9709. RUDIMENTS, pt. 5

RUDIMENTS, pt. 5
Making Cars

You take a phrase like 'in the slowness

of time,' and what does it mean? In

speaking of the trajectory, say, of

someone's career or talent, it would

be used to mean how that 'talent'

developed over the course of years,

whether those were years of

performance or application and

effort. More than likely too, as one

looks back, it appears more as the

swiftness of time than it does any

slowness. Let me tell you a story :

the town I was living in, just before

I took off for New York was 'Avenel'

NJ. 'A venal place,' as I used to put it.

In my little-knowing way, how right I

was. I never really know until years later.

'Venal' is quite a word. But, wait, let

me digress. In religion there's also a

word, 'venial'  - and this is where it

got really confusing  -  having nothing

to do with 'venal', which refers to graft

and bribery.  Biblical, Protestant, Catholic,

all these church people, incredibly, from

very early on, the very formative years

of Christianity, in fact, and then still a big

bone of contention in the 1530's with

Martin Luther and all that. You've hard

of the crazy church people who used to

argue the stupidest of things  - like 'how

many angels could dance on the head of

a pin.' Yeah, go on, really. Well, those

same 'Church fathers' and saints too,

they'd endlessly 'prioritize the pulpit,'

(using a self-made phrase), in deciding

the differences between what were called

mortal; sins (murder, death, unbridgeable

violence), sins of which you pretty much

had no way out from, you were doomed.

However, they came up with a 'lesser' level

of sinning, calling it 'venial'.Which could

be salvaged and from which you had

chances of being whole again  -  theft,

road-rage' ( of that day), corruption,

adultery, etc. Which is where those

'indulgences' came in that so incensed

Luther and became formative parts of

the Protestant movement. When Rome

ran the show, it was possible to bribe or

give money towards Rome, to the Papacy

via the local churches and monasteries

everywhere. It was all as corrupt as brown

toilet rags, but everyone went along.

-

So, anyway, venal was Avenel. Venial

was just a dumb digression on my part.

Now, where the heck was I? Oh, yeah.

In Avenel, that last Spring I was there,

I spent a lot of time just walking around,

hanging around too. There was a really

grubby train station (still is) which at

this time, oh 1966 I guess, was but a

platform, one for each side, with a small

wooden shed on each, for seating a for

protection. They're all gone now and all

they have are these bus-station type

glassed-in booth where a few people can

sit to wait, out of the bad weather and the

elements. The old station sheds I'm referring

to were in disrepair but still used. In the

1940's I'd bet they were in nice shape,

almost like a real sheltered waiting room,

on the NY bound side anyway. So, as

they say, and as I mentioned in the

opening here, in the slowness of time

a situation developed. I began meeting

my girlfriend up there, clandestine

meetings, because her parents really

disliked me, at first, being around. She

sneak out, claim to be going to the library,

whatever. I'd sit up there, always with some

paper, sketchbook stuff, and just hang

around, maybe reading something or

drawing a train or people, etc. She'd

show up, we'd sit for 20 minutes or

so, and be done. (Both of us lived

quite near to this station, from opposite

side of the tracks, each). I don't remember

how it happened, but the same guy started

seeing me daily or nearly daily, during the

work week. I didn't know what 'gay' was

back then, but I realize now he most

probably was  -  all the attributes of that,

I see now. Natty dresser, white chinos,

loafers or nice leather shoes, an all that

insouciance and brevity with emotion

that some fellows sometimes wield. (By

the way, yes, this does have to do with

the 'slowness ' of time, which I'll sum

up at the close). He came over asked to

see my drawing, and started explaining that

he was a 'professional' advertising artist, in

some ad agency, for magazines and fashion

audiences. And then he began, each time, 

recurring often enough, to tell me about 

'fashion sketching' for ads and style 

magazines, how it was a nice career 

option, and something I maybe should

think about, etc. - last thing on my list 

but I didn't tell him. (He was, perhaps 

28, I'd figure. Old enough, I guess, then,

to make me figure he was a real 'art-pro.'

-

Along the way, he showed me the stipulations

for fashion figure drawing, for use in graphic

advertising and newspaper ads. How it was

important for the big companies, Lord & Taylor

and all that. How the 'proportions' of the models

being portrayed had to be done to certain ad

standards. I forget exactly now, but the distance

between the eyes had to correspond to 1/3 of the

length of the face, the distance from neck to

forehead had to match ear-line to ear-line. It was

all things like that  -  measurements, proportion,

balance and poise, depicted in sketch lines

to show off dresses or handbags or coats.

Not to overpower or take precedence, but as

a background noise for the fashion or garment

being portrayed. I'd listen, nod, say OK, all that

stuff. Passing time, wondering about him. He

had a nodding acquaintance with my girlfriend,

from seeing her comings and goings.

All was good.

-

Practicing my craft, as it were, for the slow passage

of time to make it, and me, better, that slowness

of time soon enough brought me to a serious

and problematic impasse with this fellow. (Who

one day just stopped coming around. I never

saw him again). It was probably good, because

I would have had to pop him one. My girlfriend

and I were finding 'romantic' getaways in the

nearby two or three empty boxcars which were

always present at the rail siding by the lumber yard

and cabinet company. They were hidden from the

road (Inman Ave.), and concealed too from the train

station  -  and they were always empty and always

open. (Like my mind? I heard you). So anyway,

this creep one day starts asking me if I'd had 

any 'sexual' progress yet, as he put it, with this 

girlfriend. I said no (none of his business anyway) 

 -  and he then proceeded, blow by blow (ahem) 

to tell me the progress that would be ensuing. What

she'd 'want,' how it would start, what to do, how to

go about it, and the rest. While he didn't, certainly,

'rion the plot' for me, no  -  he was still being a

quite creepy guy. I thought. Fullness of time,

be damned.