When Brendan spoke of “building a narrative out of noncontiguous events,” it was as if he was talking about the tapestry of stories that my brothers and I have been weaving all our lives. Stories… they’ve been part of my creative identity from the beginning. Wanting to tell them was as natural as drawing. First it was with chalk and blackboard (my artistic genesis), and then it expanded to comic strips, “scrips,” and my early childhood writings (the Summer family’s life on a farm and the adventures of Gordon Antent, leader of shipwrecked souls). But whatever artesian well of infatuation might emerge and run its course, there was always a distinct narrative world that continued to evolve at the pace of my maturing regard for the human condition, and there was never any doubt about the fact that this was a story project that was meant to endure. As is typical with any creative momentum that has an origin in early life, it’s difficult to define how naive concepts gain an inertia that survive childhood play. And it was always a collaborative enterprise from the start, involving a sibling give-and-take of ideas that would find enough consensus to mold the stories and character profiles in a semi-permanent fashion, until the next burst of development. It all grew out of an activity that, for us, was a powerfully stimulative pastime—playing with little plastic men. Current hobbyists and collectors would refer to them as “playset figures.” The next generation would know them as “action figures.” But most families like ours wouldn’t expend limited resources for the elaborate playsets on the market, with their carefully planned and crafted groups of figures, buildings, props, and accessories (few would dispute that the Marx Toy Company was the high-water mark in the genre). We fit into the merchandising strata at a level called “dimestore toys,” cheap, simple bags of men (rarely women) with few if any accouterments. We envied the friends and cousins who had Marx
playsets (WWII Battleground, Blue and Gray, Fort Apache, Alamo, Ben-hur, and TV spin-offs like Davy Crockett, Gunsmoke, Wagon Train, and The Rifleman), but we could make do. We had imagination to spare and we had each other, but most of all, it really wasn’t about the toys. It was about the dramatic stories, and the heroic personalities, and the exotic homelands, and the interactivity of brotherly minds, and the continuity of our boyhood traditions, and ultimately… the fascinating nonlinearity of it all.
Archive for the ‘Family’ Category
Oldenday VIII
Friday, June 3rd, 2005One of those ~bbBOIIINNG~ moments
Thursday, June 2nd, 2005Something Brendan said yesterday really got me fixated on a line of thought. For some reason I don’t consider myself a writer (perhaps a diarist or “journal-ist” at best), and yet telling stories has been a part of my imaginative side for as long as I can remember— whether illustrative, oral, or written. The Iliad and Odyssey of Homer may have been the first nonlinear story, but I didn’t read Homer (just the condensed juvenile versions) until long after my brothers and I had begun to create a rich oral/written tradition that’s almost 50 years old now. It’s nonlinear nature is one of its strongest suits. It’s been called various things over the years, but now we generally refer to it as “The Legend.” If I keep thinking about this I’ll have the ingredients for another Oldenday segment.
Various & Sundry, part eighteen
Wednesday, June 1st, 2005— Month of May workout totals: Swim-6; Bike-0; Run-2; Lift-0.
— I won’t even try to elaborate on the sad state of my fitness program. At least I continue to swim, although I need to boost that monthly total to a minimum of eight workouts. On the bright side, I had a decent session yesterday and was only a second off my all-time fastest 4-lap sprint. Now, when am I going to get back on my bike?
— In the past 24 hours or so, my niece Caitlan (sister of
Brendan) successfully winged her way to Europe. Her mom’s advice: “Have the time of your life!” I’ll second that motion.
— I spoke to Josh Sunday when he called during the Clan gathering. I really didn’t know what to say to him. I’m terrible on the phone in those situations. Always have been, I guess. We talked a little about his current assignment, until he goes back out on the road, and whether his area was in danger of any mortar attacks. I told him how much I support what he’s doing, but it didn’t sound as strong as I feel about it. You know, if I had to make my log entries with a telephone I’d never do it. I’d just scrap
this whole thing.
