Uncle John’s Log & Co.

— If you like Howard Pyle, N.C. Wyeth, and the “Golden Age of American Illustration,” Paul Giambarba has put together a smashing collection of biographical notes, artistic comments, and rarely seen images. I just love this handsome stuff, and tip my hat to anyone who would spend the personal time to compile such an extensive reference site.

— I grabbed a few moments of “mind time” in Harrodsburg while Dana got a haircut, thinking LJS would be a relatively quiet place at that time of day, but the music was a bit more electric-70s than I was expecting. I still haven’t given up on achieving a new level of organization, and it’s that time of year anyway. Business development remains priority one. Nevertheless, I find myself pulled continuously in a different direction with so many art deadlines and volunteer responsibilities demanding my attention. I have another milestone facing me within a week as part of my contractual obligation to the Band Festival as 2007 featured artist. And I must make steady progress on preparations for a one-man show in May at the Community Arts Center. If I don’t find a way to more successfully block out my time, there are some intense experiences that I won’t be able to avoid this year. One good new client would take much of the heat off our situation, and that has to be my focus, one way or another.

— We had a full house at the B.I.K.E. meeting tonight, including our newly sworn-in mayor. It was an important kick-off for the year, a discussion of our first major proposal to the city for infrastructure enhancements and repairs. If I didn’t have so many experienced community leaders at the table, I think I’d probably spin my wheels a lot, but they have a way of making sure I keep getting the traction we need (I don’t know if that pun was intentional or not).

— Dana and I continue to chip away at our three hours of P.J. O’Rourke on tape. He says he dislikes memoirs, and so I can only assume he’s never read the extraordinary Paul Watkins book, Stand Before Your God. He really doesn’t like bloggers either. According to him it’s like “what I did last summer” for adults, and he seems to detest the whole phenomenon. As far as this blog goes, it appears we have an every-other-day pattern of entries developing and that suits me fine. It’s half the level of blogging I was doing a year ago, arguably a more reasonable pace for my current situation. If you desire more than that, dear reader, all I can say it this: you must have way too much time on your hands.

V & S

“A designer knows he has achieved perfection not when there is nothing left to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.”

— Antoine de Saint-Exupery

With a strict focus on our most urgent priorities, I must temporarily devote myself to creating a stronger and more stable business posture.

Click the “Archives” and browse a few of my past entries— January 2005 to September 2006.

From time to time I’ll continue to record my thoughts in a private book, just as I have done since 1971, because I concur with Harlan Hubbard in that I have always kept a journal for “myself changed and at a later time,” and, to use his words again, I would hope that I can someday resume this log as “a kind of memorial to the passing days.”

Until then, please do a few things for me…

• Don’t neglect your creative self.

• Read any Paul Watkins book you can find.

• Ride a bicycle, just for fun.

• Visit Anacrusis, Monday through Friday.

• Treat your body as your best investment.

• Put in a good word for Dixon Design.

“The education of the will is the object of our existence.”

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Once a pirate, always a pirate.”

— Frank the Fisherman

Doing my best to normalize after an abrupt departure from Tipp City and late-night drive to Kentucky (in order to get Dana’s antique credenza from Sydne safely home before the rain arrives). I stopped often to close my eyes, playing it safe, worries of 1993 in my nerve endings. It was nearly 3 am by the time I found my bed. Today the dire situation with our studio workload is uppermost on my mind, as I make the harsh decisions to confine my energy to the necessary turnaround.

Foot sounds serious about starting his little house next year, talking to Mr. Hill when he stopped to discuss sand-truck access to the adjacent property (apparently the neighbors want to create a beach like the natural one here at this resort). The contractor said he was no relation to the Hill who originally owned the entire island. He and Foot looked at the spot where the A-frame will be sited. Hill said that code compliance and getting a permit will be more difficult than the excavation. He seemed like a nice man with helpful advice. His own father also bought lake frontage not long after Bill’s parents first came to Hill Island in the 1950s. My friend hopes to sell his business in Ohio and move up here to manage the resort within five years. His dream excites my own desire to have a retreat in the woods, but the inner determination to reverse my personal downturn and accomplish that goal must come from inside me. At the same time, I have concerns for my friend. Earlier this year, Bill quit smoking for 12 weeks—long enough to live as a nonsmoker—but he started up again after a quarrel with Amy (their first?). Much buried tension in the man, like there was in my dad, and perhaps more than a little rage; it bubbled to the surface last night when I touched on a political subject. Like most proud Americans, the direction our country is moving disturbs him and he takes it personally, and then hides it inside. Stress and cigarettes—an unhappy combination. There’s little I can do about it, of course, and the same is true for my family members who smoke… too many of them… but how can I be judgmental when I have unmanaged problems of my own? Ok, where do I start? Review priorities and take even greater control over my use of time. Should I curtail many of my extraneous activities? Should I suspend this online journal? Is it time to set a few simple, practical goals and then banish all conflicting objectives until they’re achieved? Mike spoke to me about the misconceptions of setting priorities and defining daily tasks. He has decades of experience and impressive, tangible results to show for it, so put his advice to the test, and for God’s sake forget about sharing it in a public log. If I don’t take this last opportunity to gain command over my financial status, I’ll face radical changes over which I’ll have minimal capacity to direct. I must prove I can make a few specific things happen in my life that are essential, and that means everything else has to be put on hold. Period.

