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sake, bong hits & art
Tuesday, August 31 1999
Kim fixed me a bong hit in the evening. After I'd smoked it, after my lungs were burnt and I'd turned down another bong hit, I was feeling that certain difficult-to-describe sort of way and looking at my newest painting. Suddenly I decided to work some more on it. For all the painting and all the pot smoking I've done in my life, it's rare for me to do both at the same time, so as I worked (surprising though this sounds) I found I was having something of a novel experience. Further improving the quality of the moment was a cup of warm sake Kim had prepared for me.
I especially liked working on "the begging hand" in this situation. Hands are among the most difficult things in the world to paint, but in this state it didn't feel difficult at all. I felt as though a genuine hand was emerging like a magic sculpture beneath my brush. Every whip of the brush seemed to carve the surface like putty. Muscles and other details emerged as if they were simply growing up out of the flatness.
I remarked to Kim upon two factors contributing to my success. One of these was the incredibly humidity of the cool San Diego beach air, which left the acrylic workable considerably longer than it would have been in hot humid Virginia. The other factor was the excellent brush I was using. It was long and had stiff bristles arranged in a flat, stiff array. It seemed almost to be working on its own or, perhaps more realistically, to be doing the exact bidding of my mind. Being stoned, I was lost in the moment. Time was not a consideration, and there was no possibility of distraction. This didn't keep me from continuously commenting to Kim on every discovery as I worked. I was focused, excited and impassioned, things I don't normally associate with being stoned. But this was a right brain activity and pot is a right brain drug; unlike the mental challenges I experienced when attempting to program while stoned, pot definitely seemed to be assisting me.
Kim had bought the sake in anticipation of the arrival of her New Orleans college-days chum, a guy named JL. JL had visited us once before soon after we'd moved to Ocean Beach. He's that big-shot sales manager for a company that
manufactures ultra-modern filtration equipment. Now he lives in Taiwan with a hip, trendy & cute Chinese girl, flies around between the big cities of the world on a regular basis, and still gets fucked up on a regular basis. Tonight we talked about all kinds of things, including Chinese/Taiwanese politics, art, internet startups, and god knows what. Kim and I were terribly fucked up by the time JL left and we headed off to bed.
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