Archive for the ‘Family’ Category
Wednesday, December 19th, 2007
As I prepare to execute the portrait of Mr. Brady, I’m using every bit of illustrator’s trickery that I have, especially the old illusion where I convince myself that I know how to paint. The facial study and color rendering are both finished, but I hesitate to commence the final piece without a reaction from Mrs. Brady. I suppose the typical fine artist would plunge ahead, but I’m too accustomed to a process that involves client interaction.
I haven’t devoted much time to anything else over the past week, other than some Christmas decorating and our annual Clan\Power bell-ringing contribution to the Liberty kettle campaign. We covered all ten hours, with the nastiest weather staying north for the day, thankfully. I couldn’t hang around town all day, unlike past years, so Rita and Seth were the only members of the family I got to see. They both looked great. It fills me with anticipation for Christmas Eve Stew at the Hall.
The overall Salvation Army fundraising effort for our five-county area of service is running behind where we were at this time last year, and it’s difficult to put a finger on the reasons. I think the Liberty kettles are doing fine, but the big difference is the Wal-Mart locations in Danville. Marty and I rang for a couple hours in front of the grocery entrance and it did seem less active that in the past. The Advocate-Messenger is sponsoring an online kettle that anyone can use to make a contribution to our local campaign, so maybe that will kick in during the closing days. The Captains are optimistic that the community will come through to meet the goal. It always has.
On Sunday I called Barefoot, my best chum from high school, and, because I hadn’t spoken to him since summer, I found myself giving a “state of the life” summary. It made me feel ill at ease. I can’t understand why. And yet I believe that my household has successfully crossed a challenging divide. Perhaps it’s taken so long that I’ve forgotten how to be at peace. If so, it’s the perfect season to work on that. Father, grant me the peace of Christ, Your newborn Son, who fulfills every requirement.
Tomorrow is a new day in the studio, and all shall be well.
(Of course I don’t know how to paint. Only Andrew Wyeth does.)
Posted in Angst, Art, Community, Family, Friends, Marty, Prayer, Studio | Comments Closed
Friday, December 14th, 2007
C O M M O N W E A L T H O F K E N T U C K Y
ERNIE FLETCHER
G O V E R N O R
To All To Whom These Presents Shall Come,
Greetings: Know Ye, That
Honorable John A Dixon
Is Commissioned A
KENTUCKY COLONEL
I hereby confer this honor
with all the rights, privileges and
responsibilities thereunto appertaining.
In testimony whereof, I have caused these letters to be made
patent, and the seal of the Commonwealth to be hereunto affixed. Done
at Frankfort, the 20th day of November in the year of our Lord two
thousand and seven and in the 216th year of the Commonwealth.
By the Governor – Ernie Fletcher
Secretary of State – Trey Grayson
State Senator – Tom Buford
Posted in Community, Dana, Public Service | Comments Closed
Sunday, December 9th, 2007
— Each time this year I’ve run the 5+ miles back downtown from the cabin, the time has felt shorter, even though I’m running pretty slowly these days. The silence transpired more quickly for me this morning, too. Milton handed out his periodic survey to the group, and I discovered a 1961 Horizon in Mack’s studio that had an interview with Andrew Wyeth, famous at the time, and now the greatest living American painter. I’ll have to digest the whole article during another visit, but I was able to scan a few stimulating quotations, and then Sara Jane offered me a new commission, with the freedom to interpret a photographic image with my choice of style—the perfect assignment. Everything conspired to boost my motivation to aggressively advance the Brady and Eckerle projects, plus my fine-arts enterprise in general. I couldn’t think about anything else as I ran home. So, why am I sitting here with this log entry?
— Cliff and I had a conversation about blogging the other day and it got me thinking about my string of 616 or 617 consecutive posts, and how important making daily entries used to seem. Brendan still refers to this site as a daily journal, but that hasn’t been true for well over a year. Once again, time is malleable, and, as Arnold has said, there’s adequate time each day for everything meaningful enough to do. Blogging isn’t about the time, but about having something worth saying to yourself, maybe worth recording, possibly worth sharing. I eventually figured out that doesn’t happen every day. When it does, not much time is required to get it down.
— Terie and Marty bought the M:I:3 DVD and left it at our house, so, late last night, I watched the J.J. Abrams picture for the second time, and I liked it a bit more this time around. I think Tom Cruise is the Burt Lancaster of his generation. Regardless of what I might think of his personal life, his work product demands respect. (Hey, not all celebrities can be a James Stewart or Charlton Heston; Lance Armstrong falls into the same category.) If Cruise had not become an actor, he would surely have been an Olympic or professional athlete in some discipline. He has the mentality and natural capacity for high-performance physical achievement. Although one of the least flamboyant stunts, his Chinese-village tile-roof footwork is probably the riskiest choreography in the movie. As I’ve declared before, I think he squandered the full potential of the classic franchise and put its longevity at risk, but this sequel is the best of the lot, the most team-oriented, and it fits nicely into our ancient family idea of an M:I Saga Series. In my opinion, Abrams is a creative, meticulous director with a feel for the spy genre compatible to Mission: Impossible—Cruise certainly can’t be faulted with his selection—but Abrams will need to have further honed his story-telling skills to do justice to his upcoming Star Trek feature, another Desilu-originated concept from the “silver age” of television.
— Local historian, R.C. Brown, is dead at 90. He once saluted me on a Danville street as, “Mr. Dixon, the Spin Doctor!” We often held different political perspectives, but shared a fascination with local heritage. I recruited him in 1991 to expound before a camera, as part of a fundraising documentary (the same program in which we cast Alyx as a child actress). He was in his 70s then, and I was young enough to think I might have a future directing videos (as close as I got to being Ken Burns when I grew up). Brown was the doctor, not me. He was from Ohio, too, but went on to get a Ph.D. from the University of Wisconsin. He taught history at Buffalo State College for 28 years. When he retired to our area, he rapidly became an authority and wrote The History of Danville and Boyle County. I’ll always believe that Professor Brown respected me as a talent, even though I consider his remark shaded by a mild one-upmanship. Perhaps he did understand better than most the true nature of my commercial craft, but I hope he wasn’t thinking of Victor Papanek’s quotation:
“In persuading people to buy things they don’t need, with money they don’t have, in order to impress others that don’t care, advertising is probably the phoniest field in existence today.”
