Saturday, July 05, 2003
BILL IN THE PICTURE, Sex and Lies continued...
The Art Institute was a great place to work. It was a small school with an excellent faculty of practicing artists who did professionally what they taught in the classroom. The school's reputation was built on the high quality of it's commercial art program; graphic design, illustration, photography, but they were also building a solid fine arts, studio based, program. The President and his wife also threw great parties.
The first school Christmas party I attended was held at the President's house in Chelsea. It was a wonderful house in a little known area on the other side of Boston harbor where you could get great property deals. I attended as a single.
Socializing was long over for Pete and me. I was discovering that while Robin and I had this intense sexual life he was a loner socially. He hated parties, did not own a suit, and had no money. When I say no money I mean NO MONEY. He lived off the sale of his art work and grants. I think he got some VA benefits having been in Vietnam, but his annual income would put him at the poverty level. I adored him and I would've been proud to have him with me, socially, but that was not to be. I tried a little pushing, got resistance and dropped the issue. I did not want to sacrifice our sexual relationship for a public performance. But I missed having someone who liked to dress up, go out on the town, and party. I'm naturally gregarious, generally feel at home everywhere and I assume everyone I meet will like me. I tried to make everyone like me. I was living pretty close to the bone myself and needed the comfort that having a well established friend can provide.
Back at the party I was busily working at getting to know my colleagues. One attractive, but very short man seemed to be particularly interested in me. We played a cat and mouse game throughout the evening. His name was Bill, he was divorced (every man I've ever met, if they were interested in me, made sure in the first five minutes of the conversation, that their availability was unambiguous). By the end of the evening we were meeting in dark corners, kissing. He offered to take me home. (not driving or having a car has always proven to be a plus for me in social situations).
I was pleased. On the way home I told him what I could of my current situation. He was sympathetic, very sympathetic. He was an Art Director for a large printing company just 3 blocks from my new studio at Fort Point, 2 blocks from Robin's studio on Melcher Street. I did not mention Robin to him. He also taught Graphic Design at the Art Institute. His wife had left him several years ago for the minister of her church. She used to sing in the choir and choir practice started to take up much of her time. When Bill discovered the affair, their marriage ended. He did not want it to end, but she left. They had three kids who were all in college. Bill's ego had taken a beating. As a short man, he'd learned to compensate with well cut suits, nice cars and impeccable manners. He's just what the doctor ordered.
He's my Bill.
The Art Institute was a great place to work. It was a small school with an excellent faculty of practicing artists who did professionally what they taught in the classroom. The school's reputation was built on the high quality of it's commercial art program; graphic design, illustration, photography, but they were also building a solid fine arts, studio based, program. The President and his wife also threw great parties.
The first school Christmas party I attended was held at the President's house in Chelsea. It was a wonderful house in a little known area on the other side of Boston harbor where you could get great property deals. I attended as a single.
Socializing was long over for Pete and me. I was discovering that while Robin and I had this intense sexual life he was a loner socially. He hated parties, did not own a suit, and had no money. When I say no money I mean NO MONEY. He lived off the sale of his art work and grants. I think he got some VA benefits having been in Vietnam, but his annual income would put him at the poverty level. I adored him and I would've been proud to have him with me, socially, but that was not to be. I tried a little pushing, got resistance and dropped the issue. I did not want to sacrifice our sexual relationship for a public performance. But I missed having someone who liked to dress up, go out on the town, and party. I'm naturally gregarious, generally feel at home everywhere and I assume everyone I meet will like me. I tried to make everyone like me. I was living pretty close to the bone myself and needed the comfort that having a well established friend can provide.
Back at the party I was busily working at getting to know my colleagues. One attractive, but very short man seemed to be particularly interested in me. We played a cat and mouse game throughout the evening. His name was Bill, he was divorced (every man I've ever met, if they were interested in me, made sure in the first five minutes of the conversation, that their availability was unambiguous). By the end of the evening we were meeting in dark corners, kissing. He offered to take me home. (not driving or having a car has always proven to be a plus for me in social situations).
I was pleased. On the way home I told him what I could of my current situation. He was sympathetic, very sympathetic. He was an Art Director for a large printing company just 3 blocks from my new studio at Fort Point, 2 blocks from Robin's studio on Melcher Street. I did not mention Robin to him. He also taught Graphic Design at the Art Institute. His wife had left him several years ago for the minister of her church. She used to sing in the choir and choir practice started to take up much of her time. When Bill discovered the affair, their marriage ended. He did not want it to end, but she left. They had three kids who were all in college. Bill's ego had taken a beating. As a short man, he'd learned to compensate with well cut suits, nice cars and impeccable manners. He's just what the doctor ordered.
He's my Bill.
