Rock WILK

Day 8- The irony of art sometimes. Finding where to put a story, and how that can be sobering.

Imagine creating a story about death, basically. About cold blooded, hateful, straight up ‘due to prejudice’ murder. Supremacist extermination. Something like the Holocaust, for example. But imagine you are in the New York metropolitan area, and you need to find a location to shoot a film about your story. Or a TV series, something like that. Where would you go? How would you do that? What represents that kind of feeling around this area? The subway? No. A neighborhood like the Upper West Side? Harlem? Woodside, Queens? Prospect Park in Brooklyn? Staten Island? Probably none of those neighborhoods would be an appropriate backdrop to telling such a chilling story, but then again, when you really think about it, where did this story happen? Where does any story happen? The earth is beautiful. All of it. Even the dangerous parts. Even the parts where bad things happen. Look at what’s happening at Mt Everest right now. People are dying trying to climb it, but why are they climbing it? Because it is fucking beautiful and grand in what it makes you feel, especially when you are there, physically, right with it. Think about a tornado. A hurricane. A Tsunami. If you see them in photos, they are majestic. Grandiose. Kinda gorgeous. Right? Yeah, they are. Especially when documented by a great photographer, or videographer, a true cinematographer, or, actually, anyone with that gift of a great eye.

Sometimes things that are dangerous, or horrific can be beautiful. I was fortunate enough to be a part of a Television series about the Holocaust. Well, it’s kinda about that, but if you know anything about the Holocaust, you know what this show is about. Or at least what to expect, in many ways, when you finally get to see it. And you will. It’s called The Hunt, and it’s starring Al Pacino, and so, anyway, I was out there in the sun yesterday, with some horrific things being shot, or “brought to life” (that’s kind of an ironic way to say that, too, right?), and it was crazy hot out there, the hours were really long and grueling, especially for a few actors who had to bring some amazing amounts of emotion to what they were being asked to do yesterday, and here we were, in a country club in Westchester County, close to the Hudson River, in the most beautiful park you could possibly imagine, with these amazing trees all around us, nature sprawling like a Picasso, colors like Gauguin, birds singing, bees buzzing, butterflies, and yet we were surrounded by blood, and death, and horror.

As the day progressed, and I was getting tired, I thought to myself, “just think about when this story actually happened, and the people it was happening to”, and I didn’t feel tired anymore. Instead, I was able to appreciate, first of all, the incredibly high level of art that was happening in front of me, that I was actually getting to be a part of, in a small way, and then I just allowed myself to feel the breeze off of the Hudson River. The music of the blue jay that I saw next to me, just sitting there, and how beautiful that sound was, along with the trees. Those magnificent Japanese maples and the oak trees, these old trees, filled with all of the history of what had come and gone through this park for hundreds of years. The sun rising as I arrived to this place, and then setting by the end of the day, it was just awesome.

I kept looking down at this number on my forearm, and I was never able to forget about how ironic all of this was, and how all of life can be really ironic, and that notion gave me all kinds of gratitude, and I thought to myself, “damn, this day has been a real pain in the ass in a lot of ways, but this is a life well lived, and I am one lucky mothafucker for the choices that I have made, that have landed me in this place, right here, in this particular moment”, and I took plenty of deep breaths, and tried to stay as hydrated as I could throughout the day, and that was my day. And night.

And you know what’s even more amazing? When I got back home to the Bronx, which was at about 11pm, because it was a nightmare getting back to my car once we wrapped, and I had changed and was ready to go home. I had to park my car pretty far away from where we were working, and so, it took about an hour and a half for me to find someone to bring me to my car, but I got there, safely got home to my neighborhood, and that is the good news, along with the bad news, generally, where I live, because this is the hardest neighborhood to find a parking space in, that I have ever lived in, in NYC, but as luck would have it, I pulled up a block away from my apartment, and a woman was pulling out of a parking space, and I just parallel parked my way in, perfectly, in three moves (New Yorkers know), and so yeah, this was pretty much a perfect day. Filled with the beautiful and difficult ironies that life will continue to bring us, every day that we exist, and how I will never take any of that for granted, as long as I get to participate, which will hopefully be for a very long time to come.

...and thanks for reading all of this, I hope this finds you well, happy and healthy and all good things like that, and have a beautiful Saturday, wherever you are, and here’s to a better world, for all of us.

To be continued...

 

 

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