For the last two weeks I've been working at a high-level metal shop in Greenpoint with a friend from the East Village. Tim has been kind enough to employ me, even though I'm a threat to life and limb in a heavy machinery environment. Today was the final stage of my stint at Studio 40, which brings to life bronze, steel, copper, and iron designs for top-end consumers.
I know my place in the feeding chain and at this morning's coffee klatch Tim was speaking about how the East Village was wild back in his youth.
"One time we strung a wire across the street so this Australian performance artist could fly naked through the air suspended by meat hooks into his flesh."
The trio of Mexican metalworkers shook their heads and Oskar said, "Gringos locos."
"Yeah, completely crazy, but Stelarc is a Professor at an English University."
"I sort of remember that." I wasn't there, because I was living in Paris at the time.
"Here." Tim tapped at his computer keyboard. A photo of East 11th Street between B and C materialized on the screen. "He's completely naked and see that's me in the window of the building guiding him across the street. It was strange, but the junkies scoring from Adios didn't even blink an eye."
"Adios was a bad motherfucker." He ran the Brown Door shooting gallery on 11th Street. No one ever fucked with him. I walked on the opposite side of the street to avoid any contact with him.
"There were a lot of bad motherfuckers back then." Tim looked at me. He knew of my many street fights and smiled with a long memory of gone days and nights. "But you were never 'bad'."
"No, I never was." I nodded in deference. It was payday and like I said before I knew my place.
To see Stel Arc's new work, please go to the following URL
Now he is still a bad motherfucker.
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