artist emerging

I'm not going back to the gay men's chorus. It's not for me. I was doing the math -- amused that I even had to be doing math for such a thing -- and the numbers just don't make any sense. First, dues are $120 a year. I've been told that this money goes to pay the two co-directors' and the piano player's salaries and rental of the rehearsal space.

The first concert opportunity coming up is in the middle of the day, so I would miss a minimum of two hours of work(...$170); plus I would have to buy an outfit for the concert (casual dress attire, long sleeve shirt, slacks, tie; another $20 at best). (...$190) I don't have any of those items in my wardrobe and I don't really want any of items in my wardrobe. And on top of that, there's only one more rehearsal before that concert, and I don't feel confident with any of the songs (one of which I haven't even received the sheet music for, even though I paid my $10 music fee). (...$200)

The next concert opportunity is something I likely won't be chosen for, and I'm not sure I want to be anyway. It's the "Midnight Cabaret," an event for which the audition is this coming Thursday evening, and the director gets final say over the pieces, whether they're too risky or not bawdy enough. Those who don't perform in the cabaret are encouraged to volunteer but must be in full costume regardless of the position you volunteer for. I don't think I would get selected because I've seen a song or two that some of the men intend to audition with, and they seem boring to me, classic piano bar songs. Oy!

And then there's the Christmas concert. I'm somewhat opposed to singing songs about the Christchild any ol' way, but the costume for this concert is a tuxedo! Someone said you can get one at JC Penney's for around $100... ($300)

And I really have no interesting in inviting friends to come see the concerts (tickets for which I hear cost $140!) But mostly it's about the fact that I'm an Artist.

S and I went to see the Patti Smith documentary last night (Patti Smith: Dream of Life), an excellent, inspiring film. I had been thinking about quitting the chorus before we saw it, but was completely sold on the fact that I need to quit afterward because the movie is all about being an artist, being true to the artist that you are. I wasn't a big fan of Patti's back in the day because I really wasn't exposed to her. I don't know if I would have been transformed had I experienced her in the 80s when I was confused and stupid and living in Houston, but I was certainly transformed last night.

Although I am often lonely, I realized I don't need to search for community to fulfill me -- because I haven't found a community yet that fills that need. What I need to do is create art; I need to be proud of what I am creating. My art might bring me closer to a community of like-minded people; or maybe that won't happen until sometime in the distant future. Patti read a Walt Whitman poem in which he imagines all the poets to come after him; he was describing what he saw in the trees and the water and nature for the poets to come after him. She said it has always been important for her to do that. I like the way that sounded.

I keep making excuses not to write, not to get in there and cover my hands with papercuts in order to organize and work on this fucking big-ass novel. But last night, glowing from having just seen the Patti Smith movie, burning from the excitement that is New York City as I haven't since I left there ten years ago, I decided that I just gotta do it. So, I made a promise to myself. At the very least, I will spend the two hours of rehearsal time expected of the men in the chorus working on my novel. Every Monday evening, 7-9. There may be other hours as well, after I get into the groove of it and things start flowing, but right now I'm promising myself that much. Even if I just sit with the manuscript on my lap smoking cigarettes and staring at the space in front of me, I will be totally involved with my novel for two hours every week night. No special outfit required.

I was so charged when I went to bed last night that I had a full night of dreams, most of which I can't remember, except for one: A crowd of tall people talking at a party separates and a boy with breathtaking light blue eyes, pushes through, points at me and smiles, saying, "You! You!"