— Bruce has dodged another bullet, enabling him to fight onward toward the day he gets to go home. Frankly, I don’t know what a home life is going to be like for him when it’s restored, but I’m certain he looks forward to it with an abiding desire that provides a strong source of fortitude. I’m aware that I haven’t mentioned his wife much in this log. Perhaps I’m not confident enough in my own kindness to put thoughts in writing. At this point I’ll just describe a funny New Yorker cartoon that seems apropos: A man is lying in a hospital bed, appearing totally down and out. Tubes, cords, and medical technology are everywhere. A doctor with a somewhat forlorn expression is standing beside a woman dressed in pearls and a fur wrap. Her expression is one of exasperation. She says, “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
A real survivor
Tuesday, May 31st, 2005I have to admit something to myself—this most recent crisis has been more than a “speed bump” for Bruce. This time he was in a ditch. The emergency surgery that took place yesterday was even more vital than I first realized. The medical details are starting to make my head fill with static, but now I understand that he would’ve gone quickly downhill without the procedure, and that it wasn’t a certainty that his body could handle the trauma. The intervention was just something that had to happen to prevent massive organ failure, and it worked. He’s stable and doing better already. If all goes well, they won’t have to repeat it (but, realistically, that could still be necessary). He told his mom that he feels like he’s trapped on an island, just trying to survive one more day.
Another day, another dilemma
Monday, May 30th, 2005Mombo seemed surprised to see me shooting with the digital camera at Eagle Nest. I suppose she’s gotten used to that 33-year-old Nikkormat FTn in front of my face. I enjoy the immediacy of digital, but haven’t shaken the nagging discomfort of feeling myself slip away from negative film. Polish cinematographer Janusz Kaminski (longtime Spielberg collaborator finishing up “War of the Worlds”) has his own more influential misgivings. He worries about “our ability to preserve history photographically,” and about “creating people who accept visually inferior images as the norm.” For me the economics are forcing a reluctant shift, so I should heed his concerns, maintaining a bank of quality images and making sure they outlive me. If “digital is degrading our aesthetics,” as Kaminski fears, there’s nothing I can do about it. I think it was already happening long before this particular development (probably began with the decline of the Arts & Crafts movement). However, I can refuse to give up my desire to document my family in a way that perhaps no one else in my generation is suited to achieve.
Various & Sundry, part seventeen
Saturday, May 28th, 2005— Marty finally convinced me to watch “Collateral.” Mann outdoes himself in this one. I won’t be the one to explain why it isn’t a flawless picture. If you haven’t seen it, I dare not give anything away. If you have, need I say more?
— Seth and I confirmed our desire to recut “Pirate Revenge,” and now I just have to schedule a block of time. He has access to the editing suite this summer, so it will be essential to have a new version before our Ohio gathering around Labor Day. If we hit the mark anywhere near my original visualization, minds will be most certainly blown.
— James encouraged me to spend time with Marty in the knobs, learning the terrain together and sleeping under the oaks. I own that land. What prevents me from claiming stewardship?
— Bruce undergoes a major surgical procedure tomorrow. I believe it will be the final turning point in his successful recovery. This is something that the providers would preferred to have have done much sooner, had he been strong enough to handle the general anesthesia, so I view it as an important step forward, rather than a setback. He’s ready for it, and it will lay to rest this stubborn condition in his internal core. May the mercy of Divine Law govern every aspect of the operation, guide every thought, and each skilled hand, to fulfill the promise of his unfolding destiny and the ultimate potential of his Christ wholeness.
A nice break
Saturday, May 28th, 2005Dana and Terie went up to be with Bruce over the holiday weekend. He’s back in his private room, but the docs are trying to pull together a surgical team to get to the bottom of continuing problem with his infectious innerds. Meanwhile, I’m hanging with the Marty Man. We hit Eagle Nest for the Clay celebration, caught episode III of SW, played the PS2 until midnight, and then called it day.
Solid steel will be like putty; he will work for anybutty
Friday, May 27th, 2005Just between you and me, I spent most of the last three days in the guise of my mighty alter ego, Website Makeover™ Man, and now I’m preparing to switch back to my secret identity—Uncle John—so I can complete my Thirteenth Cosmosaic for nephew Clayton, Class of 2005.
