Archive for the ‘Fiction’ Category
Thursday, November 13th, 2008
Pearallel Universe
John Andrew Dixon
Mixed media collage
25 x 21 inches, 2007
Collection of Saint Joseph Health System
— Month of October workout totals: Swim-3; Bike-3; Run-1; Lift-1; Yoga-0; Pilates-3; Lupus Drills-1
To the heart of the matter
— I believe the latest recommendation for adequate exercise is 30 minutes a day, 4-5 days a week. Although my workouts are longer than that, the totals are falling short by a long shot. Can I get the daily habit back to preserve my health?
More library deprivation
— It’s been nearly a year since the library hauled itself off to the edge of town, and, although I knew it would be a bit of a hardship, I didn’t expect this level of low-grade suffering. Man, had I ever come to rely on that nearby environment for a periodic dose of mind-restoring tranquility—the kind that is unique to a truly fine reading room. I’m thoroughly impressed with the design for the new wing, but Karl told me recently that construction was three-to-four months behind schedule, so now I have no choice except to hang on until spring. I must have that extraordinary place available out my front door again or I shall go mad!
Sweet Owen County
— On Halloween I made my return to Larkspur for another printmaking retreat. It was a special time with creative people whose friendship I value more each year. An exhibition at the vineyards was mounted to honor Wesley’s work, and I was invited to include four of my wood engravings, since he’s had such a profound influence on my development in that medium. I sold one of my remaining proofs of Waiting for Joe, in addition to an unframed print of Penn’s Store, the latter to a collector interested in acquiring examples of my final edition numbers. Now all I have to do is print more limited editions of blocks that I’ve only proofed so far. I managed to complete a small block of a tiger, but was unable to finish during the workshop my larger, more complex engraving of a paddock scene I shot the previous week at Keeneland. It’s my first attempt at engraving a human figure, plus I had to include a horse and a stone wall, too, of course. What was I thinking? When I get it done, I’ll spend a day in Gray’s shop and print another block or two as well. Dana and Lee came up to the winery on Friday night and got to meet Wes and hear Juanita perform. Make no mistake about it—one can develop significant friendships at every stage of life.
Feeling a trifle exposed
— County employees demolished the little retail cottage next door to “put up a parking lot,” and it’s as if somebody yanked my gym shorts down. Whatever meager backyard ambiance we possessed is now lost. Instead, we have more noise, urban light pollution, and litter. I remember the year we held an open house and backyard gathering for Brendan’s graduation from Centre. If I’m not mistaken, that was the summer Carol and Bob came to the Brass Band Festival and spent time with us in the backyard. There are circumstances when a setting is at its peak and one rarely knows it at the time.
Custom built for a guy like me
— In a perfect world, Gene Wolfe might have contacted me to ask, “What type of a story idea would you like for me to develop that would please your singular peculiarities?” He didn’t have to. He wrote Pirate Freedom for his own reasons, and I became the grateful beneficiary without ever having to request “an absorbing tale of spiritual contemplation, time travel, and the golden age of piracy along the Spanish Main.” Unbelievable!
Dr. Quest’s pear-a-power ray
— I finally sold the mixed media piece I called Pearallel Universe. It was completed around the time of the original “March Experiment,” was part of my KOSMOS show, and made it out to New Mexico and back for the SLMM anniversary (but not without sustaining some damage to the frame, which the Albuquerque Museum people were kind enough to repair). It was purchased last week by Saint Joseph Health System to hang at its new ambulatory care center in Jessamine County. A hearty tip o’ the hat to LexArts!
My annual knob stalk
— My pals David and Greg are the sort of knowledgeable gun aficionados that know a bargain when they see one, so I was stunned when they gave me the gift of a 50-caliber muzzleloading rifle they just couldn’t pass up. When I recovered from the shock of their generosity, they taught me how to safely operate it—just in time for me to test it out during our recent Clan gathering, which happened to be the lawful period for using primitive weapons to hunt white-tails. I came as close to the moment of truth as I would that weekend when I cocked the hammer early Sunday morning, as three does crossed Robin Lick and made their way across a hay field, on the garden side of the Irrylynn gully. But something spooked the lead deer about 75 yards from my spot beside a round bale—my scent, the motion of my aim, or perhaps the pattern in my profile. She snorted an alert, danced a bit, and took off in the opposite direction, never presenting me an acceptable shot. As I say, that was the nearest I came to using my muzzleloader while I was in the Valley. Three weeks later I found myself back at Simpson Knob with my Marlin 1894S carbine, full of optimism for a freezer harvest, but I never observed a single deer in the woods, and neither of my two friends had the opportunity for a shot. This gives me a couple more options for success—this weekend at Blue Bank with the 44-Rem. magnum, and another December time slot with the Hawken-style that I’ve decided to name “Girty.” As much as I want to bring home some venison this year, there is nothing like having an excuse to be in the wild knob-lands at daybreak, whatever the outcome.
