Love and Dogs

Saturday mornings in New York are set aside for Union Square farmers’ market, the gathering of farmers from Long Island, New Jersey and upstate New York. Fish still flipping from Montauk, warm Jalapeño bread, eggs laid practically while you wait, rare Peruvian potatoes grown by my friend Rick Bishop, where I hang out for a couple of hours most Saturdays, revert to being a daft young man, sell potatoes and have great fun.

This morning, however, I decide to go to the gym first. I can’t think why.

The gym is across the street from the Hotel Chelsea where I live. It is perfect for the less inclined. At the front desk I am greeted by Nicola, a receptionist, who has been absent for many months, perhaps a year. She has a way of greeting that gladdens the heart, a smile that –as Dorothy Parker said of a child – would melt the glue out of a revolving bookcase.

Obviously, it works with me. I surprise myself by remembering her name and saying how nice it is to see her and then ask her where she has been and what she has been doing. She says, ‘Oh, I fell in love and got my heart broken.’ She’s smiling and yet the pain is obvious to see.

Upstairs in the locker room, while changing and hoping the place doesn’t get too busy, I hear a conversation from behind the row of lockers. A young man asks his companion: ‘So, how are you getting on with her?’ His friend replies, ‘I am consumed by her, I think of her all day at work, coming home, I get to my stop and I find myself running out of the subway I’m so desperate to see her. I am so in love with her it scares me.’

A brief pause and the first man enquires, ‘Is she your first dog?’

Above Jack, 2004

Watercolour and graphite, 13 x 12 inches

Opposite

Spenser, 2009

Watercolour and graphite, 22½ x 30 inches

Opposite

Alan Cumming and Honey, 2006

Graphite, 8¼ x 10¼ inches

Right Honey, 2006

Graphite, 8 x 5 inches

Far right Honey, 2004

Graphite, 5½ x 3½ inches