A week prior to his passing, Merlin was allowed out of Wellesley Hospital to wind down his ennobled incarnation. That first evening, Friday, November 10, 1989, we sat in our 20 Amelia Street living room and listened to Vladimir Horowitz as he had requested.
Earlier that week, on Sunday, November 5, 1989, Vladimir Horowitz had passed. Enveloped in our waxing love, our souls were embalmed by Horowitz’s stellar artistry.
Shaman. Genius. Guru. For both Merlin and me, there was no greater combo of these qualities than embodied in Vladimir Horowitz.
The following day, actor, Joe Morton would fly in from Los Angeles for 24 hours to say farewell to Merlin. Though Merlin had not eaten in long weeks, his Candida precluded being able to ingest solids, he pulled up a chair and joined Joe and me as we dined on Chinese take-out.
This one act of Joe’s allowed Merlin to heal from the rejection of having been abandoned by his god-fugly Toronto so-called friends and leave this world void the bile of having been rejected – they chose to act as they did because, at the end of the day, a dog can always be counted on to lick itself and eat its vomit.
__________________________________
_____________________________
_______________________________________________
Photo: Vladimir Horowitz. Vladimir Horowitz and Wanda Toscanini.
The first time I heard this music, I was arrested by the opening chords as I stood still in the middle of my living room on the third/top storey of 878 Gilford Street in Vancouver’s West End. At the end of Lena Horne’s passionate singing, I screamed and laughed uncontrollably with tears running down my face.
I had been standing half naked before getting ready for work and decided that the experience was too great to do something so ridiculously banal as go in to work that day. Naturally, I had been standing with tape recorder in hand – after having just recorded the dreams dreamt. Quickly, I grabbed a new cassette and recorded the newly released song from the CBC FM radio station as Ross Porter had waxed on long enough about the new Lena Horne Jazz recording for me to have pounced into action.
I spent the rest of my stay in Vancouver listening to this recording at least four times weekly.
This is the music that let’s you leap off into truly sublime dream experiences.
What I especially love about this van Dyck engraving – one of my favourites – is that the subject, Cornelius, is so august-souled. His look is so kaleidoscopic thereby betraying his reincarnational history. To look at the subject, he could be Tatar, Nepalese, even Inuit… all the lives that he’s lived to date are magically alluded to. Masterful. Stunning. I love it.
Though this drawing of me was completed before I left Toronto for Vancouver in 1994, I never did see it until returning to living in Toronto, from Montréal, in 2004. I loved it and still do. The work is my favourite George Hawken and, of course, as it is a one-of-a-kind and not in my possession; this, of course, makes it that much more covetous!
What I especially love about it is that whilst living in New York City in 1983, I dreamt of the drawing and didn’t, at the time, realise that it was me; the eye-colour in the drawing is the same as a very exotic-looking female past-life of mine about whom I often dreamt back then – especially when studying classical dance in Winnipeg prior to that (1980-82).
At the time of that dream of this drawing which was yet to be – I had not even yet met George Hawken, Merlin and I were staying in the Chelsea loft of Natch and Zammy, the Artistic Director and his dancer lover, who since passed of AIDS, of Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo.
Of course, prior to leaving for Vancouver, I was happily ensconced in relationships with Daryll Newcombe, Gustavo Vadim – the masochistic art thief in Washington D.C. and Manhattan cabaret singer, Frans Bloem… plus a few others.