You’ll never walk alone
— Originally, our Hurray Day events were planned to coincide with the fifteenth anniversary of Dadbo’s passing, but we still wanted to have a family commemoration, even though the quarterly gathering was moved to the previous weekend. I was preoccupied with my tedious progress on the stone flue in the Hall, but I knew Joan was thinking about what to do, which is so typical of her desire to properly plan this kind of thing. We were listening to some old music and the tribute wasn’t on my mind when I suggested she experience Judy Garland’s stirring rendition of the inspirational song from Carousel. I’d never heard that version before, and Joan was out of the room when the CD track played. Had it been up to me, I don’t think I would’ve made the connection, but she realized it would be the perfect accompaniment to our outdoor service. I enjoyed spending some “palsy time” with my “big sis” for those two days, and it reminded me of how distinctive a life-long bond we share.
V & S
Posted in Angst, Art, Brendan, Community, Dadbo, Dana, Exercise, Family, Fiction, Firearms, Friends, Gratitude, Hunting, Joan, Music, Nature, Personalities, Pirates | No Comments »
Tuesday, September 23rd, 2008
Detail: Pursuit of Happiness, John Andrew Dixon, 2008
When traveling north to the U.P. after Labor Day, I cling to the notion that it’s still summer, with thoughts of sunny fishing expeditions and refreshing channel swims, but everyone else is beyond vacation, and all the kids are back in school. The illusion falls apart by the time we head south. Another summer ends, as do they all, and, as I look back on it, I realize that it held many good things, in addition to the silver linings that come with the not-so-good things.
Although, as I write this, the results for The Mark of Great Art contest haven’t been released yet, the outpouring of support and online votes make me feel like a winner already, no matter what the outcome. My collage artworks will go to London and Madrid, and there is no telling what will come of that. Any way I look at it, a breakthrough for my mixed-media style has been achieved, and I can add that to my first gallery sale of a wood engraving print, with the potential for new collector interest. Dana and I scored a new design client during this past summer, too. There’s much to be hopeful about—while the doom-and-gloom static of a self-correcting society buzzes in the background like a big, late-summer housefly during its numbered hours.
Prayers continue for Susan during her extended treatment period. Bruce is doing better. Mombo bounced back from a bout with medical side-effects. Uncle Si and Aunt Marian passed away at 91 and 92. America will never see their kind again. Lots of other things (happy and sad, exciting and troubling) percolate in my Clan and the concentric circles beyond it. What else is new? What else is family?
My summer was fully charged with the incomparable imagination of Gene Wolfe, thanks to Bruce. Having him here since he moved home from Indiana has presented more than a few challenges in a small dwelling that is also home to a business. That shouldn’t be a surprise, but the physical discomfort and inconvenience he’s put up with during those months surely would have been maddening to anyone without his astonishing resilience. Hang on, stout soul. Circumstances will break your way before long.
I almost talked myself out of joining my friends on their annual trip to the resort near Cedarville, and was still vacillating on the way to Ohio with Dana, as preposterous as that seems now. Bill gave Amy an engagement ring that night at her 50th birthday party. Dana and I had a nice meal in Tipp City the next day. She insisted I shake my funk and enjoy the following week of fishing. When I first arrived in the Les Cheneaux, my spirit felt oddly stale, and I knew I’d better make the most of the break, because it was clear I needed it. It’s always good to spend time with real friends, setting everyday cares aside. By the time departure was at hand, I was more attuned with our natural surroundings and my creative pump had been re-primed. We didn’t catch many fish, but the intangible benefits of charging inner batteries aren’t as obvious as an empty cooler. Autumn is here, and I’m ready for it.
