Jay Fox - THE WALLS

“No, he doesn't typically sign his work,” Sean begins, “But in many cases there's really no need for it.”

“How did this name come about?” I ask. “Did someone make it up?”

“No, he told it to me. I told you that I met him one time, right?”

“No. How the hell does something like that just slip your mind?”

“Well, it's not like it's that important. It was just one brief encounter.”

“This is the man to whom you owe your professional ca—”

“I know, but the interaction was quick, and, well, to be honest, I was quite drunk. I don't even mention it in my essays.”

“It was really that unimportant?”

“Look, if it were to happen now it would be, but back then I was barely even familiar with his work. Imagine meeting Lou Reed at the age of twelve. True, you may know some of his songs, but the conversation would be relatively superficial, wouldn't it?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well, as I was saying, I met him in ninety-eight. April eighteenth…I guess nineteenth, to be precise. I know what you're thinking: If it's so unimportant, why do I remember the day? There's a simple answer to that. It was my friend's birthday. You may know him: Derrick Errington.”

“Sorry, that name doesn't ring a bell.”

“You should check out his work. He's a fantastic photographer.” Caesura . “Well, we were in this bar that most people refer to as Ma' Kettle's — a real dive somewhere on Fourteenth Street. I don't think that's the real name of the place, but, as I said, that's the name it typically goes by. So we're in there for maybe two or three minutes before Bruno, the owner of the bar, comes out of the bathroom. He's clearly upset. He says that someone's just written something on the wall in there. Now, he isn't exactly outraged, or even all that upset, but Bruno has a bit of Fyodor Karamazov in him, and he decides to take the spotlight once he realizes he's attracted everyone's attention.

“Most lost interest after a few minutes, but there were these two men sitting next to me who continued to egg him on. Bruno accosted one of the men after some time, but it was only in jest. It was fairly obvious that the two knew each other rather well. They had similar accents.”

“What kind?”

“Brooklyn.”

“I see.”

“So this goes on for some time: Bruno rants and raves while the two continue in hysterics. Soon even Bruno's had enough, and he goes to the other side of the bar to help the bartender — an older woman, who, as I recall, was one of the bar's biggest, if not only, attractions. Intrigued, I turned to the two to ask how they knew Bruno, which got us to talking not only about Bruno, but about a miscellany of subjects — you know, a typical bar conversation.

“After a while, the more talkative one finally looks around, and very quietly tells me that he did it. I asked him what he meant. He furtively pointed to the bathroom, and, again quietly, told me that he did it. I didn't know how to respond. To be honest, I figured it was some puerile message — you know, typical bathroom vandalism. But I decided to check it out, just to assuage my curiosity. What I saw in there was far from typical; it was…well, brilliant. And I realized that I had seen it before, not the exact piece of course, but the same style, the same essential message. I came out as fast as I could, probably pissing myself a little on the way,” he says with a laugh, “and ran back to my seat. 'You did that?' I ask. 'Yeah,' he responds; 'What of it?' He seemed to think that I wanted to pick a fight with him. As you can probably imagine, he was taken a bit off guard when I told him that I loved his work.

“He thought I was being facetious initially; he was even reluctant to take credit…about the pieces in Bay Ridge I had seen, that is. It wasn't until I started mentioning specific bars and specific instillations that he admitted that he was indeed Coprolalia. It was the first time I had heard the name. As I'm sure you know, the only name that had ever been connected to the Bay Ridge Collection was Anonymous or The Bay Ridge Bathroom Artist or something of the like.”

“Did he give you a reason for the name?”

“He said that he created without thinking, as if it were a tic.”

“Really? Was it compulsive? Impulsive? Was he remorseful?”

“No, not at all,” Sean says as I hear his lighter snap. “He found it very amusing that people had made such a big deal out of what he did in Bay Ridge. He was far more appreciative of reactions like Bruno's.”

“What did he look like?”

“That's the thing,” Sean exhausts. “I don't really remember. The bar is kind of dark in the back, and I had been drinking for just about the entire duration of the night. As I said, it was a Derrick's birthday, and he really had almost a fetish for dive bars at the time. In fact, Ma' Kettle's ended up being our last stop. We weren't even going to go in, but we decided to eat there before going home.”

“You were going to eat at a place called Ma' Kettle's?”

“Actually, we were going to eat in the Kennedy Fried Chicken down the block, but it was packed. We had to take it to go. We just happened to stumble — literally stumble — upon the bar. We asked Bruno if we could bring in outside food. He was more than happy to accommodate, so we ended up eating our chicken over a pitcher of beer. My other friends left after that, but I stayed on for one more. Serendipitous, no?”

“Why?”

“What do you mean? If it weren’t for that decision to stay for another beer, I would have never met Coprolalia. I wouldn't have studied his work. My life would be completely different.”

“I see,” slowly. “Where was the bar?”

“I don't know if it's still there, but it was on Fourteenth between A and B.”

“That was kind of a rough neighborhood back then.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Do you think he's from the area?”

“Coprolalia? Well, he may have been living there, in Manhattan, at the time, but he is most certainly from Brooklyn. The accent was a dead give-away.”

“Do you remember anything else about him?”

“He's white; he has big ears; he's probably about my age, maybe a bit older.”

“How old would that be, then?”

“He's probably in his late-thirties now. He may even be forty.” He slurps what I assume to be coffee without repose. “What was funny, though, was how hard he laughed when I brought up the J.J. Bubbles piece — you remember, I showed it to you yesterday. He said it was one of his favorites. You remember that one, right? Pariah Blues— the one of the coffee table.”

“Of course,” I respond. “That was the first one you saw.”

“Well, I like to think of it as the first one I really noticed, but, yes, in a way you are correct. Long story short, it's one of the only two pieces I absolutely know to be authentic.”

“What's the other one?”

“How hungover are you?”

“I've seen better days,” I respond. “But, regardless, you said it was one of the two pieces….”

“Ma' Kettle's,” he responds slowly. “I think you may want to take it easy tonight, buddy. I know you're young and you think you can take on the world, but the last thing you want to do is get so drunk that you don't even remember your interview.”

I groan. “What do you think I should do, then?”

“Last night I had a few drinks with some former students of mine. Your situation came up, and they want to help you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean they want to join you on your little adventure. They want to meet Coprolalia, too. Do you have a pen? I'll give you Tomas' number.”

2.1

Tomas Bennington and James Aberdeen are not the most famous artists in New York. They are not not-famous, or even infamous; they are simply too young to have seriously established themselves. Tomas is a video artist, but he is probably best known for his critically acclaimed, Postlexical book, Letters in Tandem . James has also made something of a name for himself within the art community, as he is the founder (and so far only member) of the Potentialist Movement. His Purple Elephant Waltz #42 is currently on display at the Graham Gallery in Chelsea. He will soon be showing a small collection (beginning in August) at the Keens Center for the Arts, which is located in south Williamsburg.