When I overheard Mike and Bob discussing sales goals, Mike said something so clear and plain-spoken that it hit my brain like a laser— “First you set an objective, and then you devise the strategy and tactics to achieve it.” I realized how reactive I’ve been in my professional life, rather than proactive. Mike knows what he’s talking about. After years as a leading sales executive for M&M/Mars, he now works directly with the owner of a top food distributor in the Midwest. We talked a lot today while Bill, JD, and Bob were out fishing. I know I can learn a lot from Mike if I open up. He’ll be more than pleased to give me advice, but do I have the discipline to use it? During a 90-minute phone call with Dana we confirmed the do-or-die aspect of what we face together, and the need for total open-mindedness in our problem solving, to turn the situation with our studio around.

Today is Bill’s birthday, and I just saw him yesterday morning. No present or card this year… nothing for Jay either. That’s just how things are these days, and it’s quite a contrast from that 200+ handmade-cards-a-year era not so long ago. Much of today felt like decompression from yesterday. I wanted to swim laps, but Centre’s pool is closed for maintenance, so I ran a bit and lifted. As if that wasn’t enough exertion, after Dana and I attended the Chamber’s Business After Hours reception, I used Dadbo’s old concrete-hauling wheelbarrow to start retrieving stone and brick rubble from the site across the street. Please tell me I look like Mack building his rock fences and not Clem the Gem with another load of scrounge.

— David and Lee scheduled an appointment to look at a house on the 400 block of West Broadway, so we tagged along. I had a bad feeling about this. Californians bought the house last summer, and it seems as though they had more money than good sense. Workers and dumpsters suddenly vanished a few weeks ago. Our look through the property confirmed my worst suspicions. One of Danville’s finest historic homes had been hung up and gutted like Duke Brian in “Gorky Park.” Reportedly, the owner can’t be located. To add a ludicrous element to the whole thing, a daughter is now asking prospective buyers to pay an even higher price than her mother paid for it—a perfectly livable home that was stripped, raped, and left for dead.

— Analysts are predicting that the demand for refurbishing Web formats may soon overtake the need for new site designs. Prices for domain names are dropping, a clear indication that the market for original sites is slowing down. Some agencies and firms are staffing specialized divisions devoted to economical “creative makeovers.” Deep within his Sanctum of Fortitude, Website Makeover™ Man is contemplating his fate.

— Watched a copy of “Broken Trail” last night, which Terie taped for us (before our vacation with Marty), because we no longer pay for channels like AMC. It was interesting to study the similarities and differences in Duvall’s performance, compared to “Open Range,” along with the contrasting directorial styles brought to similar subject matter. And speaking of contrasts, the radically different character that Church personifies, versus his memorable Jack in “Sideways,” is worth the viewing. As much as I liked “Broken Trail,” and as much as I admired its aura of authenticity, the screenplay does suffer unfortunately from what I’ll refer to as presentism. For the most part, in my opinion, Costner managed to avoid presentism when he made “Open Range,”—an impressive personal achievement, quite frankly, since his indulgent first western reeked of it. Nevertheless, who doesn’t like the entertaining “Dances,” in spite of its PC tone?