I prefer this one:
“The only important thing about design is how it relates to people.”
— Thomas Bewick, my newest hero, couldn’t escape the ongoing necessity of making money with “coarse work” (as his daughter called it), despite his artistic reputation and unmatched skill as a wood engraver. I wanted to return the library book and avoid fines, but couldn’t help myself, and finished the biography by Jenny Uglow this week. As I said previously, learning more about his life has reinforced for me the notion that, although everything changes on outward levels, nothing really changes in the human dynamics of making a living as an independent, creative craftsman. I was notably saddened when I learned that he never fulfilled his dream of having the cottage workshop close to nature described in his memoir:
“The artist ought if possible to have his dwelling in the country where he could follow his business undisturbed, surrounded by pleasing rural scenery & the fresh air and as ‘all work & no play, makes Jack a dull Boy,’ he ought not to sit at it, too long at a time, but to unbend his mind with some variety of employment — for which purpose, it is desireable, that Artists, with their little Cots, should also have each a Garden attached in which they might find both exercise & amusement — and only occasionally visit the City or the smokey Town & that chiefly for the purpose of meetings with their Brother Artists.”
Dana reminded me that we all tend to get what we desire if we want it badly enough.
V & S
Posted in Art, Blogging, Brendan, Business, Cliff, Community, Craftsmanship, Dana, Death, Education, Exercise, Family, Friends, Gardening, History, Marty, Movies, Nature, Nonfiction, Personalities, Priorities, Sport, Studio, Television, Terie, Time, Words | Comments Closed
Saturday, December 1st, 2007
— Month of November workout totals: Swim-3; Bike-2; Run-5; Lift-4; Yoga-1; Pilates-7
— The eleventh month rushed by too swiftly, and tumbling in its wake is my disposition of alarm at the churning pace. Nothing to do but accept that it’s gone and take stock of my affairs. On Friday I pinch-hit for David as a Rotary greeter. Saying grace is one task of the greeter, and perhaps I was a bit too creative with my public invocation. That I’m less self-conscious about such things is a sign of something meaningful, but I’m not in a mood to muse beyond that vague notion. After David got back from Georgetown, the four of us convened for a round of Mhing. Dana played as splendidly as I did poorly (couldn’t seem to get out of my nervous system Frank’s Shanghai from the holiday). Even so, it was an enjoyable evening because Mhing is such a great game.
— David, Greg, and I gathered at Simpson Knob the weekend prior to Thanksgiving, hoping for a significant whitetail harvest, but all we came up with among us was a little button buck that I took on Saturday morning. At first I thought his ear flicking at 50-60 yards was simply more wild turkeys at play, but then I could see his head, and eventually figured out that he was preparing to bed down for the day. I watched him for a while and knew his location on the ground would not afford a proper shot (actually, I thought it was a doe at that point in my observation). Before much long, I grew a bit impatient and decided to climb down from my stand to approach through the woods on foot like a true hunter. After carefully trimming off 10-15 yards from the total distance, keeping a tree between our positions, I crept around the oak and saw him stand up in alert. My Marlin .44-magnum lever-action carbine (the only Dadbo-owned rifle for which I held any interest) cracked in reaction to the animal’s movement, and he leaped away. “Missed,” flashed through my mind, with the thought lingering, especially after I reached the spot he’d just been, and just then I heard Greg call out my name. “Don’t think I hit him,” was my response. “Well, there’s a deer over here,” he replied in a matter-of-fact voice. Within an hour, I had given a chant to the Great Spirit and skinned my game with the new knife Greg had presented to me the night before. Later in the week, David reported that Greg claimed a button buck of his own at his brother’s farm a couple days before Thanksgiving.
— It doesn’t look like I’ll finish the biography of Thomas Bewick before it’s due back at the library, but I’m not sure I want to read about his demise anyway—I’ve grown much too fond of the fellow. For anyone who doesn’t recognize the name, I’m certain that his work will appear familiar. He single-handedly restored wood engraving to universal esteem in his lifetime and sparked the advancement of printing technology for the next century. He was perhaps the greatest graphic artist of his era—certainly in Britain—and, although he had flaws (as most men), he seems to have been a remarkably fine person worthy of emulation in numerous respects. Reading about his rise to artistic immortality reinforces two vital lessons that continue to clobber me across the skull like a ball bat: each individual who makes a constructive mark on culture inevitably deals with all the same nonsense, hassles, heartbreaks, and vicissitudes of fortune that everyone encounters, and through it all, continues to work his or her ass off.
V & S
Posted in Art, Dadbo, Dana, Exercise, Family, Firearms, Friends, History, Hunting, Nonfiction, Personalities, Words | No Comments »
Thursday, November 22nd, 2007
“A wiseacre on the Oakland to Los Angeles shuttle this week said the next technological leap would be implanting cell phones into people’s heads. He was kidding—we think.”
—Chuck Raasch, USA Today
Someone on the news said recently that 80% of Americans have a cell phone. I suppose I shouldn’t have been shocked at that, but I was, and it made me feel distinctly in the societal minority, since I don’t carry one. Not that it makes me uncomfortable. I’ve been mildly concerned from the beginning that their use might eventually cause adverse health effects, but if somebody gave me a free iPhone, I would bear-hug them and then find a private spot to dance in my underpants.
