GOOD TIMES

In the old days, we had are shows in roach-infested, storefront, art galleries. None of us painted very well, but we pooled our money together and bought beer, whiskey, and wine...put out a spread of good food, smoked dope in back alleys and generally had a helluva time. Yes, these were my halcyon days.

Everybody knew everyone else, and once in a while we sold our paintings off dirty walls. The yuppie throng invaded our rat holes, and we instantly became "hip". The time period this all happened was the "booming 80's", and money was being made. Art sales were picking up astronomically. We sat in nice bars now, blowing all our cash on martinis, instead of muscatel. We bought each other drinks, and wore nice clothes. It was a glorious time!

Our parties never ended 'til four-or-five a.m., and sometimes we were too tired to drive home, so we crashed at a fellow artists' apartment of loft near the gallery. In the morning, we'd wake up and start partying again. We played old records, bongo drums, harmonicas, electric guitars or would act out charades, or various theatrical dramas. These made-up, spontaneous activities titilated us beyond belief!...Maybe because most of us were thoroughly Psychedelicized!

Now, 20 or 30 years later, the old crew has more of less disbanded. Some of us got straight jobs, went crazy, or on to rehabilitation clinics. Most of us are now probably too busy taking care of elderly parents while at the same time, trying to put petulant kids through college. Today money is tight, and people are buying their art from Walmart or Poster Shops. It's sad, man!

Many of us are seeing doctors for legal drugs, instead of magical ones. I don't paint anymore because I don't have the room to store any more canvases. It's a damn shame, isn't it? I suppose I'll leave my work to my daughter. Maybe she can make some money from it. I envision one of these ritzy post-mortem shows, at a fancy gallery on Superior Street. I dream about my kid making all the big bucks I "should" have made. From the "beyond", I'll say to her: "It's alright honey, I've had my 15-minutes of fame!" "Enjoy the dough." Yeah sure! In reality, I see her stacking the stuff on the front porch for the American Veterans truck, or taking a "duece" or "fiver" for them at a garage sale...just to get them out of her hair! Hee! I don't blame her. I'd probably do the same thing! I loved painting them. I still like looking at my art. That's what counts. All my work, came from my heart. The parties, the people, the joys shared between me and my comrades...All of it was most certainly an incredible journey. It was a Golden time in my life.