I’m so happy to share my dear friend Elam’s words and images. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.
Once upon a time there was a boy. His name was Elam. One of his first artistic act was melting crayons on the heating vents. He was a Waldorf child. At Waldorf school imagination was the sun. He orbited best he could. Elam believed all his childhood he would be an artist. That may be the one thing he regrets in his life now. Not going to art school and melting more crayons.
In college he almost completed a minor in Art but wasn’t interested in taking art history. Way to stick it to the man! Elam didn’t major in art. Elam’s major was writing long sorrowful poems about people who hurt his feelings. Then his friend John taught him an E chord on the guitar. Elam wrote an embarrassing song that night. He hasn’t stopped writing songs since then. They’re less embarrassing now.
One summer’s end Elam lived in NYC. In his grandmother’s brownstone in the Bronx. It was New York’s centennial. They were celebrating with free concerts everywhere. Elam saw many at the world trade center.
Whistle guy (sketch) was guarding a fountain. In the center was a sculpture Elam admired frequently. It survives today.
Occasionally Elam ventured out. He read more than at any other time in his life. He wrote many songs. It would be the last time he’d see his grandmother and call New York his ancestral place in this world. Those hot nights taught him to sleep naked. The unfurnished apartment taught him to take big steps and stare out windows. It was the last time he lived with his big sister who was upstairs in her apartment.
Elam loved to walk down to the dank basement where a turned over bucket served as a chair. He’d watch the world cup on the antique television. Amongst grandma’s art books and boxes.
Elam listened to many of his grandmother’s albums and went to visit her about once a week at the convalescent home. Where they’d play scrabble. Where they discovered their like for each other. Elam mostly sketches in the margins of things these days if he sketches at all. Mostly faces. Elam misses New York names like Van Cortland Park, Mosholu Parkway, Saxon Avenue and Grandma Jill.
Don’t forget to check out the ever-growing journal gallery.