Posted in Art, Bruce, Business, Family, Fiction, Fishing, Friends, Gratitude, Mombo, Nature, Prayer, Words | 1 Comment »
Monday, April 14th, 2008
— As a kid, I think I first heard about Rube Goldberg from Mombo, and, although I never investigated his career in detail, he became another piece of supporting evidence with which I built the notion that I could grow up to be a cartoonist. The other day I was talking to a friend and fellow advisory board member at The Salvation Army HQ and learned he’d just attended the Rube Goldberg Machine Contest at Purdue University, where his grandson is an engineering student. Relying on their solid “home court advantage,” the Purdue team kept the prize at home for the third time in the last four years. My cousin Joe’s daughter, Michelle, goes to school at Purdue, but I’ve never asked him about her area of concentration.
— Watchmen is without a doubt the most satisfying “comic book” I’ve encountered since Joan and I discovered the story of “Superman-Red and Superman-Blue” at Pam and Lori’s house back in the 1960s. To call it a comic book will be off-target for those unfamiliar with the Hugo Award winning publication, which TIME Magazine included in its 2005 list of “the 100 best English-language novels from 1923 to the present.” When Brendan found out I’d never seen it, he dropped off a copy during his cross-country road trip. Thanks, NB. You know what I like.
— In less than a month, my level of inner peace, tenuous at best in this stage of life, was shaken twice. First I learned about my Godfather’s death in Ohio, which brought a deep sense of personal loss. I looked over some of his characteristic letters about dogs and gardening and things, traveling north with Dana to represent my Clan at a family service in St. Marys. Then came the aftershock news of Charlton Heston’s demise, a different kind of sadness, having of my own volition attached my spirit to his particular brand of patriotism many years ago. I took comfort in reading again the short letter he sent me around the time of his last public announcement. It was a personal note of appreciation for my having mailed him, over a period of years, a series of handmade birthday greetings. Greater consolation came in a message from my own Godson about my Uncle Don, and the statements Nic and his brother Seth made at Facebook about their regard for Mr. Heston, including recollections of meeting him with some of us who attended his book signing in Lexington. It was heartening to know that men of the next generation will value his enduring contribution to safeguarding the array of civil liberties we enjoy as Americans. Two resolutions honoring Mr. Heston—H.Res. 1091 by Congressman Don Young (R-AK), and S.Res. 512 by Senator Jim DeMint (R-SC)—were introduced this week in the two houses of Congress.
— Joan’s blogging has set a recent standard that can only be described as outstanding, and I need to regain my rhythm. Much to report about events in March and my current activities, but the emphasis remains with daily efforts to spin straw into gold. A life engaged in hustling after the next buck just seems to be the governing principle, or, as Mombo used to say when I rubbed the morning “sleepers” from my eyes:
Another day; another dollar…
V & S
Posted in Blogging, Brendan, Business, Dana, Death, Education, Family, Fiction, Joan, Mombo, Personalities, Political Affairs, Public Service, Technology | No Comments »
Tuesday, April 1st, 2008
— Month of March workout totals: Swim-1; Bike-3; Run-4; Lift-3; Yoga-0; Pilates-5; Lupus-3
— Another constructive “March Experiment” is under my belt, but it may be no longer accurate to call it an experiment. In its current form, the regimen has become more of an annual exercise. Perhaps next time around I shall discover and impose a breakthrough to make it truly experimental again.
— Brendan stopped by today on his way west (Way, Way West), and it felt good to personally wish him Godspeed. He loaned me his copy of Watchmen, and we also talked a bit about The Book of the New Sun. I asked him if he’d packed plenty of listening material. He said he would be playing his CD of a popular presidential candidate reciting “99 Bottles.” (Yeah, that last thing was a lame April Fool’s joke. I got Dana with a much better one this morning.)
— With the price of gold hovering near a generational high, the Graybeard Prospector turned over a new leaf last month, using every trick he could think of to see if he might stake some new claims. In the process, he connected with some new friends and old, including one from the Cincinnati days. His former pal Ray is working on a book with photographs of drive-through expresso shacks, which apparently are a feature of the American Northwest. Based on this information, it looks like Nephew B has hit the trail for the caffeine mother lode. We’ll see if he can stay clean and somber.
