IN THE BUBBLE

 Living here in Covid Dale we are safe.....so far. While the second (or first) wave of Covid-19 infections are raging across the country and Trump continues his "We Give Up" tour of denial, we remain secluded in our hidden penetralia. We wear masks and take simple social distance precautions in public that have become second nature. Some take greater risks by coming and going to NYC but most remain isolated and healthy. I changed Cheeky's litter last night and this morning he took a nice big shit in the clean box. Life is good.

  2020 has become the year of lowered expectations. My bar was already set so low I may have to dig a trench. The one exhibition I had planned is now postponed indefinitely. Grants? All rejections. Jobs? Non-existent. Record deal? Ha! That's funny. Publishing? Here I continue to be persistent. Whoever I know that has even the slightest connection with the written word I send files and ask for help getting anything in print. Recently I contacted my old friend and ex PAPER magazine publisher DH pleading for a leg up anywhere. He suggested I try the art world route- a small publishing house/gallery called Karma in the East Village and famous artist Richard Prince. With absolutely nothing to lose I sent a cover letter (with CLGM documentary) off to each. No response.

    This is why I love and cannot stop deer hunting. My success to failure rate in the woods is about on par with my creative career as a whole. Years keep piling up. Sitting in a tree for hours at a time, seeing nothing but chattering squirrels and the odd porcupine is a metaphor. Obscurity? It would take a lot more attention to attain that welcome status. A big buck on the ground? You have to see a deer first. The parallels between art and hunting slap me in the face every time the alarm clock goes off at 5:30 am. Do you keep at it or just pull the covers over your head and go back to sleep? Today the rain (and failures) kept me snuggled up with Cheeky in bed. That's why I'm home writing this on Oct. 28th.

    October has been a disappointment. Early buck sightings are now a distant memory. I'm seeing no movement whatsoever-- not even does. The weather has been mild, making long sits easy, but with no deer incredibly boring. With the promise of temps tumbling and snow coming on Friday this all may change in an instant. Deer move on pressure shifts and weather fronts (warm or cold) moving through. Plus, if that buck crossing Church Road last Friday with his nose on a doe's ass is any indication the rut should be kicking in any day now. I have to hang in there. 

    The deer herd and the population of Covid Dale seem to be weathering the pandemics just fine. It all looks promising for the mammalien population on all fronts.  Chances of raising my profile a bit in the art or literary world? Not so much. But let's keep things in perspective. The skies are clearing. Time to get in the tree. Keep those expectations on the ground. Cheeky's headed for his box. Another dump? As my old man used to love to say. You have to keep a good attitude and regular bowel movements. Good boy Cheeky!