Archive for the ‘Studio’ Category

A Training Day

Wednesday, March 2nd, 2011

walie_strip.jpg

March Exercise —day two— An early start and a full, productive day makes for a Marchesque mode, but the perceptual acuity will take a bit longer to secure. The recording session at the radio station went as well as I could have expected, convincing me that an affinity for media remains in the ol’ vessels. The positive results of Nic’s pulling two of Walie’s ruined teeth on Saturday before the Marty-Rah, and the subsequent course of treatment, are more evident by the day. She has a new level of spunk not seen in many a moon. All the little stinker wants to do is play with toys and try to slip out the back door. Causes me to regret the delay in seeking my Godson’s generous care. Also thinking of Marty today. Wish I could have some idea of what he’s gone through in his first three days of training. I can only assume that he’s tired, sore, and just a tad shell-shocked at this point.

Today’s sight bite— My disobedient pup, marching down the driveway without a leash —c-l-i-c-k— proving that spring fever can still hold sway at 13 years of age.

Tomorrow— Completion of the comprehensive checklist . . .

The Clear Light

Tuesday, March 1st, 2011

facade_strip.jpg

March Exercise —day one— Unexpected March is upon me. The day is marked by a rare, scintillating clarity that only arrives after a major storm front has passed through the region with its atmospheric cleansing. One mild day a lamb does not make, but this seems to be in contrast to the signal from Punxsutawney. I’d prefer to see the last of winter now. Yesterday, after an overnight stay at Blue Bank, Dana and I drove Mombo into town for her medical appointments during a heavy downpour. With Marty’s departure for USN training, plus two studio computers to configure, the close of February has caught me by surprise this year. Very well. Let us begin it all again.

Today’s sight bite— Vivid architectural facades bathed in pure sunlight —c-l-i-c-k— as I walked to the campus pool for my midday mile.

Tomorrow— Voice-over supervision for the bank’s Jacob T campaign . . .

Various & Sundry, part eighty-five

Thursday, December 30th, 2010

I do not write regularly in my journal… I see no reason why I should. I see no reason why any one should have the slightest sense of duty in such a matter.
—Occupant of The Hall Bedroom

— Year of 2010 workout totals: Swim-35; Bike-40; Powerwalk-3; Run-0; Lift-0; Pilates-0; Lupus Drills-0

— There is no good justification for having any of these annual numbers come in under 48. I managed to preserve some level of basic fitness this year, thanks only to continued pool access and my fondness for being on a bicycle, but I can’t kid myself—if I don’t reverse this slow decline in vigorous activity, I shall pay a price over time, and it will be a price I can’t afford. My hope for 2011: a new momentum of exercise that will result in a more balanced routine, with 7-10 pounds of weight loss by my birthday.

— The best exhibitions I’ve experienced this year? The ones that occur to me now are the Surrealism show at the Cincinnati Art Museum, the California Impressionists show at the Dayton Art Institute, and the Collage show at Northern Kentucky University. I shall not soon forget seeing my first original Schwitters collage or Cornell box. I am challenged to learn more about Louise Nevelson, Hannah Höch, Alfred Mitchell, William Wendt, Percy Gray, Matthew Rose, David Wallace, Cecil Touchon Janet Jones, Dennis Parlante, and Stephanie Dalton Cowan.

— One of these days I’ll start to fully comprehend what mobile technologies portend for my creative work style. Believe it or not, I still don’t know what to make of these changes in communications. They seem to be touching everything, even my annual experience at Barefoot’s Resort. Being able to have a MacBook Pro and access to a wireless broadband connection changes everything about staying on top of project priorities while out of the studio. Bullets showed me his Kindle and I liked it. I didn’t expect to. Everybody around me seems to have an iPhone. How can I stay abreast? How can I hope to remain a communication designer amid all these transformations?

