Archive for the ‘Jeffrey’ Category

Various & Sundry, part eighty-two

Tuesday, December 30th, 2008

— Month of November workout totals: Swim-4; Bike-2; Run-2; Lift-2; Yoga-0; Pilates-2; Lupus Drill-3

— Here it is, the tail end of December, without my making a full entry in well over a month. I suppose I haven’t had much to say, or maybe I’ve been bogged down in the same economic pessimism which seems to grip the country (and who needs to hear more of that?). Well, enough of procrastination. Let’s take an overdue look at some recent personal developments of a more positive nature:

— Bridget at Maker’s Mark® announced that The Mark of Great Art Website now lists the final disposition of our summer collection. Pursuit of Happiness is hanging at Cantaloupe (35 Charlotte Road, London) and The Mark of Stardom ended up at Toys (Calle Infanta Isabel, Madrid). I received good exposure in a feature about the London event, which was also used to raise money that provides visual art projects for people with mild-to-profound learning difficulties. You might agree that the article is not that well written, but who’s complaining? Those Brits don’t understand real English anyway, yuhknowhattahmean?

— I completed my newest wood engraving and returned to Larkspur for a day of printing on Gray’s antique Vandercook, a marvelous piece of equipment to which I’m blessed to be given access. No. 11 at the Paddock is derived from a digital I took at Keeneland during the recent Fall Meet. I also took the opportunity to finally create a numbered edition of Waiting for Joe, my first block under Wesley’s guidance. Needless to say, this low-res image is a poor representation of the actual engraving—

“No. 11 at the Paddock” by John Andrew Dixon

— Although my hope was to devise “The Original Joe’s Christmas Box” for our CAC’s holiday exhibition, I did manage to deliver Cosmic Cusp, a fusion of previous year-end compositions. I made the deadline in response to Dana’s suggestion, and the resulting piece is a stronger effect than the individual mixed-media components. That’s synergy for you!

— Sara Jane stopped by today to take her first look at my latest portrait commission, and it’s no exaggeration to report that she’s delighted with the result. Three Girlfriends is a departure for me. I haven’t worked with acrylics in ages, but I chose the medium for what I thought would be an appropriate interpretation of her original photograph. The picture of ladies posing dramatically on a beach suggested a series of translucent glazes to capture the luminosity of the morning surf, and lent itself to the back-lighting of the figures. I’m pleased that it worked out as well as it did, but I had the notion that if I patiently built up layers of thin color and milky washes on a smooth panel, I could avoid a brush-stroke technique (not my strong suit) and rely on years of experience handling liquid effects. I put in some necessary details with colored pencil, but the sealed acrylic surface made it more like “rubbing” tones and highlights, as opposed to typical drawing. In the final analysis, it proved to be a very interesting exploration.

— EKU’s Chitauqua Lecture Series Juried Art Exhibition (wow, that’s long) has once again favored one of my collage artworks. The upcoming “Freedom” show will include Fifteenth Cosmosaic, and I’m looking forward to the opening reception on January 23rd. As most people familiar with my work already understand, this series of spontaneous “mystical” compositions originated with graduation presents for my nieces and nephews. I’ve never been certain about how it might appeal to a public audience, but perhaps this is a good indicator.

— Three years ago I wrote about Paula, who lost a bout with cancer too early in life. During that time, the KBBC worked to find a way to put to good use the proceeds from the sale of the “Share the Road” specialty license plate. On December 11th, we finally had our public announcement of The Paula Nye Memorial Education Grants for bicyclist and pedestrian safety.Paula Nye Grants The endorsement of our effort by the Transportation Cabinet and current administration was not a foregone inevitability, but when they realized: A) Thousands of plate buyers had made a voluntary contribution to help make Kentucky roadways friendlier to non-motorized travel; B) The Commission’s intent to independently administer the allocation of funds would cost the state nothing; and C) The grant program was a fitting tribute to an employee who had worked to diligently promote highway accommodations for bicyclists and pedestrians … How could they not support our concept? To their credit, the Lieutenant Governor and the Mayor of Lexington were at the Horse Park for our kick-off event. Strangely enough, David D, the public information professional who had shown enthusiasm for our project from the beginning and had orchestrated the media splash, died suddenly at work a couple weeks before the scheduled announcement, and that made the event even more tinged with emotion than anyone could have expected.

