Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Thank You 2013

The end of every year is the most fitting time to look back upon our accomplishments and beat ourselves up silly over our shortcomings. For the last couple of years my resolutions are less like resolutions and more like adjustments to the old goals I haven't reached yet. Because I really want to reach them. When the time has come to throw out another calendar and there were still a bunch of things left to accomplish on it, it's then that I realize that the goal was too broad or my motivation too narrow. Or both. It's easy to blame other people or other factors, so I try to remind myself about what's crazier - the person that refuses to listen, or the person who insists on shouting? Sometimes I'm either and things become clearer only when you step back far enough to see the stage we sometimes forget we are actors on.

One of my happiest accomplishments this year was doing just this; sharing on the net thoughts usually reserved exclusively for my screen or a notebook. I remember the day my truly amazing and supportive wife Sofia suggested I share all the writing I was squirreling away. I remember being irrationally defensive of my stuff and reminding her I wrote for myself, not for anyone else. She said that was pretty selfish, and she couldn't have been more right. What was the difference between the writing I created and the artwork I was eager to post images of online? There wasn't, and that's when I decided an (admittedly long) self intro was in order.

I later had the desire to share a love letter I had written to my wife about the first day we met, the best, longest, most awesomest date ever. It's had the most read hits so far, and I like to think that that's a testament to how cool our first meeting was, and how cool my life partner is.

I turned 43 this year, and there were still bad habits I exhibit when my birthday gets close. I'm eager to see if I've finally cleared those cobwebs when I turn 44.

Twerking was such a headline this year that I could not help but put my two-cents in.

An article about marriage and its meaning struck a chord with me considering the rather large spectrum of definitions for marriage people around me have. I don't for a minute think I have the definition, just my opinion.

Beauty will forever be in the eye of the beholder, and the Hip-Hop art world received an eye-gouging with the defamation of 5 Pointz in Queens.

Finally, I wrote down my thoughts about being thankful for the things I may not ordinarily think about even on the day dedicated specifically for giving thanks.

I want to thank everyone that took the time to read my writing. It's an honor beyond words considering I don't even know the majority of you! As it turns out I have thoroughly enjoyed the experience, the feedback, and I find it's easier to share my thoughts than I ever thought possible.
May 2014 be 2,014 times better than 2013 was.
Health, happiness and love to us all.




Thursday, November 28, 2013

The Action of Thanks


 
When I woke up this morning, I struggled to clear some phlegm from my throat – and I was grateful to have awoken once again, thankful for a throat to clear.

The ache in my shoulder and arm was back – and I was grateful to the pain receptors in that part of my body for functioning properly.

I couldn’t find my other slipper – and I thought of the children around the world whose feet were thickly calloused because they didn’t own any shoes at all.

I turned the heat up slightly on the thermostat because I was cold, and was thankful for the roof above our heads, the heat from the boiler, the electricity humming through the house. All things I have personally seen many do without, and not by choice.

I helped my kids get ready for school, ready for breakfast, and gave thanks for their ability to attend a good school, to read and write and express themselves, to eat, draw, laugh and cry, ready to experience life on this Earth as fully as possible.

I kissed my wife on her way to work, grateful that I had tumbled, fallen in love and then married my best friend. I am thankful that she still accepts me, faults and all. Many, many faults and all. I am thankful that she is a strong and wise Latina, purposeful, thoughtful and loving. I thought of the people I have met with partners with no such qualities, those who have settled with negative somebodies who only accentuated their own negative, those that still wandered in circles not understanding why their life was less than, or even worse, blaming Life for their bad choices.

Later in the evening I lowered my head (so as not to be disrespectful to my instructor, it’s how I roll my eyes in his school) when he called for exercises that always puts a strain on my back. I immediately filled with gratitude as I considered all the many people my age and younger who are already unable to even consider exercise, aren’t able to play too physically with their kids, couldn’t run away or towards something if they really needed to.

It takes many steps we cannot explain and do not fully understand to do what we do and get where we get every day; all the incredibly chemical and neurological processes that occurred to be conceived and born and read words like these many years later, the fascinating cycles of nature that must combine to produce the apple you ate at lunch, even the multitude of large and small mechanical motions that need to happen in a precise order to drive your car to work, ride the subway home, get that plane safely to your destination. Those are human-made circumstances but they still required millions of years of evolution to invent a battery to power our toys. They all contain steps that are as much a mystery to most of us as the deepest of the oceans trenches or the vastness of outer space. It isn’t until those processes are interrupted or those abilities are taken away that we pay attention to the things that we routinely ignore, but it tends to happen this way because it is part of our nature to take things for granted. I am happy that there is at least one day on every calendar in our country that is dedicated to the action of giving thanks, of being grateful, of being aware of something (hopefully) outside of our own selves. Whether it is while having dinner with loved ones, serving meals to those in need or watching giant balloons soar past overhead, I welcome the invitation and extend it  as well, to think about the things we are thankful for that on any given day may float by uncelebrated and unrecognized. Think about them, it, that or they, and say:
“Thanks”.

Friday, November 22, 2013

The 5 Pointz Killa

As an artist I was affected to read about the decision (article) to white-out and destroy the artwork found on the long-abandoned buildings that became known as 5 Pointz in Queens, New York. I weighed in with my opinion below.


 
Considering that Mr. Wolkoff  allowed and supported  over a decade's worth of art and hard work on his buildings and promised new space for artists on his new buildings, it's hard to understand how he came to the conclusion that painting over internationally recognized and renown murals before destroying the entire structure they are painted on was the "humane" thing to do. The greatest irony of this action, in my opinion, is that he orders the work done under the cover of night, just like graffiti writers had to work back when graffiti was considered strictly vandalism. I get it, not everyone regards graffiti as art (and not all of it is), but not everything hanging in the Metropolitan Museum of Art is appreciable or understandable by everyone either. This gives exactly NO ONE the right to petition the Met to have work painted over and destroyed, and Mr. Wolkoff should have exercised the same respect.

The buildings were coming down; that was a short, mostly one-sided scuffle decided by a judge. But even a court order is not a good enough reason not to treat the large, world-wide community that regarded this building as an unofficial landmark, Graffiti Ground Zero, the Mecca of an influential art-style and an important element of hip-hop culture with a minimal amount of RESPECT. These artists created countless pieces of artwork on these structures' walls both legally and with full permission by the owners, the same owners who unbelievably likened their own ironic act of white-out vandalism to "forcing a child to take medicine." There could have been alternate methods to officially bring this chapter to a close, the very community Mr.Wolkoff has deeply offended could have helped him, but instead he opted to crown himself the 5-Points Killa.


Mr. Wolkoff should have allowed a death-bed visit, not the heart-breaking discovery of a white-blooded murder scene.



 

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Marriage as a Magnifying Glass

I agree with some of the things mentioned about selflessness marriage in this article, but I also believe that there is something to be said for a healthy measure of selfishness. Let me explain.