V & S

Despite the difficulties in punctuality I had pulling myself away from the Dixons of Broadwing Farm, we managed to arrive on time at our appointment with representatives of Lincoln Memorial University. Our primary goal was to follow up on Jerome’s prior contact with the dean of the new DeBusk College of Osteopathic Medicine, but due to understandable concerns about the comprehensive visual identity of the parent institution, other administrators wanted to sit in. We had no problem with that—it dovetailed with our own philosophy of image management and it gave us the opportunity to promote our creative services to a wider audience. The meeting seemed to go well. I’d never heard of LMU, but it’s a beautiful setting and progress on the new College is moving along rapidly. Faculty will be in place next winter and the first incoming students are scheduled to begin classes in the fall of 2007. Now is the time for them to invest in projecting a high level of graphic credibility. Dana and I are ideally suited for this work. Will they choose wisely?

After leaving LMU, we headed through the tunnel into Kentucky and found a decent Mexican lunch in Middlesboro. (Home of Lee Majors, who Brendan’s dad always liked and I still admire for his work long ago in “Will Penny.” He got his start, like my pal Andrew, at Pioneer Playhouse, here in Danville.) We decided to go through with our idea of making a cold call on the University of the Cumberlands. The weather was awful, pouring like a sonuvagun, and I was trying to safeguard the portfolio. All the time I wondered if the whole thing was a forlorn hope. Quite the contrary. The timing seemed almost perfect, and we sat down with the director of community relations just as he was thinking about severing ties to a big expensive outfit from Iowa (the same kind of specialized organization that nearly recruited Dana and me back in the 80s). That meeting seemed to go well, too, and I found myself getting more and more comfortable with that KY-TN border region as fertile ground for the graybeard prospector.

Drove to Hot Springs yesterday via 25-E, which, during the daytime, is a much more pleasant route than the Interstate. It gave us an opportunity to locate the LMU campus and learn that it’s quite close to the Cumberland Gap tunnel. Much of the way I read to Dana from “Simple Loving,” a book that used to belong to Joan and Joe. By the time we arrived at Broadwing Farm, we were thinking sufficiently “outside the cube” to make our short breakout worth it, even if nothing comes of our appointment tomorrow. Bob and Carol had a delicious supper prepared and we talked until sleepiness held sway. Typically, we spent today in deep conversation, fueled by natural foods, fresh air, a majestic view, a run to the nearby coffee hangout, and a dip in the spring-fed pond. Carol turned us on to Sarah Susanka, Bob convinced me to start watching the series “Band of Brothers,” and Pete gave me some hemlock slabs from the sawmill for my woodcut experiments. The regional infestation has worsened to the point that he’s been forced to harvest a lot of hemlock from the forest, but the timber is being put to good use in building a horse stable and a third rental dwelling. This one will be called Cedar, and will surely add to the success of Poplar and Pine at Broadwing Natural Bath Cabins.

• The road trip is back on! The bewhiskered one is loading the pack mules and setting his sites on Broadwing Farm first and then Lincoln Memorial University.

“Off to the hills! Best take the Medicine Woman for good measure.”

. . . G B P . . .

We thought that circumstances might be shaping up for a long but interesting weekend, but everything to do with our sought-after prospecting loop through Virginia, North Carolina, and Tennessee fell apart today…

• Headed down the trail this afternoon with my pick, shovel, and necktie, acutely aware of the prevailing financial drought. Without the slightest sign of desperation, I presented our design examples to a bank executive and set off another charge, hoping to expose a productive vein.

“By Namekagon’s Silver, the poor devil appears to be gettin’ the hang of it!”

. . . G B P . . .

• The bewhiskered nugget hunter has gained the upper hand again, and he motivated me to string together one prospecting opportunity after another. Within a 24-hour period I worked the phone to get in to see the local economic developer (so I could pitch our Website services) and set into motion my Michigan contact for a greater regional outreach. I sat down with the director of a new social service agency and discussed their promotional challenges. After successfully following up with a banker who was impressed with our presence at the small biz conference, I stopped by to introduce myself to the principals of the new animation studio in Downtown Danville. Then I took a retired phone system executive to lunch at the Rotary Club. He’s moved to town to join a firm of mining consultants with contacts in South Africa and Russia. This evening we hit the political scene and panned for a bit of dust at a fundraiser, relaxing our long-standing aversion to campaign advertising assignments.

“That’s more like it… Reckon I oughta take the dang mule whip to him more often!”

. . . G B P . . .

• The Prospector and his Medicine Woman spent most of the day as exhibitors during the Small Business Development Conference at Bluegrass Community & Technical College. Their display was pure “scrounge,” but still the best in the room. Some of the most valuable networking took place with fellow exhibitors.

“Don’t take yer eyes off ’em— Dey feelin’ paydirt in d’bones.”