— I came back to the Blue Bank Farm this month with a muzzleloader and tried my best to close the season with some venison. Didn’t spy a single white-tail, but had to hear about Greystone’s Astrea dragging in a ruined ten-pointer that somebody failed to successfully track after the shot. Such was my luck as a hunter this time around. I haven’t enjoyed being in the woods this much for goodness knows how long, plus I had the rare opportunity to hike the knobs with brother Fron, as we marked boundary lines and plotted a mutual strategy for selective logging throughout our holdings. I have no good excuse for not connecting my soul with the land on a more regular basis. I allow myself to forget how much I will always love those acres. Folly!

— There is much room for gratitude and optimism in the coming cycle. Nevertheless, there are many significant challenges for all of us to face in 2009. I know a guy as old as me who has been retired from GM for eight years. He’s a nice man, but did he genuinely work hard enough during 20 years of employment to deserve a big income and benefits from the age of 48 until he dies? That could easily be twice the number of years he put in as a worker, or, if he takes care of himself, even more. Now, it’s one thing to dodge Taliban rockets in God-cursed terrain. In my book those brave Americans have earned a more-than-decent pension. But assembling ugly, inefficient cars that most thoughtful people would rather not drive? That’s “a horse of a different color.” Our nation would’ve surely crashed decades ago if all corporations had been managed as poorly as the Detroit auto companies. And they want to continue juicing the taxpayers to avoid restructuring under bankruptcy? Now, that’s what I call audacity.

V & S

Various & Sundry, part seventy-seven

Friday, July 4th, 2008

— Month of June workout totals: Swim-1; Bike-7; Run-2; Lift-1; Yoga-0; Pilates-0; Lupus Drills-1

Just when I stopped believing in the impossible mission…

Jim Phelps lives!

And so, finally, I became an artist when I grew up…
— The Brady portrait commission is done. There were many times during the course of the work when I questioned what I’d gotten myself into. I’ve always told myself I wouldn’t try to paint a likeness without a quality reference image. An accomplished portrait artist once advised me to avoid subjects who were deceased. On top of breaking those rules, I faced creating a full-color image from a black and white photo. “All’s well that ends well,” as they say, so eventually the creative torment and restless nights will be forgotten—until I get myself into the next pickle. Hey, I should look at it another way: If I can solve this puzzler and survive to reflect on it, the next project should prove to be easier. Sounds good in theory, but the important thing is that the recipient is thrilled with the result, and she called me again this morning to say so. Well, isn’t that what creating art is all about?

Major adventures in a time-machine collage…
— Dana gave this title to my wild dream after I described it to her this morning. Forgive me for describing it to you, too. After a crazy silent-movie chase through the restaurant zone with brother Fron, I found myself on a train with my Aunt Sis when she was young. It appeared to be some sort of troop train. As a soldier who looked like Gary Cooper told stories, I saw a uniformed, twenty-year-old Eddie (Dadbo) come into the passenger car dragging his canvas suitcase, with well-oiled, carefully combed hair and a grim expression. When I tried to “rewind” the sequence, I couldn’t control the timing, so the scene before me changed to a relaxed, fifty-something Dadbo packing for a business trip, but he wasn’t able to see me. I started to wake up, and, naturally, I couldn’t reverse the progression before the entire thing was lost.

Back to normal (whatever that is)…
— Bruce is home again after his latest ordeal. By and by, he seems to be in less pain and is able to climb stairs without difficulty. Joan and Caitlan stopped to wish him well on their way back from Hawaii. Dana and I were heading out the door, to hear the Johnny Crawford Vintage Dance Band at Pioneer Playhouse. Because we were all hosed down and ready for a night out, they took some digitals of us on the front porch steps, and I hope we get the pictures soon, so I can make a better entry here about a satisfying, memorable performance.

(Happy Birthday, Uncle Sam!)