— Dana’s blunder with the non-existent gas line sent me into a bit of a tailspin, until I realized that tearing apart my work space in the basement would probably result in a better situation after the dust settled. Lesson: disruptions can be opportunities. I need to embrace change more, as I used to do. Look at how Dana has taken on a new discipline with Bruce’s in-home dialysis. We all tend to make room for what we consider the most important things, and that includes procrastination.

— Very well . . . here I am at the close of another year. I can’t change a single thing about the past. In hindsight, the preceding weeks look like some type of malaise. Not that there haven’t been a few highlights, such as the Safariland Doe with my solo harvest at Blue Bank Farm, or the recent push to restore our conference room, but overall it has been a dismal quarter. Enough with the negative. I have the new-year opportunity to shake off the “humbug” and get it together. There’s always the historically strong motivator of Resolutions, to reboot my priorities and catalyze a new momentum that would carry me toward my 60th birthday in 16 months. Time to plot a systematic, gradient escalation to full engagement— physically and mentally —to balance professional, financial, and artistic activity. Reclaim it!

V & S

Well, excuse me . . .

Monday, October 11th, 2010

While at the World Equestrian Games, a
lady gave me a dirty look when I tried to
invite her interest in my art and design . . .

as she walked through THE BLOODY TRADE SHOW!

Dixon Design examples

It’s a strike . . .

Saturday, July 31st, 2010

He’s still kickin’If you look closely, that’s the Graybeard Prospector doing a jig around the campsite with his Medicine Woman, cackling, “Paydirt! Paydirt!” Who thought that an old shaft, long thought to be played out, would cough up a hefty nugget when it was least expected? As soon as all the Dosey Doe-ing winds down, it will be time to commence toting sacks of ore into town. And it’s fair to say that the big strike couldn’t have come at a better time.
“Yee-hah!”
 
 

Advance ~ decline

Monday, March 29th, 2010

March Exercise V —day twenty-nine— I had my eleventh session at the eye center with a substitute therapist, and she gave me a “Brock String,” a simple but powerful tool for binocular training that improves accommodative (focusing) and vergence (aiming) skills. Dana was gone most of the day on an EKU campus visit with Marty. When they returned, he was excited to report that he liked the school and would do everything he could to get enrolled for the fall term. Dana, who hadn’t been feeling particularly well over the weekend, took a turn for the worse after too much outdoor exposure while touring the facilities.

Today’s sight bite— Bold shapes of red, white, and black —c-l-i-c-k— as symbolic abstractions challenge my perceptions.

Previously on M-Ex— At the home stretch, I get good news. (3/29/07)

Tomorrow— The roofing crew is due at the Town House . . .

Farm Symbol Cropped

Impecunious periphery

Friday, March 26th, 2010

March Exercise V —day twenty-six— While spending hours alone in the studio, there’s probably nothing better than the framework of a March discipline to put things into perspective, because the backdrop of inexorable dependencies are certain to impinge upon the solitude of the day, and, eventually, they do. One can’t help but imagine another type of life, but that’s a pointless distraction. This is my ship, and, with the Creator’s guidance, I shall sail her as best I can.

Today’s sight bite— Globules of amber, blue-violet, and magenta —c-l-i-c-k— as late sunlight projects a pattern of Time Zippy against the rotunda’s white interior.

Previously on M-Ex— Uncle Joe’s final ordeal is at hand. (3/26/06)

Tomorrow— A spring weekend begins!

Johnny’s birthday card

Saturday, March 13th, 2010

Puttered around with loose ends in the studio and watched the “Basterds” disc that Marty got from the library for me, but otherwise I spent the day looking for some base of support off which to bounce.

