Keith Haring Journals (33 page)

I wish I could keep a diary in New York City; it seems I am so busy in New York, and there is so much going on that I never have time to think about it, let alone write it down.

Re-reading this last page I have to add the possibility of purity during the moments of working with children. When I do drawings with or for children, there is a level of sincerity that seems honest and pure. Admittedly, even some children keep their autographs because they are told “they might be worth something later.” But most of them keep them because they love them.

I’m back on the train. What a fucking day! Twenty-four hours seemed like a week. Pierre picked me up at the train [in Lausanne] and we went directly to lunch with Mrs. Rivolta of the gallery and her 16-year-old, Francis.

This was the same fancy little restaurant that mistook Jean Tinguely for the repairman of the lift when he arrived in his coveralls. I was wearing my “safe sex” sweatshirt prominently displaying the cartoon “Willie.” Needless to say, heads turned.

Pierre had with him 50 samples of the “condom button-boxes” that I’m producing in Switzerland for the Pop Shop in New York. They look great. After lunch we quickly visited Dolce Vita, the nightclub that has utilized my “wine label design” for stickers, T-shirts, etc. I helped myself to two packs of stickers and requested T-shirts sent to New York immediately. We had another quite small glass of Swiss white wine. By now I was already buzzed from the wine at lunch. Now a quick trip to Gymnase du Bugnon, the high school where Pierre teaches, which is splitting at the seams full of beautiful boys. Pierre, never wanting to waste an opportunity to work (three cheers for Pierre!), has arranged a photo shoot with a quite famous photographer who is shooting “personality portraits” on chairs for a chair company. Very chic. He has, so far, done Godard, Issey Miyake, etc. I am to be paid 5,000 Swiss francs for a 10-minute sitting and the photo will appear in only distinguished magazines all over the world (i.e.,
Domus, New York Times Magazine, Der Spiegel
, etc.). The shooting goes great.

Rémy Fabricant, the guy who worked for the advertising agency that invited me to do the first animation in Zurich three years ago, is here with his girlfriend. Apparently he works for a new ad agency that is doing the chair campaign. There is an amusing confrontation between Pierre and Rémy. It seems they both have taken responsibility for knowing me well enough to persuade me to do the shooting. Pierre, of course, wins triumphantly and is quite pleased, not unlike a spoiled child. I love Pierre, but he can be a bit much, sometimes. However, he is often correct in his attacks.

Now it seems the time is getting close for the opening. We go to the hotel to check in. Pierre has got me a room at the Beau Rivage Palace, one of the most beautiful hotels I’ve ever stayed in. I have two telexes waiting for me as I check in. One from Julia explaining everything that is happening now in New York. Another is from Eunice Kennedy Shriver, who is chairperson of the
Special Olympics
, thanking me for the cover I did for their Christmas record, currently being released, and asking permission to use the image for their Christmas card. Why not? Sure, Eunice, go ahead! I call Julia and have her confirm this by phone to Mrs. Shriver. Everything seems O.K. in New York.

We go to the opening. The show looks nice. It’s a small gallery and everything fits just perfectly. There are several young people, mostly Pierre’s students, waiting for me. The crowd increases, but never becomes overwhelming. I do drawings on shirts, pants, shoes, etc., for about two hours. Many people buy prints. The gallery has made a nice announcement card that I sign also. For some reason Switzerland produces some of the most beautiful boys in the universe. I draw on babies, purses, pants legs, erect nipples under T-shirts, and supple asses. People are buying prints and having them removed from the frame for me to dedicate. Near the end of the opening I do a quick taped interview about my collaborations with dancers (i.e., sets, etc.) for a ballet critic.

Now we are scurried off to dinner at a great little country-style restaurant in a little village near Grandvaux where I’ve eaten twice before. They have reserved the whole restaurant and we eat fondue. I am at a table with Mr. and Mrs. Bonnier, who have a gallery in Geneva. We have very “serious” art conversations. Somehow I always feel as if I am trying to “convert” people over to my side. Am I a “missionary”? I’m certainly on a “mission”!

