Can’t say I knew much about this artist. A big fan of Levy Gorvy gallery, we went there unplanned to check what wonderful work they would have had on show.
Linking the concept of body and mind, Clemente, with soft pastel presentations, unravels stories of primal desires and sexual exposures whilst taking on representations of portraits and bodily figures on their own or in intimate interactions to challenge the angle of societal and cultural assumptions of the psyche.
Everyone should read Nick’s beautifully empathetic, humility fuelled, comicly crafted answers, coming from a big pool of love for his fans.
I first encountered his music as a punk/gothy teen at the Rebound club in Athens and my mature years had me thinking he needs to grow up and out of the pool of self-absorbsion and then his son died, and that was the fundamental lifetime event that I perceive when he did. We so need loss of life to define our reality and reconnect us with life again.
My girlfriend, a woman I love through soaring heaven and table-flipping hell, refuses to read any of my writing because she always sees some hint of infidelity, resentment, or perhaps madness in it. How do I get her to understand that just because I might write a poem about some lusty girl I saw on the train I don’t actually want to sleep with another woman?
CIRCIUM, COLORADO, USA
Tom Waits famously wrote “You are innocent when you dream”, yet dreams are not nearly as innocent as they seem. Neither are songs nor poetry. Songwriting and poetry are perilous callings, full of intrigue and infidelity. They are covert undertakings that creep around our deepest and most hazardous needs. They are not for the squeamish or the eager to please.
I believe you when you say you don’t want to sleep with the ‘lusty girl on the train’ – the problem is what you want to do is actually worse. You want to write a poem about her. To write a song or a poem about another human being can be one of the most intensely intimate acts a person can perform, it is an act of profound, unblinking contemplation, a near religious meditation on that moment of carnal recognition.
Listen to Patti Smith’s version of ‘Gloria’, where she has taken Van Morrison’s already wolfish classic and expanded it into a supercharged religious rumination on lust.
I look out the window
See a sweet young thing
Humpin’ on the parking meter
Leanin’ on the parking meter
Patti Smith’s ‘Gloria’ is not concerned so much with the actual sexual encounter, but rather with the brutal carnality and religious ecstasy of language itself. It is one of the most demented displays of predatory sexual desire ever recorded. Yet, it is beyond sex. It is even beyond worship. It is poetry. The “sweet young thing” that is “humpin’ on the parking meter” is your “lusty girl on a train”.
Gloria, Peggy Sue, Billie Jean, Angie, Delilah, Fernando, Jolene, Ruby, Maggie May, Chuck E., Sharona, Sara, Suzanne, Sweet Caroline and, indeed, Deanna – these names live on, as sacrificial lambs, compulsively sexualised in our collective consciousness.
My song ‘Deanna’ was seen as a particularly brutal act of betrayal, and thirty years on I still haven’t been fully forgiven. I console myself with the thought that I was unflinching in my duties as a songwriter and in doing so wrote a song that brought joy to the lives of many, even though it broke a heart (or two) in the process.
From one wordsmith to another, and from someone who has spent a considerable amount of a long and contentious career in the songwriter’s doghouse, that’s the name of the game, Circium. Harsh as it is, we spend our lives walking on the hearts and messy eggshells we have smashed in order to make the omelet that feeds the multitudes.
I can perfectly understand why you want your girlfriend to read your stuff, as we poets and songwriters often have little else to offer than our words, and of course our perverse little truths. However, your poems are intimations of an eroticized and imaginative adventure of which your partner is excluded. It’s little wonder she might be reluctant to get involved.
Having said that, over time I have discovered great poetic and personal value in writing about the familiar, that which is in front of you, that which you see every day, that which sleeps beside you, for often that quotidian presence is the most extraordinarily complex and dangerous thing of all. It holds a looking glass up to beautiful and terrible truths that live inside us. As we look into our lover’s eyes and see our reflected selves, our courage as writers is tested and enlarged.