In an airplane emergency we are instructed to secure our own oxygen mask before attending to anyone else, including our children sitting beside us. This sounds like an outrageously selfish suggestion, but it really isn't and it has a life-lesson built in to boot; by taking care of yourself you strengthen the ability to take care of those you love and care about. So it’s a “good” selfish, it’s a selfish that defies its own definition and actually benefits others. I think that the main idea in this article, that “a true marriage (and true love) is never about you. It’s about the person you love—their wants, their needs, their hopes, and their dreams”, is only true when both partners equally believe and share this idea. What if your partner is incapable or unwilling to do the same for you? You shouldn’t tend so much to the neighbor’s flowers at the expense of your own, because you run the very real risk of losing both gardens.

Marriage works best as a partnering, not a worshipping as this article sometimes implies. For anyone that believes that you should mind the wants, needs, hopes and dreams of another before or instead of your own – no, then marriage is not for you. If you are going into it limping or already licking wounds not yet healed because your partner is not capable, not mature enough or unprepared to work towards fulfilling YOUR wants, needs, hopes and dreams, no, marriage is not for you. It’s ok to be their number 2 sometimes because occasionally you need to be your own number 1. If you find that you are often their number 3 or 4 or lower then absolutely no, marriage is not for you.

There were a lot of “I”, “me” and “you”s  in this article, and not many “us” or “we”s at all. I am of the opinion that these are important elements in the vocabulary of a marriage, or of any close relationship for that matter. They indicate an underlining of true partnership, of respect and of a desire to truly be joined with this person while preserving your individuality as well. My wife of (12-plus years) and I are a very strong team, and part of the reason for that is how strong we are as individuals. We can help cancel out each other’s weaknesses, and we can also enhance the other’s strengths. WE.

If you are not already in a relationship were you are both working towards each other’s wants, needs, hopes and dreams, marriage will not magically make this happen, and therefore marriage is not for you. Marriage is something like a magnifying glass where what was already good can improve and what was already bad can worsen. And like that magnifying glass, it can either reveal great things about yourself and your partner, or burn a hole right through.

 It all depends on how you’re looking at it.

 

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

R.I.P. H.Montana

Its true. 

     Anyone who considers themselves, or is collectively considered to be a "celebrity" did not sign any agreement to be a beacon of morality or a role model for our children. So twerk away, grind away, rub away at your privates, this is still a free country. Stick your tongue out (literally) at anyone who would criticize you for behaving so un-Disney like because after all, that is exactly your point. You're a grown-ass woman now doing grown-ass woman things, but the follow up question will always be: what is the wisdom and the quality of those things you choose to do? Is your choice (or the choice of those who manage your image) to replace your family-friendly TV persona with that of a sexually liberated spring-breaker, a wise one? Time will tell. Is it in good taste? That's a matter of opinion. So,why then? Where is the wisdom of informing the world that you're all grown up by behaving like a child who just found her mommy’s lipstick and high-heel shoes? It just further emphasizes that you are in fact not yet grown up, not yet ready. Its distracting at best, but disappointing at worst because rather than reveal your maturity through your talent and intelligence, you chose to make your declaration through social media, outrageous behavior and a brazen display of sexuality that is, in my opinion, the opposite of sexy.

     Congratulations on receiving the enormous amount of attention you so crave, that part worked to perfection. Unfortunately you are not concerned with what is said about you so long as it is being said about you, evidenced by a staggering Twitter count. You don’t care that in this hyper-paced society of ours that kind of attention wears off within another week when some other phenomenally insecure and/or unbalanced celebrity will feel compelled to outdo your immature displays with some of their own. You may not be giving the future much thought, and that goes to show that regardless of your fame, your bank account, your opportunities and your privileges you display the same immaturity and ignorance of the average 20 year old without any of your advantages. You have fans that cry out your name just to touch your shoes, wear what you wear, they sing along to your songs without missing a syllable and fall over themselves to take your picture. The entourage of people employed to fulfill your wants and needs say yes when they might mean no. It must be hard NOT to think that you are important to the whole rest of the world, but remember, ye of only twenty springs, that your entourage are just today’s employees, and those fans of yours will be as willing to pay to go see someone else's concert as they were to see yours. You will have no choice but to continue upping the ante with your hijinks and shenanigans, leaving far behind and forgotten the last vestiges of talent, credibility and relevance you may have still had. The entertainment business has the indelible reputation of chewing up and spitting out its own young, but it seems that it's you and this youngest generation of celebrities who are chewing away at your own feet via a magnified lack of self-respect.

Our kids will admire questionable celebrities, they will sing along to inappropriate lyrics, they will be bombarded by the daily contrast of toddler beauty pageants and the awkwardness of real-life adolescence

     And poor Mr. Blurred Lines! He was clearly absent from every single rehearsal and had no idea that a young lady half his age would bend over provocatively in front of him for millions of people to see. If you really believe that wasn't part of the show then there's a bridge not too far from the Barclays center that’s still for sale. Topless women parade about in the alternate version of his video that serve no purpose but to titillate (pun intended) while he and his other male friends remain fully clothed, perpetuating an iron clad double-standard in the media. I’m not actually advocating for dudes in music videos to stroll by with their junk swinging about, my point is that even when women are the willing participants, the objectification is strongly reinforced and it's remarkable to me that this isn't more of a point. The horror! The indecency! Why he’s a married man with children! Well if he's so St. George and she's the evil dragon in this painting, couldn't the married man with children have said something along the lines of appropriateness when this was still in the planning stages? And even if was not planned, then how about a few words after the fact? Oh wait, he did have a few words...

"That was dope"

He wasn't going to say any different because to have said any different would have meant that more than a week later there wouldn't still be talk about it. Not to mention that rather predictably, each of their current songs (interestingly, not the one she actually performed) has had a substantial sales spike as a result of their performance. Mission accomplished.

There is no actual argument here, no dragon to defeat, no heroes and no villains. Sex will always sell in our consumer driven society already addicted to sound bites, scandal and (social) media. And sex is sold to us from all fronts, whether it’s safe sex Public Service Announcements or the nearly naked in music videos and covers of “romance” paperbacks. Our kids will admire questionable celebrities, they will sing along to inappropriate lyrics, they will be bombarded by the daily contrast of toddler beauty pageants and the awkwardness of real-life adolescence. They will be tug-o-warred between the virtues of abstinence and the strong sexual messages in car and perfume commercials. They will be forced to leaf through 74 glossy pages of Photoshop perfection to reach the one article about being o.k. with your image. And through all these contradictions, as concerned parents we have the enormous task of teaching them the importance of filtering out the messages that matter; respect yourself so that others respect you. Don’t be in such a rush to grow up because life itself will slow you down, sometimes hard. Respecting everyone else’s messages doesn’t mean you also need to subscribe to them. Honor and love yourself.

     It takes a special kind of sanity to stick with the program and see through all this distracting fluff that passes as news these days. But it’s only sane people that question their sanity. It's the crazy people that think that something is wrong with the rest of the world.

Monday, July 29, 2013

7/28



turned 43 yesterday, and it was awesome. It's around my birthday when I contemplate how productive I've been since the year before and no matter my accomplishments, I have a tendency to focus too much on my shortcomings. I wasn't very aware of this until my wife Sofia pointed it out to me a few days ago when I told her I was feeling very cranky. She very matter of fact-ly told me that of course I was, my birthday was coming up, that I always get that way. I wanted to disagree and argue that point, but really only because I was already cranky.

