Giulia. She was not there, but I was happy to learn (after checking every day since I arrived in Amsterdam) that she will surely be working tomorrow. I rode back to Bloemgracht. 

Case came over to the house in the afternoon to apply a dry brush around the stain work that he'd begun the day before. After he'd finished the work, he came ustairs to join me by the front window. He'd brought over the body of his samples of stains, pigment blends, and oil paint swatches, which he meticulously catalogued over the course of three months in interest to perfecting his craft as a restorationist. His attention to detail has been refined throughout his career and it was refreshing to see his living excitement over color interactions. The majority of his oil samples composed of the color in its pure form, name variations, applications of zinc white, applications of black, and applications of greys. It was incredible to see hues change into seemingly complex chromatic greys through tints and tones alone. 

There is more work to be done before I head out on the last leg of this European sojourn. Tomorrow I will need to make some moves toward vagabonding. 

I remember as a kid, whenever I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would reply that I wanted to be a hobo. I messaged my mom today to let her know that my dreams were soon to come true. 

Case

Today I awoke with a mission to make some observational work. I began with some rough sketches of the Westerkerk Cathedral, then went to breakfast at a local cafe, and drew a lovely miniature street scene. The drawings were frustrating at times, but began to come together in their own time. I met a beautiful young woman named Gemma, as she was glancing over at my drawing. Gemma was English. She moved to Amsterdam directly after graduating from university, as she landed a great directing gig at a production house. I got the impression that Gemma was on top of it. We exchanged info and went our ways. Back in the studio, I gave some more attention to the envelope paintings from Berlin, then studied drawings of Heinrich Kley. 

In the afternoon, Case, an exceptional craftsman and restorationist, came by the house to fix a broken crib which he had made 18 years prior for the Dennis Family. Case and I enjoyed conversation and coffe. He inquired as to what I was working on, so I showed him a majority of my smaller paintings. He had some lovely things to say about the work. I found that we got along quite well together. We went down to where the crib sat and he realized that he'd forgotten his glue at his studio. We had at that point talked extensively about the studio and it seemed like the perfect time for a field trip. Since I left my bicycle at the Rijksmuseum, I jumped onto the back of his bike, (the true local way to get around). We rode to the red light district, where his studio was. Inside was one of the finest studios I have seen. The orginization was superb. There were space limitations, so it had to be clean. He noted that he had 650 wood planes, each distinct from the next. The walls were filled with refrence sculptures from different architectural periods. He took time to demonstrate to me some staining techniques, of which he has catalogued extensively on plates of wood around the shop. He mixed all of his stains from powdered pigments and different vehicles. He explained the differences between alkali and acidic vehicles in cohercing natural colors from different varieties of woods. He showed me how to make glue and shellac into vehicles for delivering opaque pigments, and how to combine chalk and shellac to make a paste that hardens into stone for many applications. He taught me about creating a key from one layer to the next, to minimize risk of layers separating ( in application to painting and sculpting alike). The privelage to be in his studio and learn form him was incredible. I valued his advise highly.

We rode back to the house, where Case got to work on the crib. I read and drew and kept him company. He applied glue to the broken piece and brushed away the excess with warm water. He then brushed on a coat of raw linseed oil, explaninig his process as he went along. He worked into the evening, and we parted ways. I made more study drawings from Heinrich Kley, as well as some imaginative scene drawings, then called it a night. 

Studio Time

I am enjoying my re-visit to Amsterdam very much. Two days ago, I took an adventure to see the Rijksmuseum. I was astonished by the long lines, but was informed there was not a better time to see the paintings, so I entered. The lines and crowds continued indoors, where I saw dutch masterpieces from the 14th century onwards, often betweem the heads of other tourists. I occasionally found a painting which had no onlookers, which I felt inclined to see. I made study drawings from a few. I stayed at the museum through the afternoon before my exhaustion led me to walk the streets in search of a cafe. In my searching, I came across a gem of a sculpture gallery. The artist's name was Leon Strous.  His sculptures reminded me of Shel Silverstein characters. We talke for some time while he worked on a sculpture. I felt inspired by his work. Shortly after, I found a lovely cafe, where I set to make some interpretations on the characters I saw in Leon's studio/gallery ( a photo of which can be seen herein). 

