It’s Berkeley . . . mid 60’s. He sits up all night in his little cramped room in the infamous lodging of Haste House, putting the finishing touches on one of his newest paintings. Drawings, sketches, oils and watercolors, dried spaghetti stuck to the plate that hasn’t been washed in weeks . . . speed, smokes, and a bottle or two are in close proximity as this driven artist goes deeper into his work – creating art that not only others may enjoy . . . but also himself.
Suddenly the door opens, and his solitude is broken. It’s his roommate Phil, coming back from a walk. Phil had just tried a very popular drug at the time . . . LSD. Phil looks down at the artist’s hands which are covered in paint from his latest creation, and the organic mess begins to swirl and pulsate as the then legal drug works its wonders on Phil’s chemistry.
“I love doing this art,” the young artist says. “It’s really a good thing.”
The tripping young man looks deep into the artist’s eyes . . . a thoughtful smile appears on his face.
“You know how you feel right now on LSD?” The artist continues.
The influenced man nods his head. “Well, that’s how I am all the time.” <read more>