THE REAL B.W. LEWIS

by: Guillaume Boulez

July 14, 2011

Who: B.W. Lewis, server/illustrator/writer/explorer extraordinaire
Where: the cobbled streets and ship-planked waters of South Street Seaport, New York, NY

photo by Britt Kubatt

On his mind today : It’s summer time in New York. As I walk the hot pavements, I feel an occasional drip. I think,”how is it raining??” And then I remember, it’s one of two things: condensation dripping from window units stories above or pigeon poop.

Currently working on : Putting ink to paper and starting a new illustration series: cowboys in cathedrals and natural disasters. I’ve been inspired by Byzantine Art-the idea of a development of a new aesthetic: elaborate biblical mosaics, El Greco, blah blah; except I’m sure to stir the pot with a subversive approach to religion in a triptych.

What he think there is too much of, and too little of : When did we start boisterously texting in an excess of exclamations like were exalting the Lord? I think language is becoming too dern little; our vernacular is dissipating to a small assemblage of letters-everything’s abbreviated. Inevitably, an immense reversal of societal progression will occur, and we’ll find ourselves in a prehistoric revival where we’ll communicate through drawing emoticons on cave walls with crushed plant pigments and grunting. LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What he considers a fashion “faux-pas” : Any guy that exhibits a camel toe. If people wanted to see nuts they’d reach into the bowl of party mix at their local bar. Wait. Let me check my crotch situation…

What cracks him up : Texts from my dear friend Logan in Asheville find me LOL’ing!!!!!!!
Logan: I think I’m going to start online dating when I move to NYC, so I can try all the nice restaurants for free.
Logan: Friday, I had pictures taken of me diving into a drainage tube, so all you see is my feet, and some where I’m going feet first; I look like Mario entering an underground level. Acting stupid is great except when it’s because you’re a mom and having a kid forces you.

His « artistic » family : Huh? Say wha? While in art school, I returned home to Texas for thanksgiving. Art became the topic of dining table conversation with my mother’s side of the family. My gossip tongued Aunt said,”I knew an artist and he was gay.” Everyone went silent. Uncomfortable. Gays allegedly don’t exist in a small, conservative bible belt town. Everyone looked at me. “…well it turns out he wasn’t gay; he has a wife and kids.” A sigh of relief erupted, even the turkey stopped sweating bullets. Needless to say, my dad’s side of the family represents artistic expression.

With whom he would like to grow old : My old man. I want to become besties; he could live in the same brownstone building with me. We could go to happy hour together, which would perfectly end right at his bed time. He could share his senior citizen discount at the movie megaplex with me. He could loan me his handicap parking sign so I could get all the best parking spaces in town (even when I’m buying his diapers in bulk at Costco). At the end of the day, over nightcaps and his cranky stool complaints, we’d share stories we’ve never told. Unfortunately, I’m terrible with repeating anecdotes, which we’ll be okay with him because he’ll be hard of hearing.

B.W. Lewis’ Wild Wish : I wish for people to summon an indomitable spirit to explore (insert your city of inhabitance) more. Unleash the wild at heart in you. Find a great escape. To discover is more tangible than one acquiescently believes. Set sail, cap’n. The ham bone jam joy of adventure awaits you all. As Hank William sings, “Dress in style/go hog wild me oh my oh/son of a gun/ we’ll have some fun on the bayou.”

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