(This man just sat down near me and keeps looking at me like I took his seat. He apparently had his suitcase on the rack of the seat. Sorry, Mary! If his suitcase had been on the seat, I wouldn’t have sat there. I had no idea whose luggage was on the rack, there were a lot of people sitting around already. He can stare all he wants, I’m certainly not going to move so he can sit underneath his luggage. If he was an old lady, maybe. But for a Swiss yuppie . . . sorry!)

After dinner I do drawings for all the cooks and waiters, who appear to be all in the same family. They present me with three great bottles of Swiss wine. This small restaurant is supposed to be quite famous for its extensive wine selection. Also, Pierre’s friend, Philippe, gives me a bottle of Armagnac from 1958. He is a young collector, very tall and thin and cute with a big nose like my father. He already has ten pieces of mine (drawings and prints). Actually, he has already given me a bottle of 1958 Armagnac a few years before, which I still haven’t opened. I’m waiting for the proper birthday. Oh, I forgot—at the gallery they had special wine made for the opening with a label the same as the invitation card. They are sending me a case of this, from which I’ll take four bottles now. So now I have eight to carry.

We go to Pierre’s house for a quick visit, after defacing a local political poster by adding noses and ears to turn the faces into pigs.

Once I start, it’s hard to stop.

After Pierre’s we go to Dolce Vita. It’s sort of punk-disco, playing a mix of new-wave, rap, heavy metal, etc. To me everyone looks like they’re on heroin. If I lived in Switzerland maybe I’d understand why.

After standing around bored for about an hour, a
very
black girl befriends me and asks to be photographed with me. After this people start asking me to draw on things. A sort of young punkish boy wants me to draw on his tit. He is slim with a nice hairless chest and this seems like an adequate surface to embellish. Periodically pinching his already-erect nipples, to his delight, I draw a man whose head is his nipple. We are photographed. I continue to drink beers. A real cute “nerd-look” asks for a design on his shirt. I oblige. Now the black girl, who tells me she is from Boston and lives in Paris and Lausanne, says her friend wants a drawing on her tit, too. I’ve never done this before, except on Grace, so I say why not? She pulls up her shirt, revealing a really beautiful small breast that could excite even me. I draw a similar figure as I had on the boy, except that the figure’s head is bigger since her nipples are bigger. We pose for photographs.

A man is introduced to me who runs the local radio station. Everyone decides we should go on the radio, now, at 3:00 AM. They grab champagne, the cute nerd, Pierre, the club owners and head for the radio station. Somehow Brion Gysin’s name comes up talking about people who’ve been in Lausanne. Also, Timothy Leary lived here for a while. I’m delighted to meet someone who knows of and appreciates Brion. I’m feeling more comfortable now.

I pick out some records: Rita Mitsouko, Grace Jones, LL Cool J, Michael Jackson, and Tom Tom Club. We do a sort of interview with Pierre, who is rather smashed at this point, translating as much as possible. I talk about my respect for Michael’s attempts to take creation in his own hands and invent a non-black, non-white, non-male, non-female creature by utilizing plastic surgery and modern technology. He’s totally Walt-Disneyed out! An interesting phenomenon at the least. A little scary, maybe, but nonetheless remarkable, and I think somehow a healthier example than Rambo or Ronald Reagan. He’s denied the finality of God’s creation and taken it into his own hands, while all the time parading around in front of American pop culture. I think it would be much cooler if he would go all the way and get his ears pointed or add a tail or something, but give him time!

I’m getting tired and we end the broadcast. It’s 4:30 AM now. The nerd takes me to the hotel. We have a heavy discussion about life, death and the Pope, and he goes home before I can even muster up any attempt at making a pass at him. I’m not really that interested. I call Juan in New York and talk a little while. I miss him most at night.

Next morning wake up to a call from some lady in London working for
House & Garden
. She says she’s supposed to be doing an update or something. Not this morning . . .

