CHAPTER 5 – SHABBAT IN THE GHETTO

 

"The Retarded Artist From NYC Gets Call From Mr. Bill Asking Favor To Perform For Abel Academy Kids"                           by The Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca Jr 

“I just ran into Taylor Swift and Clive Davis, I thought you were catching the red eye. Where the hell are you guys?”

“We’re at the Boston Red Sox game.” Todd answered his animated friend, who was calling from a New York City Fashion Week event.

“Well get your ass over here, Beyonce and Jay-Z invited me to their crib for a V.I.P. after party tonight and they said I can bring some friends.”

“I can’t make it, the Jewish Sabbath is in a few hours and we still don’t have a place to stay. Maybe tomorrow, after Shabbat.”

“What? I thought you said your friend set you up at a beach house with a bunch of rock stars.”

“He did but his friend bailed out on us and now we’re wandering about like vagabonds.”

The crack of a wooden bat smashing a baseball over the fence for a home-run sent the sold-out crowd into a frenzy drowning out the humiliating conversation going on beside me between Todd and his V.I.P. friend in Manhattan. I could hear every word screaming out of his cell phone as my Android vibrated to alert me that my manager was calling.

“You’re not going to believe this.” My manager said when I answered her call. “Mr. Bill told me to have Todd pay for a hotel but there are no hotels, it’s season, everything is booked.”

“What?” I answered in disbelief as Todd ended his call and eavesdropped on my conversation.

“Mr. Bill said, Todd’s Jewish.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked.

“Mr. Bill said, there’s no such thing as a poor Jew, therefore,” My manager sounded stunned by his logic.

“I assume, he figured…”

“I knew it. Mr. Bill’s an anti-semite!  He looked at me kind of funny when we met. Stop being a cheap Jew and pay for a hotel.” Todd growled at me as he rearranged the black yamaka, adorned with the Star of David, on his head. 

“Hot dogs! Peanuts! Get your hot dogs and peanuts here.” The vendor shouted as timber splintered after colliding with a baseball that flew over the fence sending hearts soaring for the World Series champions who manifested another point on the scoreboard as, exhausted, I rose, embarrassed and confused, in a sea of Boston Red Sox fans.

“That’s not happening. Todd’s not paying for the hotel. What the hell is wrong with Mr. Bill?” I shouted into the phone as the crowd around me reverberated with delight.

“Why don’t you tell him that?” My manager asked. “Isn’t Mr. Bill with you?”

“No. He said he would come by to get Todd and I before the seventh inning stretch, so we could all go out for a late lunch, it’s already the bottom of the eighth.”

“I told you, Mr. Bill ain’t coming!” Todd shouted over my shoulder into the phone. “I’m starving.”

“Get Todd a hotdog.” My manager suggested as I put her call on speakerphone.

“I’m Kosher! That dog’s not kosher! I need to follow Jewish dietary law.”

“Listen, I found a beach house for you guys. The owners are big fans and willing to trade accommodations in exchange for four tickets to the All Star MAMM Jam in Fort Myers tomorrow night. I told Mr. Bill and he said he would get back to me but I haven’t heard from him, so if you see him, tell him to call me ASAP.” My manager said before hanging up.

“Let’s get out of here.” Todd kvetched. “Shabbat starts at sunset.”

We sat in traffic for hours with all the snowbirds, waiting to hear from Mr. Bill but he never returned my calls or text messages. Finally, my manager called with the news that Mr. Bill refused to barter four tickets in exchange for safe shelter.

“He said Todd should stop being cheap and pay for a hotel.” My manager added with disgust, as I put her on speakerphone. “Mr. Bill suggested you guys stay at his house or a trailer that’s supposed to be parked in his driveway later tonight.”

“I need to find shelter before the sun goes down. ” Todd insisted. “That anti-semites home is too far away at this point, we’ll never make it before Shabbat.”

My manager promised to continue searching for hotel accommodations on the web while we dodged in and out of roadside motels without no-vacancy signs, through crawling traffic, as the sun beat down on us before beginning to set.

 “There’s got to be something.” I pleaded with the motel desk clerk who, like all the other hotel clerks I’d interacted with in the twilight, informed me that because we were, “In-Season”, there were no vacancies.