Yesterday, I began preparing works and books for shipment home. I will be on the road shortly and will have to travel light. 

I am in conversation with my friend in New York about busking in a subway station for a few days upon my return to the states, thus I am looking for efficient ways to make drums out of found objects. This morning, I set to making a drum out of cardboard. I layered thirty cut squares with glue, then carved out the middle. I affixed a final cardboard square to the top to act as a beater head. I was curious to see if any resonation could be produced from such a crude drum. The result was surely a work of art, but it would be a stretch to call it a drum. I will have to sacrifice it somehow along with other larger unfinished sculptures and paintings. 

In the afternoon, I set up a small studio on a table and continued to work on a series of paintings which I began in Berlin. I am pleased with how they are evolving. 

On the left page are studies from paintings at the Rijksmuseum, as well as hand studies from Heinrich Kley. In ochre, a quick sketch from a painting by Vellert titled The Judgement of Cambyses, in which Cambyses is in the process of being beaten with a stone and flayed. On the right are characters inspired from the sculptural work of Leon Strous. 

Back in Amsterdam

I checked out of my apartment in Berlin. Astrid, the owner was pleased to see the condition of the apartment upon my leaving, as I had spent considerable time cleaning. I took a walk, with a bag of groceries in hand thinking that I would come across a homeless person to donate the food to before I set off for Amsterdam. I sat down in a park and began to draw where I was approached by two lovely women. Petrina and Inge, who were on holiday from Holland. They had been touring Berlin for a few days at that point and were in the area to see the East Side Gallery, a section of the Berlin Wall which was preserved and now hosts a number of public murals. I offered to join along, and we were off. Petrina and I had a talk aobut the Second World War. At the wall, I caught a tag by a sign that said no tagging allowed, which Petrina thought was funny. We walked along and discussed the murals, before splitting off to continue our own paths. Shortly after, I came acrorss a stencil artist who had set up by the wall. He was talking with someone about graffiti and I thought to approach and join the conversation. The stencil artists name was Evan, he was a Canadian who has traveled to Berlin to carve a path for himself on the streets. The other gentleman was Rikard, a Swede who was in Berlin to paint and dance. We werer three of a kind and enjoyed conversation for over an hour. I respected Evan's business mindset with his art and Rikard's curiosity. Evan told us about an abandoned ice factory nearby that had plenty of graffiti and some squat houses inside. Rikard and I decided to check it out. We walked a few blocks and found the building, it was a five story gutted warehouse. The bottom floor hosted two massive retired engines from the Industrial Age. The floor had given in in some spots, revealing a cellar full of debris and garbage. The walls that remained were covered top to bottom with graffiti. Rikard and I climbed up the iron spiral staircase to explore up top. We found a group of models and photographers on the second floor who were setting up for a shoot. That helped our nerves a bit. Up a few more floors and we emerged on the rooftop. It was a beautiful view of Berlin and we took it in. I snapped some photos of Rikard, and he took one of me as well. Back downstairs, we found a commune, where squatters had built tee-pees and structures to support a community. we entered and found smiling faces. I held up the bag of groceries and offered, "Free food?" I was shown to the kitchen, where three young men were smoking. They were happy to see that I'd brought food, and I was happy to give it to such lovely people. 

Rikard and I walked back toward East Side Gallery, before splitting off on our own again. We exchanged information. I plan to revisit with him next time I am in Berlin. 

I called Braden, as we had arranged to meet up before I left Berlin. I went to his apartment, where he was waiting on his lady friend to come over for a date. Her name was Haley. She was from Maine, and shortly after her arrival, the offer was extended to me to join them for a round of drinks. I happily accepted. Haley and Braden talked scientific circles around me. I was impressed at their capacity to recall facts and figures so efficiently. I found our conversations about German economics very interesting as well. After two tall beers, and plenty of good conversation, we decided we'd had a long anough Wednesday night. I took off for the train station. 