Five years ago — 4/1/03
— When will the turning point in the war come, and will we even recognize it when it does? Today the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs made an animated defense of Rumsfeld, Franks, and the war plan, in response to aggressive media criticism. It’s amazing to me how the press is behaving at a time of war… Today Dana and I had lunch at the Carnegie Club, listening to a superb presentation by Vince about the music of Duke Ellington, but a lot of it was autobiographical. He talked more than I expected about his youth and evolution as a musician, as well as his attitude toward teaching—clearly the real passion for him.
Ten years ago — 4/2/98
— The new Mac is sitting on a chair in the conference room, unpacked but unplugged. The workload is just now easing up enough to consider tearing into our current configuration… It’s time for me to set it up. I should be more excited, but I usually feel this way—a bit nervous—when I have to disrupt an existing system. The excitement will come later.
V & S
Posted in Angst, Brendan, Dana, Exercise, Family, Fiction, Friends, History, Music, Personalities, Political Affairs, Precious Metals, Presidency, Studio, Technology, Words | No Comments »
Sunday, January 27th, 2008
My nephew is really on a roll with his story site right now. Seeing Anacrusis pop up on the screen each weekday is sort of like watching a slugger come up to the plate with a hitting streak on the line. Everybody gets nervous, but the player is out there just doing his job, trying to get some decent wood on the ball.
Hey, I’m only kidding around. Brendan was already in my Hall of Fame long ago, when he turned away from Benedict’s 9 to devote himself to better ideas.
Posted in Brendan, Fiction, Sport, Words | No Comments »
Monday, December 31st, 2007
Having read Happy Ever After and The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber, back to back, I’m not certain how much more I understand about happiness, but I know what literature is, that’s for damn sure.
Happy New Year!
Posted in Fiction, Words | Comments Closed
Sunday, December 23rd, 2007
At last night’s deeply satisfying Kelley Ridge Open House, people were talking about Russia, and I said that I had no desire to go there, even as my long fascination with Russian art, music, and literature continues to grow.
Today I read the last chapter of Happy Ever After. If there was anything Tolstoy did not understand about life and human relationships, it is probably not worth knowing.
Posted in Art, Fiction, Music, Personalities, Words | No Comments »
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 »
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
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
Thursday, July 19th, 2007
Brandon (not Brendan)
— Brandon mentioned me in his CAC Director’s Blog, so I seized my opportunity to yap a bit about Kurt Schwitters. I appreciate the job Brandon is doing here in Downtown Danville and I like him a lot—not because he really does understand collage, but because he’s just cool. Many moons ago, I taught a Saturday art class for children in Willmette called WeakEnds. The center there was managed by someone Joan introduced me to, a young guy named George, who was probably about the same age Brandon is now. I thought George was cool, too.
Where’s the buzz?
— Pretending like I know how to juggle, I do my best to keep as many balls as possible in the air at all times. This means continuing to promote cycling on a local, regional, and state-wide level (painfully aware that it has nothing to do with earning a living). In addition to circulating our KBBC Recommendations for 2007, I made public remarks at a local hearing before the Planning and Zoning Commission, as they prepare to adopt an updated Comprehensive Plan. I also followed up with written material to their director. To keep the community in step with emerging trends, and to boost opportunities for grants and development funding, the comp-plan requires stronger language to acknowledge the future needs of bicyclists, walkers, runners, and multi-modal users. I was told that my recommended language to beef up the transportation section has been included in the revised draft. I also used the WordPress site to set up a public forum for local advocates called B.I.K.E. buzz. It’s intended as a space to promote new ideas and stimulate communication within our community of cycling enthusiasts. So far, nobody else has made comments or posted any topics for discussion.
