Carlisle & Gibson

diego drinks miller too.
diego rivera
miller highlife
it was a painting early on
i think that was when i knew he was a great artist
that he could move people
one lady was so pissed off at his art blasphemy
she publicly lashed out at him
the hierarchy of art breeched
maintance of myth is essential in art for some
comparing diego R the brilliant muralist married to la artista
with a unibrow played by salma hayek
to a common piss beer is unthinkable
jay shrugged and without emotion said to her:
"miller high life is the champagne of beers as advertised
and diego rivera despite being the brilliant international artist
was after all just another mexican artist cheating on his wheel chair bound wife."

i don’t know who owns diego drinks miller these days
if it’s owned by an ex SS officer in the andes
or by an ex-wife
or perhaps by my ex-wife latisha
or if maybe just maybe its at the bottom of a land fill in lubbock moldering
but jay has moved on
once the original energy of the piece has expended itself
in birthing...jay loses interest...time to move to the next one
he was always like that

but inspiration can run on you like a twenty dollar whore sometimes
i met him for lunch once when he worked at the cuckoo clock factory on airport boulevard
he took me to the back of his truck
and showed me his latest creations
tossed in there next to the spare tire
some pop cans and the a tire jack
they were some kind of keith haring paint by numbers rip-offs
they totally sucked
i told him they were brilliant
his talents were stronger that his ego
an artist’s ego is a fragile thing
i knew if he kept working through it
something great would come of it

we drove to his apartment where he lived with his first wife, rayanne
"deep thoughtful folds about the eyes often marks a man of distinction"
he whispered
then carved a canyon of scar tissue into a wooden block
with a large V gouge
this piece never went anywhere
in fact it marked a profound downward trend in his life
it sat in the back yard off kerbey lane in the rain and sun for three years
before it was hauled off by the city refuse crew
proof positive that not all shit out by master artists is gold
oh shit yeah there were barren years
when personal intrigues and health problems would be a major preoccupation
driving endlessly from el paso to lubbock to baltimore and back
looking for a magic elixir for his boils and the meaning of life
he fretted over weighty issues that when examined in the light of day don’t amount to shit
and were in the most part madness playing out before him without a script
his fingernails detached and blowing on the dashboard like loose fritos corn chips as he drove onward and still onward

but like the old adage "even a blind pig finds an acorn from time to time"
he finds new inspiration
rebirth
he learns a lesson handed down from the art gods
that skill is a tool that needs to honed,
maintained, and used often
in a place where one is settled
"baltimore that’s my home" the billboard read
he found a bar where he could drink
all the crab cakes a person could want
and a place to make art
a fresh pack of smokes
and miller in the fridge
under these controlled conditions he births outs his new art
he thinks back
diego drinks miller too
he chortles
yeah mofo
diego drinks miller too
yeah mofo
then drives forward

el pelón
Austin Texas 2006