This is a collage artwork that I currently have on display as part of the “Autumn Glory” exhibition in the Mahan Gallery at the Boyle County Public Library. The show lasts until December 1st.
Autumn Ode (to Merz)
mixed-media collage by J A Dixon
16 x 20 inches, framed
At the recent Gallery Hop Stop in downtown Danville, I was pleased that people sought out my display of collage miniatures, tucked away in the conference room of Tye Financial. Needless to say, this small town in Kentucky is not a stronghold of contemporary art collectors, but the opportunity to interact with those kind enough to pause and discuss the medium of collage is always a valuable learning experience for me. Most of my hoard is now configured for direct purchase at The Collage Miniaturist, before all of it is made available to the public at the 2013 ArtTour, Annual Open Studios of Central Kentucky.
Go ahead and grab one for yourself before November.
My recent display of collage miniatures in downtown Danville.
This is a small mixed-media-plus-collage landscape. I hand-crafted the frame from weathered Japanese redwood — recycled slats from a fatally damaged patio chair I could not bring myself to throw away. The work currently hangs in the Mahan Gallery at Boyle County Public Library, as part of a “SummerScape” exhibition, which lasts until August 29th. One of the most extraordinary things about having our home studio in downtown Danville is having that library right across the street.
I began with scrunched-up paper and scraps of vellum, applying numerous layers of a thin “acrylic milk,” tinting it with various drops of concentrated liquid watercolors, and adding white tissue along the way to evolve the clouds. The process is a slow manifestation and allows for multiple mid-course decisions as the translucency is gradually built. To be honest, I have not created many artworks using this technique. Yesterday I added this to The Collage Miniaturist, but I think it belongs here, too.
Day Fulfilled
mixed media + collage
by J A Dixon
13.5 x 10.5 inches
Available for purchase
Do I trust that they are now together in paradise?
To think otherwise is to believe that it does not exist.
John C Seitz
6/4/28 – 4/6/13
Elizabeth A Seitz
2/24/31 – 6/25/13
This would be Dadbo’s 90th birthday, had he not been lost to us nearly 20 years ago. For the rest of my life I shall create pictures of him. As I’ve said before, I can’t know what he’d think of that, but I suspect his feelings would be mixed. Modest enough to be uncomfortable with the practice, he might have approved, on the other hand, of my using his image as a mechanism for continuous artistic investigation. It’s natural for me to think about him on his birthday and how enhanced my life would be if I still had access to his wisdom, evolving perspective, and keen sense of leadership. Whether we comprehend it or not, each of us has a meaningful influence by our very presence in the drama of existence, affecting our world and others in countless ways. Perhaps our departures from the stage will be less profound than his, depending on how each of us has played our part. When one is as beloved as my namesake, the absence is a deeply felt void which sends wide ripples across the surface of family life. And so, it is a day for me to pay tribute, in the springtime he cherished, and to declare that I shall love him forever.
Variations on a Theme by Grandybo, Part Eight
mixed-media collage by J A Dixon, 2006
collection of Alyxandria Kenner
“Never lose sight of love and kindness for family, Clan, and friends. Family comes first and many times we make or seem to make it last.”
— Grandybo
Why is the sweetness and sorrow so ever-present, tipping this way and that, like the child’s teeter-totter of oldenday?
Dana’s splendid birthday celebration with friends has been bookended for me by the deaths of my Uncle Jack and Jonathan Winters. That both of these men departed within a week of each other feels strange to me, because I always associated one to the other in my mind. They were close in years lived, went to high school in the Dayton area, and both reached the prime of youth wanting to be cartoonists, just as I had done. Saying farewell to Uncle Jack comes, of course, with a deeper sense of loss, but I shall miss the unique, zany humor that made Winters so famous. Both men had a zest for life so characteristic of their great generation. I’m not aware that they knew each other, or had ever met, or that any of the Seitz brothers had met Winters, for that matter. It’s just that I had him linked to my uncle for my own odd reasons. Perhaps I was picking up on something that transcends coincidence, if such a thing even exists, but that is the substance of another journal entry, is it not?
Pop Seitz delayed giving his name, John, until the last of eleven children. (An act of humility?) When each had a first-born son, neither Uncle Jack nor my own dad would wait. (An act of pride?) Although Aunt Betty always called her husband by the name ‘John,’ he was always called ‘Jack’ within his family. In much the same way, the Dixons called the namesake of John by a different name— ‘Ed’ or ‘Eddie,’ the diminutive of his middle name. You may find it peculiar that I focus on these aspects, but it just happens to be the way in which I think.