"Always? Really? No, I think only the last 3 or 4 years maybe, you know the whole turning 40 thi..."

"Always.  Meaning that around this time for the last 14 years of the 15 I've known you, you get this way. Knock it off, you're doing great."

Boom. Just like that I felt a corner of my brain clear of cobwebs and I remembered how often I've spoken to others about the pitfalls of complacency,  that negativity is sometimes nothing more than a bad habit stuck on repeat. Suddenly I was looking a little more forward to my birthday.

     I was already looking forward to it in the sense that we were planning to take our kids to an R5 concert earlier that week, but due to a conflict in schedules our last chance for tickets was going to be on the 28th at a fair in New Jersey. We decided to keep it a surprise from them for as long as we could, so for my birthday this year my big gift would be to see their amazed little faces when they realized what was happening, and I was really excited about that. By the way if you're wondering "What's an R5?" then I know you don't have to watch the Disney channel much and/or your kids are in their later teens. They are the music group our kids are currently very fond of and whose young front man, Ross Lynch, is also the teen heart throb our nine-year-old has just recently chosen as the subject for poster hangings on her wall. They were elated to discover that the enormous line whose end we could not seem to reach to enter the venue was for an R5 concert, and not even the rain that had just then started to fall dampened their spirits. Did I mention it was an outdoor venue? It was an outdoor venue and it had just then begun to rain. I then realized I would probably have to carry our five-year-old on my shoulders for the whole concert because I don't think he'd be able to see past the mass of hysterically screaming teenage girls. I got a kick out of looking around at the spectrum of parenting on display though; you had the parents that had scowls on their faces and stood perfectly still as if thinking "I paid how much to stand next to screaming females? I can get this at home for free, goddamit.." You had the parents that from the corner of your eye you thought were just more  teenagers waving their arms, dancing and singing along unabashedly. But you gasped a little when you turned to see them and.. oh my God, that teenager needed either emergency Botox treatments or a full-on facelift, oh no wait....you're a parent too. An exceedingly enthusiastic parent probably embarrassing the living crap out of their kids, but a parent nevertheless. And there were parents like my wife and I, all smiles and happy because we were making a vivid memory with our kids. We were able to give them something they not only loved but had earned and were very appreciative of. So there we were, the four of us enjoying music my wife and I were actually familiar with and that our kids sang along to with so much joy and happiness, in our rain ponchos, on my birthday. I loved every minute of it, and the rain didn't even bother me.



That is until a few hours later. While waiting on line for one of the fair rides, we were suddenly caught in a torrential downpour that had us running for the nearest tent already overcrowded with soaking wet human beings. only my front side was not getting wetter, the entire back half of me was already thoroughly soaked through. The ground was having a hard time assimilating the enormous amount of water falling from the sky, and within minutes muddy water had already reached the top of my sneaker laces. Figuring we couldn't actually get any wetter than we already were, we made our way to our car through ankle deep, freezing brown water and a deluge that just wouldn't stop. No, the smiles were pretty much gone by the time we were sitting in our sopping wet clothes and transferring some of that water to the car seats, but you know something? We had a great time, it was worth every drop, and I decided that the rain would be the figurative exclamation point to my answer if anyone ever asked me which has been my favorite birthday so far.



It was my 43rd!










Monday, June 17, 2013

De Mi

Un Verano en Nueva York

     Naci en la ciudad de Nueva York hace 43 veranos, el primero de tres hijos de una pareja de imigrantes Colombianos muy cariñosos. Como mis padres nunca olvidaron sus origenes ni sus costumbres, criarme a lo Colombiano junto con las influencias de Sesame Street y McDonald’s resultaron, en mi opinion, en una mejor version de mi que si hubiera formado parte de solo una ú otra cultura.

     Generalmente fui buen niño, mis travesuras y regaños fueron por cosas relativamente normales; no comerme los vegetales (bueno, en realidad a la hora de comer di muchos problemas. En cierto modo las sigo dando…) Aveces hablaba mucho en mis clases, o hacia reir a mis compañeros de salon y resultaban castigados por mi culpa. Una vez una niña que me gustaba mucho me arrebato un borrador. Ya que me gustaba la nena, poca excusa necesitaba para jugar con ella. Me levante de mi asiento sin permiso del professor para recuperar mi borrador, y cuando ella se nego en devolvermelo hice lo que cualquier niño normal hubiera hecho; le puegé un beso ruidoso en el cachete. Al professor no le gusto para nada mi conducta y no solo me castigo, sino que a la hora de mi mama recogerme al fin del dia, el pidio que le tradujera a mi mama lo acontecido. Aunque para mi estaba claro que no habia cometido gran mal, el hecho de ser castigado por lo que fuera me preocupo porque uno nunca quiere decepcionar a los padres. Durante la traduccion, y cuando acumulaba suficiente valor de mirar mi mama directo a los ojos, me acuerdo haber notado en su cara una expression dificil para mi decifrar. Cuando mi papa llego del trabajo y ella le relato lo sucedido, comprendi que la expression de mi mama fue de confusion; no entendia porque el haberle yo dado un beso a una niña quien no se habia quejado de ello hubiera sido motivo de haberme castigado. Mi papa solo me dio unas palmadas en la espalda y dijo “Ese es hijo mio”. Despues de todo, el recipiente del beso fue una niña, no el professor, cosa que claramente alivio a mis padres.

Aun no era famosa, pero yo botaba la baba por ella

     En el bachillerato (high school) tuve pocas amistades, pero fueron muy buenas amistades. Juntos formamos parte de la primera clase que se graduó de la entonces recien inagurada La Guardia High School of the Arts (Escuela de Bellas Artes La Guardia) en la ciudad de Nueva York. La mayoría de mis amigos se dedicaban al arte y diseño como yo, pero el hecho de que tambien tenia amistades que se dedicaban al ballet, al canto, a la actuacion ó a tocar un instrumento enriquecio mucho el ambiente escolar. Aunque nunca llegamos a ser ni amigos ni conocidos, con frecuencia veia a Jennifer Aniston. Aun no era famosa, pero yo botaba la baba por ella. Compartimos un salon de clases, solo que cuando mi clase terminaba la de ella comenzaba. Mejor dicho, yo sacaba excusas de donde no las habia para vacilar al final de mi clase y esperar por ella. Mas sin embargo de nada me sirvio pues nunca tuve el valor de dirigirle una sola palabra. De lo que se perdio la ahora famosa, hermosa, millonaria, super-actriz de Hollywood, no?