To my luck, the departing train which I thought had many transfers, in fact had none. I boarded around 11pm and slept all the way to Amsterdam. 

Arriving in Amsterdam, I was exhausted. I was sore from head to toe from the awkward positions associated with sleeping on the train, and I still had residual symptoms from the fever that I'd fought so hard against in Berlin. I met Josine at the gallery beneath the Bloemgracht home to receive the keys. Upon entering the home I found it immaculate. Karen had worked her design magic backwards and forwards on the place, including notes to guide me through my stay. She left a basket of medicine with instructions and books which might be relevant to my upcoming travels. I was wholly grateful. I ran a bath, had a slow lunch, and a slow dinner, and settled in for the night. 

Fever

Yesterday was hellish. I woke with a dehabilitating fever. Throughout the day, I had sweat sessions in which I experienced nightmarish hallucinations. My sinus pressure was extreme and I could hear my rapid heartbeat behind my eyes. In the afternoon, I made a venture out to the drug store and bought a fever reducer and a decongestant. I went to the market as well and bought a fruits, garlic, and chicken noodle soup. 

My evening was spent staying warm by taking baths, and periodically sweating while fully dressed under two down comforters. The most addressed theme during the nightmares which ensued from the sweats was that of an owerwhelmingly large task. I dreamt that I, with assistants, had undertaken an enormous installation sculpture from found objects; it was a representation of my current body of work, 'Still Life From Ether'. The construction of the installation was monumentally difficult and disorienting. I percieved the covers under which I was sweating as components of the installation; I was drowning in it, and I felt that I was overheating. I explored some good ideas, and some bad. Throughout, I felt that I was gaining an understanding of my motivations in making art. I believe some of the appeal is that you create your own monsters to battle against. I believe that some artists make monsters for themselves which others cannot relate to. They become caught up in a fantasy, which registers as uninteresting to others. I am still digesting some of the implications of this. I believe that in some way, I have fallen victim to creating monsters which others cannot relate to.

I believe that I sweated out the fever last night. I am grateful that it was not another type of illness, as I believe fevers to be the most receptive to proactive treatment. Further, I appreciate fevers for their ability to take you on an intense mental journey. 

Today I cleaned the apartment and prepared for my departure from Berlin. 

Museum Day

Today I went to the Berggruen Museum, which houses works from Paul Klee, Cezanne, Giacometti, and Picasso. I was particularly drawn to the Picasso exhibitions. They had a good collection of his studies. I made several reference drawings from his works in my sketchbook. I also filled a few pages with portraits of fellow train riders from the commute to and from the museum. It was amazing the difference drawing from Picasso's studies made in my perception of figures afterward. I felt like the world had become deeper and decoded in some way, as I perceived value and spatial relationships more intensely. 

Back in the studio, I finished a pen drawing if an intricate piece of graffiti-treated-like-fine-art that I'd been working on for a few days. I am pleased with the results. 

In the evening I went with my friend Braden to see a show but upon ariving, we both decided that 12euros and a commitment to the late night were not in our best interest. I was relieved to hear that Braden was as exhausted by the city as I was. 

I believe I have adopted a fever. I hope to sweat it out before I leave on my train ride to Amsterdam on Thursday. 

Beef

I attended the Broken Fingaz opening at Urban Spree Gallery the other night. I fell in love with the work and bought gifts for friends. It was rumored that Banksy was in attendance, which I do not doubt. The evening ended with a preformance by Unga and Kip, two of the members of the Broken Fingaz Collective. Kip sang and played keyboards, while Unga played a drum set. The music was electifying and the crowded room became alive with dance. Miss Red preformed freestyle intermittently throughout the set. I mistook a gentleman for Kip and approached him to compliment him on the show. The gentleman acknowledged me and offered his hand for a handshake and a friendly hello. I quickly realized my mistake, but we became quick friends thereafter and spent the rest of the night discussing relationships between America and Germany. His name was Owe and his friend was Mischa. We came to several great realizations on roots of the pissing contest between the States and Europe in terms of immigration and citizenship process, and the different ways that the conflicts are addressed. 