The girl on the train will always be there, forever travelling through that imaginative space, but maybe the challenge for you as a poet lies within the intricate wonder of the one who sits before you. She is, after all, your mirror.
Everyone has that one song they go to for a reflection of their innermost feelings.
Mine is Esmerelda by Ben Howard, the video in particular.
The waves unrolling back in reverse is what gets me every time. It may be for the symbolic value of rolling back time and rediscovering today’s desires by the method of review.
The moving images are taken in the winter, the British winter many complain of. As a surfer, Ben Howard is staring at the swells as he would have done at any other season, reflecting on the conditions, the possibilities. The weather is not a hindrance, but an opportunity for assessment. A million components pulled together; I could ride that wave, I know I can, I can do it this way or that way. Maybe I will come back to it, maybe I will sit it out, watch it and leave it to perform before my very eyes.
The solitary imagery of Howard looking out from the cliff’s edge over the treacherous weather, is a message of renewal. Emerged from the knowledge that majestic moments happen in the most apparent challenging conditions. Our method and approach is the liberating experience emerging from what is on offer. A source and direction of energy that pulls the surfer to float on the surface is also defined by the surfer’s point of letting go and diving into the water when conditions become too much. These are not polarised experiences of bad or good, of success or failure, but of a journey of becoming one with nature, embracing it and re-establishing our relationship with it as our home.
Theorists have made the case for connecting with our histories in our pursue of conserving our natural habitat. Mythologies of Homer’s Odysseus seeking his Ithaca, and the realism of Caribbean slaves fishing out in the open waters on Atlantic Ocean’s edge have required an intertwined interdependent relationship with nature and its elements. The thousands of Syrian refugees drowned in the Mediterranean Sea escaping conflict. The skill of ‘reading’ nature and floating decisions under different communication needs, on the nexus with the changing elements, is part of the human condition that can not be aborted.
There are thousands of individual journeys to Ithaca, Caribbean fishermen and surfers connecting with nature in that way. The sea is a pool for everyone to explore their search for a home.
Restricted images hide a story. Retelling the story by slicing away the margins is how tabloits make headlines. The most extreme, the better. It may not make sense, but the readers’ shock deters them from revisiting and unpacking the reality.
This introduction of new journalism made it into our every day lives. It trimmed the stories to polarising and accusatory as the norm.
For example, see this image in its entirety.
What information does this image contain that is useful to you? The path, the river, the people in the distance, the dog, the season. Is the dog seeking your attention by waiting on you?
Now, what story does the image below tell?
Consider your first thoughts looking at this image. Is the dog angry, about to react, or playful, is the ground cold and wet?
The second story has dramatised the narrative by removing useful information that would have told the story in all its complexity. It automatically polarised understanding by simplification. The narrative is cut short and the story is left for the viewer to interpret.
Now imagine the text defining the already minimised story.
Dog stares before it runs away, or attacks.
Greying dog lost in the winter.
By doing so we have already disassociated the image from the reality.
Next time you see a close up in the news, ask yourself, what is the purpose of such trimming and what are you missing out in terms of information.
Photography is a gift of storytelling. Butchering details, however insignificant they may appear, is a political decision made by editorial professionals serving singular story telling.
You don’t have to consume what is given and to enrich your understanding ask the questions that can better inform you.
A shortlist of the people, experiences and lessons I’ve been grateful for in 2019.
Feeding Sami reindeer in the Arctic in February.
My pal in NYNY. Balsy girls rock. Sharing vegan ice cream at King’s Cross on my birthday. She’s so smart and I miss her but I know I’ll visit her soon. She’ll go far and I’m clapping her on all the way.
Knowing you can’t please everyone and sometimes people might get disappointed and that’s OK. They may force their opinion of your experiences with them on you, for their benefit. Like, are you being serious?
Letting people apologise, it makes them feel better and takes you out of that equation. 2019 was the year of apologies, four to be specific. Accept and move on.
