Archive for the ‘Time’ Category

March Ex(clusion) — thirty-first day

Thursday, March 31st, 2022

“What is it that confers the noblest delight? What is that which swells a man’s breast with pride above that which any other experience can bring to him? Discovery!”
– Mark Twain
 

March is going out like a lion — no big surprise there. Meanwhile, the March Ex(clusion) is declared OVER. It has unwrapped itself in a way that I never could have predicted. This whole thing originated as a time-management experiment designed to re-calibrate a design practice that I didn’t realize was fated for demise, in transition to my true calling. I’m an artist now, belatedly but wholeheartedly, as I dreamed I’d be since childhood. The March ritual has become an internal, near-sacramental custom — more difficult to describe than ever. But that’s not the point of it. The 31-day string of blog posts is just a way to modulate my attention span and, perhaps, to crystalize as relics a few word clusters with the potential to re-animate various worthy insights at a later time. Would that I had the talent and capacity to write down the many intangible illuminations that peppered this month! That’s not my gift, any more than the ability to devise winning basketball plays under pressure (like my godfather) or to compose organ music in solitude (like my grandfather). Spring (who has sprung) points me to the open air. I am better prepared to answer her summons with another March under my belt (and, before long, to enter my eighth decade). April, here I come.

Today’s sight bite— His severe yet compassionate visage, with the ever-present verdigris patina, —c-l-i-c-k— that man on the Danville obelisk, seeming to acknowledge and endorse the success of a ritual that I’ve conducted in some guise for 16 years.

March Ex(clusion) — thirtieth day

Wednesday, March 30th, 2022

“There is no chance, and no anarchy, in the universe. All is system and gradation.”
– Ralph Waldo Emerson
 

It’s been a long time since I read through older posts at this site, but for some reason I came across the astonishing 6 Mombonian Updates from 2007, which document my mother’s heart surgery. I can’t believe how much time I used to spend blogging, compared to the present time frame, but I’m glad I did it, and even more glad that BCA preserves it at XORPH.com (although the few entries the Mombo made at her own subsection are no longer visible, as far as I can tell). It’s seems fitting today to turn the rest of this post over to Joan and her pleasant message after visiting The Grandview:
      “Well, I was with Mombo for 2 1/2 hours this morning. It was a BVE (Best Visit Ever). Jerome is absolutely right. Now is the time to come visit. I got here at 8:30. She was in the dining room finishing up her breakfast. She had eaten a lot and was drinking apple juice out of a cup BY HERSELF. When I walked up she was trying to get it back on her tray without spilling it so I helped her. She said thank you and looked up at me. I said good morning and told her who I was (Joannie). She asked Joan Elaine Dixon? I knew right then we were going to have a BVE. She was more lucid that I have seen her in two years. Either spring has sprung in her brain or the covid fog has finally lifted. We sat in the dining room and had a long conversation. Then we went back to her room and she listened to music while I massaged her feet, legs, hands, and scalp. She complained about her legs hurting so I asked the nurse (James) about the supports for her wheelchair. They were not in her room but he tracked them down. I also asked Tina to let the helpers know that they should be put on if she is going to be in the wheelchair for any length of time. I tried to make some videos of parts of our conversations. Unfortunately the first ones are pretty lousy because I got my head in front of the phone so she could see me, and all you can see is my hair.”
 

Today’s sight bite—  a-b-o-v-e-!-! 

March Ex(clusion) — twenty-second day

Tuesday, March 22nd, 2022

“A recent bill that was introduced would ‘authorize the President of the United States to issue letters of marque and reprisal for the purpose of seizing the assets of certain Russian citizens.’ So, if the bill passes, children can once again legitimately dream of becoming a pirate when they grow up.”
– Simon Black
 

It occurred to me today that Dana and I started out together with our own natural lifestyles, and, over the years, we’ve evolved separately toward the mean. I’m not talking about our personalities, but the way we like to live each day. We actually were remarkably close to begin with, but then we mutually adapted to like each other’s groove a bit more over time. Hey, in other words, it worked out fine. Earlier today we had a busted mission to dig some freebie yard plants. I sowed some wildflowers instead. This morning brought good relations with Les J in England and Tammy in Lake City. That, plus a decent night’s sleep, made this one a keeper before noon.

Today’s sight bite— Flashing lights on the firetruck a stone’s throw away, —c-l-i-c-k— while the morning air filled with enough burnt-toast stink to coax me back inside.

March Ex(clusion) — third day

Thursday, March 3rd, 2022

“A man is never such an egoist as at moments of spiritual exaltation, when it seems to him that there is nothing in the world more splendid and fascinating than himself.”
– Leo Tolstoy, The Cossacks
 

Last night’s documentary provides a burst of self assurance for today’s outlook. I decided to create a miniature for the local Tiny Art fundraiser — a “prime-the-pumper” that fits my current momentum in the studio, with no lasting significance intended. On the other hand, after having seen my show in Lexington, Danny handed a copy of The Cloud of Unknowing to me, out the window of his truck. “This is going to sound over the top, but it’s just the way it is,” he said, a whiff of diesel exhaust hanging in the unseasonably warm air. “I’m loaning this book to you for ten years.” Something suggests that it may be one of the most important things to happen during this interval of my life.

Today’s sight bite— Luminous, high-altitude popcorn clouds sailing above vessels of deep purple-gray, —c-l-i-c-k— as Apollo’s blazing chariot plunges beyond the edge of the world.

