Selected Correspondence Citations
February — October 2023
All citations Animal J. Smith
“There was a sense for me of impending resolution, of a harmonic progression that comforts and completes and I can hear the cadences move into place, and that sense of rightness grew from the center of my body, expanding my breath, as my mind’s orchestra descended into a gentle diminuendo, the strings' precedence leading us into quiet, inevitable, consonant, clear, spare, readily apparent, I could look and see the girl with viola in the black concert dress playing the theme I wrote in my head crossing the street in 1990 around the corner and half a block from where I sit right now, and as she, the last sounding instrument, plays the last notes with graceful release and she smiles at me, thank you Animal, you wrote these notes just for me, and she lifts her bow and points to my door … and as I open that door and say, “yes,” and step into now, after twenty-two years, eight months, and one last day, I’ve come home.”
“Your concept of “thick time” is very intriguing and tracks well with my own wrestling about time lost, time out of joint, and having enough time to make up for lost time — all as a result of being blown out of time in the terror attacks. At 61 with HIV, the actuarial tables for my husband and me indicate that even with HIV we’re projected to live into our early 80s. So in theory, I’ve got 20 years to pour it all out. And, as a dog, well — we have no concept of time other than “now”, and incorporating that into my grappling with this particular monster provides a light at the end of the tunnel.”
“The chronology of my life from 2001 until now has always existed for me in lock-step clockstep. To deliberately mess with linear time feels to me very “punk”, as if it were unthinkable to break the chrono sequence. It tickles my rebellion bone, and that’s one reason I ditched the pro theatre and took up performance art: to send a giant middle finger to the establishment. And what more rigid establishment is there than that of the Atomic Clock?”
“As you noted on the live Dream as Animal J. Smith page, I turn to the words of Christo every time — his admonition to regard every minute of those years as an integral part of my art, my life in art, even when I wasn’t putting out product, I was still composing, writing, storing up notes and little epiphanies and the record of my mind’s eye for the time when I’d get to make something of them. Every minute was art.”
“Ultimately, mine is a story of triumph and hope. In a hundred minutes, I was blown away. Any evidence that I had had a life prior to that day was obliterated as if I had never even happened. It unmoored me. I couldn’t think of myself as a human being with a past, as if my life didn't begin until that day and I was spewed like a sooty, smudged-up Athena from the brow of Zeus, reeking of Ground Zero and concussed to my core, a living and breathing reminder to those who didn’t want to accept the reality of what happened that day that they couldn't hide from it or detach or maintain distance — no wonder I lost every friend and loved one I had, because I had the temerity and sheer gall to show up in reality, rebuking their disengagement and blowing away their studied detachment simply by my real-world presence.”
““You are the show, man,” (Scott Seaboldt) told me when I was struggling during rehearsal – that’s stuck with me.”
“Where the fuck are Aslan and Chris gonna see the hardcore hope and constant striving for joy and redemption and restoration that’s in and with and under every word and image and breath and minute of my story these 22 years?”
“You’re right: 56 isn't old, but to my cohort 56 was a fantasy for the 15 years that HIV was a death sentence. I often jest that in the same sense that a bumblebee shouldn’t be able to fly due to the laws of physics (so it’s said), I am an anomaly by having the temerity to exist at age 61 with AIDS. I wasn't supposed to happen.”