The following day, I rode my bicycle to the Urban Spree Gallery to pick up the prints that I'd purchased. I met the gallery owner, Pascal who was a genuinely pleasant gentleman. He was happy to talk with me about the process behind the work of the Broken Fingaz gents. I gathered that oil paint is the best medium to use on top of spraypaint. I also was happy to hear that the Borken Fingaz use little digital process in the creation of their prints, and installments. 

After my errand, I took a train home (in interest of not damaging the artworks), then fell asleep to try to reverse back my backwards sleep schedule. 

The reverse worked. I happily awoke this morning to a beautiful market on the street in front of my apartment. I bought a stem of red grapes, and an apple for breakfast, then walked to the graffiti shop to celebrate the morning with a painting. I bought several cans, including green which I rarely use in my palette but was convinced that it would be a good idea by my shop-friend, Yulia. I set out for the legal wall at Mauer Park, and found a good spot. I painted for hours and met some new friends and fellow artists at the wall. I was the most senior writer at the wall, and such was approached by many younger writers with compliments. I drew a piece in a young man's sketchbook and taught him a bit about piecing. I was happy with how my piece was coming out. Towards the end of the painting, two thugs walked by my arrangement of cans (essentially, my palette). They slowed down considerably. One of them picked up a can and waited for me to ask him to give it back. I grabed his arm and aked him to give the can back. He swung his arm in a punch toward my face, which I dodged. He threw the can at me then began to charge at me, throwing punches and kicking. I asked what the fuck he was doing. He shouted insults in German and landed a few punches to my face, knocking my glasses to the ground. I backed towards my new friends to see if they would have my back if I began fighting. It was clear to me that they would not. I felt that there was nothing to be done. Looking back at my bag and cans, I saw a small crew forming, there were four other thugs. My assailant turned to raid my bag. He took the cans with paint in them, and threw the empties at me, yelling manically through the whole thing. I only cared about my sketchbook, and my wallet, which to my relief he overlooked. My friends picked up my glasses for me, and I saw the young man who assulted me tag the letters of his crew over my piece. I wasn't scared. I cocked my hip and stood behind the gang while they essentially circle-jerked to beating up, robbing, and insulting me. When they finished, they walked away together and I waved goodbye. I walked home. My ear was bleeding and the side of my face began to hurt. I washed the blood away in the sink in my apartment bathroom. The thug had torn a small gash on my ear from the force of a punch. Aside, from the minor pain, everything seemed alright. 

I went down to the cafe to process what implications this event could have. Perhaps it signifies the last piece of graffiti that I will ever do, perhaps it represents a shift from street-art to fine art. Only time will tell about these speculations and interpretations. What I did conclude after today's event is that I don't particularily like Berlin. Being abused by a gang is not the extent of my dissatisfaction, Berlin has been rude-crude and lacking in spirit since I arrived. I have tried. I have made work here, work which I am proud of, but the cost has been an arm and a leg and bit by bit my sanity. I am figthing the feeling that the remainder of my time here will be marked by a feeling of pending status. 

Tomorrow is a new day. I hope I don't get mugged again. 

Acknowledging Crossroads.

I have had a difficult time deciding on wether to stay in Berlin or not. The city inspires me, but I do not want a beaureacratic prosess such as applying for a visa put me off center, or in some way legally bind me (or feel that in some ethics-of-value way, like I owe something during my permitted stay.) I have found great peace in my studio, but I do not believe that the power comes from my location exclusively. Good things come from good actions, regardless of location. I believe that art is a modality, a perpetually executed philosophy. I have come to understand at the end of the day, I am not worried about the visa. My home is where I am, and if I so choose to stay or go, I will find a way. 

I am in full swing in the studio. 

Tonight, I will take an adventure to see my friends from the Broken Fingaz Collective, who are hosting an opening. 