March Ex(clusion) — second day

Thursday, March 3rd, 2022

“After witnessing the extreme bias of mainstream media in covering the Canadian convoy over the past month, Children’s Health Defense decided to step in to offer people a truthful accounting of the progress of The People’s Convoy here in the United States.”
– Mary Holland
 

This entire annual winter project started as a time-oriented experiment, and I mustn’t forget that, nor the importance of the clock in boosting diligence. Circumstances cannot be the only driver. I made more progress on the backyard path. Not sure why that effort has taken an early front seat, but the mild weather is an undeniable catalyst. It’s good to have a daily reminder of concrete accomplishment, like last year’s miniature-each-day ritual. The evening closed with the Wayne White profile, Beauty is Embarrassing. His story makes me feel a bit lazy and unimaginative. Just the prompt I need to pick up the pace tomorrow!

Today’s sight bite— An obstreperous crow on the library window ledge, —c-l-i-c-k— validating or rebuking my belief in the augury of birds.

A successful venison harvest at the farm

Monday, November 23rd, 2020

I arrived at the Valley on Saturday, opening day of modern gun, but one thing led to another, including a satisfying visit with old chum “Bilbo,” and I was still puzzling my way through scope adjustments into Sunday. With the help of a spare box of factory .44 magnum from James, I didn’t finish getting Dadbo’s Marlin sighted in to a level of satisfaction until late Monday morning. I admit to feeling like I had already botched the whole process to some degree. I went out in the afternoon to a couple of different spots that had concealed observation points facing hay fields, including Joan’s expanse where we had held our “safari.” No luck with either one before sundown. Did not see a single deer. For me, it seemed like being “in the right place at the right time” would rule my hunting time, because I gave up tree stands a while ago to adopt a more primitive, admittedly random approach.

The next morning I had the success for which I’d hoped. I went back to the same area before daybreak and chose a high point underneath a bushy cedar tree. By around 9:30am, I was stiff and a bit numb in the ankles and feet. I was ready to give up that location, find another for a spell, or try to flush something from cover. It was sunny now, but cold and breezy. I was standing up from my hiding place, getting ready to sling my rifle over my shoulder, and a medium-size buck came out of the brush near Robin Lick. I was right out in the open, but he didn’t spook. I couldn’t tell if he saw me. He was moving slowly across the field, left to right, up toward the road and wooded knob. It was about as slowly as a deer moves with any kind of deliberateness. For some reason, I was immediately convinced he wasn’t going to pause, so I got iron sights on him and shifted up to the telescopic cross-hairs. He was moving gently enough that my instinct was to take a shot, even though I had a corresponding doubt about it being wrong, or in bad form. All of this without really thinking. Ka-pow.

I had matched my motion to his pace, aiming just a bit in front of his fore-shoulder. He bolted for the road and leaped into the woods. A voice in my head cried, “Blew it. You blew it! Why weren’t you more patient?” Instantly dejected, I knew I’d better check the area at least. It was 75 to 80 yards away. I levered another cartridge and took a moment to pick up and pocket the empty one, putting everything back into safe status. I found what might have been a few spots of blood in the field. When I got up to the road, I saw more clearly a blood trail across the crushed stone. Needless to say, my attitude was transformed. And then I saw him in the woods, looking at me. There were multiple limbs and saplings between us, but the deer wasn’t that far away, certainly less than 50 yards. I had no idea how wounded he was. Should I try to shoot again or finally be patient?

For a second time I had the hammer back, safety off, and trigger in contact. He snorted loudly and took off up the knob, still apparently strong. I lost sight of him. There was significant blood when I examined his standing ground. Well, I had no choice but to begin tracking now. “Dadburnit, the Sweeneys have their dwelling site up there” was the next thing in my mind. I set off up the hillside, looking for more sign. I didn’t find it. I was pretty far up when I heard some thrashing behind me, off to my left side. There he was, less than the distance I had seen him climb. He must have collapsed and slid downhill, before or after I made the decision to follow up the knob. Or perhaps I just hadn’t heard it when I made my own noise clambering up off the road through the dried leaves. At any rate, I’d misjudged the trajectory. When I descended to his location, the rib cage was still heaving, with a bullet entry past the shoulder and heart zone, but it was now evident that the blood had come from the mouth and nose, not the body. Presently, the animal expired before I needed to end it for him. It seemed like barely a minute since practically giving up on the outing, but now I was looking down during the customary prayerful moment. Ever so quickly, the next two days were unfolding in my mind. I had pulled it off. My hunt was over for the season.
 
 
 
 
 
 

Friday, May 8th, 2020

“No one has ever taken this kind of jackhammer to the economy in such a brief time and shut it down. We just don’t understand whether this is going to take a year or ten years to work out of. Therefore, the prudent thing right now is to hunker down, minimize discretionary spending, build up liquidity, get into cash, and buy gold. There’s no playbook that will tell you where we’re going. We’ve violated all the rules of economic life and monetary rationality that have ever been created over the last centuries.”

David Stockman — InternationalMan.com

50 Years

Saturday, July 20th, 2019

Certain things have a logic for me that probably make no sense to anybody else — a cropping of Marty’s Nineteenth Cosmosaic posted on the observance of the original moon landing.