     Cuando me gradué en 1988 tuve un corto descanzo antes de ingresar al Instituto de Moda y Tecnologia (FIT) en la ciudad de Nueva York. Por dos años me someti a un intenso entrenamiento en esta famosa universidad para una carerra como diseñador de modas, pero la experiencia fue para mi como el haber tenido una fiebre muy alta; no recuerdo muchos detalles y muchas veces me sentia muy incomodo y medio mariado. De vez en cuando tuve nauseas y vomitos tambien. Fue un plan de estudios bastante dificil para mi de seguir sin ninguna preparatoria, o sea que de dibujitos medio encaminados en el bachillerato a tareas diarias en maquinas de coser industrials hubo demasiada distancia. En mi opinion una corta clase de introducción para los estudiantes novatos antes de que comenzara el primer semester hubiera servido de mucho. Mi abilidad de asistir la universidad vino casi completamente por becas ganadas atravez de concursos y loterias, lo que decia que era de suma importancia que todas mis notas universitarias no bajaran de cierto puntuaje, ó como consecuencia perderia las becas y me hubieran tenido que echar de la universidad. Por lo tanto mis experiencias sociales fuera de las aulas fueron casi inexistentetes; para ser un estudiante que solo alcanzaba notas mediocres requerio un esfuerzo supremo de mi parte, mucho enfoque y mucha determinacion. Tambien hubo mucho estress, desvelos, lagrimas y frustracion. O sea, todo una novela. Ademas, siempre fui  introvertido y no muy social, pues de fiestas, bailes y amistades universitarias no tengo absolutamente nada de que contar. El dia de graduacion amaneci deseando que ya fuera de medianoche para cerrar aquel capitulo de una buena vez.

     Imediatamente despues de graduarme sentí la necesidad de limpiar mi paladar mental. Consegui empleo con una organizacion de actividades para niños durante los meses de verano. Me  resulto super–conveniente ya que la oficina se encontraba a cuatro calles de donde vivia. queFue el tangente perfecto para calmar mi mente y sanar mi psique, y fue donde aprendí  me es mucho mas facil hacer reir a los niños que a un adulto, cosa que aun sigue siendo curiosamente cierto.

     En los años siguientes me encontre brincando de un corto trabajo a otro como grillo sobre plancha caliente. No porque fui mal empleado sino porque como recien estaba graduado, me fue bastante dificil conseguir quien me diera trabajo. Para colmo de males, despues de tan dura lucha por conseguirlo, a los tres o cuatro meses me despedian. Hasta que un buen (o no tan buen) dia caí en cuenta de que al cabo de esos tres o cuatro meses era cuando una compañia estaba en la obligación de ofrecerle a sus empleados paquetes de salud y cuidado, y era simplemente menos costoso despedirme que paga por mi salud. Tras de varios años de esta mala rutina, quede con una hoja de vida que mas bien parecia restos de una fiesta entre tiburones; pedazos por aqui, trozos por alla. Lo que me salvaba era mi facilidad con las artes plasticas - mi portafolio demostraba muchisimos ejemplos variados de dibujos, pinturas, illustraciones, de todo un poco. Mas sin embargo con el tiempo hasta eso comenzo a trabajar en mi contra ya que para muchos directores de arte con quien me entrevistaba “un poquito de todo” significaba que no era experto en nada; que como no me habia especializado o enfocado en una sola direccion, pues no sabian como utilizarme. Parecía que nisiquiera en un concurso para peder podia ganar.
     En la decada de los 90 logre un puesto con una compañia de ropa muy conocida llamada Gitano. Fui asitente diseñador para ropa de mujer, y los años que trabaje con esa compañia fueron las mas ricas en terminos de el ambiente y mis compañeros de trabajo. Fue algo tan especial que mientras todo marchaba viento en popa, estaba conciente de que en el futuro aquella experiencia laboral seria la que quisiera duplicar. Fuimos un grupo de 10 diseñadores y asistentes que nos veiamos las caras mas que las de nuestras propias familias, pero quien sabe si debido a un fantastico aliniamiento planetario, nos llevabamos quizas hasta major que algunas verdaderas familias. Con el tiempo varias de estas relaciones maduraron y se convirtieron en amistades y hasta la presente somos un grupo que seguimos en contacto y tratamos de reuinirnos por lo menos una vez al año. Desafortunadamente aquella suerte tambien tuvo su final y llego el dia que como compañeros de trabajo nos tuvimos que decir adios, y me encontre nuevamente rebotando de un trabajo a otro.
     Al pasar varios años en este patron, comence a perder confianza y el deseo creativo. Solamente me dedicaba a pequeñitas obras de arte que si se las mostraba a mi familia ó amigos, era mucho. Me encontre con la realidad de tener que aceptar cualquier trabajo por muy lejos que estuviera de mi carrera o gusto. La realidad era que como hombre casado y papa de una bella recien-nacida, era de suma importancia generar un tipo de ingreso y asi no dejarle toda la presion a mis esposa Sofia. Esto fue un duro golpe a mi auto-estima, mucho mas de lo que espere pues creia que desde ese punto no habia marcha atras y nunca volveria a tener que ver con el arte y la creatividad. Me habia hecho la idea de que mi regalo de Dios fue inutilmente gastado y perdida por errores de mi parte, que de alguna forma la ventana hacia mi triunfo se habia cerrado. Pense que la familia y amigos que alcanzaron a ver un poquito de mi arte constituyo mi audiencia mayor. Que junto a mis seres queridos, me habia decepcionado a mi mismo.

Quizas ninguna otra lección en mi vida me haya enseñado de cerca cuan poderosos son nuestras creencias, y lo facil que es creer en las negativas. Las positivas son igual de fuertes, pero es el mantenimiento necesario para prolongar las creéincias positivas lo que las distinguen. Es esa una conclusion a la que he llegado y pueda estar equivocado, pero para mi funciona y pueda que para ustedes tambien. En el gimnasio, es muchisimo mas facil dejar caer aquellas pesas que lograr hacer una repeticion mas con ellas, y mas dificil aun rebuscar la fuerza para efectuar aun otra repeticion. El pensar positivo es similar y a la vez mas dificil porque no se trata ya de un peso fisico en las manos, sino un peso filosofico sobre los hombros.