Ten Minute Painting in Mauer Park

Finally, A Functioning Berlin Studio

I am hard at work in the studio now. Yesterday started with the construction of the second work table, which I am quite pleased with the results of. In the past couple days, I've painted five self portraits and a series of small mixed media paintings. The mixed media paintings are on antique envelopes that I bought at the Sunday market in Mauer park. 

Outside of the studio, I am making good work in my sketchbook. I am layering ink, watercolors, conte, pencil, crayon, coffee, wine, and arabic gum. Occasionally, I will find a poorly adhered graffiti or street art sticker around town, which I peel off and place into the book. I found a controversial conservative sticker that reads in German, "A great empire needs a great symbol." On the sticker is a graphic of the building in which Hitler was ceremonially appointed as chancellor. It was destroyed during the war, and has been questioned ethically wether it should be reconstructed. I understand that radical Hitler supporters view its rebuilding as a pro-nazi monument. The sitcker proves that there is still an underlying community of nazis in Berlin. I talked with a local friend about the phenomenon. He told me that they are few and that they are cowards. Twenty four years is not so long I suppose. 

I went to the visa office today, to register for my place of residence with no luck. I may return tomorrow. 

In the afternoon, I set out to make portrait paintings of volunteers in the park. I saw a friend of mine sitting in his sitting spot. I told him that I was out looking for volunteers to paint portraits of, to which he responded that I look no further. I sat down and set up my supplies. I'd planned out the set-up the night before (and painted four self portraits to test it out). I had a medium sized plastic container which held only water, a plastic shallow pan with ink and water mixed to a dark gray, and an egg carton with white gouache. I had a three inch brush and two small watercolor brushes, which I designated as wash, dark transparent layering, and opaque grays. I used a sheet of paper from the block that I'd bought the day prior. First, I applied a wash with my large brush blocking in the space of the figure, then I established shadows with a smaller brush. From there, I began to go in with white to cut the figure back a bit in places, then I began mixing grays and applying them to the figure. My friend recieved a phone call from his lady-friend and he mentioned that he had to go meet with her. I was about ten minutes into the painting at the time and I believe, noticably struggling. Some of my proportions were slightly off, and the values were extreme. I felt that painting another person was much more challenging than painting myself in the studio had been. I was happy that my friend had to leave, but I would like to paint him again.

Silence and Anticipation

My friends Braiden, Rachael and Valerie have moved out of my flat. Braiden moved into a place of his own only a twenty minute walk away. I look forward to seeing him throughout the cold months ahead. Rachael and Valerie caught a plane to Scottland, where they will meet with friends and family, before returning to their home in Hamilton, Ontario. 

I have adopted a nocturnal sleep schedule, due to a series of progressively later nights at dance clubs with my Australian friends. Sleepy rides home on the S-Bahn have become a dominant theme to my time thus far in Berlin. 

Beginning this evening, I anticipate a long period of silence. Between an empty house, my lack of conversational German skills, the increasingly bitter cold weather, and abundance of thoughts to process, I am enjoying my solitude as time for healing. 

I found an incredible art store. Many of the tools are industrial grade, which I appreciate. I bought a beautiful block of paper which takes water in a lovely way. I am working primarily with ink, gouache, and conte. 

Going forth, I will need to make a trip at some point back to Amsterdam, to gather the remaider of my things from Karen's house and to say goodbye (for now) to friends. I am looking for a new place to stay in Berlin, as my rental terms expire in this location in ten days. I will need to apply for a visa soon. I understand that it takes a few months to process, but I can take a chance and wait it out in Berlin. Staying in Berlin would mean a hard winter, and months of working in isolation. I do not feel as closely tied into the arts community here as I did in Amsterdam, but something about the daunting and lonely winter seems romantic to me. I look forward to witnessing how my art changes in this climate. 

Jan

I had a beautiful night with my friend Jan, who I know from his stay with my family as a foreign exchange student through the acedemic year of 2007. He lives in Potsdam, and since I'd been in Berlin for close to two weeks, we were overdue to meet. I sat on the stoop of my apartment waiting. On time, he walked around the corner and took a seat next to me. It was surreal seeing him. He had grown into his features and had cut his long hair. We set out for some coffee to catch up. Afterward, we went to the grocery store and picked up some supplies for a pasta dinner. Conversation was natural. We had a lot to talk about. It was incredibly insightful to learn about each other's lives after and in relation to our time together in America. We shared openly our thoughts and opinions, both retrospectively and currently. We broke through and acknowleged social taboos which at one point we thought were important to keep intact. The night came to a close after some time and some wine were spent. We agreed to meet again later. 