Someplace else

Tuesday, March 9th, 2010

March Exercise V —day nine— Even when nothing goes according to plan, good things can happen as a result. After vision therapy, I had to meet Dana in Nicholasville so that Marty’s car could be available for the appointment Joan scheduled at the Toyota dealer. My first notion was that I just wanted to get back to the studio and not lose my morning, but it was already obvious that Plan A wasn’t coming down, so I shifted gears accordingly. As it turned out, I spent some time at a Starbucks and captured some good ideas. Because Bruce still had his engine torn down, we had to drive him to dialysis and get the to-go food he wanted, before we could grab our own lunch. I wrote a draft for a radio spot while Dana was inside the McDonalds. I don’t know why I have to keep proving to myself that I can work anywhere, especially when I often find the ability to take a fresh look at things when I’m “someplace else.” It’s simply a matter of accepting that I’m always in the right place, that every environment can offer something to the creative process, or, if it honestly can’t, then at least the inner momentum can be preserved. When I finally did get back to my home base it was afternoon, but I was there in time to take two important calls. Gwen phoned to let me know that it was likely that the Kentucky Artisan Center would be displaying my wood engravings. And then I talked to a prospect about upgrading the online presence for a Lexington business. This looks like a job for Website Makeover™ Man!

Today’s sight bite— A geometric pattern of holes on the slowly revolving disk —c-l-i-c-k— challenging my eye-hand coordination.

Previously on M-Ex— Ideas and aspirations are always bubbling up in March. (3/9/09)

Tomorrow— A new project begins…

Someplace else

Awesome bevy

Monday, March 8th, 2010

March Exercise V —day eight— The clock ruled the day, and it was 7 pm by the time I finished the photo-retouching for the next newspaper ad in the Jacob series. I’m astonished with how much I’ve broadened the exploration of music advantageous to my studio work, now that I have a Macintosh powerful enough to handle iTunes and Pandora.com while running intensive graphic applications. The ability to follow with minimal impediments one’s own evolving musical tastes is yet another fantastic benefit of the rapid advances in content delivery. For the first time in my life, I’m genuinely enjoying the output of great female vocalists, and have been drawn lately to the classic Portuguese samba and bossa nova tunes as a perfect adjunct to many of my typical daily tasks as a graphic designer. And, my goodness, no other ladies possess “that sweet beat” quite like Maria Rita, Gal Costa, Roberta Sa, Vanessa Da Mata, Carol Saboya, Rosa Passos, Nara Leão, Bebel Gilberto, and so many others. Maybe it’s that early infusion of Lalo Schifrin that predisposed me, but, damn, it sure took me long enough to come full circle and discover Cal Tjader, Bebo Valdés, Tito Puente, and all the others.

Today’s sight bite— The familiar smile of my “bay-bo brother” —c-l-i-c-k— making a diagnosis on two different ailing vehicles within a dozen minutes.

Previously on M-Ex— The momentum is placed in service to some of my finest works of collage. (3/8/07)

Tomorrow— Vision Therapy session number eight…

Bossa Nova

Renaissance man

Friday, March 5th, 2010

March Exercise V —day five— It began as a typical M-Ex day, feeling deprived of sleep, but eager to harness an elusive stream of motivation. The Shadow Trader was on his game, and by late morning I’d made some key portfolio adjustments before heading to the pool for a workout. In the afternoon, the ever-present tug-of-war between concentration and interruption presented itself when Bruce needed my help with his car repairs, just as I was hitting my stride with the bank campaign. For me the emotional challenge of capturing an idea is nothing compared to dealing with the threat of losing momentum in the midst of a successful creative process. I don’t work on cars. I’ve never worked on cars. I hate to work on cars. But there you have it—what the exercise is all about—because this is what every artistic individual has faced since that first cave-wall painter was furiously dragged by his hair to the mastodon-skinning site. Just think of all the distractions my Grandfather Seitz experienced as a father of eleven children (seven boys!) while he was involved in painting murals, organizing choirs, directing plays, or practicing the organ. I think of this now, after listening to Mombo give credit to her parents when we all gathered as a Clan to honor her as a truly exceptional mother. She measures herself against them in the same way we hold our own wisdom and maturity up to her example. How many more March rituals shall I require to meet that high standard?