Este tipo fue mil veces peor que La Puta Cancerosa (una anciana decrépita y diabolica que me toco de jefa una vez. Era tan pero tan mala que se fumaba 3 paquetes de cigarillos sin filtros diarios en toda la oficina sin importarle un pito la salud o opinion de los demas
     Aunque me tardo un largo periodo, y ademas de una fuente sin-fondo de amor, comprension y apoyo de mi esposa Sofia, lentamente comenze a salir de la picada en que venia y comence a volar mas perpendicular a la tierra. Viviamos en Brooklyn, Nueva York y consegui un trabajo con un almacen de articulos domesticos cerca de la famosa playa Coney Island. Alli aprendi a manejar todo tipo de estratas sociales; contentar a los cleintes mientras la cajera no me funcionanba, viejitas Rusas exigentes con sus cupones de descuento, y trabajar toda la noche hasta la siguiente madrugada limpiando y organizando para que el proximo turno de trabajadores lo encontrara todo listo. Deje ese trabajo por otro en diseño de empaques de luces y bombillos. Esta compañia fue dirigida con fuerza bruta por quien es sin duda alguna la peor persona con quien haya tenido el mayor disgusto de tener como jefe. Este tipo, a quien llamo El Judio de Hierro fue mil veces peor que La Puta Cancerósa (una anciana decrépita y diabolicaque que me toco de jefa una vez. Era tan pero tan mala que se fumaba 3 paquetes de cigarillos sin filtros diarios en toda la oficina sin importarle un pito la salud o opinion de los demas. El olor que si detestaba? El de palomitas de maiz hechos en el micro-ondas, vaya usted a ver..). Este tipo tambien se fumaba varios tabacos al dia, hedia a rayos ( y no me refiero a la peste de tabaco), lanzaba su cellular con toda fuerza cuando enfurecido, cosa diaria, la saliva le explotaba de la boca hedionda cuando gritaba, era todo un pequeño monstruo atrapado en un cascaron humano. Su idea de hacernos trabajar mas duro era de comprarnos pizza para que almorzaramos sin tener que alejarnos de la computadora ni mucho menos salir del deposito de mercancias, un enorme cajon sin ventanas. El unico aspecto positive que encontre en ese trabajo fue la amistad que forme con otro empleado, miembro del movimiento judio Lubavitch. La compañia era compuesta casi en su totalidad por judios Hassidicos, cosa que fue una experiencia muy distinto para mi por decir lo poco. Aprendi mucho acerca de las costumbres de esta cultura, principalmente porque mi compañero de trabajo nunca se rehusó en contestar cualquier pregunta que le hiciera. Digo esto con toda seriedad - despues del cheque semanal, lo mejor de aquel trabajo fue aquella amistad. Bueno, eso y el dia que me fui; deje ese trabajo repentinamente porque al dia siguiente viajaba para las Bahamas contratado para un evento especial. Me hubiera encantado haberle improvisado un discurso de despidida a aquel pequeño animal, trepado en mi escritorio para que todos me olleran, y quien sabe si asi iniciar una mini-revolucion, pero la realidad era que ademas de hediondo y grocero era paranoico. Para entrar y salir de su igual de hedionda oficina solo era posible con un boton la cual el controlaba desde su escritorio. Muy decepcionanate que tras mi discurso de despedida diera la vuelta para irme..y tuviera que esperar hasta que le diera la gana de undir el boton para dejarme salir. Asi es que solo le informe lo disgustado que estaba trabajando por su compañia y que ese seria mi ultimo dia. La mueca/sonrisa que me dio de respuesta me dio a entender que quizas queria que me fuera tanto como yo. De todas maneras parece que ambos encontramos lo que buscabamos. Di la vuelta para irme...y tuve que esperar hasta que le diera la gana undir el boton para dejarme salir.
De Brooklyn a las Bahamas
     Hacia ya varios años que me habian contratado para un evento especial en uno de los almacenes de lujo de Nueva York llamado Lord & Taylor. Fue un promocion para el Dia de las Madres; con la compra de una fragrancia se obsequiaba gratis una tarjeta hecha y personalizada por mi delante del cliente. De casualidad escuche que mi jefa se peleaba con alguien por telefono. Resultaba ser que ese alguien personalizaba las botellas de perfume, pero no hiba a ser presencia como habian acordado por motivos que no logre a entender. Repentinamente se me prendio un bombillo y le dije a mi jefa que si me daba la opportunidad de practicar, yo podia hacer ese trabajo tambien. Se entusiasmó mucho y me dio el si. Poco me importaba que se trataba de algo de la cual no tenia ni la mas minima idea como se hacia, pero ven? De veras que habia recuperado la auto-estima y valor. Bueno, al llegar el primer dia me fue tan super-mal que al cabo de la tercera botella rallada y fracturada la jefe se me acerco y al oido me pregunto que si tenia mis pinceles para seguir mejor con las tarjetas. Con el rabo bien escondido asi hice, pero no me di por vencido. Hice mis investigaciones, me consegui el equipo de herramientas apropiadas y tres años mas tarde me habia ganado suficiente buena reputacion para trabajar con la gran mayoria de almacenes de mas alto lujo en la ciudad de Nueva York. Me llaman para eventos caritativos, dias festivos y promociones especiales y gozo de una excelente reputacion con todos mis clientes.
     Un Dia del Padre lluvioso, durante uno de estos eventos me di cuenta que una pareja silenciosa llevaban varios minutos observandome de todo angulo. Me figuré que querian hacerme alguna pregunta ó esperaban pacientemente mietras terminaba esa botella para verla de cerca. Cuando les entregue la botella, me informaron que ellos eran los dueños de una distribudora de perfumes para el Caribe basados en Miami, Florida. Estaban tan impresionados con mi trabajo y pensaban que la idea de personalizar las botellas como evento promocional era tan buena que me pidieron que hiciera lo mismo por ellos…en el Caribe. Que me pagarian bien, que me conseguirian mucho trabajo, que viajaria mucho, etc, etc. Aunque estos detalles eran llamativos, si tuviera un centavo por cada vez que ya alguien se me habia acercado para ofrecerme trabajo…bueno tuviera como nueve centavos pero mi punto es que ya habia escuchado mucho estas palabras y todavia estaba esperando que de palabras pasaran a hechos, lo cual nunca sucedia. Fui cortez como siempre, etrecambiamos informacion y nos despedimos, en mi mente para siempre como todos los demas. En menos de un mes recibi una llamada telefonica de ellos para hacer planes de itinerarios. Seis meses y un dia despues de mi despedida del  Judio de Hierro, me encontraba con dificultad creer que en realidad estaba abordo de un avion con rumbo a las Bahamas. Asi fue que comenzo un capitulo muy colorido y satisfactorio de mi carrera como artista y diseñador en donde tuve la opportunidad de viajar a bellas islas como San Martín, Curaçao, Aruba y Gran Cayman, por nombrar algunas. Trabaje con un magnifico elenco de personas, me hospedaron en los mejores hoteles y comi platos deliciosos. Asi seguimos por varios años hasta que tomamos distintos rumbos. Hoy en dia sigo gravando en vidrio casi exclusivamente para el area tri-estatal de Nueva York, enormemente agradecido y siempre conciente de que a pesar de la presente condicion de la economia global, me han llamado para mas trabajo con cada año que pasa. Me láte que a Dios le gusta los perfumes, y mi ortografía tambien.
     Pues aqui estoy, un papa que  orgullosamente trabaja desde la casa presentándole al mundo la totalidad de mis abilidades. Es una idea asombrosa en ambas direcciones; cualquier persona con acceso al internet puede gustarle ó criticar mis creaciones en completa anonimidad. Y no solo eso sino que me expongo a que me hagan saber sus opiniones. Interesantemente, no veo ningun negative en esto principalmente porque me he dado cuenta de que ya tengo suficiente edad para comprender mi pasado y usar esa sabiduria para balanciar mi futuro. No quiero decir que haya decifrado los misterios de la Vida, solo que comprendo que lo que esta ‘pa ti, nadie te lo quita. Pero lo que la abuela Panchita no menciono es que aquello que esta ‘pa ti solo te llega cuando estas realmente listo para recibirlo, lo cual muchas veces es impertinente a cuando crees estar listo.
Referiendose al momento en que nos ganamos nuestros cinturones negros, nuestro instructor de Tae Kwon Do, el Maestro Lee nos dijo “Han aprendido el abecedario. Ahora pueden aprender a formar palabras”
Si mi arte fuera no gustarale a nadie, el impacto, si lo hubiera, seria minimo ya que no puedo crear algo que guste a todos. Soy creativo porque me nacen aquellas ideas, y cuando esas ideas brotan necesito hacerlas realidad para que expandan alas y se me salgan, asi dejando el espacio necesario para la proxima crisalis. Antes de este punto en mi vida no tenia la fortaleza de mantener esa actitud, y ahora si la tengo. Nuestros cuerpos pierden flexibilidad a lo que envejecemos, nuestras mentes su agudez, pero nuestros espiritus no son cosa que el paso del tiempo ni una falta de cálcio pueden afectar negativamente si asi lo decidimos que sea. Mas sin embargo no es hasta ahora que siento que en realidad comprendo todos los buenos ejemplos y modales que mis padres me enseñaron. No es hasta ahora que entiendo que aveces son los pequeños movimientos de generan los grandes efectos en la vida. No es hasta ahora que se me hace mas facil de diferenciar entre lo que puedo y lo que no puedo cambiar. Todo esto solo pudiera suceder ahora – no es hasta ahora que tengo la experiencia necesaria para internalizar estas lecciones. Referiendose al momento en que nos ganamos nuestros cinturones negros, nuestro instructor de Tae Kwon Do, el Maestro Lee nos dijo “Han aprendido el abecedario. Ahora pueden aprender a formar palabras”. Como en muchos otros campos de aprendizaje en la vida, a pesar de lo dificil y monumental que fue alcanzar aquel cinturon negro tan anhelado, en cuanto lo alcanze me di cuenta de que el peldaño mas alto para mi en ese momento era el peldaño mas bajo de aquella escalera. Habia mucha mas escalera sobre mi para subir, y toda una vida no alcanzaria para subir todas las escaleras que le siguen a esa. Se requiere de tanto tiempo, tanta paciencia, tanta dedicacion para primero ganarse y luego disfrutar los frutos de la vida.
 