Last night, Dana created a wonderful meal with crab-stuffed shrimp for Marty’s 16th birthday, and he showed us his new iPod nano. We got to talking about Apple, with me speculating that the company might be planning to enter the game market. Marty said that idea sounded logical to him, and he predicted it might make its move when Sony inevitably faltered. I suggested that it would probably be a radical leap forward in graphic technology and user interface. He said Apple was sure to compete in that sector eventually, but wondered if they also might decide to make cars. That notion took me by surprise. “Think about it, GrandyJohn,” he added. “Before too long, a car will be basically a computer.”
Sixteen years old. Unbelievable. What kind of a nano-world will exist when he’s my age, and will I make it to age 96 to share it with him? Of course—I need at least another 40 years to figure things out. Will I still be able to get on a bike? Maybe not, but perhaps I shall have created at least one enduring work of art that will have made my life’s journey worthwhile. Hey, if I’ve made it this far, there’s no reason why I can’t declare my personal mid-point and tackle the second half of my expedition.
Joan sent me a delightful poem about becoming an old man who wouldn’t have “a computer or a clock or a phone in the house,” and the desire to “learn something just watching the birds and the weather.” I’d be that guy tomorrow if I had the nest egg, but I don’t, and I won’t anytime soon. Yeah, I know the reasons why. Most of Dana’s contemporaries are beyond their careers, and even I have classmates that retired years ago. I intend to keep working as long as someone will hire me, and, if I’m being honest with myself, I probably wouldn’t have it any other way, because I know I have a lot to learn. A day doesn’t pass without my seeing some creative thing to which I still aspire.
There are times when I think I’m the world’s most miserable excuse for a “multi-tasker,” even though I’m supposed to be able to handle numerous creative goals simultaneously. I was reminded again of this over the past week when I tried to make progress on more than one thing, but the only checklist item I could focus on was my digital illustration for our client in Lexington—which she loved. I was successful in getting past an initial creative block, and brought the process to a very satisfactory conclusion. Something in which to take pride, but all I could think about is what I hadn’t gotten done. In addition to my other assignments, I was hoping to compose a holiday-related “Joe Box,” as part of the local Art Center’s “White Christmas” exhibition, and I also expected to put in another productive session as an amateur stonemason before gathering with my Clan later today. Both of those deadlines slipped by. I’m learning to let them go—to release the sense of perpetual failure—to maintain some modest momentum of accomplishment—to forget about how far short I fall, compared to my expectations. When I grapple with these frustrations, I reckon that most high-performance multi-taskers have a personal assistant or an apparatus of managers, and then I flirt with regrets about not having built an organization around myself, but I have to stop and remind myself to avoid pointless rationalizations. I remind myself that I have an invaluable partner who supports me, and the freedom to achieve any level of personal discipline that I set my heart and mind to attain.
Today is the day set aside to give thanks, and I’m inclined to say, “Thanks for nothing.”
I give thanks for nothing new, because I already have what I need. I have my health, my talent, my independence, and people who love me. When it comes right down to it, that old man in the poem has nothing on me. I can discover delicious food on my plate every day. I can put Häagen-Dazs in my holiday-morning coffee (now, that’s why I exercise!). I can still weep when I listen to beautiful music. I don’t have to take medicine, and I can do virtually any physical thing I can think of wanting to do, and perhaps a few that I shouldn’t, being old enough to know better. I can spend a morning in the woods with a lever-action carbine and bring home to my mate a harvest of young, whitetail buck. I can marvel at my new friend’s ability to extrapolate that primal experience as an entire book of verse written in the voice of Kentucky’s most revered pioneer. I can coax my hand to execute just about any visual style that I can harness my perceptions to absorb. I can express my ideas and longings to others who care about what goes on in my head. I can dream. And I can still tell my mom that I love her.
Thank you, Father, for nothing different than all those blessings from Thee.
“Art is worthless unless it plants a measure of splendor in people’s hearts.”
—Taha Muhammad Ali
Posted in Art, Business, Creativity, Dana, Dance, Exercise, Family, Firearms, Food, Friends, Gratitude, History, Holidays, Hunting, Marty, Mombo, Music, Nature, Prayer, Priorities, Psychology, Studio, Technology, Time, Verse, Words | Comments Closed
Monday, November 19th, 2007
• What’s the latest news from Ian? Be there. Aloha!
• Two dozen years of Godfatherhood. Happy 24th Birthday to Nic. This lad is on a roll.
• Can Brendan’s The Diamond Saga be condensed to 101 words?
• Cole didn’t get his “Space Monkey” greetings from me on November 7th this year. That, dear readers, is how mired in torpidity Uncle John’s Haus of Cards has become.
Posted in Art, Birthdays, Blogging, Brendan, Family, Fiction, Ian, Words | No Comments »
Friday, November 9th, 2007
Broadway Report
— The Library closed its doors on West Broadway for the next 13 months or so, and I don’t think it’s entirely sunk in for me yet. It’s almost as though somebody boarded up a room of your house and said you couldn’t use it for a year. Meanwhile, the noise and dust levels are increasing, as construction on the new addition accelerates. One bright spot—I got permission to scrounge ten wheelbarrow loads of limestone powder left over from the work of the big bedrock drills (necessary for the innovative geothermal system they’re installing). I’m not certain how it will come into play when I move forward on our brick and stone driveway, but a scrounge is a scrounge.
Graybeard Alert
— My sharp disappointment at having our Website proposal rejected by the Great American Brass Band Festival was assuaged by an unexpected packaging assignment from Burkmann. On top of that, the Graybeard Prospector had a productive outing yesterday after the Medicine Woman concocted another one of her marketing potions. Glad to inform all that things are percolating again in the studio, and I’m almost prepared to say we’re busy.
Mokrabo Safari
— This past weekend, I helped make good on Dana’s long-held vision for a “safari dinner” at the Blue Bank Farm. The weather was a bit chilly and windy, but what could anyone expect on the first Sunday in November? The evening sky was perfect, and the Milky Way was visible before the diminishing light of day was gone. I can’t imagine it was any more spectacular in Africa that night. With us were Joan, Janet, Jerome, Lee, and David. Good food, good wine, good music, good campfire, good friends. Sure, it turned out to be a lot of work, but a memorable time was had by all. Greg Brown gave us a scare when he disappeared, but showed up the next morning, thank goodness.