Brendan (not Brandon)
— Although I was a reader of Anacrusis from the beginning, I understood how great an admirer of Brendan’s prose I’d become by the end of December, 2005. Now, as a devoted follower of his remarkable site, I can witness to the progressive improvement that’s taken place over hundreds of constrained exercises. Like a literary bodybuilder, he can flex this or that and make it look too easy—make you forget the 1000+ trips to the weight room. That’s why The Implicit (a long way from The Explicit) is such a huge deal, and why I’m flattered about my small contribution to the celebration. Don’t stop. They say it all turns to flab if you stop…
Speaking of good writers…
— I feel like I’m in the middle of something much bigger than I can fully comprehend. Being asked by Gray to illustrate a Manning poem without realizing who he was or that he’d grown up in Danville. Having his mother stop me on the street and awkwardly admitting to her I hadn’t read the book of verse that won his prize from Yale. Finding myself immersed in his vivid literary visions while knowing that my deadline was looming, the remaining time relentlessly ticking away. But, on the other hand, I know things are going to work out. Engraving wood has never been about labor or struggle. It’s always been about convincing myself to trust in the outcome. Acknowledging to myself that everything I’ve learned about the essence of graphic interpretation will find its own way to fruition when I make that first mark…
V & S
Posted in Art, Blogging, Brendan, Community, Creativity, Exercise, Family, Fiction, Friends, Joan, Personalities, Public Service, Time, Verse, Words | Comments Closed
Monday, July 2nd, 2007
When Cheryl Truman of the Lexington Herald-Leader published her ten all-time favorite books and invited readers to submit their lists, it got me contemplating my bookshelf. It makes for tough culling, like picking your favorite foods or motion pictures, but it was an interesting activity for me, and—surprise—she included my choices in the ARTS & LIFE section on June 24th. (The lists were originally available at Kentucky.com for a time, but now one has to pay to see the archives.)
Unfortunately, there always seems to be a sour note in these things, and somebody took it upon himself to cite the wrong translation of the I Ching. It may not seem like a big deal, but I’ve never heard of Brian Browne Walker, and I’m not at all convinced his name deserves to appear in this context. I made plain to Ms Truman that the Wilhelm-Baynes translation is my preference. I’ve never seen another to compare, and it’s a big deal to me, because there have been far too many mediocre, commercially oriented versions of this classic of Chinese thought. Thank Goodness we have English as our native tongue, so we don’t have to face sorting out the various translations of Shakespeare or Emerson. Think about it. That’s why correctly making the Wilhelm-Baynes distinction is a BIG deal. You might ask yourself, is Shakespeare worth reading, except in English? Well, sure—that would be like saying one must learn Greek to read The Odyssey. One doesn’t, of course, because there was a Robert Fitzgerald. That’s why getting the Wilhelm-Baynes thing right is a FREAKIN’ HUGE deal!
The Creative Habit
Twyla Tharp’s thoughtful guide to artistic traction is the most practical book on creativity that I’ve yet encountered. The acclaimed choreographer reaches beyond her own craft to provide powerful keys to any dedicated artist.
Harlan Hubbard: Life and Work
Wendell Berry’s biography of the legendary individualist reveals much about himself, and therefore it offers penetrating insights for two of Kentucky’s most extraordinary artistic pioneers. This “double treasure” has made it one of my favorite companions for contemplative moments.
Stand Before Your God
Although Paul Watkins is clearly one of the most gifted novelists of his generation, my favorite among his books is this memoir about coming of age in English boarding schools, a pearl of introspection in today’s miasma of literary narcissism.
Drawing Life: Surviving the Unabomber
I’ll admit that, for various reasons, I’ve wept at the end of other books, but relinquishing my connection to David Gelernter’s mind and heart was an intense, unprecedented experience.
Shogun
I understood more about Islam after reading Whirlwind than from any nonfiction book, but his skill as a storyteller is what continues to set James Clavell apart for me. His “Asian Saga” is the benchmark achievement by which any series of historical novels can be compared, and this massive narrative of 17th-century Japan is his masterpiece.
Huckleberry Finn
The legacy of controversy shrivels when laid against its core of creative genius. I remain astonished each time I realize that no American had ever written fiction so modern. But even if someone had, I think Mark Twain’s towering novel would still have the power to stagger my imagination.
Invisible Man
More than a riveting story and keen take on American society, I think Ralph Ellison’s masterwork is perhaps the most prophetic piece of fiction in the past sixty years.
The Conduct of Life
For any American, this collection of essays by Ralph Waldo Emerson is a rich vein of intellectual ore that’s impossible to exhaust.
I Ching or Book of Changes
Who can deny 3,000 years of Chinese wisdom? It may well be the most profound distillation of human perception that exists. The Wilhelm-Baynes translation is my favorite, and its foreword by Carl Jung is the best essay about the Book of Changes I’ve ever read.
