CUTTING EDGE

Like many of his generation, my good friend Currado Malaspina carries with him the imprint of the Parisian 'Génération 68.'   From politics to sexuality, Malaspina is indelibly marked by the frenzied anarchy of those tumultuous times.

Unfortunately for him, the times have changed and the cranky romance with universal redemption has long since lost its sheen . Human nature, with its clinging fidelity to survival and self-interest has proved unsuitable for radical transformation. Our vital signs are measured not by our passions but by our worth and it seems that poor Currado just doesn't seem to get it.

But just because he still votes for the Parti Socialiste, his alleged hold on noble virtue is very flimsy at best. It seems he only absorbed the A-side of La révolution sexuelle, the part about amour libre. 
  
The other part, the one about strong, assertive feminist agency somehow eluded his grasp.  

He still holds the suspicion that behind every opportunity for congress lies the dreaded menace of the Vagina Dentata. And though this suspicion consumes him with a near fatal dread he still finds something exhilarating about the teasing proximity of mutilation and violence.

His fears are mixed with lurid fantasies besotted in a hazy sfumato of Sadean perversion. He confessed to me recently that this past winter he experienced a series of recurring dreams that seemed straight out of the mind of Sacher-Mosoch.

He wasn't particularly troubled by this.

He actually seemed quite pleased.

I worry about my dear friend Currado.

None of this seems healthy for a man of advanced middle-age. Knowing now what I know, I would think twice before inviting him to a baptism or an innocent family picnic. Who knows what deviance is entertained behind his impassive stare?

Then again, who am I to judge. 

 With Currado these days, the sharper the rapier the happier he gets.

DELIVERY THROUGH THE REAR

My good friend Currado Malaspina is finally getting famous.

Not that he isn't already famous but it's one thing to be a well known contemporary French painter and quite another to be designated the official Digital Asset Designer of the European Union.

Currado has finally gone legit!

In his capacity of court painter for the European Council of Ministers he has already created a logo for the upcoming Conference on Taxation and Customs, designed the layout for the new Eudralex medicinal legislation newsletter and sculpted a marble bust of the president of the European Parliament, Martin Schulz.

I think he's rather pleased with all these new demands. He told me he finds it refreshing spending time with policy wonks and bureaucrats. They eat well, smoke good cigars and never raise their voices in anger.

One project however is causing him to lose his sleep. 

For whatever reason the EU has decided that 2 euro should be the standard rate for mailing of any parcel under 50 grams. They asked Currado to design a new stamp and he's having a hell of a time coming up with something he thinks they will like.

This was his fourth attempt.

I don't think so ....

LSMFT LGBT

2009 was the year my good friend Currado Malaspina lost his zest for life. He calls it 'The Great Unraveling" and looking back in retrospect it's easy to see why.

It started out when, after being shamed, coaxed and cajoled by his studio assistant Mohammad, he purchased his first cell phone. Mo is a sweet young guy who, when he's not smoking cigarettes or stretching canvas he's posting pictures on Instagram and Facebook. Social media is vital to him because he spends a lot of his spare time chatting up full-breasted American tourists in the hookah bars in the 8ème and it's very important that his friends in Bagneux know all about it.

Mo thought Currado needed to become wired and connected and he assured him that it would only serve to simplify his cluttered life.

In no time Currado was talking, typing, texting  and teasing his way through a grove of young women whose primary occupation in life seemed to be the manufacture of curated selves on social media.

He got so sucked in that he soon found himself spending the better part of his days shuttling between these inane recreational platforms. Quite out of character he began messaging, liking, poking and composing all manner of cleverly flirtatious commentary hoping upon hope that one of these invisible nymphs would notice him. 

It got so bad he had Mo hook up a Playstation so he could conduct his mute correspondences on the big screen while reclining in his pajamas on his American La-Z-Boy.

It took the mortification of discovering that the comely Italian artist with the sparkling white teeth and the vermillion lips was actually a chubby gamer from Passaic who had over fifteen online identities and a muddled relationship with gender.

I'm not entirely sure Currado is completely over his obsession but he seems to have cut down considerably the amount of time he spends in front of his screen. Occasionally I see one of his tweets which usually have something to do with loneliness, alienation and the decline of the slow-baked baguette. 

And he has a new assistant, Jessica, whose only job, it seems, is to make clever, 10 second videos of Currado running his fingers over his temple and posting them on Vine.