Art Update
— Participated in my third wood engraving workshop at Larkspur Press, and, to avoid the tiring shuttle, I pitched a tent between the shop and Sawdridge Creek, which gave me four days of immersion that yielded two finished blocks. It’s hard to describe, but I broke through to a new comfort level with Wesley, his indomitable wife Juanita, and all the regulars who return year after year, including Richard, well-known force in the literary scene. Juanita soloed Saturday night at the Elk Creek Vineyards, and then came back to the area the following week to perform at Richard’s traditional “First Friday” gathering in the cafe next to his Frankfort bookstore, which I was able to attend because I’d spent the afternoon at the Transportation Cabinet with my fellow bicycle commissioners. Wes and Juanita had gone up to Cincinnati for another workshop sponsored there by Jack, the former international banana-shipping executive who’s expert at so many things (including printmaking) that I can’t keep track. The evening of music and poetry was exceptional. Juanita, Kate, and I sat at a table reserved by Laura Lee, one of the most versatile designer-artists in Kentucky, who just finished illustrating a book for children. Richard acknowledged us as part of the Larkspur wood-engraving gang. Gosh, to be around this circle of talents is one of the most stimulating resources in my life, and I owe it to Gray and his rare hospitality.
V & S
Posted in Art, Business, Community, Dana, Family, Food, Friends, Home, Jerome, Joan, Music, Pets, Studio, Wine | Comments Closed
Wednesday, November 7th, 2007
With only 12% of the precincts tallied, Dana and I knew there was no Fletcher Miracle in the making, so we found a secluded table at Woody’s lounge to mourn the end of an era. After she ate her once-a-year plate of comfort fries and I cried in my Guinness, we both had it out of our systems. If you pay attention to politics for very long, you come to understand it’s just a big pendulum, and it will always be that way. Nevertheless, that doesn’t make it feel any better when things are no longer swinging in your direction.
Posted in Angst, Current Events, Dana, Food, Personalities, Political Affairs | Comments Closed
Tuesday, November 6th, 2007
— Month of October workout totals: Swim-3; Bike-5; Run-2; Lift-3; Yoga-1; Pilates-5
— The ongoing exercise program is finally back in balance, but I need to boost the total workouts per month to reach an optimum level. Exercising five to six times per week has become the new target for fitness and health. Anyone who combines that with a smart diet and minimal toxic challenges can achieve significant benefits of disease prevention, weight management, injury resistance, and a greater sense of well-being. It’s an absolute must for people with a sedentary occupation like mine.
— My Pilates class at the college is shaping up to be a satisfactory ritual. The best thing I’ve learned is that I can actually do it well enough to notice some improvement. Like many physical practices, one can take it as far as individual discipline and determination permit. So far, I like it enough to want to get better, and that’s the motivational fuel I need to keep coming back. It’s tough stuff, and I usually hit a muscular fatigue point or cramp before the hour is complete, but my hope is that I’ll move beyond that by and by. I still have a lot to learn about the techniques and philosophy that underlie the right approach to this. I’ve learned from swimming, cycling, and running that I tend to avoid research at first, because the complexity overwhelms my initial enthusiasm. I prefer assimilating things with a natural receptivity, but also realize that I might develop inefficiencies and poor habits that are more difficult to unravel later, if I don’t educate myself on the fundamentals fairly soon in the learning process.
— I have Jerome and Janet to thank for my getting a large portrait commission—one of the Brady Brothers. I met with his widow last week, and we sorted through reference photos. She showed me an example of his artisanship, and it’s clear he was quite skilled with metal tooling and woodworking, even though he’d lost much of his left hand fighting the Germans in North Africa. She told me she’d never heard him complain or say he couldn’t do something. I guess that isn’t unusual for guys of that generation who came back maimed. They considered themselves the lucky ones. I’m glad to get this project as a launch-point for my portrait business, and what better way to kick-start this venture than to accept the honor of painting a Purple-Heart veteran?
— Today is election day, and I’m struggling to stay optimistic in the face of the overwhelming momentum to toss out a decent leader. Dana and I probably invested too much time in crafting our joint letter to the editor. Obviously, we remain loyal to a governor who kept plugging ahead during a difficult term in office. If Ernie is turned out, it will be in spite of his numerous contributions to improving our state government. If he wins, it will be one of the most remarkable political upsets of recent years. We’re hoping for a Harry Truman moment early tomorrow morning.
V & S
Posted in Art, Business, Current Events, Dana, Exercise, Family, Jerome, Personalities, Political Affairs, Presidency, Studio | Comments Closed
Tuesday, October 30th, 2007
— released from the hospital yesterday
— recuperating here at the Town House
Posted in Bruce, Family | Comments Closed
Thursday, October 25th, 2007
Now that’s one
good-lookin’
little bay-bo.
Go get her!
Posted in Jerome | Comments Closed
Saturday, October 20th, 2007
Bruce had his re-constructive abdominal surgery at U.K. yesterday, and it was a long Friday for all of us. I slept in a deep, dream-filled state, waking up to a bizarre, nightmarish memory (Dadbo being lost in a sinkhole at the farm), in addition to a separate—but quite lucid—idea about writing the definitive history of the anti-fluoridation movement, wrapped in a biography of our erstwhile friend and client, John Yiamouyiannis, the central figure in a decades-long struggle against the corruption of entrenched political power. Yes, it was a rather strange morning, but that’s not uncommon when I sleep like the trunk of a fallen oak on Widow’s Knob.