. . . G B P . . .

Spent most of the day reconfiguring computer setups in the studio, and it was not fun…

So we took Marty to see “Cars,” and it was FUN!

The people at Pixar must know how to have fun with computers. Why haven’t I figured it out yet?

Let’s just give all our money to Pixar and get it over with. Somebody has to take over the world and it might as well be them instead of Wal-Mart or Microsoft.

• It looks like the GBP has temporarily usurped my persona, and he won’t release his hold until the studio situation has returned to normal (whatever that is). He chipped away with his hammer at the Gallery Hop (non-Stop) in downtown Danville last night. No opportunity was missed, commencing with the Band Festival sponsor reception, held at Central Kentucky Federal Savings Bank. As he earnestly panned for gold dust with a representative of the new aircraft brakes manufacturer in town, his Woman was across the lobby, working her Medicine with the executive’s wife.

With this kind of team effort, something is bound to give, wouldn’t you say?

… graybeard prospector …

— Month of May workout totals: Swim-2; Bike-5; Run-5; Lift-5; Yoga-9

— The Graybeard Prospector and his Medicine Woman ventured back into the administrative sanctum of the local health care system earlier this morning, making their forceful case for a revivified working relationship.

— I traveled to Louisville today with my colleague Paul to approve the press settings for the Great American Brass Band Festival poster. He came along as the featured artist, and I wanted to make sure he was satisfied with the reproduction of his painting, “Brassy Razzmatazz.” We’ve known and admired each other for a number of years, but it’s another level of personal rapport when you get to spend three to four hours talking together during a car trip. The wildest part took place on the way back, when we were caught in a severe electrical hail storm. Visibility dropped to virtually zero when maximum wiper speed failed to help, and it was all I could do to creep down the next exit ramp, praying to escape any danger. It was the worst weather I’ve ever negotiated behind the wheel, enough for two men to confess to a state of utter terror, after we’d struggled successfully to find a safe place to wait it out.

— Over the holiday, while Dana was visiting Bruce, I decided to dig out my copy of a movie I haven’t watched in a long time—“Nothing in Common.” I can report that I found it just as enjoyable as ever. Now that it’s been twenty years since it was made, the music and styles firmly peg it as an 80s period piece, but that only adds to its enduring charm. You don’t have to be a huge fan of Hanks (which I’m not) to be thoroughly entertained by this flick, which offers a full spectrum of moods and creative attributes. It’s hilarious, sexy, witty, insightful, thought-provoking, sad, and comforting. Flaws are there, if you want to pick at it, but it’s remarkably well-paced and so loaded with talent that you wonder why Hanks hasn’t done more ensemble pictures like this. The setting seems tailor-made for my individual pleasure. If you’ve never seen it, you’ve missed a real treat. Tom plays a 30-ish hot-shot creative director at a Chicago ad agency run by Hector Elizondo, but his up-and-coming career collides with a family crisis when his parents (Eva Marie Saint and Jackie Gleason) abruptly split. Saint’s characterization is delivered with absolute freshness and total believability. Reardless of what you might think of Gleason, “The Great One” will surely captivate anyone with this final performance, a masterful blend of comedy and tragedy, and a fitting swan song for the awesomely talented and complex personality. Now add to that a group of superb supporting players—Sela Ward, Barry Corbin, Bess Armstrong, John Kapelos, and Dan Castellaneta (who would go on to create the familiar voice of Homer Simpson). But make no mistake, the motion picture is anchored by the versatile Hanks at his most physically attractive juncture and by how he takes the viewer on an emotional journey under the able direction of Garry Marshall. When you combine this movie with “Big” and “Turner & Hooch,” it forms the pinnacle of the opening chapter in the astonishing tenure of a true Hollywood Star.

V & S

• Made an expedition to Lincoln County yesterday and the result was an outstanding conversation with the head of the Industrial Authority and the new Director of Tourism. We’re in the door, and the timing seems perfect.

I was mildly astonished by the way downtown Stanford is coming to life this summer. I remembered my long-time pal Mark telling me about its quaint drug store and that it served the best chocolate malt in the region. I was so uplifted after the meeting that I decided to stop in and visit the soda fountain, and to see if he was right.

Unbelievably “oldendaydelicious”!

