Tales of the "Tropical Gypsy"

Chapter 2


Born into the cold war and in the Midwest with the shores of Lake Michigan a half hour away, he was the middle child of a struggling family "trying to make a living". His father, a hard working, hard partying and robust man, insisted on trying to "make it on his own", only to make repeated failures. His mother, a bored young woman from the hills of Tennessee, spent her days dreaming of the career that never came, the highlight of her life playing onstage of the "Grand Ol' Opry". Indeed, his parents were quite opposites and constantly at odds with one another which the children made it an opportunity to play outdoors instead of enduring the heated discussions inside.

Jo was a young lad with an extreme imagination (later this would be his ticket to the Art world) and a penchant for role playing. His favorite characters were Pirates. The lure of the seas, tropical isles with emerald green and torquoise waters, beautiful wenches...what more could a young boy dream of? Complete "controlled chaos". This role playing eventually gave way to sailing upon the waters of Lake Michigan. Jo didn't own a sailboat, but his friends did and sometimes a complete stranger would approach him to help "crew" for an afternoon. The Great Lake was a magnet! It's waters ever cold and clear, a deep blue so alluring many a man and ship had gone to the bottom plying her unstable surface. Yes, the Lake had the tenacious ability to "turn" from a calm to violent storm in seconds! This too, was very intriguing to Jo.

Drifting through alcohol and drug induced relationships took it's toll. At the age of 30 he was "OD'ing on cocaine and speeders. What the F..k!? He was a brilliant and budding Artist not seen in the Midwest for decades. His Art reflected the turmoil inside his mind. Approached by mentors and agents, he shunned them. His philosophy was simple with his Art; "It ain't fer sale. You can't buy me."

So it was Jo drifted aimlessly with the occasional painting and, or carving that would certainly and by ALL means capture the interest of a potential buyer. It was then that he would succumb to "whoring" his works for the money to pique his interests with some "good" coke. Inevitably his "free-spirited" nature would caught up with him one day and sure enuff, he was the proud, scared, intrigued father of a baby girl (outa wedlock, of course)! He doted her none the less. She was "clay" to be molded. Mother on the otherhand, knew of Jo's nature and demeanour. She WAS the glue to the new family. A few years later and Jo was the father of a baby boy born on Christmas Day. To Jo this had some significant meaning, therefore he named his new son after the man he admired and also was born on Chritmas Day, Jimmy Buffett. Well, he didin't call him Jimmy Buffett, but the label was there. After years of dealing with the turmoil Jo's wife left, took the kids and got outta town. Jo's penchant for a "Bohemian" lifestyle took it's toll on the young family. "Shaken, but not stirred", Jo remained for his children; he had a responsibilty to them no matter what and what greater bond than "love"?

Years passed, the kids grew, more relationships and of course, the inevitable; another marriage which also had gone sour. Devastated, Jo resolved to remaining a "lone wolf" the rest of his days; "love, it seemed, was just not his 'cup of tea"! So here he was, staring at the Angel above him who hurried to his side as he fell to the floor. Instinct told him to run...he did. Leaving the cafe' he rounded the corner to his apartment only to "look back". Celeste was in the window! Watching him leave! "Don't, don't look back!" "Too risky! Gotta focus, man!" Jo's pace was weakened by thoughts and the "angelic face"; his rescuer. "Damn, that was close!" He placed the key into the lock and turned the knob. As he entered he felt that something was different,..wrong. Again, the Dark took him away.

Tales of the Tropical Gypsy

CHAPTER ONE

He sat looking out window of the small cafe' sipping strong coffee with trembling hands, the result of a three day binge involving his favorite, Don Julio Tequila. "Gotta quit this shit", he thought. He knew too well it was only a thought, his demeanor logically knew better.

Another day, another struggle, not with a bottle, but with the ordeals he'd endured for months. "Change, I need a change". He was tired. Tired from months of dealing with "uncontrollable cicumstances". Tired of not knowing what each day would bring. His world was a "Bohemian Rhapsody" with the lyrics of good times and pain. Middle-aged and unsure of himself he was definitely a good candidate for "emotional suicide", that crossover from sanity to insanity. Artists, they have that potential. As he rose from the small table he felt a stabbing pain in his chest. "NO! Not me!" and succumbed to inviting hands of darkness.

"Sir, sir? Are you alright?" she asked. He was dazed, confused and surprised to find that not only the pain was gone as quickly as it came, but the young woman holding his head from the tiled floor was as beautiful as an Angel. "Am I dead?" The young woman reluctantly laughed, they both laughed. As she helped him to his feet he thanked her and apologised for the incident. "Are you okay to walk?" she asked. "Yes, don't know what came over me, but I feel fine now." "My name is Jo, without the "e". May I know the name of my rescuer?" "Celeste, with an "e", she replied. They laughed again. For the first time in months, or had it been years, he felt something inside that he'd long ago given up and never wanted to feel again, ever. As he looked into her eyes he'd realised he had to leave.

"Thank you, Celeste. I owe you one". He started for the door. "Jo? Do you come here often?" she asked. "Somedays", he said. In his mind he didn't want to leave, but he knew he had to. "Why?" he thought. "Why am I so afraid?" "Gotta go, Celeste. Maybe we'll meet again." He walked out of the cafe' into the heat and humidity of the early morning. "My kinda weather", he thought to himself. "Good day for a run." And as he walked back to his apartment his mind would not let go of the vision of the beautiful angel he'd just met. as well, Celeste watched out the window as Jo walked away.

Little did Jo know his life was about to change forever. The adventure ahead of him was two blocks away, waiting in the studio of his apartment.

Tales of the "Tropical Gypsy"

Coming soon, dear Readers, "Tales of the Tropical Gypsy" as told by the "World's most Unfamous Artist" and a continuance of the "Chronological History of the Artist".