Hugo’s Death

Hugo passed away night before last. He was a 91. Hugo was a good guy, bing dutch fellow, widowed then married to my Grandmother Eula on my mother’s side. He made model train sets the size of bedrooms. He liked n and z scale. There was a z scale set encased in a glass on all sides coffee table in his house (a house which he built himself). His miniatures continue to inspire me. It makes more sense now that I get miniature ideas periodically. He tended to sit in this orange chair in his living room, where to his right over a creamsicle patterned couch hung a painting of his canal in Denmark. He would point to it every other visit, making note that ‘there’s his house right there’. He had this cat he called fuzzpot, which weighed twenty pounds. My sister and I were sure he was calling the cat fuzzbutt, which we relished. He and Eula made a good couple. Hugo was kindly if not kind of aloof. On a recent trip to Florida my family and I made the rounds, on the basis I that Eula had just had a stroke, Hugo had been diagnosed with cancer, and Grammy was nearby and always worth seeing (how does she stay in such good health? Jk, I know- she swims.). Eula looked like she’d seen a ghost, but otherwise in good health. I love her. Hugo looked good, and also like he’d only been thinking of death since his diagnosis, and maybe before that too. He went to the doctor who’d told him that it hurt to get out of the chair because he wasn’t exercising, however, on his more recent visit, it was found cancer throughout his legs. Fuzzbutt died of cancer I presume. It was ancient by the time we ever knew it. I held Hugo’s hand while we talked. He looked at me having contemplated death. Death was on his mind, I could tell. I felt the fat of his hand, distinct and floating from his ligaments and bones. Big fatty hands, lots of skin, relaxed callouses, waning strength. His spirit was crystal clear though, and he seemed like he was transferring spirit as best whether superstition be valid or not as he could, and we looked at one another and I was proud of him. It was between 3am and 6am sometime. He’d made it past his ninetieth birthday by a year. 

Sorry to Bother You , and more

Just watched a film called ‘Sorry to Bother You’ in which I couldn’t relate to any character in particular. (Maybe I’m doing it then- becoming a true romantic poet!). It was a great film and I hope it makes it’s way into the cannon of flashbulb impactful films, like ‘They Live’ kinda. Although I didn’t relate to any character in particular it did portray the circus-like feeling of these particular times.

I’ve been moderately responsible about my studies this summer. I’m going through anatomy studies, and taking Ecorche courses (one on the human, and another on the fox anatomy).. Those pieces I made at the beginning of the summer are long since past it feels like. I’m effectively no longer working the school painting job. I went down to Florida for a week and got paid real money to dig holes, such that it feels stupid to go back to 9/hr, I’m good.

I’m moving into a house in West Philly and I feel like I’m going into a family kind of living situation. I’ll live with an established couple and I’m happy about that. It’ll be my first time living with a couple. Also there’s a cat! I’m really happy about the little old cat. The house is dark, which made me want to cry when I relayed the info to my kinda-girlfriend, but I think it will trickle into my artwork in a nice way. I’ve already dreamt about the location, which is a romantic trolley’s ride into center city where my school is located. It has no internet, and thus I look forward to breaking some bad habits of late night browsing before bed etc. I am happy for the move, but will still mostly live in my current apartment tentatively, as it has air conditioning and is closer to my school, and the majority of my things are here, especially my bed. Oh yeah, I started sleeping in my bed now. Feeling like I might begin to sleep on the floor again in time, when it’s time to wake alert, but for now I’m soaking in a kinda summer mode.

I read a book about Hannah Arendt by Derwant May, which was a primer to her life and work. I hope I come across a Arendt book in the wild now, for that sweet sense of serendipity. I finished a second listen of Ulysses, and I’m on a third. I read Bullies by Ben Shapiro, which was a pulp guilty pleasure.

I’m reading Dr. Albert C. Barnes’ book on art now, as I’ve signed up for a class at the Barnes Museum (through a PAFA- Barnes partnership in which Art History credits can be fulfilled) taught by Dr. William Perthes, who’s a standup gentlemen. To my great joy the book is not a ‘snooze fest’ as promised by one of the employees at the Museum gift shop, and is sprinkled with sick burns on a bunch of artists. Barnes rips at Derain, and basically says those Gauguin aficionados are sentimentalists. Feels good to hear it, that’s a good Gauguin rip.

I’ve been moderately irresponsible with my bed time for the past few days. I’m going to close this one up now, and prepare for tomorrow’s eleven hours of sculpture! Huzzah summertime!