The Holy Bible
Beyond any doubt, it enshrines the greatest and most meaningful stories in world literature.
• • • • • •
March 6, 2017 — I am adding q note today after reading this page again. It would be difficult to take Shogun out of my top ten, but I no longer would cite James Clavell as the gold standard for historical fiction. Patrick O’Brian has recently eclipse his status in my regard, and that is saying a lot.
Posted in Fiction, Nonfiction, Personalities, Scripture, Words | Comments Closed
Wednesday, June 13th, 2007
part one
I had all these thoughts and recollections coming out of a landmark Band Festival weekend, but once things got rolling in the studio on Monday, I didn’t take time to write them down. Plus, I’m always prepared to devote some of my blogging time to a new Paul Watkins novel, and I’ve started reading The Promise of Light, thanks to a Kentucky Interlibrary Loan (KILL—how’s that for an acronym?). Well, I’ll give it a try anyway…
• WineFest
For the first time, the Festival sponsored an event that gathered representatives from nine Kentucky wineries on the grounds of the historic Old Crow Inn, and 300 people showed up. Chateau du Vieux Corbeau, the local host winery, produced a limited bottling of red and white wines which featured my artwork for the Festival poster. I was on hand Thursday evening to help promote sales that will benefit the Festival, and I was surprised at how many buyers wanted me to sign labels. It was fun, but nobody offered me a bottle to take home. In any case, it’s as close as I’ve ever come to designing a wine label, one of my unmet goals as a graphic artist.
• Aborted Study
Anticipating my appearance at the Community Arts Center on Friday night, I had this idea that I would complete a preliminary study for Spellbound that I started last November but never finished. It served it’s purpose back then, and I proceeded with what turned out to be the final version after the first of the year. It seemed like a good idea to finish the study and make it available for a convenient sale, but once I got involved in it, I realized that the magic was long gone. I may finish it anyway some time, just for the practice, but learned the lesson again that monetary motivations don’t have the power to bring my muse to life.
• Poster Signing
The Maple Tree Gallery completed the framing of my original painting, and Lee helped me get it down to the Arts Center before I dashed home to get ready for the Gallery Hop. Pat L was there to assist, and I ended up signing about half the edition of 75, and about half of those sold that same night. Patti and Vince stopped by to inspect the original, which had a well-lighted spot near the entrance. I couldn’t read their reaction to my purchase price (or didn’t really try to, actually). Clearly they’re the best candidates for ownership, and their interior decorator told me later I shouldn’t consider reducing the price, but I still wonder if anyone will be willing to pay what I think it’s worth. We’ll see. Dana remains optimistic, but I probably should give some thought to where I’ll temporarily hang it in the studio. I was delighted when Joan stopped by, and she took some pictures for Mombo. It was my moment of glory, and, as expected, the evening passed by much too quickly.
Posted in Art, Blogging, Community, Creativity, Family, Fiction, Friends, Joan, Mombo, Studio, Wine | Comments Closed
Wednesday, May 16th, 2007
Everything felt rotten today. Terie went to the ER with severe spinal pain, and Bruce almost ended up there, too. I was stressed out anyway, because I’ve been trying to get the Band Festival poster to the printer for the past three days. There were last-minute revisions to the sponsor list, plus I’ve had pressing commercial deadlines rubbing my nerves raw. A local reporter keeps calling about doing a feature on my painting, Spellbound By Brass. In a momentary lapse of discipline I say, “If I don’t get this poster right, there will be nothing to toot my horn about.”
Damn… tripped up again by an illusion of chaos and the sense of disorder. Ralph Waldo reminds me that, “There is no chance, and no anarchy, in the universe. All is system and gradation.” I must believe it’s true, even on days like today. I must have full faith in a divine order—the reality and foundation that underlies this “kingdom of illusions.” I must never think I’m too busy not to keep this reality before me, hour by hour. “Whatever games are played with us,” Emerson writes, “we must play no games with ourselves, but deal in our privacy with the last honesty and truth… and taste the real quality of existence, as in our employments, which only differ in the manipulations, but express the same laws; or in our thoughts, which wear no silks, and taste no ice-creams.” Why is it so difficult for me to “see God face to face every hour, and know the savor of Nature” when in the jaws of masticating days such as these—not on a day when it’s easy, but on a day when it matters?
