MISSIONARY (THE EXTENDED FAMILY AS SCULPTURE)

I'd been in the Bay Area three years and moved four times. When Luscious and I broke up I moved from our tiny Mill Valley apt. back into SF. I rented a cold, spooky collection of rooms in the American Can Co. building down on Third St. It had been the Doctor's office and looked like something out of a Nazi death camp movie. I didn't last long there. Luckily El Estudiente and his girlfriend were also looking for a place. I came on board and we found a big, cheap loft on Florida St. in the Mission.
I'd only had two girlfriends, and married one of them. Now that I was single again I should of taken advantage of this status to get a little. Instead I threw myself into my work. This became a pattern in my life. Coming off the high of the Motel Tapes and discovering for the first time, artists like Joseph Beuys and Yves Klein, I realized this was the direction I wanted to take my art. Sitting in the studio staring at blank walls in order to come up with a painting or object did not appeal to me. In a field with no rules this was just too boring. My direction was delivered in the morning paper.
A 12 year old boy by the name of Darrell Monroe had been stumbled across by a reporter looking for a human interest story. The kid was sweeping Night Train and Ripple bottles from Minna Alley in an area of town known for its homelessness and SRO hotels. The reporter's slant was that the boy, who lived with his family in the Sunnyside Hotel, was a good samaritan, taking the clean up job on himself just because "Someone has to do it." The beautiful simplicity of the act caught my attention. It also caught the attention of the local media outlets, and the mayor's office. I called the hotel and set up a meet with Darrell and his folks.
There was nothing sunny about the Sunnyside. Junkies, drunks and SSI geezers rented rooms by the week. Jim Monroe, Darrell's father managed the place. I sat in their little office and chatted up the fam. They were used to the attention by now. Darell had been on the evening news and the mayor had given him a good citizen commendation. They thought I was just another reporter. The kid was quiet and had a chubby smile. There was also another guy there- Ray. Ray was the self-appointed muscle in the Sunnyside, a friend who didn't want to see anyone taken advantage of. He eyeballed me suspisciously. Like a scene out of the Exorcist, Darrell's little sister stood there like a statue and peed on the floor. What the hell was I doing here?
I had no idea what I was doing talking to these people. I had some vague idea of collaborating with the boy sweeping up the alley. Beuy's concept of "Social Sculpture" and "Everyone an Artist" had inspired me, but I hadn't gotten any further than setting up the meet and greet. Then, just as I was about to make my escape i had an epipheny. What if I made the process of getting to know the boy the rubric of the piece? Could that be art?