My mother, father and sister were excited to hear about my meeting with Jan. We will always consider him a member of our family. 

New Frontiers

Berlin is throwing me for a loop. It seems to me a harder nut to crack than Amsterdam. I feel that the language barrier is more significant, and the format of the town is less user friendly. I learned that the residence of the lovely Dennis Family in Amseterdam, will no longer be available for accommodations. Therefore, I will have to forgo organizing housing, studio space, and transportation of my existing work to a place of my choosing. I believe that Berlin could work well for me. I enjoy the art here, I enjoy the amount of space and liberation that I feel. I enjoy the affordability. I enjoy the idea of a hard winter, which would lock me indoors for long hours of work. I enjoy the lonliness. Mostly, I do not yet feel that I have accomplished what I wanted to accomplish with my time in Europe. I will apply for a working visa soon. 

I moved from the hostel into a flat in Prenzlauer Berg. I found the flat listed online. Upon touring it with Astrid, I felt uniquely at home. The space was quiet and calming. Astrid was a journalist and poet, and had the space oriented to her studies and work. Books lined every wall. There were three larger rooms; a bedroom, and two studies. There was a small bathroom and a small kitchen. The appliances each had their own tricks and quirks. The shower was connected both to the kitchen sink and the bathroom sink. The toilet was connected to the toilet plumbing. The heaters required a sensitive touch to ignite. Pipes of different sizes ran along the walls, exposed. I used them to hang laundry. Astrid had some kitchenware fixed to one of them above the stove. 

The rent is comparable to that of New York, which I am content with for a stay of only one month. I will have to find a more affordable accommodation if I am to stay in Berlin for a longer term. 

I spent a few days in the flat alone, sitting for long intervals in silence, and soaking in the tub to unwind. I had a lot of sleep to catch up on. I extended the offer to Braiden from the hostel to stay in the flat as well while he figured out his own accomodations in Berlin. He and I had a similar plan for living and working here. He was a graphic designer. He moved in after a few days of solitude, and we shared much good conversation and philosophy. I also extended the housing offer to Rachael and Valerie, two lady-friends from Toronto. Within a week of living in the apartment, I was running an international flop-house. Many good conversations and meals were shared between the four of us. Braiden moved out of the apartment this afternoon and into his new place, just a short walk away. I will be happy to visit him periodically during my stay in Berlin. 

Berlin Goals:

In Berlin, I would like to continue painting the body of work which I began in Amsterdam. I would like to find a combined living and working space, to rent for the duration of 8 to 9 months. I would like to be approved for a freelancer's visa, which can take a few weeks to process. I would like to work on paintings and drawings in isolation through the winter months for an exhibition tbd, opening in the late spring. I would like to apply for and be granted a subsidy for a large-scale mural in the city, which I would prefer to paint over the course of one month also sometime in the spring.  

A Stimulating Night:

