Hermès: a haudenschild Garage project with MARK BRADFORD

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Lisa Koon: The House Call

Written in the voice of the neighbor, the following text is the last word for the defense…

What could possibly be going on now? I can’t leave, I am stuck…

I have always loved that quote, but I just can’t apply it to these spicks next door, Robert Louis Stevenson must have lived in a private, tranquil, civilized, all American neighborhood when he said “Make the most of the best and the least of the worst.”  I haven’t had a moment of peace since they moved here, I have no idea where these people came from, nor do I want to find out.

I wish I could understand, actually I don’t want to understand them!

They should try to understand me, but heck even Stevenson, having come from Scotland, such wonderful land, had the notion to write Jekyll and Hyde, of which one was a wonderful congenial doctor and the other a dreadful person, in the book, two faces of the same person.

I don’t want to ramble, I want to give you facts, then you can tell me if you think what’s going on is justifiable.

Since they moved next door I have been vigilant about keeping the integrity if this “Barrio” as they would call it, I have watched them in and out, all day all night, call it obsession, I call it peeping, YES as in Tom.

I refuse to use any foreign words for this account, don’t want any part of them to rub off on me, God knows what would happen.

I have lived here for years, enjoying my work, my hobbies, my quotidian routine and fulfilling life, but nothing has been constant since they moved next door.

The husband appears to be an Anglo good looking man, but he cannot possible be normal and be married to that woman, I did hear he is a bit strange, she is totally off the radar, starting with her looks, can’t even define the ethnicity, and if that was not enough, she is constantly searching for something, I watch her daily, she thinks she is the inventor of invention, she is unstoppable, I have to view this every day, it is exhausting!

So now that I have been observing this new endeavor from afar, I continue to believe that the woman is a crazy force, but she never expected me to be one as well.  I did all I could to make them move, but guess what?  The more I shook things up the more she danced, she constantly challenged me, she brought noise to this quiet, tranquil, heaven.

Their home is a work in progress, I peeked as often as I could, I guess you could call the place interesting, certainly eclectic.

I wanted to ask her, exactly who are you? What do you want, but every single time I tried my blood pressure soared and I gave up.

Now I am looking at my home being transformed into a dialogue, back and forth, artists, inventors, what are they trying to say?  If I was there, I would place a paravent, hell a screen around the entire block, circumventing my house, and guess what “she” would call it, an installation! When I was a kid an installation was a ceremony, of a public official assuming a new post, but noooooo, now you have umbrellas in two continents and that is an art installation, or better yet, wrapping a building, and a guy named Christo thinks he is the next coming of Christ.

I am telling you, I tried, I kept to myself, and continued to live in my house, but I was constantly disturbed by the multitudes of wannabes in and out of next door.

The woman actually had the balls (excuse my French) to ask me if she could help me with the yard work, she had a good gardener and she offered his services to me at her expense, honestly how pretentious is that? Was my yard no longer good enough for the neighborhood?  I didn’t even thank her, when I mentioned this to my mother, mom thought it would be a good idea, but I could not give this woman any satisfaction, the dislike became more intense after that offer.

I wish I could wrap this up with one sentence, but it became complicated, as I got older, I seemed to soften a bit, but the damage was done, don’t get me wrong, the parades continued, I took the high road and tried to cohabitate.

My golf game brought me much satisfaction and relaxation, non-golfers would ridicule the game by saying that chasing a ball around with a stick for 18 holes is banal, what is banal in my opinion is this so called ‘Art World’ next door.

I always felt that in order to create a civil dialogue with someone, one has to establish a common denominator, but what could I possibly have in common with that woman other than, we could be considered eccentric, that we both took care of our mothers until they passed, I was in a profession where I cared for people, gossip gives that she is always trying to make opportunities for others, silly golf game to silly art world…

Oh…