This Jack Bilander print, named “Sammy,” has been for sale for a year, overpriced and lingering out of reach, and I have yearned for it. My want has surpassed the call of nostalgia. Perhaps my desire is simply from the mere wanting of it.
I saw a performance at the NOLA Fringe Fest in which a character from the narrative dismisses his desire and lust for the woman he loves by admitting that desired objects are interchangeable. A hole, he states, is just a hole. Well, yes, that’s obvious, isn’t it.
The point of a hole is that it remains incomplete, never filled. It will always be empty and vacant.
I bought this sweetly etched boy tonight. The seller dropped the price after a year of my desiring. I snatched it up with the ferocious swiftness of a fat-fisted child in a school yard fight. Is it an art collector’s greed, the hunger of nostalgia, or just lack?
Maybe this doe-eyed boy has a friend out there waiting for rescue or a parent gazing from a tenement window, sitting in one of Jack’s favorite poses. I’ll go look…
Update, 11/18/17: You can never go home. The Chelsea of the 70s no longer exists. I keep looking. I’ve learned new words for things I’ve blogged about over the years. To the idea of ontological homelessness I now add home insecurity and food insecurity. I am hording these pictures in the sunlight.