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Howdy, This is deeply personal, something that just came to the forefront of my personal issues (along with my other personal issues at the forefront and those patiently waiting in line). This morning I remembered Earth Shoes, and how I actually wore them. A bright green corduroy blazer that I got from the Divine Closet at the Kittredge Building, and how I actually wore it (with a black shirt, no less). How I envied Rawat's shiny Italian suits
and thought gold-plated toilets bowls were cool. How I stopped creating art for years, and missed most of the 70's music. The tragedy of my artistic regression while under the sway. Pina Bausch was creating masterpieces, and I was wearing fucking earth shoes. Wow, it's hard to laugh about this, even now. Thank God for my wife, who got me to stop wearing shirts with chili pepper button holes, change my bouffant hairdo and generally realize the error of my ways. (of course I would trade the bouffant for my current hair circumstances (or lack thereof)). I grew up under a fashion eight-ball anyway, having no money, living on a farm. And so wearing bad fashion did not seem out of place for me. Philosophically, paying much attention to what I wore just seemed a materialistic urge to be quelled. And it wasn't until I started to realize fashion as 'wearable art / architecture' that my paradigm shifted on this, and I started to relax with the idea of good fashion. But I am pretty pissed that I ever looked at Rawat and those around him as poster-children for anything fashionable or artistic. And that I let the surrounding premie culture leech into so many areas of my life (totally my bad). I remember the matching Hawaiian shirts that Marilynn very kindly gave my son and I (white shirts with palm trees, re-gifted, intended for GMJ and Hans), and how we actually wore them around together, and how proud I was of those tight-fitting holy icons, and how there exist to this day photos of him and me in them! An undeniable, ugly truth as a part of the undeniable ugly fashion I endured as a premie (and another reason my son can remember how my core parenting skill had to do with teaching him how not to be). On the other hand, it was the seventies and maybe I am being a little harsh here when it comes to fashion sense. My feeling about fashion retardation also extends to the other forms of artistic challenges whilst in the cult. Just look at the horror of his poetry and music now, the logical end of (gold) toilet-bowl-level art. Something to recognize fully, no? Now, I'll admit Rawat's costumes were different, much more interesting. And I wish I could get my hands on one of those Krishna crowns for Halloween. I really preferred his look dressed in Indian garb, I'll admit, much cooler and fitting with the super-hero status I had adorned him with. Reminds me of one of my Halloween costume a few years back: dhoti and kurta, sandalwood beads, bare feet, with a basketball that I had cut the end out of to form an enormous bulbous dome head extension, me painted white except for my brilliant yellow & red tilak and pink highlights around my eyes, riding a 4' skateboard with a Krisha photo alter with incense burners and lit incense mounted on the front. Very impressive, putting me at about 7'6" all in, gliding effortlessly, avatar-like above the crowd. We attended an amazing David Byrne concert that night, with him in various costumes (including his illustrated man bodysuit to perform Psycho Killer, wow!). While I was taking a leak between sets, the guy at the urinal next to me looked very nervous, and said very seriously "You know, I go to the Krishna temple sometimes", trying to bridge the gap. I said, "Dude, it's Halloween..." The reality that costumes lend can be very convincing I guess. We saw an exquisite modern dance company from Cuba perform last night, so intelligent, such beautiful physicality, so evocative (art church!). So much great art, so much less time that I might have had to appreciate it. Oh well. (Ladies especially) let's get it out there. Exorcise your premie fashion and artistic choice demons in this thread, now is your chance to do this publicly!! Confess your fashion sins. Realize and weep and forgive and heal. It not your fault!!! M (PS, forgive me if this is a (painful) rehash of previous threads, and tanks for allowing me to vent)
Modified by Roark at Sun, Aug 21, 2016, 14:08:42 |
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