Although I can empathize with Aunt Betty’s family as they endure the loss of a father, I cannot begin to comprehend how Mombo must feel to lose her “kid brother” and the only sibling who had remained among the original eleven. Art, Ginny, and Jack had always been a trio, and her early memories never fail to tie the threesome closely together. When I think of Uncle Jack, I think of his enthusiasm. If a subject was worthy of his attention, he was never half-hearted about it. We shared more than a name, but also talents and interests. Nonetheless, he was someone with whom I spent precious little time, as was so true with all my Seitz uncles. No matter how much one of my mom’s brothers seemed to like me, I could never make the proper effort to correspond or really connect. A generation should not be such a difficult gap to bridge, especially when there is respect, admiration, and affection. I’ve been blessed with more fine uncles than anyone could ever expect to have in one life. Studying and appreciating them from afar, I have squandered nearly every opportunity to discover the true man and to know him as a mentor or friend. This is the path of least resistance, I suppose. It’s probably what Grandybo was trying to impart in so many of his Clandestiny writings.
I once had an idea to create a gift— a strip of panels in the style of Milton Caniff called “Jack and the Renegades.” It always seemed too frivolous or too ambitious, depending on my state of mind. Today I realize that undoubtedly my time and effort was spent instead on something ambitious or frivolous that means nothing to me now. And yet, the cartoonist in me still lives, and has probably been kicking inside since I first found out that Uncle Jack was a cartoonist, too.
My heart is with him today, with his descendants, with my mother, and with everyone who loved him.
35 years ago today I was summarily dismissed from Lancelot, but the ultimate “silver lining” from what could have been a horrible turn of events was my successful first date with Dana that evening. We would soon become inseparable. I was almost 26 years old. Somewhere in my original black journal, I must have made a reference to the event, but at the time I could not possibly have foreseen the far-reaching significance of that day. The real potential did exist for me to have spiraled into self-destruction, but I instead found myself on track to the heart-center of my life. God grant us another 35 years together!
Tomorrow is a milestone event for Dana and me, so we celebrated with an enjoyable Mexican dinner (saw Larry B there and promised to pay a visit, as he mourns the loss of Shirley). The bartender told me to remember to ask for a “Caballero Margarita” the next time I’m there, since I can’t stand the typical sweet recipe. Then we made it on time to our matinee showing of “Silver Linings Playbook,” a perfect love story about another young guy who found the right gal at a pivotal moment in his life. Yes, I like to say that I check-marked Bradley Cooper as a winner back when he was on “Alias,” but who cares? This motion picture will hold up, just like “Working Girl,” “Indian Summer,” and “The Fabulous Baker Boys.” My kind of movie romance doesn’t pop up that often.
We held a breakthrough “Meeting For Mombo” last night at Greystone and somehow were able to work through a few sticky wickets while maintaining a loving, prayerful mode to our deliberations. This morning Dana had a good idea for the Blue Bank Hall walk-in tub remodel, which I sketched and distributed promptly. I didn’t make a big deal out of it. “Making a big deal out of it” has been a life-long specialty of mine, as a matter of fact, and I know most of the reasons for it, but I need to put that stumbling block behind me. It is March, is it not?
Another Thursday rolls around, so it’s time to spend a day with my Mombo— such a precious soul. There is, of course, no way I could ever give back to her all that she has given to me in this life. I suppose that’s usually how it is with mothers, but not always. Her current status and equilibrium is good, but that won’t last indefinitely; we shall deal with what the future holds in store. There are no material guarantees for any of us. My prayer is for God’s will to be done in this plane, as it exists in spirit for all eternity. One can affirm it so, even without the capacity to comprehend the infinite dimensions of the statement. Is that faith? Is that a recognition of what logically must be true? Or is that a surrender to what one knows within as an absolute? Perhaps all of those.
Confirmation! Last night’s winter storm means that spring-like weather will arrive by month’s end. A good time to focus my attention indoors before the fever to be outside strikes. I’ve achieved a good rhythm with the miniatures and personal regimen, but I need to add more balls to the juggling pattern. Introduce more strategic planning. Develop a checklist for the “Open Studio” countdown. Establish priorities and schedule blocks of time. If I see it, feel it, know it, accept it, it can become my reality— just the same as a failure to break through, a repetition of worn-out habits, or an inability to grow. A positive, constructive, transformational outcome is just as likely as “more of the same.”