“My cousin, owns a motel just over the bridge, it’s called The Welcome Inn. I will call him now to see if he has any rooms available.” The pungent smelling clerk said in an almost unintelligible East Indian accent.

“Please hurry, I think my friends going to turn into a Pumpkin if I don’t find him a place to stay before sundown.” I said, while looking out at Todd shifting nervously while reading the Torah, behind the wheel of our packed rental car in the parking lot. 

“Good news.” I told Todd as I entered the car five minutes later. “We have a room at The Welcome Inn, I made reservations. It’s just over the bridge. We should make it before sunset.”

And, we did. Just as the sun began to set, we drove past the hookers and crack-heads into the parking lot of The Welcome Inn. When I opened the door to our room, the first thing I saw was graffiti. Written in black magic marker on the dark green wall, beneath the black mildew from the leaking, air-conditioning unit, were the words, “Fuck You”, staring back at me. The writing on the wall was literally a sign of things to come during my stay with The Hebrew Hammer on Shabbos at, what came to be known as, “The Unwelcome Inn”.

BOSTON STRONG

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

                                 

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.

The painting, “Boston Strong”, is signed by Bon Jovi’s bass player, Hugh McDonald; Fran Sheehan, the former bassist and original member of the band Boston; Barry Goudreau, guitarist and original member of the band Boston; Leroy Romans, former keyboard player for Third World and The Wailers; Robert “Mousey” Thompson, drummer for the late James Brown; Danny Beissel of the band Foster Child; B.A.M. (Bad Ass Musician) and Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo.

Wall Street: Buy Sell Hold Interviews PART2 | Out of the Group Inc

Wall Street: Buy Sell Hold Interviews PART2 | Out of the Group Inc

Host of Wall Street Buy Sell Hold, Christopher Castaldo interviews Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca Jr. during the "Undiscovered Equities" Conference featuring the art of Victor-Hugo and his perspectives on Art as Investment. Art historically outperforms the NASDAQ, the S&P and the Dow Jones.

Absolute Events Features Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Live-Art Performance @ Opening @ The Stage Miami

 

Jaime Lipman of Absolute Events was honored to feature Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca Jr to entertain with a Live-Art Performance with Musical Artist Glenn Govot @ The Stage Miami March 3rd for her opening announcing Absolute Events. Victor-Hugo began the evening with a blank canvas and an open mind. Soaking in the artistic vibe of The Stage and the vibrant energy of the attractive well-wishers and Absolute clients, he took the stage. The music started and he interpreted the musical notes into colors splashed onto the canvas. The geometric shapes of the bridge under which the stage is artfully tucked was soon covered with the words "Live. Love. Flow. Think. Shine", monikers of the Maverick Artist. Soon, the sexual energy of seductive clothing and Miami Chic women in heels, a beautiful muse emerged from the brushes Vaca swirled with both hands as he danced to the grooves of Govot. Guests were mesmerized and inspired by the ever-evolving work of art.

Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca Jr is available for Live-Art Performances capturing the essence of a Special Event such as Weddings, Bat/Bar Mitzvahs, Corporate Events, Charity Events and Concerts. The finished artwork can be reproduced in a variety of unique remembrances. Planners and guests can choose from traditional framed prints to mountings on plexi or aluminum to reproductions on fashion and tabletop. To book the Maverick Artist for your next event contact Christine Alfonso, Global Marketing Alliance, 954-615-7171. See www.victorhugogallery.com

ABCs' CLUB TV Launch features Live Performance by Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo

Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Perfoming Live July 22, 2010

Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo will create LIVE a unique work of art at the launch of ABCs' CLUB TV to be filmed July 22nd at PASSION Night Club at the Seminole Hard Rock, Hollywood, Florida. Cameras roll at 10pm. Mr. Quicktrackz & DJ Trails to be joined by Musical Performers Nathan Mirror, Frasier, MacalleeKing and Chop Devise. Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo will capture the essence of the music and the vibe of the audience to create a unique work of art commemorating the launch of ABC's Club TV. Mention "QUICKTRACKZ" at the door for Discount Admission or print and present this notice for the July 22nd Performance. For more Modern Art Music Movement events and to purchase works from the Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo contact: Christine Alfonso, Global Marketing Alliance at 954-615-7171

www.victorhugogallery.com. GlobalMarketingAlliance@yahoo.com