Bruce came through his latest ordeal with flags flying, although he’s experiencing a bit of severe pain that complicates matters, to say the least. Most of what was left of his long-idle large intestine was stapled to the ileum, and the bothersome contingency from 2005 is history. This should solve the problem of his chronic dehydration. There’s a portion of descending colon that could neither be utilized nor removed, so that segment remains, taking advantage of a previous drain-hole in his side to complete the overall plumbing design. Surgeon Chang seemed pleased with the outcome, considering the very real possibility that he might face no option except shrugging his shoulders and sewing up Bruce’s belly, had the scenario proved too dangerous or daunting. There was no way to tell how “do-able” the procedure might be until the team was inside. Everything was accomplished in less than three hours.
So, now he faces 5–10 days in the hospital. His summer fitness program should give him a distinct advantage in bouncing back. I’m praying he can win the coin toss, as far as the 50-50 chance for developing an infection following this kind of surgery. Once again, he stays on top of the odds, and successfully knocks off another obstacle in his marathon recovery from pancreatitis. The outlook for a potential kidney transplant has just improved significantly. Hang in there, my son…
~ The Saga of Bruce Joel
Posted in Bruce, Dadbo, Family, Friends, Personalities, Prayer | No Comments »
Thursday, October 18th, 2007
When Dana and I marked our silver anniversary last month, it was recognized that a separate milestone we’d failed to observe had passed us by a couple months earlier—
thirty years since we’d first met. About half a year after my abrupt departure from Chicago, kind Fate placed us in the same small basement office in Wright State University’s publications department. Life as a freelancer in Dayton hadn’t worked out very well, so it was with a measure of keen anticipation that I sat down one afternoon with the classified section, a Cassano’s thin-crust pizza, and a pitcher of lousy beer. I don’t remember applying for any other full-time job during that summer of ’77. To be guardedly candid, if it were not for my journal and the extant artifacts of my creative meanderings, I would recall even less about those months at J’s INN.
Ah, yes… J’s INN. Even the sound of it on my mental tongue conjures a mix of both exhilarating and disturbing sentiments. Thirty years later, J’s INN is less a set of recollections than it is a reservoir of emotions and sensory vignettes. Jeffrey’s scheme to rent the sprawling compound near the airport in late 1976 was just the catalyst I needed to make my escape from that metro-leviathan which bear-hugs the southwest corner of Lake Michigan. I returned to Ohio. Chicago was, and still is, “my big city,” but I knew I couldn’t live there with any level of mental peace. It was just too big. I had this nagging idea that I really needed to reside some place where I could see a cow now and then. J’s INN would be the place. J’s INN would be the perfect environment where I could shake off the city, reconnect with my brothers, and map out a new life as an independent creative professional, and, to a remarkable degree, I somehow managed to do just that. I enjoyed a privileged status. One memory that survives is the time other tenants complained to the INNmaster that he was too lenient with me with respect to our division of duties, and he firmly replied, “What makes you think fairness has anything to do with it?” Although life at J’s INN was conducive to many things, it was far from perfect, and it became too large a phenomenon to fully control, despite Fron’s valiant effort as the legendary INNmaster. J’s INN had its own appetites and its own aura of defiance that could never be tamed. Eventually, one could only betray and abandon it to its own devices. When it finally spent itself and met its match in the bulldozer, it surely left a crack in the hearts of my Clansmen, but it’s difficult to accept that its legacy, as hopelessly scrambled as it is, has not proved to be a good one in the final analysis. To think otherwise is to deny the galvanizing purpose it played in Brotherhood, and to deny its role in drawing me to my lifelong “partner in all things.” So be it, J’s INN— May your forgotten crimes be expiated. May your limestone bones and fallen timbers decay in peace at last.
Posted in Dana, Family, Jeffrey, Time | Comments Closed
Wednesday, October 17th, 2007
I’ve shrugged off the disappointment of not having my design chosen for the new library logo, and continue to be excited about the expansion taking place across Broadway. When I assess the daily progress from the vantage of our upstairs bathroom window, my memory skips back to the 1960s. We used to ride our bikes a mile or so toward town to watch the construction of a large electric-power substation on Tipp-Cowlesville Road. It’s not surprising that the rhythmic coordination of massive earth-moving equipment was fascinating to a youthful male. However, at the time, it was just another element of relentless change that I was observing firsthand, most notably the steady development of Dixonwood, our family property on Shoop Road. Clearly, much was churning in America during those years, but I didn’t sense the powerful shifts taking place in the larger culture as much as I had the perception of personally hurtling through rapid change in my own physical and emotional existence. It’s wild enough to be an adolescent, but to experience it as a “new kid” in a more sophisticated community, just as all the norms of social interaction were being questioned or summarily discarded… Before long, nothing seemed to be immune from total scrutiny, and the pace of upheaval that was accelerating month by month was rippling over my life like the waves of an incoming tide. Indeed, it was a “radical” period during which to come of age. Similar to those who had The Great Depression or The War eclipse their years as a teen, the cultural meltdown of the 60s was a fact of life, and you were just there in the midst of it, living it a day at a time, unaware of how it could have been any different. I haven’t come close to sorting through it all, and, perhaps, I never can nor shall.
Posted in Angst, Community, Family, History, Psychology, Time | Comments Closed
Friday, October 5th, 2007
— Month of September workout totals: Swim-0; Bike-10; Run-5; Lift-7; Yoga-0; Pilates-2
— My exercise regimen is starting to come back into balance after a mighty season of cycling. The Wednesday evening rides are winding down. This week we barely got in a 20-miler before the light failed. Ernst and I managed an all-out sprint battle down Lebanon Road as a final salute to summer, but I still didn’t have enough to best him. It was a nice kicker to Sunday’s long ride. Although it was more windy than we expected, I got in a total of 60 miles, after I split off from the “Bardstown-to-Berea Century” group at Burgin. Ernst and the others continued east for the full 100. On another note, I’m making good on a challenge to myself by tackling the Tuesday-Thursday Pilates class at Centre. If I stick it out, I’ll eventually file an official report in this space.
