(Written on March 7th 2008, at Java House,
during an incredible snow storm, in Toronto)
Yesterday.
I changed my way.
I woke up and said “enough is enough” and looked down at my arm, as I lay in Charlie’s bed.
We talked, I cried, worried he wouldn’t find me. . . Char held me, kissed my hair and whispered, “I love you so much.”
We’d experienced an inspiring evening the night before this morn. . . went to the Drake to watch a beautiful Parisian DJ perform, (A man who loves Charlie, of course). . . and so much happened. . .
I had been in a dark place at this time, feeling strange, introverted, and hadn't really emerged from Charlie's Gallery since the sLaw* art event we had put on in February. Charlie convinced me to to go out with her that evening, get out into the world again.
I had said to her, as we were closing the gallery, before the night began, that I desperately wanted to meet someone inspiring at the Drake, a beauty who would blow my mind, make me feel alive. As I wished for this, I did a little dance in the middle of Charlie's Galley, in the middle of my recent series of paintings…
Char repeated what I said, and exclaimed, “You know everything we repeat in here comes true Rob! We are in the Genie’s Bottle!” She smiled her fairy smile, and I felt better for just a second, but still slow and heavy in my despair.
In such a trance, as Char went outside, I went to turn off the lights, and somehow knocked my 6foot tall painting named ‘Tough Love’, so she only dangled from one nail in one corner on the wall, swinging like a giant pendulum, to the tune of my mind and soul, (I remember this swing so vividly).
Then as I moved to save Her from falling, I let go of an 8foot tall mirror standing in front of the light switch… It blew over, almost right on top of me, smashing into a million lightening bolts. Char’s sweet face in the window, screaming ‘Noooooooo!’
Wow.
I just stood there. Stunned. Shaken by this incredible sequence. Charlie came in, quiet, looking at me with her doe eyes, “that was crazy.” “I know,” I replied, “Tonight’s going to be a crazy night”.
We spent the next hour, or so, carefully collecting each piece into a cardboard box. I told her how broken mirror is so rare, and should be cherished. She told me that this was the Universe telling me to 'Wake the Fuck up'. The pretty world was shaking me – desperately trying to remove a dark shadow from my brow.
So we skipped to the Drake. Then stretched across the lobby couch feeling oh so high. As we lounged there, a strange man came and sat down next to me. A moment later I realized he wasn’t so strange, very familiar in fact. Ian Huff, but all grown up. A friend I had in high school and hadn’t seen since. He smiled and said, ‘Wow I thought that was you! You cut all your hair off!’ I smiled and Char rushed to show him our full-page article in the Toronto Star. He exclaimed, super impressed, as most were, by our recent accomplishment.
As we were entirely vibrating and happy, we moved downstairs, to the dance floor. “finagling” our way into the crowd. It was a day of new words – we had taught Teresa the word – Finagle – so she was using it with excitement, appropriately and out of context. Finagle had been brought to my attention by being printed in my horoscope for that week, something I read religiously:
‘It’s time you acknowledged that you are a miraculous work of Art, a masterpiece unlike any other ever created. I’m not pandering your egotism by telling you that. When I say, “Be yourself,” I don’t mean the self that wants to win every game and use up every resource and stand alone at the end of history on top of a Mt. Everest sized pile of pretty garbage. When I say, “Be Yourself”, I mean the self that says Thank You to the wild Irises and the windy rain, and the people who grow your food. I mean the self who’s joyfully struggling to geminate the seeds of love and beauty that are packed inside every moment. I mean the spiritual freedom fighter who’s scrambling and finagling and conspiring to shower all of your fellow messiah with your best blessings.’
And so, I had read this article out loud to Teresa earlier that evening, in explanation of “finagling’s” meaning… seemingly these words assisted in orchestrating the undeniable dreamy reality of that evening, when I found a mirror in a bright new woman, who re-introduced me to my ‘work-of-art’ self.