Humanity’s “First Man” and my own “All-American Boy” seem like a fitting juxtaposition.

hatless guy of stone whom I sketched, once upon a time

Monday, June 24th, 2019

“When fascism comes to America, it will not be in brown and black shirts. It will not be with jack-boots. It will be Nike sneakers and Smiley shirts.
— George Carlin
 

I first noticed the statue in McDowell Park about the time I started to walk around Danville after we got the Town House. There was something about the artistic interpretation that appealed to me — not entirely realistic, but only slightly abstracted from life, perhaps like the way I might draw something. I reacted to it as sculpture before I thought much about it as a Confederate symbol. Eventually I did draw it. I don’t remember the year, although I could look it up. At any rate, it was a long time before tragic events were used as an excuse to denounce antique works of art. As soon as they were condemned elsewhere, I thought, “Danville seems immune to such things, but it’s only a matter of time before that statue becomes a target for destruction or removal.” My recent conversation with a local artist has informed me that the day has finally arrived. The decision to spend a lot of money to truck it off apparently has sparked a firestorm within the church congregation with jurisdiction over the statue, which is probably about a hundred years old. I once heard that it’s the northernmost Confederate memorial, but I can’t see how that would be possible. It is understandable that with the Perryville Battlefield only a few miles away, and the history of the conflict’s effect on Danville, that there would be a monument here to honor dead CSA soldiers. More than that, it is a work of art. Period. It was created as such, and is part of of American, Kentucky, and Danville history. It makes sense to preserve it, to conscientiously interpret it, and to put it into the context of the times. Some are certain to have found it offensive, most likely from the time it was erected, and I can respect that, but it is very dangerous territory to use that as justification for the censorship or desecration of art. The whole thing brings a wave of sadness over me. I doubt that those who oppose the decision will successfully swim against a strong tide of political correctness. When the relocation takes place, I hope it ends up north of town, over at the Danville National Cemetery, near the graves of southern men who were buried far from their homes.

Each time the Taliban or other radical groups obliterate Buddhist artworks deemed objectionable, it would appear to a reasonable person, on the face of it, as an abomination. When art historian Robert Hughes describes Stalin’s repression of the Russian avant-garde after 1930, he writes that, “as a wholesale trashing of a civilization, only Hitler’s demolition of the German modernists compares with it.” Although I’m not holding my breath, it will remain my hope that American culture warriors with a self-righteous upper hand are not embarking on an enterprise that people in the future will classify as yet another ideological outrage.

With a whole bunch o’ help from my friends . . .

Thursday, May 30th, 2019

Here’s an overview from The Collage Miniaturist about the
creative development of my tenth poster for the GABBF:

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“While many modern-day album artworks tend to favor strict minimalism, The Beatles make a serious case for going bold and wacky without any type of restraint.”
— Nicole Singh
 

As promised, I’m devoting an entry to the project that kept me out of the collage studio for at least a dozen weeks. I shall beg your forgiveness at the outset for delving into the details of a digital process. Not only has this site kept a seven-year focus on traditional cut-and-glue techniques, but I haven’t indulged the applied-arts side of my multiple personality as a graphic artist. I’m going to depart from that now — perhaps just this once — because it’s been an extraordinary circumstance for me, and a few of you may find the description worthwhile. At any rate, I encourage everyone to read Patrick Roefflaer’s article for a story that is genuinely more interesting than mine!

Not so long ago, a prominent local musician and former brass band director took me aside at an exhibition opening. Based on her recognition of my fondness for collage, she asked me if I would take on a visual homage to the Sgt. Pepper’s album cover design. The purpose would be to mark the 30th production of the Great American Brass Band Festival, held each June in our hometown of Danville, Kentucky. It had always been her dream to link the announcement of her retirement at the annual weekend of concerts to the classic album, with a medley of tunes arranged for brass instruments. Sadly, a severe health crisis had forced her early retirement before that could happen, but she preserved hope that a multi-discipline Beatles tribute for the festival’s upcoming milestone might happen in 2019.

I’d already designed nine posters during the festival’s lifespan. To create a tenth was tempting, and this idea had a barbed hook. It really snagged me. My previous experience offered no sense of proportion about the magnitude of time to which I was committing myself when I said, “Sure.” The first obstacle was whether we were allowed to do it at all. we soon discovered that an enormous number of entities had made a visual salute to the famous image over the past fifty years, and that it had already become a ritual of pop culture, in spite of the complexities involved. There’s even a website that shows over a hundred previous parodies. Before long, we had mutually decided that it might as well be our local festival’s turn to pay homage.

The assignment was now in my lap, and I was overwhelmed with a desire to do it justice and exceed expectations. I found inspiration in filmmakers who I admired (like John Frankenheimer or Robert Altman), because their time-consuming approach would be required for what I’d bitten off. I wanted to bring the same passion, attention to detail, and collaborative leadership to my effort. I ended up shelving all other priorities and putting a ludicrous amount of time into the project, but not without the help of many partners. First and foremost was my wife, Dana, who jumped in head first to play a key part in nearly every aspect of the creative enterprise. After getting advice from an experienced model railroader, she began crafting a miniature flower garden to display the festival acronym for a mandatory foreground allusion. More than once, she would come back to the unfinished artifact to find that its spongy base had “spit out” some of the “flowers.”

The rest of it hinged on two important elements — whether we could pull together our own “Fab Four,” and then surround them with a crowd of numerous figures. It was determined that the Beatles would be “represented” by the previous directors of the Advocate Brass Band, a Golden-Age-style band associated with every festival. Their initial formation to color a political rally in 1989 was a direct influence on the organizing of the annual event itself. This made perfect sense because the foursome would include the festival’s pair of co-founders and their band uniform jackets, although not psychedelic, would be an effective visual reference point. We immediately knew that some digital sleight of hand would be called for, since only two of the four were locally present. One was near a university town many counties away, and the fourth had moved to a distant state. It took lots of coordination to solve that equation, and we pulled it off with the crucial participation of my friend, photography pro Bill Griffin, who took time away from his day job of wealth management. In keeping with the guiding theme of “a little help from our friends,” getting all the ingredients for the poster art to coalesce would demand the magnanimous assistance of others — furnishing space, props, and standing in at our photo shoot, plus image research and acquisition.