When I strolled Main Street, thinking about the opportunities, I was transported back to when I was a 22-year-old vagabond in Europe, and the perceptions I’d get whenever I entered a new city. Back then I felt I could conquer any unfamiliar place in a matter of hours—Amsterdam, Zurich, Florence, Rome, Munich, Paris…

I’m 32 years older now, and my whiskers are a different color, but I reckon I can still conquer Stanford, Kentucky.

… graybeard prospector …

• As I mull over my current circumstances, “dire situation” is a phrase I hesitate to use, but it’s probably as accurate as any. That hit home tonight when I realized the graybeard was shamelessly prospecting during his traditional Wednesday evening bicycle ride.

Sorta sad, eh?

… graybeard prospector …

Long day. All pro-bono. All day. Long face.

• Put on a necktie this morning and spent an hour with the new leader of Boyle County’s Economic Development Partnership. Call it “chemistry” or whatever, but sometimes things just click from the outset, and the only way the meeting could’ve gone better was if he’d given me an assignment on the spot. Stay tuned.

… graybeard prospector …

• This has always been a numbers game—numbers of prospects, letters, phone calls, meetings, and presentations. Build the numbers and something is bound to hit, sooner or later. That’s not what causes me to scratch my whiskers, though. No, I’m still trying to figure out how I promised to create a proposal for a service I have absolutely no idea how to provide…

… graybeard prospector …

— Month of April workout totals: Swim-4; Bike-6; Run-3; Lift-6; Yoga-7

— We stopped out at the park to watch some of Hayley’s varsity softball game, but she wasn’t having a very good night on the field or at the plate. Cliff and I talked about business. Dana and I needed to leave after a few innings, and Hayley’s team was winning, but it was my hope she’d have a much better j-v game.

— I had to do my utmost to tactfully resist the mushrooming of my Brass Band Festival involvement. It was necessary to remind others why donating creative time is worthwhile to our studio—an opportunity to represent our best ideas to the community. One shouldn’t need to explain that we volunteer for reasons that go beyond the goodness of our hearts, and that the mutual benefit doesn’t work if we end up executing production services for the featured artist.

— Seems like my old chum Scott V and I only touch base this time of year, during our shared birthday season, but nothing wrong with that. A life-long athlete, he’s recovering from disc surgery on his neck and is eager to be back to normal. His goal is to return to the ball diamond as soon as he can. In a month he plans to go fishing in Canada with his Dad and four of his brothers. Sounds like a great getaway—no phones, no TV, with just cold water in the cabins. Dadbo always talked about taking the Dixon brothers on a trip to the “North Woods,” but it never happened. I’m happy to learn Scott is getting to do it, although it makes me sad at the same time.

V & S

•   I had a prospect call me to ask our hourly rate. It’s not the type of question you like to hear up front. The person is already caught up in a comparison of apples to lemons. It becomes complicated to explain our schedule of fees, which primarily serves as a basis for estimating a total project. I had a follow-up question for him:

“If you find someone who charges $30 per hour, and it takes them an hour to come up with an idea, but it takes me 15 minutes to develop a concept based on a track record of effectiveness, which is the better deal?”

I didn’t get to ask it. He’d already hung up as soon as I said our top charge for creative consultation is $100 per hour. As much as I hear about how design conscious our society has become, I rarely find evidence that people understand more about my profession than they did when I started out 30 years ago, but I’ll shut up now, because you didn’t visit this site to hear me whine and complain…

… graybeard prospector …

— Dana and I had an impromptu dinner with Mombo last night and I took the opportunity to show her my example of “Legacy Art.” I’m starting to wonder if that’s the best terminology for it, but I haven’t come up with anything better. I like the non-specificity, and the wide range of niche markets it could cover. When Seth saw it, he thought the style might appeal to high-end extreme sports devotees. The first example does have an “Indy Jones” visual flavor to it, and that could be appealing to any number of different target audiences—pilots, speed-boaters, racers, sailors, deep-sea anglers, climbers, divers, skiers, eco-trekkers, equestrians—I don’t know, as long as they have some dough and are fascinated enough with the significance of their own exploits to document themselves with an uncommon work of art. I need to define my ideal, well-heeled “mark.” How does “Raiders of the Flossed Mark” sound? Ooh, that was bad. See yesterday’s entry…