My participation in the local Chamber’s Young Entrepreneur (YEA) program touched a bit too much on my growing ambivalence about being the traditional businessman. Why do I yearn so much for the life of the fine artist? Yes, I know it requires practical marketing and sales activities, but I can take what I already know and apply it to a new venture of self-promotion, in contrast to the same 30-odd year challenge of pushing my graphic design capability. I keep saying how much the profession has changed, and indeed it has been profoundly transformed, but I suspect the real issue facing me is that I’ve changed even more.
Concentrating on miniatures seems right to me at this time, but a shift to larger works will be appropriate when I eventually get a solo show somewhere. I’ll enter the best of my current crop of small pieces in the “NOT-2-BIG” exhibition and submit a “miniature miniature” in Sherryl’s event in Yellow Springs. The satisfaction of producing Diamonds in the Rough is a restless call to scale up, and my larger works will probably continue to be more calculated than in the past. I’ll use that approach with my donation to the “Art-full Raffle” this year— something planned and executed specifically for that occasion. This gets to the heart of refining my process, using miniatures as a creative gateway to bigger, more complex ideas that deserve the investment of more time, not to mention a substantial sticker price. The challenge is to arrive at a methodology that fuses a mastery of style and technique with an outlook, a perspective, a “voice,” that delivers more than a sense of spontaneity and aesthetic unity, but a way of conveying something worth saying.
Haven’t even taken three sips of bean brew this morning and my mind is already galloping free. Is the world changing too fast or just caught in a bizarre status quo? The “news” out of DC is unbearable. Is anyone there capable of leadership or problem solving? Naive to even think that’s possible? Can’t tell anymore if things are going haywire or are carefully scripted. Corporations seem prepared to do almost anything in service to the bottom line (even Maker’s Mark tried to water down its Bourbon before a base of dedicated consumers took to pitchforks), and political whores seem willing to stop at nothing to erode what were once enduring freedoms. What is with this throwback to the roots of proto-fascist collectivism in the American body politic? Was the pendulum bound to swing, or is “my America” really slipping away? Perhaps it was an illusion, but I can’t let it go. Is there some way for me to incorporate my concerns into my art? Good question. Collage can be an ideal medium for social commentary, but it needs to be done with careful, nuanced thought. Not sure if I am the best guy to tackle it, or if I even want to, but I know that I should not reject the idea just because it would be more difficult than what I’m currently creating. No doubt that I could bring all the same aesthetic considerations to bear, but it would be a much deeper conceptual challenge. And, sadly, I do fret about producing work that has no market value (probably the most stupid worry in which a creative person can indulge and still purport to call oneself a modern artist).
I perceive that in spite of all the cutting, tearing, and pasting of my miniatures work, my hand skills have been suffering. They need a boost; so, more brush, pencil, and pen this month to break the pattern. Nonetheless, I am already feeling a sense of satisfaction with the collage activity so far. Must consciously use it as a impetus for progress in other areas. No mistake about it, the success of this endeavor will be built on making art— having a good time doing it and harnessing the pleasure as a catalyst.
The March Exercise commences with an emphasis on gradient focus and the avoidance of dissipation. Among goals that include completion of the Barrett commission, I shall post a new collage miniature each day for the duration of the month. March gave every indication that it was coming in like a lion with snow flurries most of the day. We shall see if the trend confirms. No leonine effort from me. I intend to pick up my pace and intensity gradually in the manner of “negative splits,” unlike previous rituals. I’m optimistic that it will prove a better process for me.
(Delivered today at the memorial service for S B Clark, Lexington Avenue Baptist Church, Danville, Kentucky.)
When Dana and I arrived from Ohio nearly 25 years ago, we set about finding a building in downtown Danville. After the memorable experience of our first Kentucky real estate auction, the next thing on our list was to join the Chamber of Commerce. That was the day we met Shirley B. Clark.