This line of thinking takes me back to my birthday, flying from Dallas to Detroit, unable to pull my eyes away from the images far below my window’s point of view. I was expecting to review my notes from three days of high-intensity exposure to powerful speakers, significant motivators all, but I couldn’t ignore the sights under the speeding craft, the living plains and wooded river bottoms as we crossed the heart of my beloved motherland. I could see the hand of Nature in the centuries-old patterns of meandering watercourses and how the farmers had endeavored to exploit the riches of her fertile, changing designs—everywhere, the evidence of God’s magnificent Kosmos, and it caused my soul to sing. It triggered previous experiences of knowing what is real, in contrast to what I’ve conditioned myself over my life to think is real. I wanted to have that profound knowledge stay with me always, but I recognized it would pass, so I tried to hold on to one point of reality that might “stick” with me—that I am loved, that I can love in return, and that I can be in that reality no matter what is going on around me, no matter what conditions or circumstances challenge my thoughts or emotions. I wondered if I could hold on to that idea, and not fail to safeguard it, as Tolstoy’s Olenin had failed when he returned from nature to the Cossack village. And so I prayed, as I watched America sliding by, knowing there would be times like now, when my resilience to illusion would be shallow in the face of daily influences.
Posted in Angst, Fiction, Nature, Nonfiction, Prayer, Priorities, Terie, Words | Comments Closed
Wednesday, February 28th, 2007
— Month of February workout totals: Swim-5; Bike-2; Run-1; Lift-2; Yoga-0
— It was one of those days. A client rejects a journal cover illustration because she doesn’t understand my idea. Word arrives that I’ve been accepted as a full member of the Layerist Society, with eligibility for a national exhibition at the University of New Mexico. Do I drop my plan to redo the Band Festival painting at a larger size and accept my so-called “study” as the version to publish?
— Brendan’s Anacrusis stories have been quite good lately, on the eve of his departure for England, and I got a kick out of an obscure allusion to Benedict’s 9 that may or may not have been intentional, (but it doesn’t matter to me; I still enjoy thinking about what “The Mutants” could have become if Heroes hadn’t killed it, execution-style).
— A Mombonian Correction! She tells me that my entry of February 12 was in error, because she would not have dared go into that St. Henry pipe after a storm. “Don’t you know how scared of water I am?” she scolded me. Yeah, but I thought that was the reason why… Well, it’s how I’ve remembered the story all these years. My goof. I challenged her to set the record straight in her own blog, but she hasn’t done it yet. According to her, if she had actually tried the crazy act I described, she never would’ve made it to the end of the long tunnel alive, and I wouldn’t even exist today to botch her childhood exploits. Or maybe I would be the proud son of a legendary stunt-woman and, having followed in her footsteps, live on the beach in Malibu!
— After his examination, Jerome informed Dana that her knee was not injured as seriously as first suspected. Great news. Coincidentally, her rejuvenation diet is perfectly timed for the second of my March experiments.
V & S
Posted in Blogging, Brendan, Dana, Exercise, Fiction, Jerome, Mombo, Studio, Television | Comments Closed
Wednesday, January 31st, 2007
A bit over halfway into Paul Watkin’s Archangel, the author has his crafted vessel of suspense filled to the brim. I have the strong sense that he’s about to spill it—like a container of ball bearings on a marble floor.
Unlike the other novels that I’ve read, which he weaves on a loom of first-person style, this story circulates through a number of carefully developed characters in an almost cinematic manner. I understand that some of his “fans” haven’t liked this book. It certainly lacks his usual touch of dry humor, and the ending always affects any reader’s opinion, so we’ll see what happens. If they weren’t prepared for the intensity, I can’t imagine they’ve read much Watkins. A full book devoted to his streak of dark adventure is really no surprise to me, especially when the subject is environmental terrorism.
Anyway, I’ve enjoyed “casting” it along the way . . .
