John Miserendino

“Is there something you’re trying to avoid in life?” I asked John.
“Sure, plenty of things,” he said with a laugh. “Do you mean psychologically or something more concrete?”
“Both,” I replied.
He laughed again, louder this time. “Well, right now!” he said, his voice booming, almost as if I were in another room. Later, I realized it was part of his expressive, seemingly American style of speaking. Then, more softly, he repeated, “Right now, I’m trying to stay focused on work and keep optimistic. Winters in Paris can get me down, so every year I experiment with strategies to stay afloat. This year’s been pretty good so far. I’ve got a schedule, and I’m sticking to it.
You know, as an artist, you’re more or less in charge of your own time, and if you don’t stay reasonably disciplined, everything gets… mushy. So, I’m working to avoid the winter negativity inside me, as well as the distractions outside.”

What kind of winter distractions are you trying to avoid?
Well, now that I’m in my forties, I just can’t keep up as easily. A hangover mood can really throw me off. And here in Paris, there are so many people I like and appreciate, but they don’t necessarily nourish me—they can drain my energy instead. You know, you meet a lot of artists who only talk about their work—trying to meet this gallerist, trying to land that show. They might as well be lawyers. I find it so tedious when things feel too professional.

How many people are in your close circle, apart from your husband, Casey?
I’m close with my sister and my parents.

You mentioned earlier that your family lives in the States, but you’re here. Does that mean you’re often on the phone with them?
Yeah, about once a week. But we text more often than that. Those relationships have become more important to me as I’ve gotten older, he said, then gestured toward a piece of furniture. Is this your massage table?
Yes.
Do you use it for tattoos or massages?
For everything.
What else? (laughing mischievously)
For relaxation, for instance.
You mean just you, by yourself?
It could be only me.
Just like, face down in that little hole? (laughing)
I smiled in response.
Oh, right—sorry, back to the close circle. If I’m being honest, in Paris, it’s very small. Even after years here, the most important people to me are still elsewhere. I have plenty of friendly acquaintances, but not many deep relationships.

What do you consider a deep relationship?
I’d say it’s when, if I’m upset, I’d want to talk to them. Or when I feel they’re genuinely open to receiving me, especially when I have a problem. Here, it seems like relationships are great when things are good, but not so much when they’re not.

What matters most to you in life?
He sighed, falling into a thoughtful silence. Then, in a calm voice, he said, Just living life.
Can you explain what that means—living your life?
Right now! His voice startlingly loud. Then, as if catching himself, he continued quietly, What does it mean to live my life? I think it’s about moving through different phases. Right now, I’m in a phase of digging deeper into myself.
Usually, I swing between two extremes, I’m either entirely focused on work or completely social, with no middle ground. So, I’ve been thinking—what do I want for the second half of my life? I want to find something I genuinely enjoy doing.
There’s often this voice in my head, when I look at what I’ve made, asking: Was this truly from within me? Or did I make it just because it’s trendy?

Does that mean you’re pursuing a unique quality in your work?
I used to think so, until I realized there’s no such thing as truly unique. So, I told myself to relax and just do what I want to do. I don’t think it’s about feeling special, but I’m still very wary of following the crowd. If everyone is going one way, I instinctively want to go the other.
Isn’t that a path toward being solitary?
Well, I guess I am pretty solitary. Even when I was younger, I was happy sitting alone in a corner with a piece of paper. Maybe you’ve felt it too, as a foreigner—that sense of being an outsider. It makes me wonder sometimes, what if we had stayed in New York?
But even there. I feel like a foreigner now. The city has changed; people have changed. I feel like an outsider everywhere, like I’m not truly part of any place. If I had to leave Paris tomorrow, I wouldn’t miss it. But New York… it still feels more like home, mostly because the culture is native to me.
Yet you could meet someone from across the planet and miraculously feel a deep connection.
Yeah, totally! And that’s an amazing thing.
Do you have those kinds of connections?
Yeah… but, honestly, I think I struggle with deep connections. Like, staying in touch over a long period of time. I actually prefer meeting new people. I really love new!” He laughed between sentences, his laughter punctuating his words—it was both odd and strangely captivating. “I’ve had a few close friends since childhood,” he continued, “but maintaining or building new friendships has gotten harder. Maybe it’s because, as you get older, you become more set in your ways, more fully formed. You know, when you’re twenty, you just say, ‘We’re friends now! Let’s do everything together!’ But now, in my early forties, it’s more like, ‘I’m happy to meet you,’ without any expectations.

What is your form?
An eagle! (bursting into laughter)
This time, I couldn’t help but laugh along with him.
It’s a good question, he said, but I’m not sure I have a good answer.

Am I to assume that you miss having a friend?
Yes, of course. It would be nice to have more serious friends here. But at the same time… He hesitated, a note of doubt and sadness creeping into his voice. I’m not sure Paris is the city for me in the long term, even though I just had a meeting about my French citizenship—which is funny, isn’t it? He paused, then added, It’s hard to talk about Paris in winter. I really hate it here. I don’t want to blame it all on the weather, but there’s something seasonal about it that pulls me down. And Paris almost embraces those blues, like it’s inviting you to join the winter club: drink all night, smoke cigarettes, and be sad. Oh, God! (laughing bitterly) It feels good for a little while, but at a certain point… fuck, it’s such a drag.