Benicio Del Toro IS Emilio Sandoz
Wednesday, May 25th, 2005As every reader knows, there’s a turning point in each good novel when the author has you hooked. We’ve just reached it with
The Sparrow. I say “we” because Dana and I are taking turns reading it to each other aloud. Bob and Carol gave us this idea a while back. Cold Mountain was perfect for it, and A Man in Full was a hoot. Not every work lends itself to the practice, so we’ve had a few false starts. Inevitably we “cast” the main characters like a motion picture, so we can concur on physical appearance and general persona. Ethan Hawke as Inman and Ashley Judd as Ruby were engraved in the imagination before Hollywood made its own choices, and now I’m certain that only Salma Hayek could portray Sofia Mendes. Brendan recommended The Sparrow to his mom (my sister Joan), and she enjoyed it so much we borrowed it next. Bruce will want to read it when we finish. I already know that I’ll immediately want to start again from the beginning, but we’ll probably go find a copy of Mary Doria Russell’s sequel instead—Children of God.
Another speed bump
Tuesday, May 24th, 2005Bruce faces a temporary setback with his return to the critical care unit, following the onset of symptoms that require continuous monitoring—fever, low blood pressure, anemia, and nausea. He’s stable, and they replaced a stint near his collarbone that was probably causing new infection. Dana’s taking this one hard (I think she had her heart set on his imminent release and transition to a physical therapy center). It’s a reminder how touch-and-go his resistance is, but I’m hoping he’s back in a private room before this weekend.
Various & Sundry, part sixteen
Sunday, May 22nd, 2005— BCA’s Frisco
makes me want to draw it as a comic strip, as Lisa did with Fortado. A while back I realized I’d have a difficult time creating a comic strip as a solo enterprise because, even though I could draw it, I knew I didn’t have the mind to develop dramatic or humorous ideas at the same level. And so I would require a partner, if I ever chose to fulfill the dream. It makes me think of some of the great collaborative efforts, like the strips created by Lee Falk (Mandrake the Magician, The Phantom) and, of course, Parker and Hart’s The Wizard of Id.
— Spent Friday morning compensating for the substandard transparency of the Tapley painting being featured within our Brass Band Festival poster design. It was a relief to know my teamwork with the printer’s pre-press technician achieved the anticipated result. All along, my goal has been to showcase a fabulous work of art without messing up, and having to take possession of the original and haul it around added a bit more stress to the process. Then we had lunch in Louisville with Bob the photographer and he pointed out that shooting a high-res digital could have avoided the entire ordeal of fixing a donated scan. No doubt, but that’s the sort of thing you get pulled into with a freebie project. There’s always time to salvage a botched plan, but never any money to do it correctly from the beginning.
— Within almost every “mandala” of friends there’s the individual or two who act as the “glue.” For a group that’s met twice a month for over a decade to experience “shared silence,” that primary person has been my friend Milton. He’s retiring from his long tenure at Centre College, and it was fun to “toast and roast” him at the cabin this morning. His energy, compassion, and “brutal” honesty has always been an inspiration. One of the harsh realizations of middle age has been to understand that one doesn’t know quite as much about quite as many subjects as it seems in youth. And special care should be taken when claiming any authority in the areas in which one has gained some depth of knowledge and expertise. For the most part, I learned this from Milton, a true scholar who knows how to keep things in perspective—that even though we all have our limitations as students of life, it need not inhibit our enthusiasm for learning, nor deter our quest for illumination.
— The remarkable recovery by Bruce continues as he enters his tenth week in the hospital. He had more surgery on Friday to take out tubes and is down to a single drain (which may come out tomorrow) and a line that delivers nutrition directly to the small intestine. Dana and I spent the afternoon with him yesterday. He did some hall walking and powered his own wheelchair for a while on a visit to the rose garden. He’s off antibiotics, keeps gaining strength, and can now concentrate on a little reading, which is one of the good signs I’ve been looking for. Nobody loved to read more than Bruce, and he’s surely on his way back to his former avocations. And yet I sense that the perilous chasm he traversed this spring is his portal to a new and different life that can be unlocked only by monumental perseverance.