— I haven’t mentioned it, but after the events of the weekend, I was stunned when my pal David decided to present me with two unbelievably nice gifts—a pair of early 20th-century British Enfield military firearms, an officer’s revolver and a bolt-action rifle. I still don’t know what to say to him. He must appreciate the portrait that much, so I really shouldn’t joke about it. On my part, it’s a genuine attempt to find an unmet need in the art world, and I’m not going to put the venture aside just because I didn’t set the room on fire with my initial foray into the marketplace. It gave me pleasure to complete my first in the series with my friend as the subject. Now, the next step is to execute the second under the supervision of my great white huntress. That sounds much more provocative than it’ll play out, I’m sure…

— Yes, I really shouldn’t joke about my effort to reposition myself as a commemorative illustrator. Beside the fact that it wouldn’t amount to funny, the objective tends to epitomize everything that’s held me fixated for over a month, which actually turned out to be a rather serious project of self-study and introspective behavior modification. If poking fun at the pursuit would help my evaluation, than I’m all for it, but I’m more inclined to start looking at the lessons learned and assign myself some new action items to preserve my momentum. One of the primary things that came to light was how much doubt and fear I’d allowed to penetrate into my outlook, workstyle, and personal ambitions… mild, perhaps, but insidious nevertheless. That just has to go, and there are still pockets to root out, but at least I’ve developed the sensitivity to identify and counteract such an undesirable emotional undercurrent. It’s been a major source of wasted energy, as was my habit of distracting myself. It’s amazing how many typical trains of thought and everyday diversions seem trivial to me now, or at least unfocused. I’ve known for awhile that the pattern was there, but it took a diligent effort to unwind the nature of the chain reactions and recognize the old ruts for what they are. Once again, I come back happily to Emerson:

“Profligacy consists not in spending years of time or chests of money,—but in spending them off the line of your career. The crime which bankrupts men and states, is, job-work — declining from your main design, to serve a turn here or there. Nothing is beneath you, if it is in the direction of your life: nothing is great or desirable, if it is off from that…”

V & S

•   I attended the SCI fundraising banquet with David and Al. It was held at the U of L University Club. There could not have been a way for me to have anticipated the rare atmosphere, nor to have imagined what the unusual niche group of world-traveling hunters and big game enthusiasts would be like. I must say that I was a bit nervous by the time I set up my small display for the silent auction and my prototype commemorative illustration came under continuous scrutiny. I could also feel the observant eyes of my two friends—watchful, but always supportive. I’ve been to a few high-potency political and charitable fundraisers, but I’ve never been to one that so relentlessly milked dollars from the ticket-holders—with separate silent and live auctions, plus raffles of every sort. After a long cocktail lead-in to an impressive gourmet dinner, the expert monetary squeeze of the high-rollers lasted well into the late evening. Participants stuck around as numerous donations of custom firearms, art, jewelry, exotic hunting excursions to New Zealand, and full-blown safaris in Africa went for a fraction of their value. There were times when it seemed as though my offering was about to completely fade into the periphery, but before the evening was over, it drew a flurry of bids. The winner was an avid African hunter, female, gregarious, and rather attractive (at least she seemed to be attracting the attention of more than one distinguished-looking gentleman). My donation went for about a fifth of its declared value, which wasn’t out of character for the event. The final result reinforced Al’s opinion that my concept might have more appeal to women or to the wives of hunters—that it might be positioned best as personalized art appropriate for a gift or tribute. The entire experience gave me much to ponder…

… graybeard prospector …

March experiment—day thirty— As the announcer used to say on the program called “Iron Chef,” the battle is oh-vah!

Because the competition was with myself, I won—that means I also lost, but only the counterproductive habit patterns that were due to permanently go. The transformation feels vast, but I’m still too close to all I’ve been through to judge the full effects. Everything has culminated with the creation of my prototype for a personalized commemorative illustration. Tonight it will be unveiled before members of The Wood Duck Society, and then tomorrow it will be presented for target-market evaluation at a fundraising dinner—the Kentuckiana Chapter of Safari Club International in Louisville. By Sunday I’ll be in a better position to begin reflecting on these past few weeks.

March experiment—day twenty-four— I rescheduled my ten-miler when I arose to discover a steady shower of wet sleet at first light. Well, at least I didn’t have more than my hopes invested in the proposed venture, unlike other ambitious people. I may be bonkers, but I’m not a madman. Not yet, anyway. However, I do recall running in worse weather during the winter of oh-two. A local man stopped his car and yelled, “You’ve got to be crazy to run in this!” I shouted back, “You’ve got to be crazy to drive in this!”