“Over the past couple of days, I’ve been rolling this around in my head: imagine the luxury of taking one full year to develop and mount a project! That’s only slightly sardonic, and mostly I-must-be-dreaming wonder. I averaged two per year for 6.5 years, and had my process been more refined I might have turned out more. As I thought about this last night/this morning, I remembered again why: In the 1990’s at the height of AIDS, queer artists with HIV knew that time was not on our side, so we rushed to get it all out there, fully formed or not, because you could wake up one morning with a slight cough and be dead of PCP pneumonia that ravaged your body in 12 hours, and that Sword of Damocles up my ass drove me to put out everything I could as fast as I could, for me and for my target audience: Folsom Street leather guys and bikers with HIV and AIDS. There was no time to waste. Many of us felt this way, Chris. It was palpable. The rush to produce meant that a lot of work was put out before it was ready for its close-up, mine included: I’d get dinged consistently for lack of “production values” - no lighting design, bare stages, spare to the point of Spartan - and I’ll cop to that, but damn when those shows went up we tore the roof off every fucking time. What we lacked in finish and maturity we made up for in blinding bright heat and light, fresh from the crucible straight into your soul.”
“Too bad no one (in 2001, after 9/11) is thinking of approaching the gay folks to learn from us how to deal with mass grief ...”
“And all of the writing and creativity and the way l'm going to lay out every single facet of my life for the past 22 and 1/2 years to be poked and prodded and examined and subject to microscopic research and have art and inspiration for today and for the future extracted from it by people who find it not only fascinating but moving and worthy of entering into the art and historical record. I mean, this is something that I’m having trouble getting my head around, and I’m not sure exactly what effect it’s going to have on me - but I am going to do it because how can I be brave for others if I’m not brave for myself? If I’m lucky, and the CDC actuarial tables pan out, I’ve got 20 more years to live and love and make art and find joy and try to leave behind something that won’t just add to the foundations of the callings and careers and places and people I’ve touched and who have touched me, but something that will help make sure people don’t forget me. That’s what everybody I’ve ever known who has died from AIDS has wanted, especially the artists who told me before they died in so many words, I won’t get to finish my work but you will, and you have to carry me with you, please promise me that you will, and that's what my life has been and continues to be about — that for as long as it’s humanly possible, people don't forget us.”
“Mundane and wondrous, all together.”
“Over 38 years in this community, I have been alternately beloved and reviled, often at the same time, and the current moment is no exception. You will find a picture of me that is not totally flattering, but does have shining and I hope honorable moments as well. And as you and Aslan work with me, I know that you will form your own impressions of my failings, foibles, and finer attributes, and this is what I willingly subject to myself to as both a collaborative performer, an artist who takes a larger view of everything including me, and as a subject of research for art and legacy. It’s a very interesting position to be in, and I welcome it.”
“Believe in the face of death, believe when there is no hope, believe irrationally, believe madly.”
“Yours in transgression, Animal”
“Your concept of “thick time” is very intriguing and tracks well with my own wrestling about time lost, time out of joint, and having enough time to make up for lost time — all as a result of being blown out of time in the terror attacks. At 61 with HIV, the actuarial tables for my husband and me indicate that even with HIV we’re projected to live into our early 80s. So in theory, I’ve got 20 years to pour it all out. And, as a dog, well — we have no concept of time other than “now”, and incorporating that into my grappling with this particular monster provides a light at the end of the tunnel.”
“The chronology of my life from 2001 until now has always existed for me in lock-step clockstep. To deliberately mess with linear time feels to me very “punk”, as if it were unthinkable to break the chrono sequence. It tickles my rebellion bone, and that’s one reason I ditched the pro theatre and took up performance art: to send a giant middle finger to the establishment. And what more rigid establishment is there than that of the Atomic Clock?”
“As you noted on the live Dream as Animal J. Smith page, I turn to the words of Christo every time — his admonition to regard every minute of those years as an integral part of my art, my life in art, even when I wasn’t putting out product, I was still composing, writing, storing up notes and little epiphanies and the record of my mind’s eye for the time when I’d get to make something of them. Every minute was art.”
“Ultimately, mine is a story of triumph and hope. In a hundred minutes, I was blown away. Any evidence that I had had a life prior to that day was obliterated as if I had never even happened. It unmoored me. I couldn’t think of myself as a human being with a past, as if my life didn't begin until that day and I was spewed like a sooty, smudged-up Athena from the brow of Zeus, reeking of Ground Zero and concussed to my core, a living and breathing reminder to those who didn’t want to accept the reality of what happened that day that they couldn't hide from it or detach or maintain distance — no wonder I lost every friend and loved one I had, because I had the temerity and sheer gall to show up in reality, rebuking their disengagement and blowing away their studied detachment simply by my real-world presence.”
