Carol Camp
Meanwhile, Human
The Hidden Now
#0k
While We Wait For Sunrise
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Sat, Dec 12, 2020
hello,
man, you're good at words. I am not, despite sharing a face with bob dylan, I do not share his talent for poetry.
I live in caraguatatuba now, which is where every childhood summer memory of mine takes place. actually, my happiest memories take place in my aunt’s house a couple of blocks from here - my cousin C lives there now, she grows psychedelic mushrooms in one of the bedrooms. there's a metaphor in there somewhere about growing up. I tried taking shrooms with her brother, P, when we went on a week-long trip to a deserted beach in ubatuba. another funny name, you'd love it here. it didn't work, they were apparently too old. another metaphor?
P is the smartest person I know, he's the one that got a scholarship to study engineering at one of the best universities in france. I think I mentioned it to you. anyway, he came to visit me in california last year and had a panic attack after smoking some very strong weed, and since then he's been reading books about stoicism and general feel-good bullshit. that's all he talks about now. he's trying to fix me, which tends to be a recurrence in my life, and he's particularly logical about it. he's good at reading body movements and connecting them with that one thing you said five minutes ago... it's infuriating to be read so well. great, too. he lives in sao paulo, which is a bit far, but we've become actual friends for the first time in our lives. it's funny, I feel like I am just getting to know people I have known forever; it's the first time I interact with them since I was, in many cases, 17. now I see them with different eyes, which is good in some cases, heartbreaking in others.
I walk on the beach every day at 5 or 6 in the morning, when it’s empty and the sun is tolerable. caraguá is the least pretentious place on earth, happiness looks very easy. back in the day it really was - but now my brain ruins everything. this feeling inspired me to start writing a book, it's supposed to be a fiction based on real events, sort of like the bell jar or l'invitee, and it should be published in 10 years. since food and shelter (P calls it 'the base' because of maslow's hierarchy) are no longer worries (whether they should be is a different question), I have been spending all of my time making art. I had developed a personal style, which you know is important if you want to get into galleries and whatnot, and then I found an artist whose work looks very similar, despite its themes being a lot more relaxed. she talks about 1960s music and culture in most of her paintings, and my stuff is more, you know, impossibilities, facticities, being stuck in time. Mary Heilmann is her name, she’s great, maybe you know her. you probably do. so now I am painting over my old paintings and trying to find a different enough voice from anything I can find. healthy? no. necessary, though.
why are most represented artists over 50, A? is it about showing consistency and having networked enough with gallerists and curators throughout the years that something is bound to happen eventually? i think that’s it and i don’t like it. also, i’ve always disliked academia, but the more I read and engage with it, the more I fucking hate all of it. fuck your MFA and your art that is so disconnected from any emotion and humanity that it will never speak to anyone outside of your circle. thoughts?
I fostered a litter of puppies back in august - they were 35 days old and abandoned in a garage. I adopted one of them, because my heart would kill me if I didn't, and named her kes. she shares a birthday with kieslowski and that's his favorite film. she's so much work it's almost unbelievable, but god, does she make living easier. she goes on beach walks with me sometimes, but she can’t go on the sand unfortunately, so we just watch the ocean from the boardwalk. she’s growing up so fast it’s scary. I could pick her up using a single hand when she arrived, and now she reaches the kitchen table when she stands up. she’s a dachshund-border collie mix, and she definitely looks and acts more like a collie. such long legs, so much energy!
yes, I love it when people laugh when they’re singing or talking. if I had a list of things that I love about humans, this would be in the top 10 probably. I’ve tried to figure out why, and I think what gets me is the emotion being so much stronger than the importance they put on staying composed (to sing well or finish a sentence). it makes me happy to see that sort of spontaneity. probably because i am unable to be spontaneous a lot of the time.
the kids — so you’re actually a teacher now. what wouldn’t I pay to see that if I had money? so what’s that like? do you follow a program? how did you prepare? is it all on zoom? by the way, how’s the pandemic affecting your life over there? here, the beaches are always packed and masks are nowhere to be seen. it’s ridiculous but, honestly, expected. I took a test the other day but it came out negative, which sucks. I want to get this over with. I went to the ER around august or september because my blood pressure was at 25/16, so… uh, stroke high. not sure how I’d manage the virus.
open to album or book recommendations. noted joan didion.
bye, miss you :-)