Today’s sight bite— My mother in front of her birthday candles —c-l-i-c-k— as diminutive as her sisters before her.

Previously on M-Ex— Rest, focus, distraction, flexibility—some things don’t change. (3/5/07)

Tomorrow— Rest and regroup…

John “Pop” Seitz

Avian augury

Wednesday, March 3rd, 2010

March Exercise V —day three— This time around, the discipline is less about the rigor of the clock and more about concentration and dispatch. My “vision homework” has become a key daily ritual, but hasn’t locked onto a consistent time yet. I have an alarm hopelessly stuck in my cell phone that nobody can figure out how to cancel, so I think that 11:30 am will likely become the scheduled time. Departure for a lap swim was upon me before I realized the morning was spent, and on my walk to Centre I saw an omen of oncoming spring, high up in my favorite tree at McDowell Park. In the afternoon I learned about a new advertising assignment in the “Jacob Series” for our bank client. Later, at the gathering of cycling advocates, I failed again to conceal my frustration concerning local officials. I’ve lost the fire for all the bureaucratic orchestration that I once found so intriguing.

Today’s sight bite— A treetop speckled with crows against a cotton-ball sky —c-l-i-c-k— and their robust “haw-haw” as the creatures salute me with a propitious fly-by.

Previously on M-Ex— Coffee-shop consultation with a friend no longer so close at hand. (3/3/07)

Tomorrow— Library time in my chambre serein…

The Elusive Red Crow

. . . and now this story can be told.

Tuesday, August 11th, 2009

 

“There is no substantial difference by which we can attribute a higher aesthetic value to one choice or the other. Our preference is a question of a personal, irrepressible urge.”

—Leo Lionni

D a n n y  D
at a recording studio
somewhere in Lexington

Danny D

 
 
 
After years of friendship built on untold hours of front porch discourse and coffee shop dialectic, Danny and I finally had the opportunity to work together on a creative project before his family’s chapter in Danville came to an end with the sale of their nearby house on West Broadway. However, it would be beneficial to back up and start my account at a more logical beginning:

The story begins at a typical sighting of our familiar Graybeard Prospector—a Chamber-sponsored networking event hosted by a newly organized bank. My pal David was in a conversation with the president of the bank when they looked my way and motioned me to join them. Within a few moments I was one of the first to learn about the imminent signing of a one-year endorsement contract with local football hero Jacob T, who had completed his NFL rookie year with the Colts after an accolade-studded career at UK. I gathered my wits as the short briefing came to a head. “We have to get a year’s worth of photographs and radio spots before he goes into training camp.”

A question flashed internally. “How would a true Ad Man reply?” With his stainless steel gaze fixed to observe my response, an imaginary Donald Draper was standing off to one side, a deftly balanced Lucky in hand. I heard myself say, “If I understand correctly, you need creative direction, and you need it fast.”

Before the impact registered, the project was in my lap and the countdown to Jacob’s departure had begun. The photo part almost felt easy. I had a solid list of pros in my head and the first one took the assignment when contacted. In a matter of days we were shooting Jacob at a personal appearance. On the other hand, it had been over a decade since Dana and I had produced any radio advertising. I felt rusty. Audio technology had moved to desktop digital since then, and there were other important factors, too. I knew the default setting would be to handle this at the hometown radio station, and my gut told me that I had to find a way to pull this into a slicker technical environment. I was confident our print advertising would look first-rate, but to stand apart on the radio would be a different kind of challenge.

The last thing I wanted was to generate “more of the same” junk so typical of local radio. If at all possible, I hoped to accomplish two things: a) create scripts that would promote the bank with words that rang true for Jacob’s personality, and b) grab the listener’s attention with music at the same level of production quality that motivated them to listen to the radio in the first place. Anything less might simply be brushed off as “some bank paying Jacob to read stuff on the air.” It made sense for me to consult someone who knew more than I did about this sort of thing. I needed to talk it over with Danny.