At a certain point, I began to focus on researching the background “crowd of fans,” to honor the countless performers, organizers, sponsors, staff, and volunteers who made three decades of festivals possible. It became a daunting, complicated task of culling and selection. I realized that the poster would be the size of a picnic table if everyone who deserved to be on it were included. The original setup by Jann Haworth and Peter Blake was peopled with life-size, hand-tinted cut-outs that imposed a certain physical limitation, and it was fabricated within two weeks. A virtual approach was too open-ended for comfort. There was a limit to how methodical I could become in choosing ingredients for the montage of faces. The solution was to approach it more intuitively, as I would any of my “maximalist” works.

All collage art worthy of the name is irrational at some level, and one of the reasons the original Beatles art is so iconic is the sheer illogic of it. And so, for us, that idea led to a few incongruous personalities, such as Carrie Nation and Howdy Doody. The final assembly was challenging, painstaking, rewarding, and fun, all at the same time. After refining the list of candidates and compiling the source files, each master image had to be sillouetted, retouched, color balanced, and optimized for inclusion. It seemed like the rearranging would never end before every element of the composition appeared to “belong.” I shall confess that I do not possess a powerhouse workstation. The increasing quantity of digital layers in Photoshop had to be continuously merged to prevent the composite file from paralyzing my Macintosh. Even so, it would often exceed 500 MB in size. I tried to save and back up as often as feasible without breaking stride, but there were periodic freezes that would result in “three steps forward and two steps back.”

There should be no misunderstanding, however. The marathon endeavor was punctuated by many fortunate, often astonishing developments. One of our “Fab Four” individuals made a vital connection with an outstanding photographer in Athens, Georgia, who went the extra yard in matching my parameters for an important superimposition of the black-suited Dr Foreman. He also shot an antique bass drum to add another convincing Sgt Pepper’s touch — the same one that appeared on the festival’s first poster in 1990, and it still had the original, hand-painted emblem! Dana took the lead in preparing the poster “mechanical” for offset production, as she always has done for Dixon Design. She also knocked one out of the park during the solicitation of bids. As a contribution to the landmark production, Mike Abbott of Thoroughbred Printing agreed to produce the job at cost, and spent an hour with the press operator, Dana, and me, making sure we were satisfied with the quality.

Our closing duty was to devise a printable key for identifying all the individuals and design elements. My original idea of including a longer “blurb” for each line item quickly became far-fetched when producing the abbreviated version dragged on. By the time we declared it done, the “labor of love” vibe had been exhausted. There wasn’t much love left in the air, and I just wanted all of it to hit the street, which it has, of course, and the positive response has been even more than I anticipated.

This post is already far too long, so I won’t get started on my Eva Marie Saint story, but I need to explain why we included a picture of the creators, and then I’ll finish up on an appropriate collage note. I was adamant that I would not fall prey to the Hitchcock Urge. I had no interest in, nor justification for, inserting myself, since I was making so many brutal choices to leave others on the cutting room floor. Dana was in total agreement, but the team of people who helped with the proofing process took an opposing viewpoint. Their collective drum beat was that the final rendition must include us! You can see that we eventually waved the white flag and stuck a small portrait on top of the Bourbon barrel.

A tiny figure seated at a kitchen table was provided by the Great American Dollhouse Museum as a nod to the Shirley Temple doll in the original composition, which also featured a Madame Tussauds wax figure of Sonny Liston on the opposite side. I knew there had to be a way to include Kentucky’s own Muhammed Ali in our version. Rather than take unavailable time to solicit permission to use a photograph that might get buried in the sea of faces, I turned to my friend Robert Hugh Hunt, who kindly let us insert the extraordinary collage portrait from his 20th Century Icons series!

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends!
 

30th GABBF Poster
digital homage by Dana and John A Dixon
24 x 36 inches
Purchase one now! 
 
Online order page includes a printable key to identification, 
plus a ‘special thank you’ to all our essential collaborators!

35 years!

Monday, September 11th, 2017

“As a husband, you have to remember the crucial importance of three little words — ‘I was wrong.’ That will take you a lot further than ‘I love you.’”
— Charlton Heston
 

After pondering what to do with my stash of birds for far too long, I decided to start a new series that I describe as “Crafted.” Here is an example — a 35th Anniversary present to my indispensable partner and dearest friend.
 
That Red Boot ~ J A Dixon

That Red Boot
collage miniature by J A Dixon
5.375 x 7.25 inches
collection of Dana Dixon

four days in late April

Monday, May 1st, 2017

Thursday ~ Cared for Mombo at the Hall, and she was trying to shake off some cold symptoms. Joan got home as early as possible, so I could get back to Danville for drinks and dinner with the visiting brothers Andrew and Rory from South Africa, along with local friends (Lee and David with granddaughter). The owner of the Bluegrass Pizza Pub invited us to draw on the wall with chalk, but only Zoey and I took him up on it. I cannot remember ever being uncomfortable with a piece of chalk in my hand, which stimulates a direct, electromagnetic current to my imagination. Nor can I recall life before my chalkboard career, as a matter of fact. Like clockwork, Scott V turned 65 first today, but, for some reason, I haven’t reached out yet.

Friday ~ Spent a lot of time monitoring the stock market and setting up trades. Made a trip to Minuteman Press to arrange for the printing of the Carol & Bob portraits. The happy image was taken by someone at a Band Fest picnic years ago, but I have no recollection who it was — a total mystery. We watched the first disc of The Wire, Season Three. So far, there doesn’t seem to be any new ground being broken, but it always fascinates me to observe Dominic West’s acting, and the way he projects different characters without saying anything. I am still reading the new biography of Heston (Hollywood’s Last Icon), and the same basic sense of the great man is reinforced. Loaded with photos from his family archives. The first time I immersed myself in Heston, I was influenced by his values and principles. This time I am struck more with his stubborn refusal to allow personal, professional, or societal obstacles to remain unchallenged. Late in the evening I spent time on the phone with both Marty and Terie, trying to defuse another domestic flare-up. I believe they have exhausted their ability to live with each other at this point in their lives, and I can only trust them to resolve it and not let it spill over to affect those who love them.