Hiking partners in the Pacific North West; kindred spirits, great convos, quiet encouragement. A diverse yet unique bunch I am looking forward to rejoining soon.
Having the time to hang out occasionally in creative settings like Sit on This, below.
The incredible outpour of love from those close by towards someone overtaken by psychosis unable to distinguish between reality and fantasy anymore aka living in pseudo-delusions. Not different to a kid putting a costume on and running around the house believing they are superman. Initially, it’s sweet but in reality, it’s sad (quoted). Humanity matters, without interacting in a meaningful way with our peers, none of our emotional and physical evolution can happen.
Travelling on my own in the Pacific northwestern coast and hiking the Columbia River gorge.
Being challenged with the right questions. “Is it who you think they are, or who you want them to be”. Two people; O and R. Thank you.
My life as is: taking each day as beautiful as is by binning stale loaves of bread aka those who are trying to interrupt your good vibes forcibly by not taking ‘no’ as the answer, under the pretence of love. Block block block self-absorption. Lie if you have to. Manage it until it exhausts itself while making sure they stay out of your spiritual and physical space.
Early morning calls from my cousin, chatting over a coffee.
Choosing to be with people whose energies feel settled and comfortable to be around. For the comfort adopted families bring when you don’t have your own. Reciprocated by being respected and loved unconditionally. “We just want you to be happy”.
Strangers and friends I bump in the Greenwich tunnel regularly. We are made proximate, the natural smiles, the flirty exchanges, the unforced kindness/consideration, makes my world, every single time.
That one person this autumn. Acting on what I want instead of what others want from me. I owe you a lot for that time. 🧡
Cycling in crispy cold weather, breathing in, taking the colours and the views, listening to the sounds of the city, connecting and extending.
New pals, I made in uni. Study-related debates were top quality but staying on after and seeing life through each other’s lens is the worth for every penny invested. A bunch of smart, compassionate, honest as fuck sweethearts to challenge and make discussions interesting. Grateful you’re in the world and lucky that two have stayed near where I live too. So fucking fortunate!
Loving being back home from travelling, and an intense work-wise 18 months, in my gorgeous home. Falling in love with the city, its pubs and the golden people that make it, that I loved since my teens, and falling for it again every single morning I walk out the door.
The impeachment enquiry ringing Boom up History back into memory. Played on repeat. Impeachment won’t happen but the feelings of happiness making me dance around like a rapso carnival queen.
Sonia and the kids on Williams Street in Portland Oregon. US is segregated as fuck but these folks are not selling their 750K USD home to make gentrified Alberta any whiter. I stayed there because it felt home, like my Trini mother in law’s. We sat on the porch, talked, people watched the weird and wonderful, watched the kids play with the water hose. Love you girl.
Fortunate meeting S and his two sons London, SLC to LA only days ago this December. ☀️🌟☀️
Watching my pal P dance to Michael Jackson after a few pints in Canary Wharf. Magda and I bitting our tongue smiling. Chunky chips and a drive after. 💙
NHS staff in the Newham clinic. 4 hours later walking away filled with kindness and good news. #savethenhs #thankyounhs
Loving all the people you have crossed paths with, as they are, and letting them discover themselves unconditionally.
Packing my suitcase for the north, log fire, scotch, walks in the cold, good coffee and pud.
They’ll be completely lovely one day and the next you’ll be wondering what you’ve done to upset them.
Toxic people have a way of sending out the vibe that you owe them something. They also have a way of taking from you or doing something that hurts you, then maintaining they were doing it all for you.
They’ll twist the story, change the way it happened and retell it so convincingly that they’ll believe their own nonsense.
Enough will never be enough.
Short term ear noise for long term pleasures.
Please please please walk away and never look back. Whether that’s dumping them right before their birthday, not picking up their calls, leaving messages unread, or changing your flight destination to spend holidays away from them, and with normal people, you’ll feel much more better in the long run.