V & S

Thirty years ago . . .

Thursday, October 18th, 2007

When Dana and I marked our silver anniversary last month, it was recognized that a separate milestone we’d failed to observe had passed us by a couple months earlier—pizzaking.gifthirty years since we’d first met. About half a year after my abrupt departure from Chicago, kind Fate placed us in the same small basement office in Wright State University’s publications department. Life as a freelancer in Dayton hadn’t worked out very well, so it was with a measure of keen anticipation that I sat down one afternoon with the classified section, a Cassano’s thin-crust pizza, and a pitcher of lousy beer. I don’t remember applying for any other full-time job during that summer of ’77. To be guardedly candid, if it were not for my journal and the extant artifacts of my creative meanderings, I would recall even less about those months at J’s INN.

Ah, yes… J’s INN. Even the sound of it on my mental tongue conjures a mix of both exhilarating and disturbing sentiments. Thirty years later, J’s INN is less a set of recollections than it is a reservoir of emotions and sensory vignettes. Jeffrey’s scheme to rent the sprawling compound near the airport in late 1976 was just the catalyst I needed to make my escape from that metro-leviathan which bear-hugs the southwest corner of Lake Michigan. I returned to Ohio. Chicago was, and still is, “my big city,” but I knew I couldn’t live there with any level of mental peace. It was just too big. I had this nagging idea that I really needed to reside some place where I could see a cow now and then. J’s INN would be the place. J’s INN would be the perfect environment where I could shake off the city, reconnect with my brothers, and map out a new life as an independent creative professional, and, to a remarkable degree, I somehow managed to do just that. I enjoyed a privileged status. One memory that survives is the time other tenants complained to the INNmaster that he was too lenient with me with respect to our division of duties, and he firmly replied, “What makes you think fairness has anything to do with it?” Although life at J’s INN was conducive to many things, it was far from perfect, and it became too large a phenomenon to fully control, despite Fron’s valiant effort as the legendary INNmaster. J’s INN had its own appetites and its own aura of defiance that could never be tamed. Eventually, one could only betray and abandon it to its own devices. When it finally spent itself and met its match in the bulldozer, it surely left a crack in the hearts of my Clansmen, but it’s difficult to accept that its legacy, as hopelessly scrambled as it is, has not proved to be a good one in the final analysis. To think otherwise is to deny the galvanizing purpose it played in Brotherhood, and to deny its role in drawing me to my lifelong “partner in all things.” So be it, J’s INN— May your forgotten crimes be expiated. May your limestone bones and fallen timbers decay in peace at last.

jsinn.jpg

Getting used to new formats

Wednesday, May 9th, 2007

Mombo and I had supper together at the Hall Sunday evening and the farm looked wonderful to my eyes. Fron and Bubb were both mowing when I drove in, and Glenda has clearly added her effort to the flower beds. Bless them all for their care of the Clan Heartland. I used to have more pangs of regret when I made visits from my town-based existence, but now I just focus on appreciating the way things are, and that my mother has a beautiful place to live, and that the foundation is now laid for a new generation of stewardship. As ever, the Land awaits me. What shall I do about it?

September Eleven

Monday, September 11th, 2006

It’s our 24th wedding anniversary, but we no longer have this date to ourselves, of course; it now belongs to all Americans.

Dana and I opted for a day at home, trying to enjoy the familiar with mindful appreciation. I did some chores for her; she made two tasty meals for me. At the same time, I was trying to pack for a Michigan trip and finish framing the 50th anniversary artwork for the California B’bachs. I avoided the media all day, since there were already too many things going on in my head. I really had to quiet myself and beckon an Archangel, so I wouldn’t goof up, fall two stories off a ladder, and ruin the day.

Our intimate supper featured the last of my venison tenderloin, wild rice, and Fron’s yellow squash. Sliced organic strawberries in liqueur-flavored yogurt were an exquisite finale, and the bottle of Firestone Cabernet was pure velvet on the palette, shining like fiery blood before the candle flames.