Saturday ~ Up at 6am to go get a free load of compost from the city (out at their farm off Standford Road). Spent the rest of the morning working on the Town House yard, fueled by Subway’s new Keurig unit. Not a bad way to spend my birthday so far. We had a relaxing afternoon with early drinks, hot baths, and general sweetness. And then it was time to head to Lexington in search of Moules et Frites. We were early (imagine that), so we stopped into a pub to have a Belgian Red Ale. I was pleasantly surprised by its refreshingly dry, tart, slightly apple-vinegar quality, and it hit the spot better than a typical brew. Dana was still hobbling from her basement-stairs mishap, so we were moving a bit slow, but all went well. The moules marinière at Le Deauville were perhaps the tastiest mussels I have ever enjoyed, enhanced by an exceptional New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. I had crossed the line of no return into Medicare and hit the pillow hard when we arrived home.

Sunday ~ We had our typical brunch-with-morning-political-news-shows, and the exasperating scene in Washington, DC continues. Politicians are unwilling to forge anything balanced enough to anger everyone in the country, except for the few who remember what a compromise actually looks and sounds like. The problem is that most citizens who care are convinced that compromise will not actually solve anything and they want their side to hold sway. It hardens the polarity and ensures another pendulum swing. It is a pathological state. The rhetorical downtrend deepens. And, of course, many troubling problems such as health care only get worse. Later in the day we drove to Lexington to attend Drew Robertson’s graduation celebration. Dana was adequately ambulatory, but still treading very cautiously. It was a pleasant backyard bash. Mingling with extended relatives, plastic cup of iced Buffalo Trace in hand, I lost track of time and jeopardized our getting to Costco before it closed. Still feeling in the “birthday zone,” I treated myself to socks and underpants, and we finally had that misbehaving tire on the Avalon fixed.

A Day in My Life

Wednesday, September 21st, 2016

“Woke up. Got out of bed.
Dragged a comb across my head.”

The Beatles, 1967

Dana was up early and walked over to Centre’s track before I woke up and found the coffee hot. I needed to finish the digital file retouching of the RFs color composite illustration. I wanted to be ready to send it to the printer by the time she returned from her Architectural Review Board meeting. We were able to do just that, and I hand-cut a prototype mat so that I could show James my idea for a standard 14 x 11 framable print. The water was still warm in Dana’s tub, so I took a quick bath and dressed for the day. She suggested we get some lunch after showing James the test print. On the way to pick it up, the Avalon sedan’s brakes went out right before we got to Danny the mechanic’s garage on South Fourth, so we rolled right in. Wayne D happened to be there and we talked to him about his scheduled lower leg amputation (not a decision anyone would make casually). Clearly it was his only option, and he was down to choosing the surgeon. While Dana arranged for the repairs, I started to walk home to get the Toyota pickup (Joben). Turns out I would get a walk under my belt, too. When I bent to pick up what looked like litter, I discovered it was a 20-dollar bill in poor condition. Well, that was the second bit of luck. When I got back to the garage, we headed to Minuteman Press to get back on schedule. The test print was terribly dark, but when they re-ran it at the lightest setting, it looked fine. We decided to go have a Mexican lunch nearby, and followed that with a stop at the ‘Bean’ coffee shop. When I inquired about the senior discount with the lady there, she didn’t even know it was mentioned on the menu, and we joked around for few minutes before finding out that she knew Susan and James. Her name was Tammy Bernard, and James had actually been her ‘bundle boy’ decades before at Liberty Sportwear (1980?). She looked quite fit, and sure enough she was a fellow Boot Camp devotee with Susan. Her husband, Bill Devine, is a physician at UK Health. She ended up enjoying our chat so much that she gave us our Americano cups on the house. On to the 10th Planet to see James. He liked the final artwork and test print, so Dana called in the quantity for the order. James handed me $50 and persuaded me to see if I could get all the mats cut at the Frame Cellar by the close of business. We picked up the prints and headed back downtown to John C’s shop. Dana told me that she had seen him unlocking his place after 6 am, and I was worried that he might not have stayed open all day, but he was there working. I was astonished to find out that he hadn’t been in his storefront since the first of the month and that he was “playing catch-up.” Not a good time to ask him to drop what he was doing, but my luck held. He was willing to cut the mats for James right then and there. He told me that he had been in Florida visiting his son Paden (named after the Kevin Kline character in Silverado), and when he got back to Kentucky, he had to turn around and go right back after learning Paden had crashed his motorcycle when a woman pulled out in front of him (she never even saw what she had done). For some reason, Paden had returned to the hospital after they released him, and it was discovered that he was bleeding internally from a small rupture in a renal artery. (The surgeon reportedly said, “If you had gone to bed, you probably wouldn’t have awoken the next day.”) So, I managed to pick the first day he was back in the frame shop after this family ordeal, and to top it off, he gave me a discount on the whole rush job. I told him he had to think up a reason to ask me for a big favor. Back in the studio, I put all the new prints into the mats while Dana did the paperwork for James. I dropped her off at Danny’s garage before I went back to see James at the Planet. He was very satisfied with everything he needed for his RF gathering in Ohio. He and Susan were planning on leaving the next morning, and he was “trying to squeeze five days of work into three.” Even though he still had a late night ahead of him, he was in a relaxed mood and we talked about the extraordinary event on Blue Bank Road when the missing todder was found on the Sweeney Knob after a ten-hour search involving local first responders, hundreds of volunteers, and multiple law enforcement entities. This week will always be remembered for the miraculous rescue of the little Chumbley boy in the Clan Valley “forcefield.” Thousands of people must have been praying, but nobody’s pleas could have been more pure than Mombo’s. When I returned, Dana had brought home some organic wine, so I opened a bottle and we made fruit-&-nut plates for supper and watched three episodes of The Affair. I liked them enormously, except for one part that can only be described as pornographic. It was obvious why Maura T (Helen) had been nominated for an Emmy. I could not believe that Sebastian Junger did a cameo (was it meant to be tongue-in-cheek?), but I got a major kick out of his appearance. What a day! Very intense on many levels, but without the characteristic “fears and doubts.” It was time for bed, in preparation for an early start to prepare for my multi-day care-giving stay with Mombo (when I hope to finally complete the oak-trim details above the stone flue). There won’t be many more quite like today…

Until April . . .