Is there something you dislike about your life?
I both like it and dislike it at the same time. It’s this feeling I’ve come to accept—the loss of a primary sense of control over where I live. It’s like I’ve willingly signed up to be a kind of military wife, following where Casey’s battles take us. If it’s New York, we go to New York. If it’s Madrid, then Madrid.
And what makes that so difficult?
It’s that whenever I tell myself I’m going to fully commit to a place, to really be part of it, I also know I’m equally prepared to leave at any moment. It’s like I never truly unpack my bags—mentally, at least. And now, it’s been eight years of living like this.

Do you have any regrets?
I used to… In my twenties and thirties, my temper would go so high it felt like an out-of-body experience—blind rage over nothing. It could be something as trivial as someone stealing my cab. I’d find myself holding the door open, screaming at the person, and then suddenly I’d float over myself, thinking, What’s wrong with you? His voice dropped to a whisper. You are literally out of control. He paused, then continued, It felt extreme, especially with strangers. It’s easier to be mean to them, to dehumanize them, because you think, I’ll probably never see them again.
But now, I try to do the opposite—and it’s so much more fun. It usually gets better results, too. If someone annoys me in a small way, instead of snapping, I start by smiling at them. Not in a sarcastic way, just a genuine smile, reminding myself that everyone has their weird moments of irritation. It’s like a magic trick I’ve learned over the past six years.

How does it feel to be in your body now?
It’s not always easy, but still more comfortable than when I was younger.
Even though you have less energy?
Sure, I’d love to have more energy, but I’ve learned how to use it differently—how to direct it, to have some control over it.
When I was younger, I was drawn to people with chaotic energy. They were never boring, but, wow, were they exhausting. At first, being with people like that felt exciting, but after a while… it’s always the same thing. Just another chaos person.

What is the most important lesson life has taught you?
That we’re so insignificant. And it’s such a relief! Our complete unimportance—it’s so nice. I don’t understand why people want to be important. It’s a privilege to just be a speck of dust that’s part of the universe. We don’t really need more than that. The things we think are more—they’re not more at all. Society’s structures of awards and rewards, the constant drive to attain something else, these endless hoops to jump through—they’ll occupy you, sure, but they’re not important.
I heard someone say the other day, let’s be honest, there are probably eight or ten real geniuses out there making discoveries that actually make our lives better—and that’s fine! I’m not going to invent some alternative energy source that saves the world. But maybe I’ll create some artwork that shows a scrap of truth to someone. That’s nice, and it’s more than enough.
In the meantime, I’m here, and I just want to juice this orange as much as I can—because life is short.

Why is life short? And what if it were long?
I’d probably kill myself. (laughing)
Isn’t that the whole thing about vampires? They get so bored of living. Or those tech guys who want to live forever—I always wonder, why? That sounds completely unappealing to me.
I find it appealing if I think I’d be able to try out different life scenarios. Right now I feel imprisoned, or maybe just dedicated, to one lifestyle.
Yeah, that part does sound cool. Do you think if you became, like, a brain surgeon, you’d be happier?
Maybe. But I’d want to try it not for the sake of happiness, but just to experience it.
Yeah, I get that. I wish I could have so many more experiences, too. Were we talking about jobs for the day?
I nodded.
I’d love that! Just a hundred different jobs, one day each. I wouldn’t even need to do the job—just sit next to the pilot on an international flight and watch what it’s like.
But wouldn’t you miss the delightful nuances that come with real knowledge?
That’s true. But do you have a list of completely different lives you’d try? If you could live just one more, what would it be?
A monk, maybe a shaman.
Yeah, I’ve been drawn to the idea of being a monk, too. Meditating, growing vegetables, having your whole day regulated and ritualized. Life in a monastery—there’s something about it that appeals to me. Probably because my life is the total opposite of that.

What does love mean to you?
Real love is growing and changing with someone. It’s about accepting them, loving through the good parts and the bad. Idealizing love isn’t great. Honestly, I don’t know how I ended up in a relationship that’s lasted this long. I don’t have a secret; I just don’t expect things to be perfect all the time. I don’t expect him to make me happy. It’s strange, but sometimes I feel love the most when bad things happen. Like with my parents, as they’ve gotten older and started having problems, I’ve felt so much closer to them. It’s made me realize how deeply important they are to me.
Do you feel less love when things are fine?
Yes, I think so. Or at least, I don’t question it as much. Maybe true contentment is one of those things you can’t fully see or appreciate while you’re in it. You only recognize it in hindsight.
I have this habit of thinking things were better in the past. It’s like when you take a picture of me, and I hate it in the moment. But three years later, I’ll look at it and think, this is the most beautiful picture. You were so handsome, why didn’t you love it immediately? It’s ridiculous, but I can’t help it.

I feel like you radiate charm when you speak. How do you do that?
I can feel when I’m doing it, (smiling). Because I can also turn it off. It’s a physical sensation, like opening myself up to someone, being vulnerable. All of that brings me closer to another person. It’s like saying, We’re both here, neither of us knows anything, so let’s just not know anything together. And that’s fine. He oozed a calm, magnetic serenity.

How would you like to be remembered?
I couldn’t care less. Life is now. Thinking about how I’ll be remembered feels like such a waste of time.