Pero vale toda la pena.

Monday, June 10, 2013

The Right One

The building formerly known as
the "FLAT-ee-run"
     In 1998 I was 28 years old and living in a cool studio apartment in Queens, New York. I was working as a toy and packaging designer for a company out on Long Island, and it was a great time in my life overall save for the one blemish of an extremely bitter ending to a long-term relationship. As a result of that end, however (or as a prize for my anguish, I like to think), I began dating the coolest, most intelligent Dominican woman I have ever met. Although I did all my growing-up in Washington Heights (a largely Dominican neighborhood located in upper Manhattan, New York) it just so happened I had never dated a Dominican girl. I had no idea what I’d been missing...

     I met Sofia through internet dating, which back then was still relatively new and therefore more of an adventurous option than the more commonplace advertising we see for it in the media today. I went through three distinct stages of DDE, or Digital Dating Evolution; during the first stage I spent many a night in front of the glow of my monitor trying to write the cleverest paragraph ever written in the history of cleverest paragraphs. One that would magically make women swoon at their computers and send their names and e-mail addresses to me by the truckload. Alas, not only did I never write anything even close to compelling, at some point I decided to switch tactics and read/respond to what women were writing instead. That was the second stage. I was very discerning about whom I would answer, which meant I wasn’t making very many connections, and the ones I would make and later decide to meet would end in one form of psychotic or deranged disaster. Sometimes a psychotic and deranged disaster. Eventually all discern, care and judgment fell out of my second story studio window and I was answering just about any ad with enough consonants in it. That was the very cold hard bottom of stage three, but what may have very well opened up the right door. Having each been on multiple yet spectacularly bad on-line-generated blind dates, and after comparing notes later on, we came to the conclusion that after, after Sofia had pulled her ad from the net is when I happened to come across it. Whatever lapse of time it actually took for her ad to be removed is precisely when our digital paths crossed. It could have been a day, a few hours or mere minutes before her post (which contrary to what I had originally been looking for was actually quite short, to the point and rather bland) caught my attention and provoked my response. But I already believed that certain events in our lives are scheduled to occur, so I wasn’t totally surprised to find this out.

Was I more worried this time because she drove a car, could possibly overpower me and stuff me in her trunk to drive me somewhere isolated and have her way with me? (Dear God, yes please!)


     Our first date was never-ending, but in the best of ways. I remember being more nervous than usual and I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. We had been instant messaging (the grand-daddy of texting) and speaking by phone for about three months before curiosity had sufficiently accrued and we decide to meet. We picked the bakery on 181st and Audubon ave. as a central point for both of us (I could walk there from my parents apartment in Manhattan and she could drive the short distance from her mom’s place in the Bronx whom she was visiting). On my way out to our date, and like never before, I felt the urge to tell someone where I was going. Was I more worried this time because she drove a car, could possibly overpower me and stuff me in her trunk to drive me somewhere isolated and have her way with me? (Dear God, yes please!) I was admittedly a bit more nervous this time than all the others and as I walked out I grabbed my brother Luis and with an equal mixture of glee and fear I told him about my secret rendezvous with either danger or the love of my life. Seeing my excitement he wished me luck, but maybe took a good look at what I wore to properly identify my body later if need be.

     I’d heard many times that the answer to the question “How do you know when you’ve met the right one?” is “You just know.” As I leaned against the store-front window on that beautiful warm, sunny afternoon in September, trying my absolute hardest to look like irresistible boyfriend material reading a book that to this day I’m not really sure why I brought along, I watched her pull up in her off-white Ford Tempo. Without moving a muscle, fully conscious that that first impression, that first look, the first exchange would set the tone for the rest of our time together however long that would be, I looked through the rolled down passenger window right into her eyes…and I just knew. I knew she was the one. She had to be; I glanced down and realized the book I was pretending to read was upside down.

      Sofia and I had agreed to go bowling up in Yonkers, an activity that we figured would allow us to get to know each other better than just lunch or a cup of coffee.  Afterwards we played video games at the arcade inside (the long gone) Nathan’s on Central Park Avenue. We had a lot of fun bowling and letting each other think that the other had won at video games. We were getting along really well and having a genuinely good time. Ironically (or not, oh hand of fate) both these places we visited that day ended up being in the neighborhood that as a married couple we called home for a while many years later. We had not made plans for anything beyond that, I think we consciously avoided getting any further ideas that first time because hey, she may have ended up really abducting me, or I may have had unusually small hands or disproportionately larger earlobes than she preferred. But we had such a good time together that we decided to relax our unspoken “daylight-and-well-lit-areas-with-plenty-of-witnesses-only” conditions and go to dinner in the Village. She parked her car near Yankee Stadium and off we went by subway, tearing through the Village, Chelsea, Mid-town and back, truly enjoying each other’s company, laughing honestly and finding a somewhat abnormal amount of things in common. At one point we stopped for a bite to eat at the McDonald’s on 23rd street, near the Flatiron building. To this day we still chuckle at how up until that night she believed it was pronounced FLAT-ee-run. I laughed harder than I meant to. I was definitely falling for her right then and there, but also conscious it was too much, too soon and too good to be true. On the other hand, I’d been through the mother of emotional wringers in the previous relationship; why couldn’t this be God saying right to my ear “Hey…umm, sorry about that last one, I got distracted by…well you know...famine, war, plague and whatnot. Here you go dude, you earned it”. I decided that that particular voice in my head really was God, and never doubted its tone again.