Adam Gabriel— John Cusack
Madeleine Cody— Ashley Judd
Marcus Dodge— Aaron Eckhart
Noah Mackenzie— Chris Cooper
Alicia Mackenzie— Joan Allen
Coltrane— Matt Dillon
Ungaro— Ed Harris
Shelby— Matt Lanter
Posted in Fiction, Personalities | Comments Closed
Friday, January 19th, 2007
I think I understand why writers must write. It’s really no different than why sketchers must draw or why dancers must move, but why do we read? Why do we engage in this intensely self-centered activity with books? And what’s even more perplexing to me is why our society seems to exalt this particular kind of internal isolation, because, for the most part, it raises a collective eyebrow at meditators or deep, introspective thinkers. It wouldn’t be considered socially acceptable to spend much time playing golf by yourself, or going to movies by yourself, or drinking by yourself (certainly not), but almost all of us feel differently about reading.
My friend Danny would say we must read to train and develop the mind—to understand influences and work backward to the early sources, the original premises.
My “big sissy” is a librarian, so I asked her, and she said that reading makes us a more interesting person—reading may be solitary, but it’s not inherently selfish.
Watkins, Wolfe, Hammett, Hemingway, Twain . . . Why do I read their fiction? What am I looking for?
Every so often, I find myself listening to the lyrics of Eric, a talented friend. He writes:
You can seek your life to find
Answers that satisfy your mind,
But Jesus spared your life by giving his,
And, Brother— That’s all there is.
Posted in Angst, Creativity, Family, Fiction, Friends, Joan, Music, Personalities, Words | Comments Closed
Saturday, September 23rd, 2006
“A designer knows he has achieved perfection not when there is nothing left to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.”
— Antoine de Saint-Exupery
With a strict focus on our most urgent priorities, I must temporarily devote myself to creating a stronger and more stable business posture.
Click the “Archives” and browse a few of my past entries— January 2005 to September 2006.
From time to time I’ll continue to record my thoughts in a private book, just as I have done since 1971, because I concur with Harlan Hubbard in that I have always kept a journal for “myself changed and at a later time,” and, to use his words again, I would hope that I can someday resume this log as “a kind of memorial to the passing days.”
Until then, please do a few things for me…
• Don’t neglect your creative self.
• Read any Paul Watkins book you can find.
• Ride a bicycle, just for fun.
• Visit Anacrusis, Monday through Friday.
• Treat your body as your best investment.
• Put in a good word for Dixon Design.
“The education of the will is the object of our existence.”
— Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Once a pirate, always a pirate.”
— Frank the Fisherman
Posted in Blogging, Business, Fiction, Nonfiction, Personalities, Pirates, Priorities, Studio, Words | Comments Closed
Tuesday, September 19th, 2006
A few days ago I sat out on the dock and wept without tears. It didn’t last very long. I wasn’t able to remember when or why until just now— I was reading the words of Paul Watkins. I should have known. Today I convinced myself to put on my wet-suit and get back in the water a second time. I needed some exercise and I figured it might be my last chance to do a channel swim. The water was quite cold but tolerable. I covered more than a half mile. Bill had driven into town. I honestly felt like I had that entire part of Michigan to myself, except for the geese, swans, and cormorants. The air temperature getting out of the water was more shocking to the system than the experience of getting in. The wind has continued all day and discouraged any fishing outings. Yesterday we caught several yellow perch, including Bill’s 11-and-a half-incher, probably the largest one any of our gang has ever hooked up here. Later, we reverted to salmon trolling again and that proved just as fruitless as Sunday’s session with casting rods. With a cold front predicted, we had to keep a constant eye on a changing sky. The two of us fished until dark and then came back to a deserted resort. I had to hold the spotlight so Bill could see the pier.
Posted in Exercise, Fiction, Fishing, Friends, Nature | Comments Closed
Saturday, September 16th, 2006
JD and Bob had a long and disappointing early excursion that took the wind out of everyone’s sails, as far as any enthusiasm for fishing, and so college-football-watching took over as the main activity of the day. When Bill, Mike, and Jack decided to go into town after the first round of games, JD and Bob proceeded to go on their “casting for salmon at the dolomite port” mission, which they’d been talking about all summer. I have to hand it to them—they haven’t given up. They’ve been gone for a while and what they’re trying to do is totally unprecedented in the fishing annals of Barefoot’s Resort. I was happy to stay here with my drawing tools and a Paul Watkins novel.
Posted in Art, Fiction, Fishing, Friends, Sport | Comments Closed