The Man, The Pen, And The Moon

This article originally appeared in the March/April 2011 edition of fluence magazine, published by Ricco/Maresca Gallery, and can be found in its original format at:http://www.riccomaresca.com/fluence/magazine.htm. The author, Marie Sabatino, is Program Director of the SUS Brooklyn Psychosocial Clubhouse.

His name was Melvin Way, or Melvin “Milky” Way, or as he signed on the form to consent for our interview: Melvin, Whay., Way. I had planned to meet with the artist on a Sunday afternoon in late December—the same day that New York City had one of the worst snowstorms in its history. When I called Melvin in the morning to confirm our appointment, he said something about not being able to make it because he was “in the process of flipping calendars.” I envisioned Melvin Way enraptured in a frenzy of epic art-making that might somehow convey the heaviness of time passing, moments lost. When I asked Melvin if he could tell me more about that process, he simply said: “Sundays are hyper—my natural high.”

My initial reaction was to attempt to convince Melvin to change his mind. I was eager to learn about the man behind the art. Then, despite my best intentions, I decided that it was better to follow the direction of Melvin Way. We planned to get together for the interview several days later.

I had met Melvin Way once before, at his recent exhibit at the Hospital Audiences, Inc. (HAI) Gallery in Soho just a few weeks earlier. Melvin’s work was first discovered by HAI art instructor, Andrew Castrucci, at a homeless shelter on Ward’s Island in New York City almost twenty-five years ago. In my investigation of the artist, I learned a bit about the mystique of Melvin “Milky” Way, as well as his reputation of being difficult to work with. Yet I found Melvin to be gentle and affable—eager to please, to engage, and to pull one into his world through his art; though, he certainly would not refer to the dozens of tightly condensed ballpoint drawings that adorned the walls of HAI as such a thing. As Melvin put it, proudly pointing to a centipede-like figure in one of his drawings, Key to Life, “I was ingesting this to be myself.” Indeed, much of the works of Melvin Way appeared to possess elements of both searching and self-discovery: a rigorous journey through a complex inner landscape—indefinable, yet with a sense of purpose.

According to most accounts of the artist’s history, Melvin Way has been living with schizophrenia for nearly four decades of his life. It was not clear exactly what Mr. Way understood this to mean. Perhaps the most he was able to intimate about this was that he went through a period of “amnesia” during much of his life. Memories, experiences, and realities at times here, at times gone. The way one might imagine waking from a dream in the middle of the night, bits and pieces pulsating and alive, yet mostly seen through a murky window of consciousness, an unspoken question about what exists in the world outside and what exists within.

This article has been abbreviated, to read it in its entirety click here.