A reversal of fortunes
Kate,
Well,
it’s more or less official now. Your
baby brother is now living as a first-class starving Artiste.
I’ve been settled in for three days & have already turned my room
into a studio – I was fortunate enough to get south-facing windows &
therefore great sunlight most of the day – & I’m hard at work on the
cover of the new Alan Gemini book. (It’s
called Elagabalus, & it’s set in the Roman Empire, & no, I
don’t think you’d like it much.)
Not
sure what I did to deserve all this – doing artwork for these big-time famous
writers like Alan (not being precious, he really wants to be called that) &
Zacharias Cleve. Even more
fortunate to be working with guys like that who have a say in the art that’s
used for their books – you have no idea how rare that is.
Got to admit that I take some satisfaction in this, given how you always
used to make fun of me for drawing monsters when we were kids.
See? Maybe there’s a
future in it after all. There
better be – I’m not going back to the file-clerk stuff.
I don’t care what kind of doors it might open for me.
I’m happier now than I can recall being in a very long time.
I’m more convinced than ever now that the beard was a
good decision. It just felt right,
you know? Like all of a sudden it
was unnatural scraping it all off every morning. Maybe you’ll feel different
about it next time you see me & it’s all come in.
As
you might have seen in my return address, I’m living in this place called
Ashley House – it’s this big old boarding-house right near the college at
the edge of town. (You were right,
by the way – I didn’t find “Tower College of Art” in any of the
registries I looked in, either. I
get the impression it’s a pretty private school, for whatever that’s worth. Who knows.) Anyway,
it’s everything you might expect out of the kind of place it is, huge &
ancient & a little spooky. Full of all these offbeat characters.
The landlord lives on the ground floor – he’s this big, red-haired
bear of a guy named Tom Rowan who spends a lot of time sitting around in big
chairs with a book & a pipe. Makes me think of Walt Whitman as a retired
rugby player. Seems like a good sort of guy to rent from, kind of like an old
hippie professor that’s settled down, & I hear he’s got a brewery down
in the basement, which sure puts him on the Good List as far as I’m concerned.
The
boarder down the hall from me – I’m on the second floor – is Jack, who
looks a little like a reggae version of a railway hobo; he seems to be made
entirely out of dreadlocks & layers of patched clothes. I have no idea what he does other than come & go at all
kinds of bizarre hours & smoke clove cigarettes.
Real nice guy, though. Really
helped me get settled here & get to know the house a little, & he says
he’ll show me around town if I want. Good
to have an ally. Also got to meet
his friend (or maybe girlfriend, I don’t know) Jenny, who seems alright, if a
little aloof & weird. Bit of a
quiet nerdy type, not that that’s bad.
Haven’t
really met anyone else yet – seems like mostly students at the college –
except for the girl who lives upstairs from me, Lola, with whom I had a brief
conversation in the kitchen on my second morning. She’s also a student & plays the guitar.
(I hear her from time to time. She’s
pretty good.) I liked her, even
though she seems a little . . . I guess melancholy’s the word.
Pale, wears black all the time. You
know.
Otherwise
things are good all around so far. I
get a lot of work done, even more than I thought I could – it’s like
something about being here is allowing all this to come out of me in a rush.
It’s a good place to be, & if I’m ever stuck I can go down to the
library (oh yeah, there’s one in the house – they call it the “Yellow
Chamber,” & I understand it sometimes even loans out to the big Library on
campus) & find some strange old book or just a little quiet.
Very different pace from my life previously.
Anyway,
that’s all I have to tell so far. Not
sure when I’ll be coming to visit, as I’ll have to see how the funds are as
things progress. Probably I’ll be
down around the winter holidays, if not before.
I confess I miss you, & Baltimore.
Not enough to change my mind, though.
I’m
sorry if this development in my life isn’t exactly what you would’ve wanted
for me. I know you’re interested
in my happiness. Believe me,
that’s what I’m interested in too. You’ll
just have to trust me that my version of success isn’t going to be the same as
yours. If you could do your best to
be just slightly happy for me, it would mean the world. For what it’s worth, I do hope all the best for you in your
own work, too.
Write
back. More later.
love,
Ian