She did more than just welcome us. She did more than reassure us that we had chosen an exceptional city. Shirley cultivated in both of us a strong belief that the community needed us as much as we needed Danville. She fanned a flame that would grow and merge with a spirit of community involvement. She had that special capacity, because she knew that the vitality of a community was more than making things happen and getting things done. She understood deeply that the spirit of a community was about people — especially people who believed in achieving something new, whether they got the credit or not, and who thrived on the pleasure of working with others who felt the same way. We saw this in the way she went about her own activities and how she made a catalytic effort on behalf of one organization or project after another — quietly, persistently, with her characteristic unflappable manner, and with her distinctive good cheer.
I’ll always remember her professional introduction to our adopted home town, but I don’t recall a time when I didn’t feel that she was my friend. It was clear from the beginning that she cared about my success as an entrepreneur, as an artist, and as a person who aspired to do well by others and the community. I would not be surprised to learn that she made everyone with whom she collaborated feel the same way.
As the years passed, we locked arms on many volunteer efforts — at the Chamber, for the Band Festival, as members of the Rotary Club, or with what would become, perhaps, our most meaningful shared cause, the Salvation Army. Whenever we put our imaginations and heads together, I came to appreciate even more how much Shirley loved her community, how she could foster that same devotion in others by her example — by how she got results with a steady, practical approach — and by her positive spirit of always trying to do the most good she could in any situation in which she gave of herself.
Shirley and I often shared similar concerns about community issues. Even when the stakes were high, she had a much better way of seeing the amusing side of it all, and this would help me keep things in perspective. I remember lots of comfortable laughter, even if the details have faded, as they usually do.
I remember times, years later, when we would ride back downtown together after a Friday Rotary lunch, discussing current initiatives at the Salvation Army. Then we would sit and talk in my driveway far too long, and, eventually, we’d stop and laugh, because I think we both realized that we’d become pals, and, if left to our own devices, we might gab the afternoon away. Although both of us were clearly out of the loop on weighty matters by then, we enjoyed being together to unravel all the challenges that faced our local economy.
I came to value Shirley’s sound priorities and keen insight, and to respect her as both a caring heart and a very savvy individual. She understood the dynamics of all the types of personalities that make a community tick. She was a marvelously thoughtful person, always full of encouragement, and she had that important trait required of all good ambassadors — diplomacy. In my opinion, her role in paving the way, with executive finesse, for so many constructive accomplishments, is largely unsung. Danville has lost one of its great champions.
Shirley’s regard for our community was rooted in her love of people. We all shall miss her presence. I shall miss her friendship.
Shirley B. Clark
1935 – 2013
This president— who today begins his second term in office —never has been the leader to competently unify our country. He merely has been clever enough to prevent anyone else from doing so. He has blunted the ambition of his rivals (the Clintonians) and kept his opponents fragmented (the Republicans), without offering serious solutions to grave problems or paving the way for someone who will. His emphasis on “We” must be interpreted in the context of his purposeful rhetoric of condescension, exclusion, and division. The feel-good unity of “We the People” is actually a call for solidarity within his collectivist coalition and a message to those who disagree with his priorities and policies to fall in line or back out of the national conversation.
“When the resolution of enslaving America was formed in Great Britain, the British Parliament was advised by an artful man, who was governor of Pennsylvania, to disarm the people; that it was the best and most effectual way to enslave them; but that they should not do it openly, but weaken them, and let them sink gradually …. I ask, who are the militia? They consist now of the whole people, except a few public officers. But I cannot say who will be the militia of the future day. If that paper on the table [the Constitution without a Bill of Rights] gets no alteration, the militia of the future day may not consist of all classes, high and low, and rich and poor.”
— George Mason
In response to a friend who said, “I tire of the suggestion that we need semi-automatic weapons just in case we need to overthrow the government,” I replied:
I respect your view, but think of the countless mothers worldwide who have lost their families in brutal coups and tyrannical oppressions (even during our lifetimes). The idea is not that Americans will need to mount an overthrow. The idea is that the need will never emerge in the first place
because those who framed the Bill of Rights did not find the deterrent a bad precaution, as tiresome as it may seem at times.
Virginian George Mason ultimately did not vote to ratify the U.S. Constitution because it did not include a Bill of Rights. Thus, he sacrificed his place in history as the leading mind that helped shape the invention of American self-government.
