“I’m an artist,” he told me. I drove Mark to one of his friends’ home to get some shut eye. He said that he lives in the “Monkey Room” of the house.
“How long have you been doing artwork,” I asked him. Mark snickered and said, “Since mom said I was smearing doodoo on the wall!” We both laughed and I asked, “What kind of art do you do?” He smiled and said, “People’s faces, everything – doggies – I draw everything.”
As I drove I was holding a recorder up to his mouth to make sure I got his story correct and he said, “Damn, I’m glad you got me on that speaker thing right there because then you’ll know me - Once you see my artwork in the world you’ll say damn, I took him down the street.” He then started laughing as he asked if I’d stop at a gas station so that he could buy a 12-pack of beer.
During our drive I asked him, “Are you an alcoholic?” His response, “On that part right there, I can drink you under the table and still be straight, drink you right under the table.”
I asked, “What were your mom and dad like growing up?” He said, “I have no clue - Other brother is from one father, sister and brother are from a different father…” Mark continued, “I’ve been passed off to so many people.”
“Artists themselves are not confined, but their output is.” - Robert Smithson, artist (1938-1973)