Sunday, March 1st, 2015

There is much at this site about the March Exercise, my annual focus on building another layer of creative habit that can be internalized as part of a new cycle. It began as an experiment in time management nine years ago. For the past two, I have showcased a month-long collage-a-day ritual at The Collage Miniaturist. My tenth March Exercise will be a departure. Blog entries and updates to social networks will be temporarily suspended, as I concentrate my time on a few major studio objectives. So long until April.

An Ideal Day

Monday, September 8th, 2014

There are different types of ideal days.
For me, surely today was one of them.

After what may have been the best night’s sleep that I have had in two or three months, I woke up with a cool breeze above my pillow and came downstairs to discover a nutritious breakfast smoothie and a pot of hot coffee to go with it. Thank you, Dana, for getting my day off to such a positive start. TSLA, YHOO, TJX, and FEYE took over from there, when the market opened, and I spent a productive morning managing my active trades for four separate accounts, including the Trust investment. I may have gotten a suitable entry price for a long position in VMW, but only time will tell with that. When the office intercom beeped, I was the beneficiary of a delicious roast turkey sandwich with a bowl of fresh gazpacho. It has been a fine season for tomatoes, and I am still working on getting my fill. Dana said that aging Walie was having one of her most lively days in a long time. After lunch, I noticed a new Ommatidia story by Brendan (which always makes my day), checked email, and worked a bit on my Spotify playlists, now that Marty has me successfully making the transition from Pandora. Some time ago I figured that eventually one would be able to watch any movie or TV show on demand, but I had not expected so soon to see the same be true of music. Yes, I have to listen to commercials now and then, but they are not as obnoxious as those on the Pandora site, since most of the Spotify ads are about the musical offerings themselves. Then it was into the painting studio for another session on the GAB portrait (with a few Danny Darst tunes for good company). I can say that I finally overcame the wall of fear (compliments of an old pal named perfectionism) that became attached to this commission, but now the pressing need is to find a route to the summit by the end of the month. I have pledged to myself to complete the artwork for Greg’s and Lynne’s return from their trip to France. At 4 o’clock, I crossed the street to play chess with the library group: one win, one loss (strangely enough, it usually works out that I beat the people I am capable of defeating and lose to those I am not capable of defeating). Although I rediscovered chess through vision therapy a while back, I am getting more serious about it this year, now that I can regularly match wits with local players right next door. Before I left, I checked out Is He Dead? (I admit that I wanted the Mark Twain comedy primarily to study the engravings by Barry Moser). When I got home I crossed paths with Dana, leaving to meet her spiritual group at the library, and then I jumped back into my yew-trimming topiary project in the front yard. With each passing growing season, it is easier and faster for me to keep them in shape, but more difficult to make significant changes or refinements. Nature will provide an occasional opportunity for a new direction or interesting detour, but it is mostly about keeping the whole effect under control. When the “skeeters” decided it was time to bite my ankles, it was off to Centre for some weight lifting before dinner. Being settled into the gym groove has always been a confidence-booster for me, and that goes back nearly 45 years. Peter Lupus emphasized that 100 twists a day kept his waistline small, although I have not been able to achieve the daily habit yet. In the workout room, I combine strenuous twists with the “ab chair” to manage my own belly, plus a circuit of machines and dumbbell exercises, in addition to the trusty bench press (where is that best buddy to spot me?). As I entered our back door after a brisk walk home, a blend of magnificent odors told me that Dana had been baking up a storm — sourdough bread, chocolate cake, and apple pie! We are preparing to celebrate Marty’s promotion to full-time employment at Hitachi in Harrodsburg. I am not the only member of the household on a roll. Well done, Grandson (and he got an A in his first course at the Technical College). Marty happened to be catching up on sleep (I cannot imagine handling a night-shift + school schedule the way he does), so Dana and I split a Red Hook and enjoyed a bowl of Swiss-chard-lentil soup with raw-tomato-basil-cheese salad. All that was left for me to do was to record my ideal day at this blogsite, and now I am ready to hit the sack. Tomorrow we shall begin again!
 


 

March Exercise IX ~ day twenty

Thursday, March 20th, 2014

With Mombo at the Blue Bank Hall, and the day has moved with swift disregard for the modest checklist I brought along. No concern for that. Focus on your first priority (Acuff’s Third Secret?). I have had a vague sense of impatience today, and I keep attributing it to detoxification, but it is more likely to be a lack of full awareness on what I am doing. If you keep thinking about being at the museum, you might miss the painting in front of you.

March Exercise IX ~ day eighteen

Tuesday, March 18th, 2014

It is Tuesday, and yesterday’s early-morning miniature, “Proscenium,” completed for TCM, was posted with Friday’s date. I am trying to catch up with my daily sequence by finishing multiples from an array of partially completed collage artworks. It has scrambled my brain unnecessarily, and causes me to question the entire process, which now seems a bit fraudulent. The goal of 31 miniatures in 31 days is still intact, but it plays with my head to scramble like this. Being out of the studio for most of the weekend did not help matters. Relax. Am I forgetting Acuff’s second rule of getting it all done?

