The following is a letter to me, from Roman Scott, detailing a period in his life when he moved from Sandy, Oregon, to Portland (as things transpired, he initially dwelled in an atmospheric apartment building, with shared bathrooms, in the Lair Hill district, instead of the "lofts near Union Station"). After about a year (also including a stint living in the attic of the Pythian Building) in Portland, he headed to New York City, where he spent the next 12 or so years; as artist, student, and teacher.
9.7.88, Sandy
J.,
Dreamt of an impossible large old factory building,
so huge it would dwarf the largest of the pyramids. Inside it was built an
entire old city, known for ages, with odd & forgotten streets build on many
levels.
My mom came into my room, & I realized with
horror that her face was that of an old Indian.
Lately I’ve been getting my airbrushes back in
working condition as I have an illustration job which requires the technique.
I’ve taken to a British canned airbrush propellant called friskair; the stuff
is 8.00 a bottle, but it lasts a good while, & is infinitely more enjoyable
than that damned compressor hammering away. It took two days to repair the more
expensive brush, the company of which, incidentally, has gone out of business,
taken over by a New Zealand firm. I bought it for $60; now it would cost $200.
Sent some Hollandse Zigarren to the Meck for his
birthday.
I am considering moving into one of those lofts
around Union Station; actually, they are not in Union Station, but on Everett
& 6th, closer in. & they will be quite fancy (Casablanca
fans, high ceiling, a living loft above, & a kitchen/bathroom space below.
Even with the subsidy I wonder whether I could afford it. Yet it would be in
the best location. I would call it “Gallery Roman” perhaps. I have till Nov. to
decide.
Today commenced “Sandy Mt. Days.” I am doubtful that
I have the strength to confront it again.
Instead I’ve been lounging around making cassette
tapes. Last night I finally made a recorder take two different inputs,
recording internally. This tape, the final product, I will call Het
Ij.
Recorded a good, though expurgated Burroughs reading
on Kaboo (KBOO).
The stamp & envelope of this letter are
compliments of Anne Hughes’ coffee room, which sent it to me so that I would
feel inclined to buy a spendy 10.00 ticket for one of their performances.
Yours,
St. Pangrass
A painting I completed of late; Episodes Before 82: Algernon Blackwood. (And July 27th marked the 11th year since I started this web log.)