Today is about dealing efficiently with a multiple of tasks recently sidelined by a critical deadline, which naturally tends to subordinate other priorities. It’s about breaking a habit—temporarily letting go of my discipline or indulging an escape after a major presentation, instead of shifting the same level of focus to a new area of active creativity. Maintaining a momentum of accomplishment is a more desirable reward, if a reward is necessary. I’m tired of having to regain my inertia over and over again. I’d rather keep a more even pace of achievement. I’ve learned this from exercise, but the idea has taken on a new power for me, the more I pay attention to the advice of artists who know how to routinely get things done.

Last night before bed I spent time with Kazu’s description of how he creates his “Copper” strip. This morning I’m “mining” an interview with Arundhati Roy. Some of her thoughts fascinate me because I’m trying to find a way through the challenge of shifting my fine art from a gift-oriented activity to a more self-centric ambition, in order to professionalize it within a desired array of income modules. For reasons unclear, I’ve been getting more out of listening closely to writers and filmmakers (and a dancer!) than I get out of listening to designers or visual artists.

“You know, I always believed that even among the best writers, there are selfish writers and there are generous ones. Selfish writers leave you with the memory of their book. Generous writers leave you with the memory of the world they evoked. To evoke a world, to communicate it to someone, is like writing a letter to someone that you love. It’s a very thin line. For me, books are gifts. When I read a book, I accept it as a gift from an author. When I wrote this book, I presented it as a gift. The reader will do with it what they want.”

Roy’s keen insight applies to all the fine arts—in my case, the applied arts. If I’m to be honest with myself, it’s my identity as an illustrator that I seek to define, rather than as a true fine artist, at least in the near term. Earning commissions for the type of imagery I intend to create involves meaningful service to a customer, and so I must juggle my own artistic agenda while capturing a high level of personal significance for my client—balancing the selfish with the generous—providing pleasure in the sense of legacy, a useful satisfaction. Emerson often draws his distinction between the fine and the “useful” arts, but makes clear that both can lead to wealth.

Why is it that I’ve been more comfortable with dedicated effort toward seizing health and less so with wealth? Is it just cultural conditioning or is it part of my DNA? I wanted health, so I built it into my body. It took time, but I did it. I have goals that require a solid microeconomic platform. Forget wealth. I would hope that I could just free myself from the low-grade financial stress that erodes well-being. But Emerson doesn’t dance euphemistically around the issue. He uses the word.

“Wealth is in application of mind to nature; and the art of getting rich consists not in industry, much less in saving, but in a better order, in timeliness, in being at the right spot.”

Indeed. Let’s get back to the drill.

Today’s sight bite— Afternoon sunlight cuts across a wall the color of thick mucous, as my paint-saturated roller subtracts the distasteful hue—c-l-i-c-k—with white, glorious white, overtaking the wall, swath by swath.

Tomorrow— Running toward the dawn, to share the silence with friends…

March experiment—day two— Wow, this is not easy. I didn’t expect to feel sleep deprived by the second day. Had a good conversation with Joey Sullivan this afternoon, but his dad is having a hard time of it. I didn’t want to think too much about my Uncle Joe, so I forced myself to complete the Ayoroa proposal. Things are starting to move forward already, and that’s what we need, because I’m giving up failure for Lent. I might be giving up sanity as well, but I guess it’s too early to tell.

Today’s sight bite— Cold gray stadium steps at dawn, with legs and arms pumping all the way to the top, where I could gaze briefly again at the butternut dirt of the infield—c-l-i-c-k—before turning to descend for another explosive climb.

Tomorrow— “Operation Watershed” with Clan, and a meeting with the competitive riflemen in Lebanon…

— Month of February workout totals: Swim-5; Bike-4; Run-4; Lift-9; Yoga-5

— David and I spent most of last Saturday at the big National Gun Day event in Louisville. Anyone who has never attended a gun show should go at least once to experience the reality behind the propaganda and stereotypical distortions. The technology, heritage, craftsmanship, and diversity of enthusiasts must be appreciated firsthand. David said it was like visiting the Smithsonian and being able to pick things up without white gloves. I was amazed at one point to look down at a table of rifles and know they were collectively worth more than our Town House. I listened to an old man from New York discuss rare, obsolete cartridge cases. I listened to a guy with braided ponytail, tattoos and Harley shirt discuss arcane Victorian sporting calibers. I listened to a man who recreates authentic Kentucky flintlocks discuss the qualitative difference between his skill level and the work of the contemporary masters of the art form. I listened to a metal engraver contrast his techniques with the kind of wood engraving that I’ve done for printmaking. That’s a sampling of what I’m talking about.

