Things that people save
First thing James told me today when we were sitting quietly in his room after his PT session had ended (he walked from the gym to his room with a regular walker under the guidance of his PTs) was that a Groucho Marx song has been running through his head, pretty much all day, and especially last night.
Here are the lyrics:
Every one---says I love you.
But just what they say it for, I never knew.
It's just inviting trouble for the poor sucker who says, I love you.
Take a pair, of rabbits who....
Get stuck on each other and begin to woo.
And pretty soon you'll find a million more rabbits who say, I love you.
When a lion gets feeling frisky and begins, to roar
There's another lion who knows just what he's roaring for.
Everything that ever grew....
The goose and the gander and the gosling too.
The duck upon the water when he feels that way too, says....
Quack Quack Quack.
And, you need to hear Groucho sing it too: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4f7yWeGqzA
During James's speech therapy session, his therapist asked him to name two things that people save. I was wondering what James would pull out of his brain because he has so many crazy collections of things squirreled away in his studio and closets. He has a collection of his own finger nail clippings, paper bags, circular objects that he found on the street over the years, pieces of scrap wood, found photographs from flea markets, bricks (I told him the brick collecting had to be limited because it's absurd), concert ticket stubs, artwork from street artists and much more. James told her about his beard cuttings--that's right, he saves the hair he trims from his beard and places it in an antique tin. I watched James calmly tell the therapist that the layers of his beard are amazing to see because the trimmings that started out red are fading to grey--he finds the effect pleasing to the eye. It made for an interesting session and we all laughed together.
James and I have had regular arguments about his saving, hoarding, or as he describes it--archiving. When we moved into a large, industrial warehouse space in Oakland after graduating from college, with another artist who was also a collector, James was terribly excited not just about the studio space but for the extra room for storage. Wide expanses of emptiness lay ready to be filled--it was a complete inspiration to both James and our dear friend and roommate, Brooke. Brooke would rush in after working a long day at a construction site and say, breathless, "Jim, I saw an old car motor in it's entirety thrown off on the side of the highway, let's go back and get it!" or "I brought home a tree I found uprooted, let's hang it from the ceiling with a chain" and off they would go to fetch the object. That leaky black skeleton of an engine sat on top of a plastic tarp in a corner of what was our living room.
James wanted a record of everything he loved--which was basically everything--every moment had potentiality. I held him back from purchasing a video camera until he won a grant to live in Japan. It felt cruel not to let him have one. He actually rented a camera to make a film in his studio at the World Trade Center. Once he discovered film, he could not leave the house without his camera. It was the ultimate saving machine. Things that people save.
I too have objects that are imbued with memories and of course, my books. James takes it to an entirely different level.
His therapists want me to film him so that he will have a record of his progress. His occupational therapist in particular is blown away by him. I was looking around for the battery charger for his camera in the studio--opening containers, peering in drawers. I opened a container that has one painting in it--a completely oil encrusted piece of wood with a desiccated prey mantis stuck right dab in the middle of it. I actually screamed when I saw it, even though I have seen the piece before and know exactly the origin of the mantis (he brought it home with him from Japan).
James has no memory of the month spent in intensive care at Bellevue. He has asked me about it and I tell him about light-hearted moments with the doctors or about his brothers but I see that it makes him visibly anxious and afraid. He literally squirms. His brothers knew James would want to save a portion of his time in the NICU. They took photographs. I was far too superstitious to do it. I thought that if I took his picture, he would die. I told James that he could tell me about his experiences as he remembers them and I would share mine, later.
He did tell me he had so much to share and he would not forget. I wonder if he's saving it somewhere.
I may film him tomorrow, on my birthday. I will check in with him and find out how he feels about it.
I cannot imagine wanting to go back and save any of this time. It has been so difficult.
Although, I was just thinking tonight, about all the wonderful meals made with love by friends that Imogen and I have shared. We had the most incredible homemade Indian food this evening and I wanted James to have the chance to eat it too. We should have a huge, blow-out, pot-luck dinner party when James is home and able to eat, and everyone may bring their signature dishes once again and share it with us!
Looking forward to saving that memory with you all. We can pass around the beard tin and you may take a look--see if it's as beautiful as James believes it to be.
Here are the lyrics:
Every one---says I love you.