Skip the sequel with Sean Bean, if you don’t mind
Monday, May 16th, 2005Marty loaned me his DVD of
Troy, so I watched it late Saturday night while Dana was out of town. Although it kept my interest, it didn’t have much to offer. The workmanlike performances, clumsily directed, were squandered on a bastardized plot that should leave even a lukewarm admirer of the legend unsettled. When a screenwriter “fornicates” with one of the most exquisite stories ever produced by human culture, the punitive amputation of keyboard fingers should be given serious consideration. I’ll begrudge some credit to a talented cast who approached the script as if it did justice to its classic source. As I said, not much to offer, except for a few scenes of brilliant action choreography, which makes the motion picture worthy of attention by all but the most discriminating fans of stylized movie combat. Watch it for the craftsmanship in the fights, and then reward yourself by viewing
The House of Flying Daggers (Shi mian mai fu) or Hero (which Brendan found superior, but I haven’t seen).
How to draw a Frankenstein head
Sunday, May 15th, 2005Latest news is that my nephew
Ian graduated from college. I’m dying to find out if he had to pay all those old parking tickets (ouch), or whether he managed to talk his way out of it (if so, send him immediately to the U.S. Senate).
Splitsville
Friday, May 13th, 2005Dana heads north to Indiana, while I head south to a rare meeting of “The Wood Duck Society” at a not-so-secret location between Bradfordsville and Gravel Switch. Nothing at all sinister. Just some cabin time with friends… relaxing, talking, drawing, shooting, reading, and throwing together some good chow. And there’s nothing quite like watching thundershowers from a porch rocker as the low clouds drag themselves through the knobs.
The creative equation
Thursday, May 12th, 2005The word “miracle” keeps coming up in my conversations with others
about Bruce, and appropriately so, but I can’t help but think that such
profound intersections of the physical and the divine may not be as
extraordinary as we often believe, nor as rare as the term implies.
Perhaps they’re just the proving of the Universal Law, and are meant to be
the rule, rather than the exception. Haven’t the sages, prophets, and
Christed Ones told us as much since the beginning of recorded time?
And yet it appears that I only participate fully in this
“creative equation” when traumatic circumstances shatter my
daily mode.
Tonight I was part of The Salvation Army’s annual appreciation
dinner and had the opportunity to hear a talk by Commissioner Fred
Ruth, who recently retired as the organization‘s representative to the
United Nations. From New York to London to Eastern Europe to
Russia to Indonesia to New Guinea to North Korea, this dedicated
officer has literally served around the globe and witnessed countless
examples of the Light of God intervening on behalf of those in need,
but only when an individual’s heart, head, and hand are in the right place
at the right time with the right intent, positioning oneself in service
to His eternal Law.
Miracle? Until we come up with a better term—and it’s time we do—the word will have to suffice.
Oldenday VII
Tuesday, May 10th, 2005Since I worked on this series last month, a few more early influences have come to mind, one by one. Joan reminded me of the illustrated dinosaur book with the green cover that she recalls me studying for hours. On Sunday I thought of another. During our trip back from Indy we stopped at the Speed Museum on UofL’s campus to see the Remington-Russell exhibition (typically, the last two hours of the final day, but thank God I didn’t miss it). I remembered the puzzles—a series of simple childen’s puzzles—that were all reproductions of Remington works. I’d forgotten about them, and how much I loved them! I doubt they lasted long in a household of youngsters. They were so powerfully evocative for me that I don’t think I even recognized them as art at the time, but thought of them as true representations of the far West. I’m sure that most of those specific images remain undiscovered to my adult eye, otherwise I would carry a stronger emotional connection to Remington. I came to Russell much later and felt a deeper identification with his sketch techniques and pictorial preferences. I’ve been especially drawn to his pen and wash style. His illustrated correspondence influenced me from the moment I first saw an example. Yes, I know there must be sophisticates who still don’t think he was one of the greats, but his work came to the Speed, dangit! If you don’t think he was a master, just try to copy his modest doodles. I’ve certainly tried and failed. There will never be another quite like him. Marty and I looked at his boyhood sketchbook in the gift shop. The drawings showed more potential for visual imagination than artistic achievement. “But he got good ’cause he never stopped,” I told the lad…and he understood.