““You are the show, man,” (Scott Seaboldt) told me when I was struggling during rehearsal – that’s stuck with me.”
“Where the fuck are Aslan and Chris gonna see the hardcore hope and constant striving for joy and redemption and restoration that’s in and with and under every word and image and breath and minute of my story these 22 years?”
“You’re right: 56 isn't old, but to my cohort 56 was a fantasy for the 15 years that HIV was a death sentence. I often jest that in the same sense that a bumblebee shouldn’t be able to fly due to the laws of physics (so it’s said), I am an anomaly by having the temerity to exist at age 61 with AIDS. I wasn't supposed to happen.”
“Over the past couple of days, I’ve been rolling this around in my head: imagine the luxury of taking one full year to develop and mount a project! That’s only slightly sardonic, and mostly I-must-be-dreaming wonder. I averaged two per year for 6.5 years, and had my process been more refined I might have turned out more. As I thought about this last night/this morning, I remembered again why: In the 1990’s at the height of AIDS, queer artists with HIV knew that time was not on our side, so we rushed to get it all out there, fully formed or not, because you could wake up one morning with a slight cough and be dead of PCP pneumonia that ravaged your body in 12 hours, and that Sword of Damocles up my ass drove me to put out everything I could as fast as I could, for me and for my target audience: Folsom Street leather guys and bikers with HIV and AIDS. There was no time to waste. Many of us felt this way, Chris. It was palpable. The rush to produce meant that a lot of work was put out before it was ready for its close-up, mine included: I’d get dinged consistently for lack of “production values” - no lighting design, bare stages, spare to the point of Spartan - and I’ll cop to that, but damn when those shows went up we tore the roof off every fucking time. What we lacked in finish and maturity we made up for in blinding bright heat and light, fresh from the crucible straight into your soul.”
“Too bad no one (in 2001, after 9/11) is thinking of approaching the gay folks to learn from us how to deal with mass grief ...”
“And all of the writing and creativity and the way l'm going to lay out every single facet of my life for the past 22 and 1/2 years to be poked and prodded and examined and subject to microscopic research and have art and inspiration for today and for the future extracted from it by people who find it not only fascinating but moving and worthy of entering into the art and historical record. I mean, this is something that I’m having trouble getting my head around, and I’m not sure exactly what effect it’s going to have on me - but I am going to do it because how can I be brave for others if I’m not brave for myself? If I’m lucky, and the CDC actuarial tables pan out, I’ve got 20 more years to live and love and make art and find joy and try to leave behind something that won’t just add to the foundations of the callings and careers and places and people I’ve touched and who have touched me, but something that will help make sure people don’t forget me. That’s what everybody I’ve ever known who has died from AIDS has wanted, especially the artists who told me before they died in so many words, I won’t get to finish my work but you will, and you have to carry me with you, please promise me that you will, and that's what my life has been and continues to be about — that for as long as it’s humanly possible, people don't forget us.”
“Mundane and wondrous, all together.”
“Over 38 years in this community, I have been alternately beloved and reviled, often at the same time, and the current moment is no exception. You will find a picture of me that is not totally flattering, but does have shining and I hope honorable moments as well. And as you and Aslan work with me, I know that you will form your own impressions of my failings, foibles, and finer attributes, and this is what I willingly subject to myself to as both a collaborative performer, an artist who takes a larger view of everything including me, and as a subject of research for art and legacy. It’s a very interesting position to be in, and I welcome it.”
“Believe in the face of death, believe when there is no hope, believe irrationally, believe madly.”
“Yours in transgression, Animal”