Pierre picks me up. He has a hangover. I sign some of the small Lucky Strike prints we will edition. I dedicate a print for Philippe (the young collector) and rush to catch the 12:37 train to Zurich. The train is arriving as we get there. It is full of surprisingly boring looking Army boys. Now I’ve got to get to Zurich and get to work. It’s very tempting to take the train to Milano instead. Wouldn’t that be fun! But, I forgot, I’m here to work, not have fun!

Got to Zurich, ate another apple in the station, took taxi to hotel and called Rolf. I took a quick visit to Bruno Bischofberger Gallery to see Francesco’s show. I had seen the paintings in his studio in New York, but they look even better in a sterile atmosphere like this. I left Bruno a bottle of wine with my label and a note. I still feel a little sad not being in his gallery, since he shows almost all of my favorite artists. I really should be in his gallery. It’s stupid that it was just a premature decision to avoid Bruno in 1982 when he wanted to show me. I took Tony’s advice and said no. Now Bruno won’t show me because I denied him in the beginning, or something. But paranoia always makes me think he just doesn’t think I’m good enough. I really shouldn’t worry about things like this, but it’s hard not to. I know that in the end it will not be any of these little things that will determine the importance of anything.

The last two days have really been an experience. It’s kind of like taking a crash course in animation. Franz and Rolf are great and I’m really learning a lot. Somehow it all comes pretty natural. My hands hurt from so much drawing. Basically I’ve just been developing the three characters and the dog, drawing them in different positions and with different expressions so that Rolf and Franz will have adequate material to animate with. It’s really cool ’cause it’s exactly the way all the Disney stuff and other cartoons were done. Somehow I’ve always wanted to do this, and now I have a chance to do it with a kind of authority and sense of purpose because I have done so many other things first. If I had been an animator first, I don’t think I would have the same relationship to it as I do now. Now it’s like one more thing to prove to myself I can do. I think it really gives my drawing “sense” a whole other dimension and this aspect is coming at the right time in my development. It’s sort of going back inside to take a closer look at certain aspects of what I already did intuitively. Everything happens for a reason. And I’m sure everything always happens at the right time and in the right place.

It’s really a joy to work here, too. Every day I eat with the family and today we went to the park with the kids for about two hours to fly kites. Taking turns carrying the kids on my shoulders, holding hands, balancing on a fence, and generally having a good time playing. I really love this family. I think it’s important to be able to have these experiences. It’s the one thing that makes everything else worth all the trouble and heartache. Like, a couple of days before I left New York, I visited Nina and Chiara Clemente and was drawing pictures with them on their walls. It’s probably one of the most memorable moments in my life. Whatever else I am, I’m sure I, at least, have been a good companion to a lot of children and maybe have touched their lives in a way that will be passed on through time, and taught them a kind of simple lesson of sharing and caring. Sometimes I really wish I could have my own children, but maybe this is a much more important role to play in many more lives than just one. Somehow I think this is the reason I’m still alive. Speaking of being alive, I really miss Andy sometimes. People are always bringing up the subject of his absence. I wonder if people will miss me like that? What a selfish thought! Do artists only make art to assure their immortality? In search of immortality: maybe that’s it . . .

I have to stop writing. My finger hurts so bad! The dent in my finger is really big. I’ve had this since I was a kid, but when I draw a lot it gets really deep.

I’m going to go back to reading Kurt Vonnegut’s new book,
Bluebeard
, and go to sleep.

It was a bit sad leaving last night. We worked all day to finish the “character sheets” and do some tests with the color backgrounds I suggested. Everything looks great. Rolf did a 15-second test of the little B-boy (chilly willy inspired) who really looks a lot like BIPO. We plan to name him BIPO in the English version of the films. I did some chalk drawings with Sonya and Serafina at midday which was really fun. After dinner with the family it was time to say goodbye to the kids, who were a little upset because I assured them I’d return soon after Christmas to do more work on the animation. Serafina was telling a great impromptu story inspired by the salad at dinner. She explained it was a flying salad that would carry them and their house to New York so that we could all live together. I told her I would look for her in her flying salad bowl tomorrow from the window of the plane. I certainly will.