— After the show, David and I drove to Campbellsville to meet up with the ladies. Our destination—Yorkshire Estate. The intent—to observe our first “Open That Bottle Night.” Janet and Jerome were splendid hosts, and the night couldn’t have been more delightful. We began with cheese, olives, and fruit, plus a Chilean Chardonnay, while an Australian Shiraz and a Washington State Cabernet awaited dinnertime in decanters. Using some of my Lake Huron fillets, Janet and Jerome prepared Salmon en Papillote, as Dana seared medallions of venison in balsamic sauce. Along with that, Janet provided some type of individual potato custard delicacies that were simply fantastic. Everything about the candlelight supper was magical, and it only got better when Lee served cookies and chocolate-bourbon cake with an exquisite desert wine brought back from South Africa. If we ever do it again, the evening will be difficult to top, but do it again we shall. Remember—the last Saturday in February is Open That Bottle Night…

— Sunday was another relaxing stay at Simpson Knob. After rediscovering the childhood fun of playing Yahtzee, Dana fixed a delicious broccoli omelette for the four of us and then worked on a food-club order with Lee while David showed me the rifle course he designed for the upcoming match he’s hosting. I shot well enough to think I might be capable of competing, but knew that I’d be spending that day with Clan instead, as a participant in “Operation Watershed.” Something has transpired so gradiently over the past couple years that I can’t say exactly when these exceptional people became two of our closest friends, but it just happened, and it’s gratifying to know that such deep relationships can develop at every stage of life.

— Well, I’m excited about getting a new client today—me. I woke up this morning dedicated to the idea of redesigning everything to do with how we position our design practice. Over the next 30 days I intend to conduct a radical experiment in time management that includes transforming our company for a new chapter of success. The rapid changes in software development and desktop publishing, along with the increasing perception of graphic design as a commodity service, has made it a necessity. Long overdue perhaps, but I’m not in the mood to look in the rearview mirror. I’m prepared to put all I’ve learned to the test, subjecting our own business to the same kind of analytical scrutiny that we apply to any other client. The timing is right. Stay tuned…

V & S

James and I were laughing about the excessive hype that has surrounded Bode Miller, the faltering American skier, and got into a good conversation about behind-the-scenes commercialization of various Olympic personality types. When humble, dogged, amateur-style athletes prevail over the high-exposure, corporate-style athletes, marketers don’t think they have as much to work with, so often stick with an Olympic failure if their image investment still solves the demographic equation.

Dale Earnhardt’s attitude that a second-place finisher is just the “first loser” may resonate strongly with most gold-medal contenders, but the world of celebrity endorsement is different, and always will be driven more by overall persona than actual competitive results. That’s why you can expect advertising executives to be much more attracted to a cute snowboarder’s impulsive screw-up than a veteran skier’s credo of Olympic longevity—

“Spend a lot time on the hill, spend time training, and then, if you work hard over a long period of time, with a lot of focus, good things will happen to you in the end, and… use your head while you’re having fun.”

•   Opening a statement from the Social Security Administration did not get my day off on the right track, and it began to go downhill from there. Fortunately, I was able to recover a bit by putting some good sales moves on the Republican candidate for Boyle County Judge Executive, who will definitely need a high-credibility graphic image as part of any success campaign to unseat the entrenched incumbent. After that, I attended the opening of “4 Seasons — 4 Directions,” Kathleen’s inspiring collage exhibition at Danville’s Community Arts Center. By evening, Dana and I were in Berea with Lee and David, eating delicious Thai food and learning English Country Dance—so the day ended fully back on its proper rails.

… graybeard prospector …

I laugh to myself every time I think about it, and I’m not sure if I should, or whether a bit of angst is the more logical response—as if angst ever had a thing to do with logic. When I was finishing my last stint as a 2005 Red Kettle bell ringer, Jeanne saw me at the Wal-Mart grocery entrance. She told me she was thinking of Grandy-bo because I was wearing the Hudson Bay coat that originally belonged to William Breidenbach, and she remembered that Dadbo wore it for a few years after Dana gave it to him. She didn’t realize it was me at first. We were having a sweet brother-sister moment when my Rotarian replacement arrived, a lady who’s a top employee at one of our client businesses. Jeanne put her arms around me and gave me a kiss. I said, “See you tomorrow night.” It wasn’t until later that I recalled the odd look on the woman’s face when I handed her the bell and wished her a Merry Christmas…