Happy day after Thanksgiving. Fifteen years ago this week, great photography critic and disco aficionado Vince Aletti, took a chance on a dead-ender like me and hired me as the Senior Art Critic for the Village Voice. In the blink of an eye he my life. He saved me, really. I wasnt ready for the job. By a long shot. Id written monthly for the now-defunct ARTS Magazine (RIP Richard Martin). Howard Halle hired me as a weekly critic for Time Out New York (thank you for recommending me Anne Doren). I was still working as a chauffeur for a wealthy person. At the same time I taught at three schools. Once a week I flew from New York to Providence to teach two classes at RISD. Then, that evening Id fly from there to Chicago to teach there the next. Later that evening Id fly back home to teach at SVA or Columbia the next day. I was half-dead, writing and working as hard as I could - terrified Id have to go back to being a long distance truck driver. I was getting pneumonia and bronchitis three times a year. Yet I was still broke; going nowhere; my phone was turned off for non-payment that same year. Im not complaining; just saying what was going on. Then Vince called and asked if Id be interested in the job; Peter Schjeldahl was going to The New Yorker. (The previous Voice critics before him had been Gary Indiana and, um, Roberta Smith). My first reaction - and Robertas was - Absolutely no way! I was nowhere near the writer of those three. I didnt consider myself a writer at all; I barely do now. I call myself a folk-critic. Roberta and I talked and talked and both of us just kept coming to the conclusion that this was outta my league. I didnt even own or know how to use a computer; didnt know how to type; I wrote in long-hand on yellow legal pads, then typed out the texts one-finger (like now) and walk it over to wherever I was writing for. Two days after Vince called I had to go to lecture in Milan and Berlin. While there I walked around and around. I finally realized that I had to say Yes. And try it. That Id always wonder what-might-have-been, otherwise. The day I figured that out I called Roberta from Berlin. Before I said anything, she said the same thing. I took the job. I havent been unhappy since - even though Im in a perpetual state of total-writing-terror at ALL times. All times. No exception. Im also always aware of how lucky I am. It changed my life. Since 1998 I havent met people for lunch more than a dozen times. I havent gone to that many more sit-down dinners. I stopped going to artists studios, altogether (except when teaching). Happily, Roberta lives the same way I do. Try imagining two artists living together, both having solo shows at the exact same time, almost every week of the year. That gives you an idea of why we live without skin. As Al Davis, late owner of the LA Raiders said of his life, Its tunnel vision, a tunnel life ... Im not really part of society. Amen. Thank you Vince Aletti. (My first Village Voice column: bit.ly/rhFc9m)
Posted on: Fri, 29 Nov 2013 14:55:23 +0000
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