Solace: hello folks, Andy and I are back for the latter half of the interview. Andy how’s Teller?
Andy: fine, why?
S: well you said something about pounding metal in the last interview.
A: and there it is. I knew you were going to ask me something along those lines. You know it says a lot about our society when a man and a woman cannot be friendly without everyone assuming they are having sex. I mean she is a lovely girl and I am lucky to be her friend. Yes she has a gorgeous body and a brilliant mind. But that doesn’t mean we do it. We can sit in the same room for hours with no one else around and I can totally keep my mind off of her supple skin and the way it twitches ever so slightly at the lightest touch. I have never woken up and found her exercising in the nude. J.F.K. was friends with Marilyn Monroe and no one batted an eye.
S: calm down Chief, I was just being nice… in the nude, really?
A: goddamn it solace, yes she and I have danced the horizontal Mambo, eaten of the forbidden fruit, bumped uglies, played hide the hog. We have transcended the very boundary that is the human body and connected on a plane of existence not known, we have melded the barbaric with the divine and drank deeply from the cup of desire. We fuuuuuuucked!
A: (breathing heavily) next question.
S: after Germany where did you go?
A: I headed to a quaint little place in England called, Hatherbee Inn. It was and still is a hotspot for the artistic condition. That’s actually the place where I started leaving my single tile murals. I think you remember those.
S: I do, but please elaborate.
A: I guess you could call it a form of street art. If I ever came across a building that had two inch tile in it I would choose the best one and draw something on it. In the beginning it was all ocean themed, I think because I was homesick. Before I knew it I was a web sensation, everyone wanted to know the identity of the pub tagger. Until now, you were the only one who knew it was me.
S: did you ever leave clues on purpose?
A: no, but I knew my folks would pick up on it. While they were still alive I would get letters from them scolding me for doing naughty things with other people’s property, but along with the letter there would always be an oil pencil or a marker… so they approved. In their last letter they sent me some sand from the colony to incorporate into one of the paintings. If anyone wants to see it, it’s in a pub south of parliament square.
S: how did they go?
A: they were victims of the Switch Blade Mutilator. He was up and down the California coast for a couple of months before he had a heart attack during an altercation with a teen.
S: fuck man, I don’t even know what to say.
A: I didn’t either. I went to his funeral thinking it would make me feel better watching him being buried, but with his wife and kids there crying, I couldn’t feel angry. They thought I might have been one of his drinking buddies so they asked if I would like to pray with them. This guy never missed a day of work, church or a bill. He was coaching his daughter’s softball team. His son told me they were supposed to go on a month long fishing trip with seven other father son teams. They were sixteen and twenty respectively. His wife cried the whole time.
After that I couldn’t leave any more. I stayed in California making a name for myself with the artist folks, opened a few galleries for myself and sponsored a few for my friends. I was still leaving my pub art all over the place, and that’s how you and I met.
S: I remember following your clues all the way to… what was the name of that loft bar?
A: the Highball High-rise, filled with a bunch of drifters grifters and hipsters if you ask me. The drinks were good though, Ronnie the Barman shook up something nice for me every time I came in. I mean you have to trust a man with a mustache like his, could have given Roosevelt a run for his money. I remember you walking in with your adventures coat all dusty with experience, boots making a clatter, and your beard… I think it was shorter. You sat down in front of me and asked if they made soup there.
S: they did.
A: they brought it to you in a can, the lid wasn’t all the way off and you looked like a hobo.
S: it’s not like you dressed the part.
A: baby I looked good, with my cargo shorts and paint splattered shirt.
S: yeah but they thought you were being ironic, not a lazy fuck just come out of work.
A: (laughing) sticks and stones asshole, I still didn’t get the looks you got. The waitress didn’t want to get near you.
S: I had just done a sixteen hour flight…
A: I remember that, I didn’t believe you when you told me you were just in Indonesia. But after a few drinks I took a shine to you. It was a bonus you paid for it all, too.
S: what about the competition?
A: yeah, you made me write poetry and then frickin graded it. I wrote ten different sonnets before you were satisfied and offered me a job. You just dropped your card and left. I’ve met some cocky artists in my time, dudes that took a whole month to draw a line on a canvas and ask for four figures, but what you did topped them all. I asked around for any info on you, everyone knew Solace, the guy who painted, who sculpted, who installed, who performed, but no one could tell me what was on your business card. I liked that I guess. And here I am, a painter who writes with a bunch of wackos.
S: let’s end it on that flattering note. Any last words?
A: um, gout, froth, banana and glue.
S: inspiring, thanks for tuning in folks we hope you enjoyed it as much as we did. Till next time… wait hide the hog?
Insert sign off here.