Decks awash

Sunday, September 3rd, 2006

Today was “Clan Pirate Day 2,” and there may never be a third at this scale. My personal opinion is that the abundant availability of alcohol is fundamentally incompatible with our thematic idea. Nevertheless, it was great fun in many respects, and the wide array of wenches, knaves, powder monkeys, and assorted nautical vermin will contribute many interesting additions to the family image bank. “Lady Virginia” was chosen by our jousting champion, who lost by a single point—a clear case of robbery. We celebrated a number of birthdays with Dana’s famous carrot cake, which we managed to decorate late last night in the motel after the original effort to make our own icing fell apart. A tip of the admiral’s leather hat to our very own “Stenchpit” and his “Lillie.” Without their monumental dedication this day and its memories would not exist.

Day of Death, Day of Life

Saturday, August 26th, 2006

In Lexington this morning, a commuter jet crashed while trying to take off from the wrong runway, killing 49 of the 50 souls on board. I bicycled out to Shared Silence, and left for Kelley Ridge when I got home, to help Joan get her armoire to the upper floor. I didn’t find out about the accident until she told me. Jeffrey had to leave, but I stayed and had lunch with her, Caitlan, Josh, Pat, and Verla. Caitlan and I talked about her internship, and I also found out that Josh will be working full time as a screen printer for the 10th Planet. Joan sent me home with gifts, including Berry’s book on Harlan Hubbard and two of Joe’s old wooden boxes that will enable me to create assemblage under the influence of Joseph Cornell. She also loaned me a James McMullen book which totally throws open my thinking with respect to a concept for the Brass Band Festival poster. I worked outside when I got home, swept the driveway, and finished stacking my salvaged bricks. I got an email informing me that the son of a cycling pal (Martin V of Burgin) had died in a rock-climbing fall. I helped Dana finish her food preparations for Bruce’s visit, just as he arrived. It seemed so amazing to have him here after his first solo Interstate drive in a very long time. It was only a year ago that he was still in the thick of a battle against potentially deadly infections, so this marks another important milestone in his slow recovery. Jeannette and Ben stopped by to see him and have a bite to eat. Terie, Marty, Joan, and Caitlan paid him a visit, too. It’s been a happy evening, in a house not usually so full of life, but I’m acutely aware of the overwhelming sense of tragedy that so many other Central Kentucky families must be feeling tonight.

The sour and the sweetness

Friday, August 25th, 2006

Even though Dana made me blueberry pancakes this morning, we almost quarreled about the upcoming pirate gig. I realized later that it really had nothing to do with that. I was upset about continuing problems with my Mac G4. Make no mistake about it, Apple Computer has manufactured at least one miserably poor product, and it happens to be sitting on my desk.

A more enjoyable thing was taking what I learned in Kathleen’s studio yesterday and starting work on Florence and Bill’s 50th Anniversary collage. However, the best part of my day was finding out that Fron had already string-trimmed the gully at the Clan graveyard. I was shocked to discover that it was finished, and all I had to do was mow the grass in the orchard. And then he filled my box with tomatoes again. I definitely like this guy…

Optimizing enjoyment through actual occasions

Sunday, August 13th, 2006

I gathered with friends at the cabin early for Shared Silence and Milton’s summary of what we’ve learned about Process Theology—how the language of religion and the language of science can be translated into a third, new language that integrates spiritual, philosophical, and metaphysical concepts with the most current understanding of quantum physics and string theory.

I lent a hand picking up litter and trash along our adopted highway, Chrisman Lane (Kentucky 1273). When I first started doing this I figured I was making up for the candy wrappers I tossed on the ground as a kid and the beer bottles I threw at speed limit signs after I turned 18. I don’t know how many garbage bags it took before I figured I’d balanced my karma. Now I do it in tribute to my friend Mack, who I miss every time I travel his favorite road, one of the prettiest in Boyle County.

After sending out an email notice to areas cyclists, I made the drive to Blue Bank Farm. I mowed the Clan graveyard, helped Jeffrey pick garden vegetables, and brought some apples down from the orchard for Mombo. When I got back home, Dana and I finished cleaning up the porch and front yard before munching down on fresh tomatoes.