This woman pulled me into her lavish world that night, I was already so awake, and then I lay my eye on her, across the room, dancing in a white silk dress. As the strobe light pulsed, she got closer and closer, until she was so close I could feel her silk leap through my fingers, and her breath thrill my neck as she spoke. I whispered something, then she smiled her name at me,
‘Hannah’
She whirled around me like petals, in the wind around a stigma. I the stigma so stimulated and curious, I watched her in awe.
She asked me over and over to promise I would get to know her.
She asked me if she could be my new Muse.
I promised her such things, and told her how desperately I had needed to see such admiration in a stranger’s eyes. I told her how she was my dream for that evening, my dream come true, and so I could never forget her.
To end the night I followed Char, and Hannah followed me, into a Drake Hotel room. Drums mingling in the air, people standing yet barely there. Char teased her Parisian admirer, driving him wild as she let him kiss her hair and neck, yet nowhere else.
It was then that Hannah told me about her boyfriend who didn’t treat her well. I told her to never stand for such a thing. I talked to her and her friend, as they sat on a bed, wide eyed, listening intently to one of my many stories. I felt like a rock star, like I could have glanced to my right and seen Lennon on his guitar.
The moment seemed to last forever, course it did, as the clock hit eight. Then I nudged Char in exhaustion motioning for us to leave, but she took no notice of me, entranced by her DJ. Hannah took an emerald flyer, for my current art show, wrote down her number, and said, while writing beautifully across my card, “You. Are one word,
Igniting”.
I smiled. Then she said, “No wait! One more word…” Clutching my arm, she turned my wrist open and wrote, just one more word:
“Phantasmagoria”.
Then she signed underneath, "<3 Hannah '08"
* * * *
I woke up next to Char, as I looked at my arm remembering Hannah, and that magical night we had shared. “Last night was beautiful,” I said. “I know,” Char replied, “You found your beauty you desperately wanted.” I looked at my arm again, her beautiful hand writing across it in blue pen.
It felt like days went by as we lay there in bed, sun beaming in on us as we marveled in our love for each other, thanking one-another for finding the other. “You’re my backbone babe,” Char whispered, “You here, makes me okay.”
And so this is how we began our Friday…
I carefully washed, protecting ‘Hannah’ on my arm, and thought about how much I wanted her scripture on me for life… Char brushed her teeth, as I showered.
‘Phantasmagoria’, I said over in my head.
I wonder what it means . . .
‘Phan . tas . ma . goria ‘.
“Look it up at the gallery,” Char said,
I smile large, and agree with her.
“If this word means what I hope it means, I swear I’ll tattoo it on my arm.” I promise.
Another snowy day, Char and I finagled our way down Harbord to open our Charlie's Gallery. Speaking deeply about our hopes and dreams.
* * *
We get to the gallery, and I immediately look up the word...
I read it out loud to Char:
Phan·tas·ma·go·ri·a
1.a. A fantastic sequence of haphazardly associative imagery, as seen in dreams or fever.
b. A constantly changing scene composed of numerous elements.
2. Fantastic imagery as represented in art.
We both gasp... wow...
I also find that it is the title of a rare book of poems by Lewis Carroll , where he rhymes about the etiquette one must use to interact with beings from other realms.
This was incredibly exciting for me to find, considering the night before began when I smashed an 8foot taLL looking glass all over myself... a huge mirror, I also believe is the doorway into other realms.
Char and I look at each other, in shock....
'Phantasmagoria truly embodies who you are,' Char says,
'Man, this is amazing,' I reply, as I gaze in wonder at my arm... 'I have to have this here forever'.
Without a second thought, I call a tattoo shop, and ask if they can tattoo right over top of the pen ink that is on my arm... They tell me it's not a usual thing, but it can be done.
So I make an appointment for around 4pm and then make my way through the snow storm with my good friend Lisa. I deliver my arm to the tattoo shop counter; they all laugh at my request.
But once it was completed, everyone exclaimed about how interesting it was.
My first and only tattoo... made so naturally.
It truly reflects who I am, and symbolizes a very important time of my life...
A night and day to remember.
A word with so much power.
Thanks Hannah. I really needed that :)