For those who go out of their way to sow seeds of disdain for the customary list of New Year’s resolutions: it’s not about now long it stays viable, or about the resulting success rate, or whether it retains meaning in a culture where overt self-improvement carries a tinge of “fuddy-duddy-ness.” For me it’s about one’s mindset at the cyclical cusp. Is it merely “the thought that counts”? No, it’s more than that. The thought becomes a renewal of self-belief, expressed in line-items of striving. It requires introspection, evaluation, and discernment—hardly fashionable, to be sure. All I know is that they have worked for me at some level, so I’m not sheepish about continuing the practice. I don’t feel the need to broadcast my aims for the year, and listing some of them here hardly constitutes that, since I seriously doubt if a half dozen people still pay any attention to this worn-out log.
• Complete the Barrett portrait.
• Do some form of vision therapy each day.
• Resurrect a more impressive fitness regimen.
• Restore my practice of stretching and meditation.
• Elevate my profile as a collage artist.
• Launch the handmade card biz with Cliff.
• Complete home improvements for an open house.
• Create our first knob-land walking trails at Blue Bank.
• Outperform the market with rules-based trading.
• Produce the first digital version of a Clan Map.
• Boost participation in caring for my mother.
Wherefore I perceive that there is nothing better, than that a man should rejoice in his own works; for that is his portion: for who shall bring him to see what shall be after him?
—Ecclesiastes 3:22
— Year of 2012 workout totals: Swim-13; Bike-48; Powerwalk-3; Run-0; Lift-12; Pilates-0; Yoga-0; Lupus Drills-2
— Meeting my goal of a minimum of 48 bicycle workouts seems to have had a disastrous effect on my swimming this past year—a near reversal of 2011. Does that make any sense? I was able to do my sixty-mile bike + sixty-lap swim on April 30th without a lot of pool preparation, and then the swimming totally fell apart during the summer. Perhaps it was because I wasn’t looking ahead to my annual channel swims in the Les Cheneaux, because I had already decided to skip the trip to Michigan and spend my 30th wedding anniversary with Dana.
— A series of aggravations over the past few months has resulted in daily knee pain as I head into a new year. It’s hard to say how that will affect my fitness routines. I need to find a way around it until healing takes hold. Here are the factors that must have contributed: 1) Hauling nearly a ton of free sand by wheelbarrow from the parking lot construction site across the street to the back yard. 2) Too much time hunting in a stressful, Japanese-type posture with stretched knees. 3) Moving Terie’s stuff from South Carolina. 4) Slipping on a rug and sprawling forward onto my knees. 5) Additional activity that made things worse (instead of rest), such as trimming branches and cleaning the gutters up on the roof, hauling brush to the farm and dumping it, crawling around in the attic to find squirrel holes, plus raking all the autumn leaves. It feels better than it did at first, but a return to normal could take a long time.
— Highlights of the year? Well, now that the disruption has settled and I’m used to a new dog (Ru, the Shih Tzu), it really is nice to have Terie with us, as opposed to the constant worry over her previous circumstances. Mombo’s unexpected improvement over the year is an important development. Best GABBF of all? Perhaps so. Dana and I observed decade-turning birthdays and our milestone anniversary. The 2nd Veep Debate at Centre was huge for our community (plus a great time with James and Susan). My six-oh event was extremely satisfying, as were memorable bicycle outings with Simpson, Hoover, and Hower. I shall always remember 2012 as the Centennial of Collage—the year I formalized my creation of the small collage, started my new blog, The Collage Miniaturist (catalyzed by the “Tribal Monday” sessions with Kathleen), and re-discovered wheat paste as an adhesive. The local trails summit that I helped organized was a key achievement, as well as the “Uncle Bones” graphics for Lucas, even though I disappointed myself with ridiculous delays on projects for GAB and Last Adventure. A wonderful party to follow the Johnson wedding resulted in some of the coolest pictures ever for Dana and me. And, of course, the weekend in November with another Clan wedding and the Ohio trip to install a sign with Dan and Bill was one of the best experiences of any year.
— It’s time to look forward and raise the bar for a new cycle. It may seem as though negatives outnumber the positives, but it’s just a matter of attention. Nurture—Affirm—Forgive—Inhale! There is no permanent status, because each day is a new page with the same challenges and pitfalls, but also the same opportunities for self-investment, accomplishment, practice, and constructive change. Pick one problem each day and heal it in some way. Nothing is beyond me, in and of itself, but, if I let inaction coalesce to a critical mass, it has the potential to crush. Make each day count. Eliminate the obstacles, brick by brick. Nothing new added without processing something over-ripe. Set realistic goals and re-invent the checklist. Believe that all will be fulfilled as never before.