March Exercise IX ~ day eight

Saturday, March 8th, 2014

Jon Acuff’s Five-Step Secret to Getting it All Done:
1. Admit that you can’t possibly get it all done.
2. Give yourself the grace to accept that as reality, not failure.
3. Do the things you can do with your full attention.
4. Celebrate what happens during Step 3 instead of obsessing over
    the things you didn’t get to.
5. Repeat as necessary.

Hmmm . . . sounds a bit like the March Exercise, but does it sound like what I actually have been doing for the past week? It is all about the “full attention” part, is it not?

Gaps Not Bridged

Saturday, April 13th, 2013

“Never lose sight of love and kindness for family, Clan, and friends. Family comes first and many times we make or seem to make it last.”
— Grandybo

Why is the sweetness and sorrow so ever-present, tipping this way and that, like the child’s teeter-totter of oldenday?

Dana’s splendid birthday celebration with friends has been bookended for me by the deaths of my Uncle Jack and Jonathan Winters. That both of these men departed within a week of each other feels strange to me, because I always associated one to the other in my mind. They were close in years lived, went to high school in the Dayton area, and both reached the prime of youth wanting to be cartoonists, just as I had done. Saying farewell to Uncle Jack comes, of course, with a deeper sense of loss, but I shall miss the unique, zany humor that made Winters so famous. Both men had a zest for life so characteristic of their great generation. I’m not aware that they knew each other, or had ever met, or that any of the Seitz brothers had met Winters, for that matter. It’s just that I had him linked to my uncle for my own odd reasons. Perhaps I was picking up on something that transcends coincidence, if such a thing even exists, but that is the substance of another journal entry, is it not?

Pop Seitz delayed giving his name, John, until the last of eleven children. (An act of humility?) When each had a first-born son, neither Uncle Jack nor my own dad would wait. (An act of pride?) Although Aunt Betty always called her husband by the name ‘John,’ he was always called ‘Jack’ within his family. In much the same way, the Dixons called the namesake of John by a different name— ‘Ed’ or ‘Eddie,’ the diminutive of his middle name. You may find it peculiar that I focus on these aspects, but it just happens to be the way in which I think.

Although I can empathize with Aunt Betty’s family as they endure the loss of a father, I cannot begin to comprehend how Mombo must feel to lose her “kid brother” and the only sibling who had remained among the original eleven. Art, Ginny, and Jack had always been a trio, and her early memories never fail to tie the threesome closely together. When I think of Uncle Jack, I think of his enthusiasm. If a subject was worthy of his attention, he was never half-hearted about it. We shared more than a name, but also talents and interests. Nonetheless, he was someone with whom I spent precious little time, as was so true with all my Seitz uncles. No matter how much one of my mom’s brothers seemed to like me, I could never make the proper effort to correspond or really connect. A generation should not be such a difficult gap to bridge, especially when there is respect, admiration, and affection. I’ve been blessed with more fine uncles than anyone could ever expect to have in one life. Studying and appreciating them from afar, I have squandered nearly every opportunity to discover the true man and to know him as a mentor or friend. This is the path of least resistance, I suppose. It’s probably what Grandybo was trying to impart in so many of his Clandestiny writings.

I once had an idea to create a gift— a strip of panels in the style of Milton Caniff called “Jack and the Renegades.” It always seemed too frivolous or too ambitious, depending on my state of mind. Today I realize that undoubtedly my time and effort was spent instead on something ambitious or frivolous that means nothing to me now. And yet, the cartoonist in me still lives, and has probably been kicking inside since I first found out that Uncle Jack was a cartoonist, too.

My heart is with him today, with his descendants, with my mother, and with everyone who loved him.

Gardenshapes by Kathleen

Saturday, July 28th, 2012

“Beauty should be shared, for it enhances our joys.
To explore its mystery is to venture towards the sublime.”
―Joseph Cornell

I hesitate to use a sports term to begin this review, but, since the Summer Olympics opened last night, I’ll set my disinclination aside to state emphatically that artist Kathleen O’Brien is at the top of her game!

Gardenshapes —an exhibition of her mixed-media collage finishing its run in the main gallery of Danville’s Community Arts Center— has ample proof to support my claim. I made one more return visit yesterday to experience the diverse subtleties of her singular creations.

Inspired by birds and flowers, and exploring the garden as a metaphor, this collection of artworks represents everything that has captivated me for years about Kathleen’s approach. These works have clearly grown out of how she thoughtfully observes and attunes with nature. They also literally contain and preserve natural ingredients. But in contrast to collage that maintains its focus on formal or intellectual juxtapositions, Kathleen’s art always nudges one toward a deeper sense of wholeness and the inner complexity of our balanced existence as both organic and spiritual beings. Without question, she has made a personal commitment to creating art as a mystical practice, and, on a communal level, to providing nature-inspired beauty as a source of healing in a fractured world.

With the strong presence of these intangible dimensions, Kathleen’s art is always esoteric, and yet she manages to make the work accessible to all with her choice of subject matter and allegiance to traditional drawing. At the same time, she can delight the eye of a fellow artist with her methodology, aesthetic choices, and pictorial skill. I’m not ashamed to admit that much of Kathleen’s symbolic virtuosity is beyond my ken, but I appreciate that it’s all in play at the intuitive level. Being near the prolific output of her creative life is simply uplifting, and that’s because all the facets of her art —whether conscious or subliminal— unify as a total perception to nourish the mind, heart, and soul.