— A huge Website proposal has kept us busy in the studio for a week or so, although I did temporarily fall under the spell of Ken Burns and watched a few series pilots, too (I may stick with a couple new shows if they aren’t yanked). For many years, Dana and I maintained a standard policy of refusing to propose visual concepts on a speculative basis. First of all, it seemed rather presumptuous to offer design solutions without adequate research and client consultation. Beyond that, it also seemed an unfair expectation—asking us to render our core creative service before making a commitment to hire us. Well, unfortunately, we’ve had to discard that practice during our lingering project drought, even though these types of competitive appraisals rarely involve comparing apples to apples. These days, everyone wants to shop for ideas and low fees, and it’s getting harder to remember when we could get retained strictly on the basis of our qualifications and past honors. It’s just one more aspect of our industry that’s changed radically in the new century. Many of the others are equally distressing. Meanwhile, I navigate the choppy waters and avoid hair dye, unlike Creed at Dunder Mifflin.
— Arts Across Kentucky finally updated its site with the fall issue, but offers no peek at my featured work. I continue to rotate layerist collages at the “Tree” without my first score. Wilma accepted my Band Festival painting at her new gallery on Main Street, and I’m optimistic about the potential for a sale. The “Egg” is the best downtown enhancement of the year, but the most exciting news item is the recent decision by Larkspur to upgrade the Manning job to a book project, with my most recent wood engraving, “Boss’s Bucket,” as the frontispiece illustration.
— Bruce has improved dramatically since he came home to Danville six months ago. The imminent surgery is a good measure of his progress, although the side-effects of dialysis are a continuous challenge for him. He’s able to exercise increasingly, and is much more energetic on a daily basis, both mentally and physically. To see him helping with the household drudgery, building a routine of creative writing, working on his car, composing letters to the newspaper, and more actively moving around the community is deeply satisfying to witness.
V & S
Posted in Angst, Art, Business, Community, Creativity, Dana, Exercise, Family, Friends, Personalities, Studio, Television | Comments Closed
Sunday, September 23rd, 2007
Although I’m actually sitting in my studio with fingers on keyboard, I’m not really here at all. In my mind I’m running across the state-owned meadows of Kentucky School for the Deaf, under the patchy morning sunlight of late September. The characteristics of the season remind me of my high-school cross-country days, but soon I’m catapulted back in memory even more. For the countless time in my life, I breath in the fragrance of fresh-cut hay.
The smell of hay… I’m an elementary-schooler once again, playing with my friend David Silknetter in the barn at his family’s farm on Route 48, just north of the old water-wheel landmark. Remembering Silknetter is to relive the angst of accepting and defending his childish fantasies, and to make the painful choice between placing trust in a friend or in family. It is foolish to believe these early experiences fundamentally shape our character, but naive to think they do not have some kind of influence. For me it came at a crossroads of my sense of the “world out there.”
“Real life” outside the nuclear-family nest was intriguing in part because it seemed more than a bit dangerous, and David’s appeal was his smug disregard for the forbidden. Part of the lure of building bale forts in his barn loft was linked to the stories of kids suffocating when their improvised warren collapsed. Certainly the smell of hay was the last sensation of their brief, tragic lives. I could scoff at such hazards by trusting David’s construction skill and his brilliant idea of positioning the deepest chamber next to a supply of air and light—the largest knot-hole in the barn siding. My trust would be well placed. Or would it?
When I came to accept my family’s conviction that Silknetter lied to me about his secret machine that wrote down the name of anyone who discovered our hay-bale tunnel, it was clear I would never play with him again, and the exposure of his deception would mean that he had no choice but to mark me as his enemy. Hadn’t I betrayed his confidence? How much do these formative judgments affect our evolving sense of the external world, the nature of human relationships, the relative surmountability of life’s dilemmas, and the stability of “things as they are?” Yes, I understood that the pitfalls of life were realities unconnected to Whittlin’ Jake’s puppet shows, or the nightly Old-West perils of a television backlot. The messy business of choosing new friends and confronting the unknown was real, of course, and part of a world that appeared, to a developing degree, forebodingly unpredictable. Boyhood imagination about such things can be a rabid creature when infected by rumors and fragments of truth… Or unexpected developments—like the time John Herman threatened to beat me up if my brothers continued to laugh at him. And they continued to laugh at him. It was a known fact that the real world had its share of John Hermans, and that rural existence was filled with grim eventualities. The Iddings boy had two fingers and a thumb chewed off by a corn-picker mechanism. A local farmer, a family acquaintance, had accidentally killed his own son when the youngster fell off the back of his tractor and under a hay mower. I eavesdropped with astonishment when the older boys talked about how Elwood’s brother had ”half his head blown off” in a shotgun mishap.
During those years I probably reached a turning point of which I was not consciously aware. In other words, which perspective seemed more inviting to me—the hidden potential of taking on the outer world, or the possibilities of fashioning a plastic inner world? How did I prefer to risk my creativity? When mixed with the harsh moral instruction and institutional propaganda of the 1950s, is it surprising that I found less comfort in the mode of an extrovert? Is it difficult to understand why I chose internal family mythology over practical community engagement, Hollywood over literary realism, art over science, seat-of-the-pants intuition over sober accountability? Or, had my gears been calibrated and set in motion long before? Was I already imprinted by an invisible heritage to turn and grind a particular way? 
Oldenday…
Posted in Angst, Creativity, Family, Friends, Personalities, Psychology, Television, Time | Comments Closed
Wednesday, September 19th, 2007
Call it Nine-One-One
— Needless to say, our wedding anniversaries now tend to start out with a somber mood, but that’s just part of being an American, so we put it aside to begin our own joyous observance. We took a nice drive up Highway 33 after stopping at Shaker Village and then spent part of the day in Midway, where I made arrangements for the Damselfly gallery to display my wood engravings. We enjoyed the sunny afternoon together and had a delicious dinner at the Heirloom restaurant. In downtown Lexington we discovered the same spot that Dana’s parents stood for a wedding photo, when they eloped to Lexington many years ago. Several times, leading up to the event, we talked about having a picture made on our milestone day, but we didn’t even have a camera with us, so we had dessert, did a bit of shopping at Wild Oats, and then headed home.
