Good day Monday- it's an insanely goregeous day in Manhattan and I'm sitting on top of the world, or at least on top of a photo studio facing the West Side Highway and the dappled Hudson River. I suppose it could be worse. This weeekend was the Armory Show here in the city and was lucky to see lots of fabulous stuff- having a real weakness for John Baldessari for some reason as well as a hell of a lot of collage work. No wonder I love Pinterest- it's like one big collage for the soul.
In other news, today is Jack Kerouac's birthday, he would have been 90 years old. I talk at length about my muses on this blog and needless to say, Jack is probably in my top ten. Though many of you are snickering at how cliched it is to feel that Jack is your muse, I can't help myself. When I was in high school, Jack's work spoke to me as I searched for ways to soothe my often restless soul. I loved the idea of the open road, the free spirited appeal of jazz, and the style of brooding poets full of promise, piss, and provacation. (I know, I know- not quitting my day job to become a poet).
Jack's Canuck soul moved me- his characters in his books pulled at me- from Mardou in "the Subterranean"s to Ray Smith in "the Dharma Buns" to the unforgettable Sal Paradise in "On the Road", that brrody smile and bebop prose stole my heart, and as I sat surrounded by metalheads and guidos in high school, I dreamt of cool cats and chicks in turtlenecks, smoking tea leaves, and hooting and hollering out an old Chevy in Mexico City in the middle of the night. Yea, I'm a romantic. So? After reading Kerouac I went mad for Corso, Ferlinghetti, Burroughs, Ginsberg, and all the other roaring lions of Beatnik lit. But none moved me as much as Jack.
"On the Road" was one of my favorite books of all time, and still is. When I met David, he told me it was one of his favs too- a quality that endeared him to me as much as his uncanny ability to show up earlier than me at all of our dates. We connected over Kerouac and many other things, in fact, he often told me as a young man he went to visit his grave in Lowell, Mass. And I find it comical that we both work in advertising, somewhat reluctantly at time, and suppose other peeps in this business connect to Kerouac the icon as well- I wonder how a man who wrote an entire manuscript on benzadrine would feel about being the face and voice of ad campaigns for the Gap and Apple. Perhaps many of us who ended up in this profession are rebel souls as well.
So without further adieu, bon anniversaire Jacky. You were an elegant saint and tortured soul. I will never forget how reading about the "mad ones"made me feel so at home, and how the alienation of youth was soothed by talk of the road and never stopping unitl you get "there", wherever there is. There's a film coming out based on "On the Road", and we'll see how that goes, but for now, I'm content to appreciate Jack's great contribution to my life and the rebel spirit of America at a time when we need a spark more than ever. Cause that's what's up this beatific Monday in Manhattan. XO and snap, snap. Live, travel, adventure, bless, and don't be sorry- thanks, for those words, Jack. You will forever be a muse to me and an endless source of inspiration.