When I delicately raised these issues with him at the Hub one evening over a tall “haf-caf,” his response astonished me. Literally poking me in the shoulder, he mentally grabbed hold of my ideas and offered to write some music with lyrics that would help carry the campaign I envisioned. He gave me so much good advice that retaining barely a third of it enabled me to get a green light from the bank to book a recording studio and capture Danny’s work. He seemed delighted to do this favor for me, given the fact that he’d watched Jacob grow up and had a high regard for his family. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Danny said all he wanted was to have the bank guys buy him a dinner, and I wasn’t sure whether he was joking about that part of it. I knew he was dead serious about the rest.

It took some digging, but I tracked down a sound pro named Kevin J that I’d met through Eric C in the 90s. He was the best in Lexington at the time, and, more importantly, he was worthy of my total trust. Our session together with Danny came off with flying colors and I walked out the door with everything I’d hoped for. It was exactly what I needed for the type of spots I wanted to produce. Kevin and I mixed a disc of various musical tracks at :60, :30, and :15 lengths. Now all I had to do was close the deal by winning the bank’s approval to combine Danny’s distinctive sound with Jacob’s natural voice.

Ideally suited to Jacob’s character and reputation, there was something powerfully authentic about Danny’s original words and music. Dana and I made a supreme effort to pitch those tracks to the CEO, but he fundamentally could not envision the effectiveness of my concept— to contrast a relaxed, down-home style against the typically phony-sounding chatter on the radio.

When I told Kevin that the head of the bank had thrown out Danny’s music as an element of the radio advertising, he didn’t seem surprised. Although understanding and supporting the approach I’d proposed, the experienced audio engineer and producer observed, “John, I have known people who tried to combine art with advertising, but it is rarely possible to convince the buyer. Clients have a tendency to play it too safe, do what every other similar business is doing, and then wonder why it doesn’t work better.”

Having failed to sell my idea of making the music be an equal partner in the message, the success of the production would now depend entirely on Jacob’s vocal sincerity. I pushed for the same Lexington studio we’d used to record Danny, arguing that to merely bring Jacob to the local radio station where he’d interned as a student would work against our effort to enhance his self-image as a professional. Having him rise to the challenge of his first major voice-over gig was the only hope of capturing the genuine personality on which we could hang the campaign, and I also needed Kevin’s technical expertise to produce high-quality, finished spots.

The “homework” I’d done to ensure that Dana’s scripting would naturally sync with Jacob’s values paid off with a smooth, comfortable recording session. He praised her scripts. His gifted ability to focus on task, along with his easy-going confidence, sense of humor, and considerable breath control, left us all rather impressed. After getting the go-ahead to use some appropriate background music I discovered on the Web, Dana, Kevin, and I brought the project in on budget with seven :30 spots, two :15 spots, and the ingredients for yet-to-be-written, Jacob-introduced spots that could rely on adjunct voice talent.

Much to our surprise and disappointment, a recommended introductory newspaper ad with Jacob’s image was drastically reduced without our knowledge. It looked terrible when published and put us into the position of explaining why it was not only illegible but also quite ignorable. This took place after Jacob’s sports agent endorsed our work when he saw the preliminary design. Playing catch-up, I adjusted the photo density to compensate for the poor reproduction, and we encouraged the bank to enlarge the ad for two follow-up insertions. The third time around it was printed well enough to look respectable, even though it was still significantly smaller than what we’d suggested was required to create a sufficient level of impact for an effective campaign kick-off.