God — Friends — Community — Family

When it comes to the important things, days probably don’t get much better than this.

Distinctively Frondybo

Thursday, August 10th, 2006

• He’ll answer to the name of Jeffron, GrandyFron, or possibly Stenchpit, or maybe even Crocboopdile—if he’s had his nap.

• Erstwhile Innmaster, he had no trouble explaining to his disgruntled tenants why he cut me so much slack. That was a long time ago, but he still does. The generosity of his father resides in his heart.

• Like his father, he’s a gardener, outdoorsman, family man, and natural leader. Unlike his father, he became an errant Elizabethan and perhaps the truest Thespian in the family.

• He was the first of the Clan to “go back to the land,” but he’d already won my admiration by then. Soon after, he showed me what it meant to be a stepfather. He continues to help me understand ideas like ingenuity, self-reliance, and fidelity.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my brother, “Fron.” I love you, forever…

Matriculators, matriarchal matters, and mature ’maters

Tuesday, July 25th, 2006

Tonight’s supper was simple, yet incredibly tasty, thanks to the addition of my brother’s garden produce. He offered us a couple buckets of veggies last night when we visited the Blue Bank Farm to dump yard clippings and pick a container of blackberries. It’s sad that I nearly forgot how good a tomato can taste. The generosity of Dadbo lives on in the heart of Fron…

Saw Nic with his long hair on the way into the Valley, and he helped me unload Ned at Ivan’s old repository. Mombo wasn’t home, but I picked up my copy of the legal papers, and got to see the Virginia E. Dixon Revocable Trust documents in their final form. Turns out that our family meeting wasn’t rescheduled after all, so we actually did miss it while getting settled in Michigan on the 16th.

Much of my time today was spent preparing to lead my first B.I.K.E. | Boyle County meeting in two weeks. With respect to this type of public service, my reflections during the recent southbound trip, after leaving Barefoot’s Resort on Saturday, have me convinced I need to focus on the tasks at hand and avoid the temptations that come with community prominence. This ego needs to be kept on a particularly short leash, so just get the job done.

It was fun to talk to Seth when I saw him briefly in the driveway upon arriving home—on questionable leave from GSP, but in the company of his smiling mother. That he was totally engrossed in his “eye-opening” academic adventure was evident. It’s great to see him grappling with his dreams. Set your sights high, lad…

Easter with Clan

Sunday, April 16th, 2006

During Easter Mass I was noticing how much little Connor looks like his grandfather did at about that age, especially when my brother Jeffrey was soothing him. I was reminded of the old 8mm silent film that Mombo shot on another Easter, 45 years or more in the past. Little Jeffrey was so disappointed he didn’t find the biggest basket he cried and ran out of the picture. The technology used to document family images has come a long way over the years, to the point where Rita can now produce and present for holiday viewing an audio-visual DVD which archives a Clan event that took place just last month.

The torch has been passed in many ways…

A plasmatic stew of jolting stimuli and revolting news

Tuesday, August 30th, 2005

 
•   Another portion of America is singled out by Mother Nature for a round of devastation and paralyzing emotional trauma.

•   I observe in a mirror the image of my departed brother-in-law, sneering back at me as a pirate captain, his frame bristling with weapons.

•   The pet cat of a friend is stomped to death by an angry husband, plunging her life into a miserable chain-reaction of self-rescuing actions.

•   My Governor declares his daring intent to cast a wide safety net of pardons to spike the ambitions of the unsavory political boss currently abusing the office of Attorney General.

•   Jeffrey and Lea’s dachshund “Odie” is slaughtered by a coyote in the woods behind their home at The Blue Bank Farm.

•   Paula, the state employee who coordinates the work of the KBBC and assists those of us who sit on the panel, took indefinite sick leave with the news that she has pancreatic cancer spreading to her liver.

•   My friend and favorite neighbor Danny is preparing to move his family to Kansas.

•   Bruce‘s condition yo-yos from lucid progress to feverish setback, almost on a daily basis.

•   We learn that Marty will be leaving Kentucky to live with his mother and her boyfriend in South Carolina.