M O D E R N A R T G O N Z O J O U R N A L I S M
CHAPTER TWO - BOSTON STRONG
Created by The Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo
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| Boston Strong Created Live at the Opening Game of Spring Training for the World Series Champions, Boston Red Sox at Jet Blue Stadium, Fort Myers, Florida, March 2014 |
“All interesting artists are autodidacts.” – Massimiliano Gioni
In some Italian provinces, the word ‘artist’ is a synonym for dunce. An artist must walk a tightrope between being
perceived as an illustrious nobody or a famous intellectual by critics
disguised as cultural sycophants in an arena filled with smoke and mirrors. Being
a creator is not a career for fragile egos, so to be a virtuoso, one must have
thick skin.
I
have been called all sorts of things by critics, not all of them complimentary,
but I survive and my work will live on, long after my corporal being exits this
plane of existence, in the expanding multi-universe.
In
2005, after performing a MAMM Jam with Rhythmm Epkins, drummer for “The English
Beat”, and founder of the R&B funk group, “Mind, Body & Soul”, to raise money for the mentally handicapped, at a sold-out show in Bakersfield,
California, where the first five rows were reserved for the mentally
challenged, who were the most appreciative audience I have ever had the
pleasure of performing in front of, I became known, by some critics, as,
“Victor-Hugo: The Artist of Retards”.
When
I performed MAMM Jams during 2009 Art Basel Week in Miami, Florida to sold-out,
standing room only crowds attending the infamous, “Crackhead Jesus: The Second
Coming Art Exhibition”, at the “Buck 15 Gallery Lounge” on Lincoln Road, a
large group of women from Weight Watchers joined me onstage while I painted the
unique moment on canvas, at which point, I became known, by some critics, as,
“Victor-Hugo: The Artist of Fat Chicks and Retards”.
Some call me, “The Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo” others call me, “The Maverick Meatball”.
Whatever the case, I’m happy. However, as I am an artist/activist birthed from
a business background, I've come to notice that artists are often treated like
“The-Retards-of-the-Business-World” instead of sober-entrepreneurs, by some ignorant top brass. Though, thankfully, not all influence makers exploit an
artists’ passion, those who choose to dim the light instead of fueling the
soul, manifest dark energy that fills the multi-universe, all this, in spite of
knowing that entertainment is, in fact, like any other business, an industry
that must flow perpetually, in balance of soul currency, to exist infinitely.
Art
is not cheap to create. It takes effort, ingenuity and time and since time is
money, if I had a Bitcoin, for every time someone, like Mr. Bill, told me, “Why
don’t you perform for free, it’ll be good exposure?” or, “How about giving me
one of your paintings, for free, to hang in my mansion, so all my filthy-rich
friends can see your work, while smoking weed?”
I’d be a tycoon of Rothschild proportions.
Do
these unenlightened moguls ask Doctors to perform surgery for free or ask
lawyers to satisfy their legal issues, free of charge, because it’s good
practice?
I don’t think so. An artist must always risk failure, for failure is part of the process but that doesn't mean creators should accept the status quo of
double-dealing in business matters or any other affairs. An artist has class
mobility, for that reason, particularly in a disturbed society, a virtuoso must
ask the right questions, open consciousness, raise awareness and elevate minds.
An
artist should serve mankind, for that reason, humanity should not become
complacent with the profiteering of an artist because a true artist can be
childlike forever and the exploitation of children is detrimental to any culture pursuing Enlightenment. Some muddled people feel the world doesn't need
artists because art doesn't meet our basic needs to survive but that’s bogus;
art fuels the soul currency of human capital that trumps any banknote or
material treasure.
These
thoughts raced through my aching head, as I prepared to meet my audience of
special children at The Able Academy in Naples, Florida, hours before my gig
with the All Stars at the Boston Red Sox Spring Training Opener in Fort Myers,
Florida, to honor victims of the Boston Marathon bombing. As if taunting my
choice of career, the outstretched, blank canvas, measuring 36 x 71, clipped to
the front of a long table turned on it’s side, resting atop another elongated
table, stared back at me, screaming, “Fail! Fail! Fail!”
I’ve
heard people say that animals can sense fear and weakness. I don’t know what
experts say about children with autism but I can tell you this, the moment the
Able Academy director opened the door, to let kids into the room where I stood
vulnerable, feeling helpless and alone in a cruel world, a beautiful boy ran to
me, clasped my knees lovingly and looked up at me like a cherub in a chapel. I
felt such overwhelming affection from the pint-sized angel holding a tight grip
on me that, in an instant, all the negativity and cynicism inside of me washed
away like the Great Flood. I fought back tears in that abstract moment that
seemed to last a lifetime because I did not want to break down in front of the
celestial beings surrounding me.
One
by one, frail angels entered the room, coalescing in the ecstasy of colors,
dancing freely with paint and brushes in their tiny hands as they guided me
through the purity of love being expressed on canvas without shame, guilt or remorse. I noticed one child slumped in the corner
with his face in his hands. He beckoned me with magnificent eyes that stared at
me through the cracks in his fingers.
“”Would
you like to paint with us?” I asked, as I knelt down before him.
“Art
has power.” He said, letting his guard down.
“Yes,
it does.” I said as I placed a brush in his hand. “Show me what you can do.”
“Believe
in your greatness and it will be the death of your creativity.” He said, taking
my hand in his and leading me to the canvas where we melted into the void of
color alongside the other offspring.
The
joy was so intense, time flew by the way magic moments do and before I knew it
the unique experience was over. I said goodbye to the kids, packed my
equipment, called Todd, who was patiently waiting outside the hotel after
having checked out and assured him I was on my way to get him for the hour-long
journey to Fort Myers.
He
reminded me that we were running late.
Before
leaving, the stunned school director asked me how I had managed to get the
catatonic child to speak. She said it was a miracle because the juvenile never spoke to anyone. I told her I communicated with respect and dignity. The
innocent confided in me that the adults didn't understand them and didn't pay
attention, which frankly, was no surprise to me, since out of the mouth of
babes comes truth and most adults can’t handle the truth, which is why some
adolescents choose to stay silent.
Traffic
was at a crawl, leading up to the stadium in Fort Myers. It seemed all of creation had come to cheer
for the World Series Champions at the Spring Training Opener. My manager had
coordinated for the Boston Red Sox to sign the painting created with the Able
Academy children, for the artwork to be auctioned off in their benefit but when
I got to the stadium, Mr. Bill chastised me for my manager doing so, claiming
she had overstepped her bounds, “It’s my show, damn it!” He stated indefatigably before adding, “Hurry
up, you’re late! The band goes on stage in 10 minutes.”
“This
is your friend?” Todd said, looking at Mr. Bill with disgust and me with
sympathy, as Mr. Bill’s girlfriend Melissa approached me with open arms and a
huge smile.
“Oh
my God! I heard you got my son to speak, I wish I could have been there.” She
said holding back tears.
“Why weren't you?” I thought to myself, sinking into her warm embrace while Mr. Bill
stared back at me with contempt that I could not explain.
One
by one, the All Stars embraced me before going on stage. I was reunited with
members of Bon Jovi, Boston, The Doobie Brothers, Steely Dan, The Wailers,
Third World, The James Brown Band and Foster Child, none of which were aware of
the harrowing experience that had preceded our moment in time before the Boston
Red Sox fans in Fort Myers. Like the victims of the Boston bombing, I was
determined to carry on, undaunted by adversity, and so I did, creating “Boston
Strong” alongside music industry titans, in front of a live audience on
February 28, 2014.
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