Home Pop Culture My glamorous life as a broke artist.

My glamorous life as a broke artist.

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To my left is a young man who is horribly pained by the circumstances of his life. A migrant of France, with no official working papers he has been explaining how after arriving in New York to pursue his artistic endeavors he quickly ran out of money and had to take to a strained live in arrangement with a very well to do man almost 3 times his age.

“Look there he goes again,”
pointing to his paid cell phone. “He wants to know where I am. Murde! He can never just let me be.” To this he now moves over to the plate of cocaine sitting idly by the table and helps himself to a large dollop before now positioning himself next to me. I coolly light a cigarette as he attempts to seduce me before finally giving up and exclaiming how much he hates being a ‘struggling prostitute.’

As much as I am mildly disconcerted by my surroundings I am equally intrigued and taking as many mental notes as possible. It’s at this juncture the French artist begins having a conversation with my benefactor’s concubine that he tries to convince her that she too must be some form of prostitute. Unlike me she allows herself to be affected by him as he continues to suggest that somehow she too must be pained and tormented by her lecherous existence. It isn’t long of course before she starts to weep while my benefactor nonchalantly looks on somewhat bemused, but mostly repulsed. By now the French artist is not even aware of the scene he has created as he now proceeds to make out with one of the other guests in the room.

I finally turn to leave, privately explain to my benefactor that my phone bill is due, to which he responds, that he will see what he can do before squeezing his new chanteuse’s CD into my hands. As i finally turn to go, I realize it’s already 5 am in the morning and that I have a whole series of articles to get through. As I am limping by foot home (for some reason I was loathe to beg for taxi money ) I suddenly realize what a mad craft I am pursuing and as much as I am financially moribund, that what I am attempting to document, reflect on is something everyone I had come to meet that night was trying to live and impart to society in some way. They were there after all trying to finagle a legacy as much as I was trying to sustain myself in order to help create this legacy. It is this weird dichotomy which of course strangely feeds me…

When I finally I make it home I hastily take my shoes off before running into my room mate who is already getting ready for his day at the clinic he works at mid town. He looks at my shoes, returns from his room and asks me to try the pair he no longer wears. I glibly try them on, realize that they are a half a size too small, thank him anyway, before badgering him for one of his cigarettes before beginning my morning columns for that day…

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2 COMMENTS

  1. In NYC, one of the main ingredients that made it possible for creative people to develop their talent was cheap rent. A second necessity for survival that the city offered, was, if you had the skills, the ability to live life on the cheap- for example the 99 cent breakfast.

    This talented author obviously has the skills. My hope is that he can survive the brutal economic challenges that gentrification has produced. Loved reading about this moment in time- brought back memories of what Clubland used to be like- the mixture in the struggle- the glamour- the mixing of the rich and the poor- all fronting to get noticed and discovered. thanks clayton patterson

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