Lalo the Magnificent
— Joan paid a visit and made a closing installment of anniversary gifts, even though she’d given us a new Mhing game back at the Seitz Reunion. She told me about the recent NPR interview with Schifrin. My favorite part was when the interviewer asked how he was able to move effortlessly from one type of music to another. Describing himself as a “chameleon,” he said he can do it because he’s able to see the “essence” of each form. That idea speaks powerfully to me.
Lust for Lit
— To have discovered the joy and consolation of literature at this stage of life is an unexpected blessing. I recently read my first story by Paul Horgan. Joan gave me a copy of Flannery O’Connor writings. Both are masters of the short story who happen to have been Catholic. A good friend of artist Peter Hurd (brother-in-law of Andrew Wyeth), Horgan also created little hand-made library-card pockets that now sell to collectors for $500 each. He died in 1995. I don’t know anything yet about O’Connor, but I read one of her stories and found it interesting, but just a bit creepy.
Lucky’s Day Wasn’t Lucky’s Lucky Day
— I didn’t even know about Smoked Mullet until the recent BillyBlues concert at the Constitution Square Festival. James and Susan urged us to come back and catch Aaron’s performance the next day. He’s obviously looking for that elusive “hit” for which nearly all young songwriters yearn. It reminds me of my conversations with Danny D about his long haul through the music industry. Danny hit paydirt overnight when he wasn’t much older than Aaron; he hasn’t seen anything quite like it since. I also remember how a friend of mine from Yellow Springs watched his son go to Nashville to strike gold, only to see him throw away the whole opportunity when the lad couldn’t steer clear of the whiskey bottle.
Kelly Watch
— Urban Picnic received a slideshow highlight by The New York Times, and the young talent from Danville was mentioned by name. Not bad. She’s one to keep watching.
Still Crankin’ Forward
— I’ve been ingrained with the committee approach through my board service and community involvement (Band Festival, Chamber of Commerce, Salvation Army, Rotary Club, etc.), but I’ve picked up resistance about going that direction with the B.I.K.E. group. The “c-word” doesn’t seem to have taken hold as a positive idea. Too many meetings. Perhaps a more workable approach is to have a volunteer “project manager” for each objective. Those people can “take ownership,” rally a few helpers to move the ball, and then get back to the steering group with a progress report. The whole thing reminds me too much of the foundering honcho system within the Dixon Clan Council. Hopefully Mombo’s new trust will be a better context for a workable committee arrangement. To be honest, I have diminishing enthusiasm for attempting to structure the cycling-advocacy team. I’d rather devote myself to individual creative and lobbying efforts, like our area master plan, a “share the road” promotional effort, and the planned multi-use trail along the new bypass connector. Although we’ve made some great progress, I’m somewhat weary after 18 months at the helm. I’d like to see a different leader with more management skill to succeed. This would free me up to work on actual projects instead of administration. Meanwhile, the need for studio activity outweighs all these other considerations. Where’s that old Graybeard when we need him?
V & S
Posted in Angst, Art, Business, Community, Dana, Family, Fiction, Food, Friends, James, Joan, Mombo, Music, Personalities, Priorities, Public Service, Words | Comments Closed
Tuesday, September 11th, 2007
Exactly 25 years ago, in my family’s back yard, we made our vows in the presence of others dearly loved.
Today, as the nation observes the memory of a morning filled with terror and sadness, Dana and I remember when we owned the 11th of September as our personal date of promise and boundless joy.
Posted in Dana, Family | Comments Closed
Friday, September 7th, 2007
— My cycling chum Bill S commissioned a hand-made card for his mother’s one-hundredth birthday. He’s a great guy who shares a lot in common with me. His daughter is a terrific designer that works for Lenox. Her new Urban Picnic design is being handled by Macy’s. When she was getting her education she asked me to give her an internship, but the workload couldn’t support it. I regret the missed opportunity to have experienced her talent firsthand.
— One of my primary community-service mentors, Carl M, who originally proposed me for Rotary membership, recently asked if I played golf, as we left our weekly luncheon at the Danville Country Club. I told him that when I had the available time, I much preferred to be on a bicycle. It was clear from our conversation that he didn’t think much of the sport, but remarked that I thought it was a “great game,” and, from time to time, I did enjoy watching the best players on TV. Well, I reinforced that viewpoint for myself over the holiday when I glued down with the head-to-head play of Mickelson and Woods. Anyone who can witness that level of psychological combat without total fascination should steer clear of golf in any shape or form.
— I’m not sure when I became hooked on short stories. Maybe had something to do with Brendan getting me addicted to very concise ones. I shall never read all the great American novels, but I do hope to eventually read all the best short stories ever written by Americans. If you have some favorites, let me know. I can’t get over the variety: Wharton — James — Hemingway — Thurber — Faulkner. And I’m discovering others new to me: Walter Van Tilburg Clark — Katherine Anne Porter. I’ve been aware of The Ox-Bow Incident and Noon Wine (Peckinpah’s lost rendition with Jason Robards is remembered by some who saw it as the finest television ever broadcast), but didn’t recognize those names. Yes, I know… I’m a late arrival at the grand old house of our national literature.
— I have to admit that, after 13 years of conditioning, all I want to do after Labor Day is draw, fish, swim, relax, and enjoy myself. Seeing the picture of the Adkins Family makes me realize how much my nervous system craves some sort of vacation. I decided not to make the trip to Upper Michigan this year. Being with Dana on our silver anniversary is more important. If we can pull ourselves away from the studio, we’re due for our own getaway. What can one say about a quarter century of marriage? I can write a bit, but not well enough to tackle such an assignment. It’s been more than that, too. A working partnership on all levels. An uncommon occurrence in human relationships. Beyond my capacity to summarize.