I have faith in Berlin's art scene. I went to a lovely opening the other evening, and met a new friend named Natalia. We talked about the artwork. It was refreshing to have a partner to discuss with, as I've been experiencing most exhibitions during my sojourn alone. I learned that Natalia was an illustrator and animator, who was in college in Berlin. She showed me an animation of a roatating fork that she'd made earlier in the day which was rather charming. She invited me out to a party, which I accepted. We took a train to the outskirts of the city, where we found an industrial complex. We met Lucas outside, who was a tenant in the space where the party was to be held. He directed us inside and up a flight of wide stairs. On the second floor, we began to hear music, the party was not huge, but the quality was. Lucas explained that the space was an artilier that had an understood relaxed policy in terms of using the space for accomodations. I met Natalia's friends Matt, Tasha, and Benjamin who were from Australia. Shortly after, Lucas sat down on a small stage at the front of the room and began to play a set of folk songs. The room grew silent as the last light of day set in the windows behind him. We passed around a joint. After Lucas' set, a young woman took the stage with an electric guitar. She was exactly the right amount of self-aware. The songs seemed simultaneously cautious and bold, quiet and loud, proud and ashamed. Everyone felt it. A drummer sat down to accompany her towards the end of the set. The question of wether the percussion would be for the better or worse was soon answered to everyone's relief. There was nothing but magic and for a while we all became lost in the poetry of the moment. After the set, Natalia and I found ourselves outside. I massaged her back and hands. She grabbed at my neck and hair. We generated intense energy. She asked me about my sexuality, which I answered as neither one thing or another, fluid. She was not satisfied with my answer in the least, and began a line of accusatory questions. It was conversation like I had never experienced before. It felt mystic. We kept eye contact. My heart raced. After some time, she would take a break out of her frustration, to return later with more questions. A DJ began to play to the party and the Australians and I set to dancing together. I could hear periodically in the background Natalia's voice "He's totally gay.", and "Why are they all gay?" She was obsessed. 

I focused on the present moment, and did not let what I percieved as her efforts to divert energy phase me. After overhearing enough of her comments, I realized she was not talking exclusively about me. She was gay-labeling the whole party. The Australians brought it up to me shortly thereafter, "Did Natalia ask you if you were gay?" I responded and told them my story. They laughed and told me that it was a fixation that she had developed as a result of her personal insecurities. We talked in extent about the connotations of demanding such a definitive answer about such a complex and ever-changing topic as sexual expression. The Aussies paired it down to her German style of conversation, very direct. 

Towards the end of the night, Natalia found a gentleman that could answer the question correctly, evidenced by an intense make-out session in the perimeter of our dance circle. It was apparent that they had both drank a significant amount and were happy to have found each other. I left with the Australians. We walked to our respective trains and parted ways. 

Free Jazz

I went for a walk with Matt and Clara, from Seattle, to the angel monument. When we arrived, we heard beautiful saxophone music. Following the sound, we found a gentleman at the bottom of a set of stairs, which decended into the ground about 10 meters from the plaza. He stood in front of a closed gate, the entrance of a pedestrain underpass, designed for seeers of the monument to forgo crossing the heavily trafficked street safely during the day. He had installed two battery powered lights pointing towards the ground, which reflected from the wet marble  surfaces of the corridor in a blue glow. He played facing his opened instrument case. His attack was largely breathy. Often you would hear seconds of air pushed through the instrument before he would bend it into the intended note. The result felt emotive and telling of his story. Upon seeing us as spectators, he set his saxophone down in its case and climbed the stairwell to have a cigarette and a talk. He did not seem interested in divulging his name, and we did not ask. He had lived in Berlin since 1984, and in the 29 years has played frequently in this very spot. 

"There is nothing like the sound that comes from this tunnel" he said, "it is like you are playing two instruments at once". 

With that, he descended back into the corridor. I and my friends followed and took a seat. He began slowly to demonstrate the power of the tunnel. He would sing to it and it would sing back. He created harmonies with delay. He barked notes through the instrument to develop layers of synchopations.  He understood how to play the tunnel. Somehow, Matt and Clara felt that they had somewhere else to be. They stood and departed on a walk back to the hostel. The rest of the concert was beautiful. The gentleman ran a gamut of musical expression, from standards, to a King Crimson song, to screeching and howling open jazz. I felt relieved that Matt and Clara were assertive to choose to leave; it narrowed my attention to the preformance to a level that invoked dancing. What was exchanged could not be recorded, it had to be experienced. After some time, the concert came to a close. The gentleman mentioned that he had work in the morning. He packed his saxophone, then had an idea to play one last song with flutes. He reached into the front pocket of his instrument case and pulled out two recorders, one smaller than the other. He held both to his mouth and played them simultaneously. Afterplay. There seemed nothing more appropriate than a handshake and a goodbye and we parted to our respective beds.