Masks by Peter Cherches

 


Masks - a collection of sixteen minimalist snappers by Peter Cherches revolving around - you guessed it, the masks we wear, have been wearing and will continue to wear during our current COVID-19 pandemic.

The masks we wear - well, at least we humans share something in common. And have been sharing in common for two whole years. Oh, my, will this mask wearing ever end? Sorry to say, not in the foreseeable future. What to do? Everybody will have their own answer but my answer is clear: read Peter Cherches.

Yes, indeedy do di, our Brooklyn born and bred author provides a guided tour on the street, around the corner and through the neighborhoods of the grand city where masks are the thing.



Mask minimalism in action: mark these magnificent openings for a quartet of quirky quagmires in the making, Cherches-style -

PROGRESS
My doorbell rang. "Who is it?" I asked.
"A neighbor."
I recognized the voice. It was the polar bear from down the hall. I put a mask on and opened the door. Damn, he wasn't wearing a mask. I was about to tell him to put a mask on if he wanted to speak to me, but then I realized he just had one of those surgical masks on backwards, so the white side was showing.

ONE OF THE FAMILY
As I was out for my morning walk, I saw a woman walking her dog outside the park, a Jack Russell. The dog was wearing a mask over its nose and mouth, and it didn't look too happy. No sad, no depressed, not like one of those Sarah MacLachlan tug-at-your-heartstrings abused dogs on TV, just pissed off. I could see it in the dog's eye, that quizzical "What the fuck's this thing doing on my face" look.

A STATEMENT
I know cloth masks aren't suppose to be as effective as surgical masks or N95, but I wanted to make a statement, so I wore my Kent State mask, featuring a silkscreen of that iconic photo of the shell-shocked young woman leaning over the body of a young man who had just been shot, purchased from the online pandemic pop-up shop of an organization that raises funds for social change initiatives.

NEIGHBORS
Two old men in N95 masks were having a fistfight in my building's lobby. I could tell who they were by their eyes, their hair, their bodies, the clothes they wore. They were both older than me by 10 or 15 years, mid-to-late seventies, but I remember when they were younger, as they both were already living here 30 years ago when I first moved in.



Here's a snip from one of my personal favorites, a Cherches micro documenting a certain memorable moment when Peter took a jolly ride down on the subway.

ON THE SUBWAY
Buskers performing on a subway car? You betcha! A star in the making turns on some music from his boom box. Oh, no, not hip-hop! But then the unexpected, a recording Peter loves, Little Jimmy Scott singing "I'm Afraid the Masquerade is Over." Here are Peter's words:

"One of the young guys started miming the performance of the song, with meaningful hand motions and body language. He wasn't lip-syncing, of course, he was wearing a mask. But then, about a minute and a half into the song, where Little Jimmy belts out "I'm afraid the masqueraaaaaaaade is over," drawing the word "masquerade" out for several seconds, the guy pulled off his mask and we could see his mouth wide open. We all gasped. Or at least I did. This guy was lip-belting a Jimmy Scott song, unmasked, in an enclosed subway car! How many billions of viral droplets were spewing from his gaping piehole? Then he surprised us all. He brought his hand to his ear and pulled off what, it turns out, was only a mask of his open mouth. Then we saw a great big smile. Was that a mask too? It was indeed, and he wrapped up his performance in a plain old blue rectangular surgical mask.
Bravo, I thought to myself, as he sang the final words to the song: "And so is love."
When he came around with the hat..."


Now what did Peter Cherches give the busker? For our Brooklyn author to tell. But here's a hint: when it comes to great music, Peter is all about love, mask and all.



Masks publishes on March 17th. I highly, highly recommend you order yourself a copy. You'll identify with each and every micro, right down to the last mask.


Peter Cherches, American author and performance artist, born 1956