Vis vitae
Sunday, May 8th, 2005We were there this morning to see Bruce achieve an important milestone in his seven-week gauntlet. Using a walker, he was able to leave his room for the first time and go out into the hallway a short distance and come back. Dana couldn’t have had a nicer Mother’s Day gift.
Goats Do Roam
Tuesday, May 3rd, 2005Dana and I enjoyed a splendid dinner and evening of conversation at Lee and David’s, hearing all about their recent trip to South Africa. They shared stories and photos of Durban, Capetown, and their stay at a private reserve in the bush. As if that wasn’t hospitable enough, they sent us home with an unusual red vintage.
Various & Sundry, part fifteen
Sunday, May 1st, 2005— Month of April workout totals: Swim-5; Bike-0; Run-4; Lift-0.
— Just when I was determined to boost the frequency of my fitness sessions to get in triathlon shape, the cookie began to crumble, everything hit the fan, the wheels fell off, and the pooch was screwed…
— What do you do with a Jennifer Wilbanks? Has she had time to contemplate what a thoughtless, selfish, and ultimately cruel thing she’s done? On the one hand, you have the family, with the job of loving and nurturing a very mixed-up woman old enough to know better. On the other hand, you have the authorities, with the job of ensuring effective deterrence and managing the limited resources of taxpayers. Court-ordered counseling? A public apology to volunteers? Ample community service among Hispanics? An invoice for the overtime hours clocked by each peace officer involved? Perhaps all of the above… Nevertheless, my hope is that she finds a new direction for her life and in some way learns to put others before herself. May she find the inner strength to use her inadvertent celebrity to do more good than the harm and pain she’s already caused. And one more thing: every sensational media outlet that milks the aftermath should donate the profits to assist the victims and families of actual abductions.
— Maybe I’m thinking about the Wilbanks affair because this morning I met six young people, three men and three women, who are leaving to spend the summer in Russia and Chile helping others have a better life. It’s an adventure into the unknown for them, but I can tell their real motive is to serve—to be Love in action.
— Speed bump. That’s the message from Indianapolis concerning Bruce. He’s still waging war against infection and having his ups and downs. It remains a difficult situation, now that he’s back on drugs that suppress his immune system (to prevent rejection of the transplanted kidney that’s miraculously kicked back in).
This one’s on the Haus
Thursday, April 28th, 2005Precisely three years ago, Marty and I spent much of our day documenting and dismantling my 50th birthday “Haus of Cards” retrospective exhibition. At the time I thought it might be the high point of my card-making activity, and I was probably right. After a peak of 309 hand-made cards in 1999, I created 166 in both 2000 and 2001, bumped it back up to 189 the year of my Danville show, but saw the total fall to 105 by the close of 2004. So far this year I’ve made 22, a far cry from those productive years, when I might top 50 or 60 cards by Brendan’s birthday.
The dad of Father George
Tuesday, April 26th, 2005While visiting Bruce at the hospital, I heard a priest about my age talk about his dad, a veteran of World War II. He shared a story about a particular beach assault and how his father had dug his way under a stack of boxes to escape devastating fire. After pushing more sand out of the hole, he’d pulled one of his fellow soldiers in behind him. In time, he found out that they were the only members of his unit to survive. He also found out that their refuge was under a pile of ammunition and explosives.
Listen; partake not of quotations ye disdaineth, but believe
Monday, April 25th, 2005“Every noble work is at first impossible.” —Carlyle
His transplanted kidney declared a loss, Bruce nevertheless takes up the fight.
“An enterprise, when fairly once begun, should not be left till all that ought is won.” —Shakespeare
Branches of prayer extend as the roots of the faithful deepen.
“A good intention clothes itself with power.” —Emerson
Thirty-eight days later, when renal function is restored, doctors are heard to use the word “miracle.”
“The divine insanity of noble minds, that never falters nor abates, but labors, endures, and waits, till all that it foresees it finds, or what cannot find, creates.” —Longfellow
And to top it all off, a lost hat is restored!