V & S
Posted in Art, Brendan, Dana, Family, Fiction, Friends, Personalities, Playtime, Priorities, Sport, Studio, Television, Words | Comments Closed
Tuesday, September 4th, 2007
A very public list of options for my niece:
• Use the Oxford credential to land a position at a respected institution, starting as the assistant to a highly experienced leader — humble yourself to soak up every scrap of street smarts for the taking — do it as long as you can stand it, and then walk away with whatever new perspective you’ve attained…
• Earn a decent position with a progressive municipality or quasi-governmental agency as a lifestyle platform for high-level volunteerism — “take ownership” of a huge challenge in the non-profit or charitable sector indirectly related to your job and use that opportunity to make something very significant happen in the community — pull up stakes and carry what you’ve learned back to the academic environment — now you’re ready to conduct seminal research in an area that actually affects the lives of people…
• Wager your impressive undergraduate degrees in a job search that’s limited to companies with an outstanding corporate culture — do your homework and cull it down to only the leading-edge organizations — satisfy yourself that doing anything within the very best of management teams trumps practicing your specialty in a deficient business or institutional environment, and then you’ll be prepared to investigate your next strategic career move…
• Take a job with a publisher, polling firm, or media company to learn the communications industry from the inside — learn everything there is to know about niche-market service — job hop laterally until you’re ready to devote your new knowledge and skill set to a specific area of personal interest as a writer, and then make the leap of faith…
• Get into the best damn graduate program you can pull off, and then, regardless of your specific thesis parameters, seek out the advice of mature scholars who have the most balanced heart flame you can discern — then you can begin thinking in earnest about what next you should do with your life…
Meet your opportunities by being who you are. Don’t sell your skills, but sell your aspirations— to learn everything you can about being part of a successful team. If that doesn’t unlock a new chapter, you don’t want to work for that organization anyway. The best recruiters understand that you “don’t know jack” at this stage. They want to invest in attitude and potential. Keep scratching until positive things happen. Good Luck, KK!
Posted in Business, Caitlan, Family, Priorities | No Comments »
Saturday, September 1st, 2007
— Month of August workout totals: Swim-0; Bike-9; Run-0; Lift-2; Yoga-0
— When I first participated in the Pound & Pedal 20-miler, it started in downtown Danville and ended at Turtle in the Night Farm, the Morgan family homestead in Forkland. With a climb up Catholic Knob, plus its 30-to-40-mph descent, the course was tough and exciting. As we gathered this morning for the annual challenge, which now has a long-established course that extends into Mercer County and back, nobody remembered exactly how long a history the event has, but Ernst thought today might be the 20th anniversary. The current course is not as dramatic, but it’s still rigorous and far from flat. The best athletes took part in the traditional run-bike team competition, so I managed to win the bicycle-only division with a time of 1:05:41. Once again it fell short of the elusive 20-mph average, but only 19 seconds slower than my 2001 finish. Hey, I can live with three seconds a year. Dick B told me I was “aging gracefully.”
— If I could make a living doing what I did yesterday… Well, I don’t know how to complete that sentence. After spending the morning with graver tools, I pulled a crude proof to see if my block was nearly done. It was the best print I could produce at home, but it told me it was time to head to Larkspur. We made the trip to Monterey and I spent the rest of the day alternating proofs on the Vandercook with more clean-up and finishing touches. I wasn’t sure if Dana was getting bored, but it turned out to be an opportunity for her to spend some time with Gray and get a better sense of his rare individuality. I left the block in his capable hands with a sense of satisfaction, looking forward to his broadside composition of the Manning poem with my illustration.
— I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining, but the Arts Across Kentucky article about me was published with a disappointing number of errors and poor visual decisions, but that seems to be somewhat typical of the magazine. Nevertheless, it’s good publicity and is apparently seen by many high-level people. They still haven’t updated the Website to reflect the current issue that contains my profile. It’s up to me to leverage this constructively, otherwise it may offer little on its own to enhance my situation.
V & S
Posted in Art, Business, Craftsmanship, Dana, Exercise, Family, Friends, Personalities, Studio | Comments Closed
Tuesday, August 28th, 2007
Forgive me for yesterday’s wacky post. I’m rounding the final turn of a new wood block—the first I’ve executed outside the workshop environment. The spot I’ve set up in the little galley kitchen on the second floor is ideal. Painters need soft northern light, but the way the afternoon sun from the small window streams by my left shoulder is perfect for engraving wood. I can see each minute detail with total, three-dimensional clarity. Gray loaned me a magnifying visor, but I prefer the naked eye, as long as I have the proper light.
Why does wood engraving appeal to me? There’s something about the precision that satisfies an inner aspect, much in the same way that the spontaneity of collage appeals to another part of me. Perhaps Wesley put it best when he wrote, “Engraving is like drawing on a black board. Every line you make is a white mark on a black surface. You are adding light to darkness.” That hits pretty close to home for me.
On the other hand, it’s widely acknowledged that wood engraving is a demanding, unforgiving medium. I’m considered fairly decent for a “beginner,” but that’s because I can tap a lifetime of graphic investigation as I make each binary decision—black or white? I still have a significant mark-making technique to learn and “muscle memory” to acquire. I must also develop an even deeper resistance to haste. There are no shortcuts, “happy accidents,” or undo keys in wood engraving. Every mark must be deliberate. The process does not reward chance; it yields only to planning and tenacity. I find a challenge in all that, obviously, but I wish I’d been more strongly captivated by it earlier in my artistic life. After creating the lino block for Joan and Wayne’s wedding invitation, I abandoned printmaking for nearly 30 years. So be it. I’m slowly making up for a bit of lost time.
Posted in Art, Craftsmanship, Home, Joan, Personalities, Studio | Comments Closed