Rebels Card AdFootball season is getting under way and we anticipate a bigger splash to draw the market’s attention to our new client bank. So far, people “in the know” have made positive remarks to me, but I await the first clear indication that we’re putting something out there that is doing the job. Over 70 banks have already failed in the USA since January 1st. Clearly, this isn’t the most advantageous time to open a financial institution, but I like to think of our situation this way: Here’s an enterprising group that wasn’t forced to think outside the box because it was never inside the box. Time will tell if the innovations they’ve brought to Danville will meet with consumer satisfaction. Hey, if they hired me, they’re obviously not stuck in the status quo. Let’s hope some good things start to happen!

So there’s my tale about how an exciting chance to compose a stand-out piece of promotion can turn into another missed opportunity. Nevertheless, we have an entire year to pull this campaign up a few notches, and our client has already expressed an interest in using the song Danny wrote for us to anchor some kind of Web video or podcast. To be honest, the main reason I put together this detailed account is so I can remember it myself as part of an unusually interesting summer. With everything going on, including the latest round of major abdominal surgery for Bruce, this e-log is undoubtedly the best memory chip I have going for me.

Wildcards and constants

Friday, June 19th, 2009

 
Unconditional Surrender, 2009

Unconditional Surrender
John Andrew Dixon
Mixed media collage, 2009
Collection of Nancy and Charles Martindale

In a fashion more defined than recent memory serves, life unfolds with a stark blend of pleasing familiarity and jarring novelty. I take refuge in the naturally comfortable—collage, reading, friendship, bicycling, my cherished clan—while confronting strange and daunting challenges that offer few points of easy reference. The latter include new projects that require me to produce radio advertising, materials for patent registration, and a client-managed Website that relies on code I haven’t learned to speak. It’s helpful to remind myself that everything I’ve ever done—and a bit of it rather well—began with the unfamiliar. At times it was stimulating or even exhilarating, and at other times it was intimidating or actually frightening. I realize now that the difference was rooted in nothing but my own attitude toward the unknown.

Legacy Artworks

Friday, May 15th, 2009

I now offer personalized watercolor artworks created by hand to commemorate highlights from any adventure experience, including a milestone hunt, trek, climb, dive, eco-trip, research mission, or sea voyage. My archival-quality originals are executed to reflect the “golden age of expedition-style illustration.”

I met Maria at the Safari Club International dinner. She won a commission through the silent auction held that evening. It took her a year to decide precisely how my donation should be redeemed. It took me even longer to deliver the finished work.

Six years after a hunt in Zimbabwe marked by disappointment and sadness, she had returned to the continent with a highly successful safari in South Africa. Ultimately, she trusted me to appropriately interpret her personal triumph.

This piece signifies a breakthrough in my long journey as a traditional illustrator that began with the home-study Course for Talented Young People in the 1960s. I wish some of my former instructors could see it.
Maria Eckerle Safari by John Andrew Dixon

Maria Eckerle Safari (detail) by John Andrew Dixon

 
 
Maria Eckerle Safari (+detail)
John Andrew Dixon
Ink, watercolor, colored pencil
14 x 11 inches, 2009
Collection of Maria Eckerle
 
 
 
 
 
 

Home stretch

Monday, March 30th, 2009

March exercise—day thirty— Except for some early evening labor in the back yard (our pitiable urban garden), I spent the day pushing forward a commemorative safari illustration. The project will provide a fitting close to my annual exercise.

Today’s sight bite— Fractured brick, chunks of coal, and fragments of clay roofing —c-l-i-c-k— relics of a home’s former incarnation are freed from the dark earth.

Tomorrow— Finish line…

Ever onward

Thursday, March 26th, 2009

March exercise—day twenty-six— One of those days in the studio that was picked to its bones by loose ends and small, unforeseen developments. I learned that my Highway District machinations are bearing fruit (low-hanging, perhaps, with the nicer plums still out of reach). Marlene’s class was canceled, but I got the key to the room and did a solitary workout—my peculiar combination of Pilates, Yoga, and Aikido—following it up with some power-walk laps around the track. Old Hoosier ran off and sent Dana and me into the night with flashlights. We found him crossing the street a couple blocks away.