     It was sometime after midnight while sitting in Union Square Park that we caught our breath and decided it was probably time to let this first date actually end and head home. She was going to Atlantic City for a family trip in the morning, and I had to finish preparing for my first business trip overseas. Unfortunately, from that spot in the city we would have to part ways in order to each get where we needed to go, so we said goodbye at the subway station entrance to the 6 train. I kid Sofia all the time that I would have kissed her goodnight anyway, she says that if left up to me we would've just awkwardly shaken hands, but the truth lies somewhere in the middle. As phenomenal as the entire and very long date had been, pressing for a kiss at the end of the evening is where in my mind I feared a line lay in hiding. That crossing it even then would bring the good vibe crashing down, ruin the moment, leave her with a bad impression of me, maybe she wouldn’t…

With all the confidence of a woman who recognizes what she wants when she wants it, Sofia erased my every doubt with a deep, warm kiss that actually lowered the volume of the New York City subway system and re-awakened all sorts of winged creatures that had long ago lost their ability to fly within my belly. It was almost overwhelming to feel that degree of comfort, compatibility and longing for someone I didn’t even really know earlier that same day. Crazy I tell you, yet there I stood, stunned, giddy, suddenly missing her terribly, hopeful that magic would never end.

TWENTY years, a great marriage, some ups, some downs, a few sideways, some losses, some tears of laughter, some not, a few cats, two amazing, intelligent and beautiful kids later, the magic is indeed still there. In several ways even better than before.

As I waved to her from behind the dull chrome of the turnstile that night, I knew in my heart (and belly) that she was not just “the” one; she was the right one, and well worth the wait.

Updated 9.5.2018

Monday, June 3, 2013

About Me...


I was born in New York City 42 summers ago, the first of three to a very loving couple from Colombia. My parents never lost sight of where they came from and who they are, so growing up Colombian alongside Sesame Street and McDonalds molded, I believe, a better version of me than if I had only been a part of one culture. I was a good kid growing up, not venturing far from the normal trouble even good kids get into; not eating my vegetables (well, not eating much at all was a more frequent issue. Still is.), talking too much in class or making the other kids laugh, kissing a girl that I liked in the 5th grade because she took my eraser. Still can’t believe I got into trouble for that. What made matters worse was that Mr. R made me translate the incident into Spanish for my mom after school. Although I was conscious I didn’t do a horrible thing, I was in trouble nevertheless and worried about disappointing my parents. I later learned that my mom’s odd expression during the translating, whenever I gathered enough nerve to look up into her face, wasn’t so much displeasure as confusion as to why I was in trouble for kissing a girl on the cheek. When she told my dad about it, he gave me a pat on the back along with a happy “That’s my son”. After all, it wasn’t as if I had tried to kiss Mr. R, and that was clearly a big relief to both my folks.


I never said a word to her, though, which I’m sure is the only reason I never became Brad Pitt.


 In high school I made few friends, but they were very good friends, and we were part of the first class to graduate from New York City’s newly formed LaGuardia High School of Arts. Most of my friends majored in art as I did, but having other friends that took ballet, sang, acted or played a musical instrument made for a very rich environment. (Although not part of my acquaintances, in the hallways of my high school I often passed Chaz (Chastity back then) Bono, Carl Anthony Payne, who played Roach on the Cosby Show, and Jennifer Aniston. She wasn’t even famous yet, but I had an enormous crush on Jennifer and would hang out nervously after homeroom was over in order to “run into her” as that was the same room her French class met in the following period. I never said a word to her though, which I’m sure is the only reason I never became Brad Pitt.) By the time I graduated in 1988, I felt the beginnings of self-possession and had a good idea of where my strengths, and weaknesses, lay.
 

     Later that same year I attended the Fashion Institute of Technology for two intense years of education in fashion design. Unfortunately for me the experience was much like having had a very high fever; I don’t remember many details, just feeling ill and very uncomfortable most of the time. There were incidences of forceful vomiting as well, I believe. It was a very hard course schedule for me as there was no real segue from basic high school art classes to homework on industrial-speed sewing machines just a few months later. I was there on a nearly full scholarship, so it was paramount that I do well, which for me translated into virtually no socializing - which wasn’t exactly surprising to me as I was still very shy and introverted. I found I had to focus intently and work way harder than my fellow classmates just to maintain a slightly below average standing in most of my classes, and in the end I had sad and somewhat bitter memories of my college experience and virtually no friendships or acquaintances to speak of. I couldn’t want it to end sooner.

  
   Immediately after graduation I needed to both cleanse my mental palette and find a job to start saving money, and within a few weeks I was working as a counselor for a summer day camp just a few blocks away from the apartment building I grew up in, in Washington Heights, a predominantly latin neighborhood in upper Manhattan, New York. It was the perfect tangent to go off into to try and calm my mind, and where I learned that I was far better and quicker to make children laugh than adults, a fact which continues to be curiously true.

   
  In the years that followed I repeatedly found myself going from one short-term design related job to the next. Not because I was a bad employee but because landing a full-time job was difficult as a recent graduate; I had no bankable work experience. And how exactly was I to begin to acquire said experience if no one would be willing to hire me? That question is up there with the one about the chicken and the egg. Most jobs would last about 3 or 4 months, and one day it dawned upon me that this was probably so because companies were required to provide health care packages at about that period of employment. It was preferable (i.e. cheaper)to let me go, and after a few years of that routine it made for an awful, ragged-looking resume that made me cringe to see recruiters and headhunters try to mask their own cringe. My saving grace was my very strong and diversified artistic ability; you name it I probably drew or painted it in about every form of media available. Much to my frustration this grace slowly grew darker and less graceful as I realized that it was almost impossible for headhunters or art directors to properly place or even categorize me because I hadn’t focused in any one particular area of design - I did a pretty good job of spreading myself so thinly across such a large gamut of artistic expression that it was difficult to demonstrate true understanding of any one area, even if I actually understood very well.


     In the early nineties I landed a job with the Gitano jeans corporation as an assistant designer in the womenswear division. The years spent there would turn out to be the richest in terms of work relationships and the one that even back then I was conscious I would always chase or hope to repeat in the future. We were a group of about a dozen designers and assistants that saw each other’s faces far more often than our own families’, but perhaps due to some fantastic planetary alignment we got along incredibly well and perhaps even better than some actual families. These working relationships in time grew into genuine friendships and to this day we remain in contact and have the same chemistry and bond forged in an office so long ago on 38th street and Broadway. But once again, the day arrived that we had to say goodbye, and I found myself bouncing from one brief period of employment to the next.


     As the years continued to flow by, I began to loose my overall confidence as well as the desire to push my art. I began to focus on infrequent pieces that I might only show to family and close friends. I was faced with the very real-world decision to take any job because as a married man with a newborn baby girl, I needed to help bring in income. Any income. This was a far greater blow to my ego and self-esteem than it should have been or could ever have imagined to be, and in retrospect I believe this period of my life was marked by a mild form of depression. I felt that the wonderful talent God had infused me with was wasted, that I had somehow missed the window that would have, should have provided my family a “better” life. That the family and friends that had seen any of my art was as big an audience as I would ever get.

That along with my loved ones, I had let myself down.

Perhaps no other lesson in my life has taught me how powerful our thoughts are, and how easy it is to believe the negative ones. The positive thoughts may be just as strong, but the maintenance involved in prolonging them is where the difference lies, I believe. At the gym, it’s just so much easier to put those heavy weights down than to do one more rep with them, and even harder to push for one more rep after that. Thinking positively is similar yet harder but only because it isn’t a physical weight in your hands – it’s a philosophical one on your shoulders.


