When Javier opened Wild Seduction gallery in an industrial area of Miami, Fla. with his wife, Peli, he invited me to exhibit. I think my friend Les Barany introduced my work to Javier. Felice and I went down there in 2003 or so and we partied. Mutton chops, crazy shirts,
hipster language...my kind of company. (note the county jail orange shirt and the sheriff cigs). We met up again in Madrid and hit apartment jazz clubs and dined with his filmaker friends Luis Boulanga and Jess Franco (he just died at 82 yrs old) low budget horror and softcore girlie films.
Then down to Key West to visit my friend and collector Shirrel Rhoades when we dated a manatee family.
I stayed a few days on his couch and drank tequila in the backyard overlooking a water way
in north Miami Beach. and across from a pristine beach.
Hit the Cuban restaurants which I always NEED. He and I sought mermaids and went north to the Wreck bar in Ft. Lauderdale then onto Weeki Wachi and finally to a funky motel opposite Silver Springs state Park.
I was completely happy to be with mermaids but it was Javier that I sought. He was as interested as me in finding the funky fish shack, the dangerous bbq joint, the back roads to nowhere.
Most female road companions I have been with want a soft safe bed to sleep on or complain that I am taking TOO long to shoot an alligator carcass. Not so Javier. He was looking for and wanted to write about, old Florida
and we were finding it
in mildew places. visiting my old friends and eating food we will never forget.
Here we are visiting photographer Brad (a member of my wedding in 1980) on Brad McCourtney's veranda (that's Faukterian Brad on the left...fishes with bow and arrow from his fine wooden canoe)
Brad is one of those that make seein his fine work almost impossible. He shoots 8x10 b&w negatives of the pilars of his county. Pinning him down past his (ironic) laugh is equally impossible. He cameacross Florida for my WEAM opening and chatted Leah up. That is the way he is. Once he came to visit me in NYC and disappeared for a day and came back saying he had to try crack and went up into Harlem. That is the way he is. He had a swamp wedding when he married Sandy. He shot for and was friends with, the crushed car parts sculptor John Champerlain. To get him out of state is hard. I'd like to drive with him into Wyoming but some family crisis will keep him. I will have to come to him to hear his laugh.