But just what they say it for, I never knew.
It's just inviting trouble for the poor sucker who says, I love you.
Take a pair, of rabbits who....
Get stuck on each other and begin to woo.
And pretty soon you'll find a million more rabbits who say, I love you.
When a lion gets feeling frisky and begins, to roar
There's another lion who knows just what he's roaring for.
Everything that ever grew....
The goose and the gander and the gosling too.
The duck upon the water when he feels that way too, says....
Quack Quack Quack.
And, you need to hear Groucho sing it too: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4f7yWeGqzA
During James's speech therapy session, his therapist asked him to name two things that people save. I was wondering what James would pull out of his brain because he has so many crazy collections of things squirreled away in his studio and closets. He has a collection of his own finger nail clippings, paper bags, circular objects that he found on the street over the years, pieces of scrap wood, found photographs from flea markets, bricks (I told him the brick collecting had to be limited because it's absurd), concert ticket stubs, artwork from street artists and much more. James told her about his beard cuttings--that's right, he saves the hair he trims from his beard and places it in an antique tin. I watched James calmly tell the therapist that the layers of his beard are amazing to see because the trimmings that started out red are fading to grey--he finds the effect pleasing to the eye. It made for an interesting session and we all laughed together.
James and I have had regular arguments about his saving, hoarding, or as he describes it--archiving. When we moved into a large, industrial warehouse space in Oakland after graduating from college, with another artist who was also a collector, James was terribly excited not just about the studio space but for the extra room for storage. Wide expanses of emptiness lay ready to be filled--it was a complete inspiration to both James and our dear friend and roommate, Brooke. Brooke would rush in after working a long day at a construction site and say, breathless, "Jim, I saw an old car motor in it's entirety thrown off on the side of the highway, let's go back and get it!" or "I brought home a tree I found uprooted, let's hang it from the ceiling with a chain" and off they would go to fetch the object. That leaky black skeleton of an engine sat on top of a plastic tarp in a corner of what was our living room.
James wanted a record of everything he loved--which was basically everything--every moment had potentiality. I held him back from purchasing a video camera until he won a grant to live in Japan. It felt cruel not to let him have one. He actually rented a camera to make a film in his studio at the World Trade Center. Once he discovered film, he could not leave the house without his camera. It was the ultimate saving machine. Things that people save.
I too have objects that are imbued with memories and of course, my books. James takes it to an entirely different level.
His therapists want me to film him so that he will have a record of his progress. His occupational therapist in particular is blown away by him. I was looking around for the battery charger for his camera in the studio--opening containers, peering in drawers. I opened a container that has one painting in it--a completely oil encrusted piece of wood with a desiccated prey mantis stuck right dab in the middle of it. I actually screamed when I saw it, even though I have seen the piece before and know exactly the origin of the mantis (he brought it home with him from Japan).
James has no memory of the month spent in intensive care at Bellevue. He has asked me about it and I tell him about light-hearted moments with the doctors or about his brothers but I see that it makes him visibly anxious and afraid. He literally squirms. His brothers knew James would want to save a portion of his time in the NICU. They took photographs. I was far too superstitious to do it. I thought that if I took his picture, he would die. I told James that he could tell me about his experiences as he remembers them and I would share mine, later.
He did tell me he had so much to share and he would not forget. I wonder if he's saving it somewhere.
I may film him tomorrow, on my birthday. I will check in with him and find out how he feels about it.
I cannot imagine wanting to go back and save any of this time. It has been so difficult.
Although, I was just thinking tonight, about all the wonderful meals made with love by friends that Imogen and I have shared. We had the most incredible homemade Indian food this evening and I wanted James to have the chance to eat it too. We should have a huge, blow-out, pot-luck dinner party when James is home and able to eat, and everyone may bring their signature dishes once again and share it with us!
Looking forward to saving that memory with you all. We can pass around the beard tin and you may take a look--see if it's as beautiful as James believes it to be.
I remember the collections of his own human cell cast-offs. I would start to think it a bit strange, until I remembered several locks of my own hair I had kept from various drastic haircuts. He was just taking this curiosity to the next level. I wondered if he would ever make an arrangement with them, to display the continuity and the change over time. I always was inspired by James' innate ability to see art in every aspect of his life.
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