INTRO
camile roldan soto
AKA MATOJO
feeble mind interviewer
ANTIGONUM CAJAN
THE ELDER
The times are wonderful for this wild at heart mock interview. Any time is adequate.. The interviewer mock target is one newspaper employee with the figure of an electrician tool: pliers. She works for Le Novel Jour, a local shopper.
CRS: Well what is the story?
AC: I decided to put things in perspective, even if they are fine the way they are.
CRS: What kind of things?
AC: Anything that comes to mind. For example, lets take that negro painter from Gurabo City, Pablo Marcano. Or some obscure, I mean really obscure artist Wilfredo Chiesa.
cmr: What is the big deal?
AC: The first was me classmate in Gautier Benitez High four decades ago.
In those days he was a track and field
athlete. We went to the UPR
Segunda Unidad in Cayey City, graduating after the strike, 1974. He went to Mexico to study, later to Ottisville, New York, a federal prison.
crs: Are you climbing on their back to have a place in history?
AC: I see you remain a dummy after visiting me garden. I will let this one slide. I belong to history, at least the horticultural one, already. No one has kept a blog, a chronicle or a garden for five years as I have. Go to hell you feminist ugly witch.
crs: Thanks, you humble one. I see that you will never forget me using matojos instead of malas hierbas.
AC: You are damn right, beach! At any rate, having that cleared.
I was residing in Northampton *, MA when I learned that me classmate from Gurabo City was incarcerated after taking hostage the consul from Chile.
crs: Would this information affect your
anonymous status in the web?
AC: Jaha. Bilingual laugh. There is no collective memory in Puercorico. Do not distract me please. Back to the story. Since I had some bad, really bad black and white photos taken during a Field Day, of Mr. Marcano and Luis Aguilu (RIP). I took time and effort to write him a letter with the above mentioned pictures. I thought that being in prison is not such a nice trip, and that he would appreciate to have communication with anyjuan, considering we have known each other
in high school and college. Being alone, solitude and all the bullshit associated with being in jail.
crs: Knowing you, the way you handle your relation with the populace in general and your language usage, this is not going to have a happy ending. Do you realize the only thing you seem to be good at is provoking, with that 'anger of a saint'?
AC: A good for nothing newspaper employee may reach that conclusion, however, no one in the house has seen moi with the bongos, a pool cue, at table tennis, cooking or drinking straight with no chaser a la Thelonious Monk, that is besides me garden and literary post career. To continue with the story.
I was totally mistaken in both accounts.
Pablo Marcano did not appreciate my letters, nor made any effort to cultivate the communication. It seems a cultural tendency of native islanders. On the second, he was very fortunate to share his time in jail, with one of our GREAT ones, Carlos Irizarry. A painter with the skills of a master with a tendency toward faces, portraits of personalities that he found important, attractive or whatever.
My affection for the ungrateful one made me go watch his first exposition (really bad) while he was still in prison, in Gurabo City Fiestas Patronales late 70's or early 80's. Go and do your own research about dates.
To finish Pablo's story, let the record show that he has SIGNATURE. He was able to find that way of saying/portraying/painting that makes him unique and impossible to confuse.
I hate any of his paintings with figures, the most despicable is one cliched mother holding a baby, but anything with urban, seashores, landscapes, fishermen, houses are amazing thanks to his use of LIGHT. They look as if a real light bulb or whatever source is really illuminating the scene.
Certainly, making his paintings look like stained glass and skillful use of illumination is what sets him apart from the herd, even if ungrateful.
crs: Will you forgive him?
AC: Going back to our story...Wilfredo Chiesa, was a character I met while teaching in Northampton. He was, do not ask me how, an ARTIST IN RESIDENCE! Straight from Puerto Rico. During the winter, he had a black cloak and was fond of girls of the Hebrew persuasion, if I remember correctly. His work was of the abstract, very hard to define or like, of the graphic kind? I do not know, four decades later what to think, or if he is alive or dead. But his works then seemed cool. Did he pass the test of time? Maybe, Pablo will/has.
crs: I have to go do silly interviews for the newspaper (Ferre-Rangel) I work for, anything else?
AC: You damned fool, we have not covered the butt issue, don't you take notes? You took notes for ninety minutes in that interview and still screwed it up with matojos and variedades instead of species and weeds.
The five hundred bucks red car and the white station wagon on the sidewalk belong to invaders of the Caribbean kind. The owner of the red has a flat butt and her daughter, a JLo tumor like one. The red car lasted for two weeks.
The flat butt invader has no money for repairs. Thus the street is becoming a junk yard with four cars parked permanently in the street.
Time to go..Apagad e idnos...
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