Today’s sight bite— The heavyset lady in her sweat-suit, sprinting up the stadium steps with an intrinsic athleticism —c-l-i-c-k— clearly submerged in her isolated determination to regain something lost.

Tomorrow— We begin again…

Hog heaven

Wednesday, March 25th, 2009

March exercise—day twenty-five— I finished another animal trademark today. I ought to count my total some time. Solving visual assignments within this type of symbology has been one of the areas of greatest fulfillment in my work as a designer. It allows me to study the characteristics of a species and discover a different way of interpreting it graphically. On another level, it puts me in contact with creators throughout the ages, from the cave painters forward. Why do we continue striving to reduce the image of the animal to its essence as an archetypal form? After my dental work was completed, I realized that our scheduled bicycle ride would be rained out. The upside: this light, steady drizzle is perfect for the lawn, re-seeded to repair the harsh effects of a landmark winter storm.

Today’s sight bite— At the very top of an ice-disfigured maple —c-l-i-c-k— the large crow speaks his “Haw. Haw,” and flaps upward into the misty dawn.

Tomorrow— New projects…

Juggling skills

Tuesday, March 24th, 2009

March exercise—day twenty-four— My thoughts were with Marty today and his college entrance examination. He’s making a conscious choice to seek higher education. For me it was just a given. I’ve been spending a considerable amount of studio time designing graphics for organic pork promotion, although I need to find a way to balance my hours with a wider array of projects. I tend to do this—focus intently on a single creative task, which I enjoy, but if I can become more agile with my versatility, I believe I’ll find more ongoing satisfaction with what I accomplish on a weekly basis. On another subject, I feel like I’m getting back in the groove with the Pilates class. Back troubles took a big chunk out of my exercise program this winter, and I’m ready to put that into the past.

Today’s sight bite— Fingers of rose extend above the downtown view-scape —c-l-i-c-k— as I break the crest of a hill at sunrise and direct my walk toward home.

Tomorrow— Rain clouds and more dental work…

Model regimen

Tuesday, March 17th, 2009

March exercise—day seventeen— From a walk at daybreak to my street-front work at dusk, today was as close to an ideal cycle as I am likely to achieve during this annual re-examination of conscious behavior. A disciplined, productive day of creative activity (organic pork branding), professional networking (gift shop consignments), and physical fitness (Dana’s first Pilates workout) fulfilled all the expectations of the M-X, including the need to internally defuse an unexpected, emotion-laden challenge that in the past might have thrown me out of balance for at least the remainder of the day.

Today’s sight bite— The dough men and assorted pastry makers dressed in rumpled white —c-l-i-c-k— visible from the Main Street window before dawn, arched intently over flour-dusted surfaces.

Tomorrow— A team-building mission to Frankfort…

Crash Bucket Chronicles — Epilogue

Friday, February 20th, 2009

“Death is at all times solemn, but never so much so as at sea. A man dies on shore; his body remains with this friends, but when a man falls overboard at sea and is lost, there is a suddenness in the event, and a difficulty in realizing it, which give to it an air of awful mystery.”