He was way worse than Cancer Bitch (an unholy septuagenarian I once worked for so latin soap-opera evil she smoked 3 packs of unfiltered cigarettes a day in her office, maliciously unconcerned for the safety or comfort of others. Or for the sprinkler system.


     Although it took a long time, in addition to a veritable bottomless well of love, support and understanding from my wife Sofia, I slowly pulled up from my nosedive and began flying a more level flight. We were living in Brooklyn, NY at the time, and I managed to get a job at a Linens and Things on Coney Island. I got a heavy dosage of dealing with awful and wonderful Brooklynites, malfunctioning cash registers, little Russian ladies dead-serious about coupon redemption, and working through the night for re-stocking duty. I left that job to work as a packaging designer for a company also in Brooklyn. It was run with an iron yarmulke by whom is without a doubt the absolute worst individual I ever had the displeasure to work for. He was way worse than Cancer Bitch (an unholy septuagenarian I once worked for so latin soap-opera evil she smoked 3 packs of unfiltered cigarettes a day in her office, maliciously unconcerned for the safety or comfort of others. Or for the sprinkler system. The smell she did detest? That of microwave popcorn popping. Go figure.) This guy was a cigar chomping, foul smelling (I mean besides the cigar), cell phone flinging, tantrum-and-spit throwing little monster of a man whose idea of working harder involved trying to pay for lunch so that I could continue to work at my desk uninterruptedly within a warehouse with no windows. The only good thing that came from that job (because at this point I had fully embraced finding the good within the bad, no matter how deeply buried or how long it took) was the friendship I forged with my friend of the Lubavich order. The company was almost completely composed of Hassidic Jews, and this made for a very different experience for me to say the least. I learned a lot about their culture, and mostly because my buddy there was extremely open and willing to answer any question I had, and was just a good guy to be around. Really, beside the paycheck he was the only positive about that job. That and quitting; I left on a Friday because the next day I would be boarding a plane for a completely new gig in the Bahamas. I would have given that nasty troll of a man a piece of my mind while I informed him that I was up and leaving, but the fact that his paranoia holed him up in an office that you needed to be buzzed into and out of stayed my tongue. How embarrassing to bid him “Good DAY sir!” after an awesomely dramatic and lengthy farewell speech, spin around and storm towards the door… then just stand there awkwardly until he decided to buzz me out… Not cool. Instead I simply informed him that I was very unhappy working there and that it was my last day. His faint smirk made me think he had wanted me to leave anyway, probably for as long as I had wanted to leave myself. I turned around and headed for the door… then just stood there awkwardly until he decided to buzz me out…


From Brooklyn to the Bahamas


     Several years ago I had a freelance gig in Manhattan’s Lord and Taylor (with the purchase of a fragrance for Mother’s day you would get a greeting card created on the spot by yours truly). I overheard the manager argue with a glass engraver over the phone who apparently was not going to show. Seeing how disappointed she was, I thought to myself, “How hard can glass engraving be?” (Never mind it was something I’d never tried before. See? My confidence had come back). I offered my services and she happily agreed to hire me for those events as well. The first event was so disastrous that after the third chipped perfume bottle that manager whispered to me “Did you bring your card making supplies? Maybe we’ll stick to that”. We did for the rest of that day, but I refused to give up, got the correct equipment and kept practicing. I gained enough skill that this same manager eventually recommended me to another manager over at Bloomingdales, and within a period of 3 years I had gained enough of a reputation to work major holidays and special promotional events at most of the high-end retail stores in the 5 boroughs. And it had all started as an apparent “fluke”.


     One rainy Father’s Day event, I was happily engraving away at Saks Fifth Ave. when I became aware that a couple who had been quietly walking around my table had been doing so for a few minutes. I figured they were being polite in not wanting to disturb me, but were eager to either get a better look at my work or ask a question. Once they had a chance to see the bottle in their hands, they informed me that they were the owners of a Miami-based, perfume distribution company for the Caribbean area. They were so impressed with my work and thought that the promotional event was such a good idea, they asked me if I would be willing to do the same for them…in the Caribbean. They would get me plenty of work, fly me to different islands, etc. etc. As unusual as these particular details were, I was not initially very impressed because if I had a dime for every time I had been approached with a similar job offer promising more work…well I’d have had about 70 cents but my point is that I had heard this speech many times before and the words had yet to become actions. I was as polite as ever, exchanged my information with them and thanked them for their time. Within a month I received a call from their office to make itinerary arrangements. Six months after that, and a day after my anti-climactic departure from The Iron Yarmulke, I sat in disbelief on an airplane heading to the Bahamas, about to embark on a wonderful chapter in my career that included events in beautiful locations such as St. Martín, Curaçao, Aruba and the Cayman Islands to name a few. I worked with a wonderful cast of people, stayed in beautiful hotels and ate delicious food. This went on for a few years before we parted ways, and my skill increased exponentially, as well as my reputation and the demand for my work. Today I continue to do glass engraving events primarily within the New York tri-state area, enormously grateful and always mindful that despite the current gloom of our global economy, I am actually called to work on these luxury items more often with each passing year.

I think maybe God likes perfume, and She digs my handwriting too.


     So here I am, a proud work-from-home dad literally presenting the totality of my artistic abilities to the world. It’s a staggering thought in both directions; anyone can now criticize, constructively or otherwise, my work to their hearts content. Not only that, I’m opening myself up to let them tell me so. Interestingly, I don’t see much negative in this, primarily because I realize I’m finally old enough to fully understanding my past and use that knowledge to balance my future. Not that I’ve got life figured out, I mean that I understand that things come only when you are truly ready, which a lot of the time seems to be irrelevant of when you think you are ready.


In reference to earning our black belts, our Tae Kwon Do instructor Master Lee said to us “You’ve learned the alphabet. Now you can learn to put words together”.

 
     If my art is disliked, the impact if any is minimal at best because I do not and cannot create for everyone. I create because it’s in me and I have to release it and make room for the next idea, to clear space for the next inspiration. I wasn’t strong enough to have that attitude at any other point in my life, and I’m strong enough now. Our bodies grow less limber as we get older, our minds less sharp, but our spirits aren’t anything that the passage of time or a lack of calcium can actually ever affect if we don’t choose this to be true. Yet it’s only now that I feel I really understand all the good and the positive that my parents tried to instill in me. It’s only now that I see how sometimes it’s the smaller motions that garner the larger effects in life. It’s only now that it’s easier to differentiate between the things I can and cannot change. It could only be now; now is when I’m experienced enough to internalize the lessons. In reference to earning our black belts, our Tae Kwon Do instructor Master Lee said to us “You’ve learned the alphabet. Now you can learn to put words together”. Like so many other areas in life, as difficult and momentous as earning a black belt can be, once we earn it we realize we’ve only just reached the bottom rung; there’s a whole lot more ladder above us, with more ladders to go after that than we have life to climb them all. It takes so much time, so much patience, so much dedication to earn and then harvest the fruits of life.

And it’s so worth it.

But enough about me…