Getting back to the show, I was initially struck by the five largest pieces (28 x 36 inches), beautifully presented against white in deep gallery-style frames of natural wood. This “look” is familiar to those who know Kathleen’s art, and enhances the work’s identity as an unique artifact, preserved behind glass, like a rare botanical or zoological specimen. They are titled with reference to the garden theme. In contrast, a separate piece (24 x 30 inches) is presented with its surface exposed in the manner of an easel painting. It looks equally at home, released from behind the glass, expertly varnished in a way that does not distract. Its name is Heaven & Earth, Yin & Yang, Dark & Light, Birds & Trees, Flowers & Bees. My eyebrows lifted as I began to read the lengthy title, but was pleased with the closing rhyme as I finished. This artist always has a quiet surprise in store. Each of the large works is visually distinctive, but very much a cohesive part of a series unified by her long dedication to compositional abstraction, to a consistent theory of color, and to diligent mark making.

The large piece titled Garden for Queen Anne’s Lace is marked by a cellular pattern resembling microscopic tissue, which, while remaining highly abstract, transforms itself into a flower garden, with an interesting emphasis on each “drop of Queen’s blood” that, when closely examined, becomes a dance of circles, squares, and triangles —a dynamic that exemplifies Kathleen’s knack for taking the observer/participant through layers of meaning. The design also incorporates the application of illustrated postage stamps. Kathleen is never far removed from a devotion to cultural references and ephemera, and her Joseph Cornell influences are ever present. A fine example of this are four pieces dedicated to bird-species (16 x 20 inches) that combine found printed patterns with her typical labor of liquid media. Nests are created with random shards and colorful scraps. Dried and painted star-like blossoms effectively merge the organic, symbolic, and celestial. In Kathleen’s collage there are many allusions to language, both literal and archetypal, and here we discover many fragments of the printed word, as well as her “trademark” calligraphy. I was particularly drawn to Garden for Blue Grosbeaks, a strong arrangement of symmetrical and asymmetrical elements that carries out more of her evident investigation into fundamental shapes —circle, square, and triangle. These compositions are anything but static, a characteristic of Kathleen’s art built on a myriad of ways in which she provokes eye movement by simulating the dynamic patterns of nature, often with the application of actual plants and minerals. A perfect case in point is 9 Bird Eggs (30 x 30 inches), with its nimble use of botanicals most artists would overlook as raw material, through which she creates a variety of rhythms within a formal, 3×3 grid structure.

I should mention that Kathleen’s control of what I call “implied viewing distance” is masterful. Enjoying her watercolor effects and hidden treasures up close is inevitably a satisfying experience, as is true with much of current small-scale mixed media collage, but her pieces also can be savored at a distance. I found myself continually studying a work from across the room and then, taking off my eye-wear, sticking my nose near the glass to examine fine detail. Whether from this point of view or from half a block away, Kathleen’s distinctive impression is always recognizable, an enviable accomplishment for any artist. For example, both Royal Lily Garden and Staple Garden contain brushwork that only can be achieved by someone who is continuously handling liquid on a tool and is fully at ease with her surface. On the other hand, she uses this micro-fluency to create the intended multi-layered depth of her macro-composition, and yet I was constantly invited to step back into the intimacy of the picture plane, much as one feels when standing back to admire a flower garden, while being compelled to converge at hand’s length, only to spy a miniature surprise —a dutiful pollinator or tiny feat of nature’s diversity within repetition.

With my fixation on the bigger paintings, it was too easy to neglect the smaller items, so I had to instruct myself to visually isolate and appreciate several other works. Two of these were within squares, and each have treatments not as pronounced elsewhere in the exhibition. Feathers uses paper itself as a dimensional medium, and The Blessing of Rain features a darker atmospheric background —a shimmering chalk texture that makes me wish Kathleen would more intensively explore the potential of pastel effects. In addition, there are three bird portraits (9 x 12 inches), with coatings of what appeared to be beeswax, which recall for me the investigations of 19th-century naturalists. My favorite is Garden for Eastern Bluebirds, with its deft pencil work and luscious color palette. Kathleen pushes her highly capable layering beyond technique to create a sense of time distortion, an interplay of wildlife and cultural antiquity that makes certain the work is much more than a lovely rendering of birds. Throughout this outstanding show are many such allusions to natural and human-made cycles that fuse the worlds of growing things and a striving race that has always responded with symbolic culture to seek a balanced place in the scheme of life.

Indeed, Kathleen O’Brien has found her place. With a home studio close to nature, and a creative passion that distills her observations and meditations through heart, head, and hand, she is a gold-medal artist of the soul.

© 2012, John Andrew Dixon

Garden for Eastern Bluebirds and Garden for Scarlet Tanagers
by Kathleen O’Brien

6 0 + 6 0

Monday, April 30th, 2012

My chronometer flipped over to a new decade yesterday, so I observed the occasion with a 60-lap swim plus a 60-mile ride. What else can one do, except to take a symbolic swipe back at Old Man Time? It was a satisfactory way to test my fitness. The best part is that the thunderstorms held off until dark, and Dana welcomed me back with pie.

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Taking stock

Monday, April 16th, 2012

Certainly there are numerous examples in our modern world of neglected values and inhumanity, but one would hope that the race is making steady progress, when we score ourselves against the prevailing conditions of the not-too-distant past: unbridled tyranny, wholesale intolerance, unapologetic bigotry, vicious persecution, and the justification of might for its own sake. Nevertheless, there are deeply troubling problems with aggressive human greed at the core: gross manipulation of the food supply, relentless loss of biodiversity, the trampling of fragile cultures for resource acquisition, a mass media that thrives on the banal, and the insidious stripping of individual freedoms in the quest for political gain (to name a few). Although woefully less self-reliant, I think that most human beings are less violent and more sensitive to others than our typical counterpart from previous ages, but the base distortions that drive our pervasive communications infrastructure would make us believe otherwise.