—Richard Henry Dana, Jr.
Two Years Before the Mast
 

We navigate in a sea of souls…
    Grim reality has a way of sweeping aside all the self-absorbing trivialities that clog a journal like this, but rather than ask myself — “What’s the point of it all?” — why not scratch ahead with a continued search for meaning? Maybe for me. Maybe for you. Maybe, maybe not. If I stopped believing it worth a try, this would be my final post.
    Not long after the bulk of our community had shaken off the surprise of our shared crisis, most of us were shocked to learn that the life of a respected local leader had been tragically lost. If his name was added to the list of Kentucky’s weather-related deaths, it is unknown to me, but what is clear is that he was found in a vacant house where he’d been working with a generator. The coroner said the circumstances were consistent with carbon monoxide poisoning. It was a mild day. He wasn’t attempting to heat the building. People speculated that the wind blew the door shut while he was operating a sump pump. The precise circumstances remain a puzzle. I didn’t know anyone active in town affairs that didn’t consider him a friend. He covered the leadership bases—from business to social service. He made multiple trips to the Gulf Coast as a volunteer to help with the Katrina response. He was highly intelligent, compassionate, and knew how to do almost anything. The Chamber of Commerce named him “outstanding citizen” over fifteen years ago, but he never slowed down. He took to his grave an unmatched knowledge of the County’s industrial development history and infrastructure. He was the last of a breed of quiet men who had made a truly significant difference. The abrupt vacancy was painfully felt. I spent two hours in line to offer his family a few words that wouldn’t sound trite. I’m not sure that I succeeded.
    I didn’t attend the funeral the next day, but paid a visit with my friend Danny to the Abbey of Gethsemani. It was my first time there. It was raining and in many respects would have been considered a dismal day, but others were also making the same pilgrimage, and I found a sense of peace in the setting that defied personal understanding. God is everywhere, but keenly present in some places, and that suggests to me the appropriate use of the word “sacred.” We also stopped at the Saint Rose church in Springfield to meet Father Murray, and I had my first look at the extraordinary Bavarian-style windows. Father Murray is extraordinary, too. At age 87, he looked to me to be in his mid 70s. He told me, “Well, I’ve always gotten a lot of exercise.” He pointed out 70-year-old trees damaged in the ice storm that he helped plant when he was a novice. The seminary was moved east long ago and the associated buildings demolished, but the church remains, a splendid structure full of artistic treasures, including a 13-figure Last Supper and a 12-figure Pentecost, all wood carved in the Italian fashion. Danny wanted to show me the Convent near Loretto and to check on any damage to the outdoor Way of Sorrows. It was evident that huge limbs from the tall grove of surrounding trees had crashed all about, but the only casualty was The Crucifixion. We marveled that each figure of Our Lady had escaped harm, but that “Christ took the hit.”
    Several days before, Joan had an opportunity to meet Danny when he joined Joan, Dana, and me at the Hub for coffee after one of Hayley’s high-scoring victories. It was another meaningful, in-depth discussion about heavy subjects. Joan thought she might have intruded and skewed the conversation. Nothing could be further from the truth. Danny told be later he was pleased to meet her and said that my sister was a “strong soul.” He is correct, of course, but I’ve already known that for some time. Danny is quite a soul himself. The word I would use is “magnanimous.” Yesterday he brought over his pole saw and tied himself to my chimney so he could deal with the big branches that were still jack-knifed on our rooftop. One of his earliest memories is watching his father top trees as a lumberjack in the high Sierras. He seems to have the right tool for everything and knows how to use them safely. I can’t say how much I appreciate that in two hours of work together, his generous favor of skill has saved me hundreds of dollars in tree-service fees (or maybe more, from what I’ve heard around town about what people have been charged since the storm).
    So, with power now restored for Mombo and Clan Valley and the last of my storm-related headaches resolved, can I say that circumstances have returned to normal? “Not hardly,” as the expression goes. I think I’m battling the same virus that put Bruce back in the hospital yesterday with pneumonia. We’re sleeping on the floor because we made the blunder of giving away our old mattress before FedEx delivered the complete replacement set (and, wouldn’t you know it, they lost part of it). I have no complaints. Things are picking up in the studio, and I have a fun project to work on with KK & K. It’s time to put the Crash Bucket away and begin preparing for the March Exercise.

Mr. Brady On the James River, early 1950s

Friday, July 25th, 2008

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Drew Dixon and others have asked for a look at my recent work, so here it is. Now, I just need to get these images posted on our studio site! Graybeard Prospector says, “Dang tootin’!”


Brady On the James
John Andrew Dixon
watercolor and pencil
28 x 17.5 inches

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