Since I worked on this series last month, a few more early influences have come to mind, one by one. Joan reminded me of the illustrated dinosaur book with the green cover that she recalls me studying for hours. On Sunday I thought of another. During our trip back from Indy we stopped at the Speed Museum on UofL’s campus to see the Remington-Russell exhibition (typically, the last two hours of the final day, but thank God I didn’t miss it). I remembered the puzzles—a series of simple childen’s puzzles—that were all reproductions of Remington works. I’d forgotten about them, and how much I loved them! I doubt they lasted long in a household of youngsters. They were so powerfully evocative for me that I don’t think I even recognized them as art at the time, but thought of them as true representations of the far West. I’m sure that most of those specific images remain undiscovered to my adult eye, otherwise I would carry a stronger emotional connection to Remington. I came to Russell much later and felt a deeper identification with his sketch techniques and pictorial preferences. I’ve been especially drawn to his pen and wash style. His illustrated correspondence influenced me from the moment I first saw an example. Yes, I know there must be sophisticates who still don’t think he was one of the greats, but his work came to the Speed, dangit! If you don’t think he was a master, just try to copy his modest doodles. I’ve certainly tried and failed. There will never be another quite like him. Marty and I looked at his boyhood sketchbook in the gift shop. The drawings showed more potential for visual imagination than artistic achievement. “But he got good ’cause he never stopped,” I told the lad…and he understood.
Oldenday VII
May 10th, 2005The real “must see” TV
May 9th, 2005There are instances when I watch Public Television and wonder why I’ve subjected myself to such unbearable realities, while simultaneously being unable to imagine having spent the time doing anything more important. With “Memory of the Camps,” tonight was indeed one of those instances.
Vis vitae
May 8th, 2005We were there this morning to see Bruce achieve an important milestone in his seven-week gauntlet. Using a walker, he was able to leave his room for the first time and go out into the hallway a short distance and come back. Dana couldn’t have had a nicer Mother’s Day gift.
Cool competitor vs gawking geezer
May 7th, 2005Missed my Saturday dawn run again, to which I paid religious adherence for years. The last time I was this out of shape I attended local races as a spectator and put together a photo essay
for friends.
Now that I think about it, I wasn’t nearly this out of shape.
Sigh…
Cosmorama-dama-ding-dong
May 6th, 2005There’s a pattern that presents itself when I create one of my collage artworks, and it can be described something like this— As a concept gradually takes shape over a period of days, individual components are selected by contrast of color, size, and aesthetic associations, often involving the assembly of miniature configurations that will function as units. The formal compositional phase is then executed with intuitive dispatch within a concentrated block of time. After at least one night’s sleep, the third and final step is one of refinement, when the design is finessed with the placement of smaller elements to anchor the proper visual balance. Tonight I completed “act two” of the piece I’m donating to the Art-full Raffle (sponsored by the Arts Commission of Danville/Boyle County next week to raise funds for local arts scholarships).
Take note
May 5th, 200505-05-05 . . . Cosmic!
[Permit me to sheepishly admit that I’ve been subsequently made aware of how a similar thing will happen every thirteen months for the next seven years or so, and my full-throated Banana-Man WOW is reduced to a low-key Ben-Stein wow…]
Ghuy’cha’ hoch
May 4th, 2005I knew the global War on Terror was going to get nasty, but nobody said anything about Klingons!
Goats Do Roam
May 3rd, 2005Dana and I enjoyed a splendid dinner and evening of conversation at Lee and David’s, hearing all about their recent trip to South Africa. They shared stories and photos of Durban, Capetown, and their stay at a private reserve in the bush. As if that wasn’t hospitable enough, they sent us home with an unusual red vintage.
Should any of your IM Force be caught or killed
May 1st, 2005Got to thinking about Mission: Impossible, the classic series, the cool revival, and the prospect of a respectable Cruise feature at last (third time a charm?). Started surfing around and was stunned to learn that Tony Hamilton died ten years ago. I had no idea! He played Max in the 80s and worked “until his death from complications due to the AIDS virus in March of 1995.” I get really sad when one of my many favorite TV players passes on. Mission’88 should never have been cancelled. The network refused to give it a decent time slot and then leave it alone. It was better than most of what was on the tube at the time, and the Australian locations were fresh. Oh well, here are some other good shows that should’ve been given a better chance to stay on the air: The Yellow Rose (1983), Mancuso, FBI (1989), Ned Blessing: The Story of My Life and Times (1993), The Adventures of Brisco County Jr. (1993), The Byrds of Paradise (1994), and High Incident (1996).
Various & Sundry, part fifteen
May 1st, 2005— Month of April workout totals: Swim-5; Bike-0; Run-4; Lift-0.
— Just when I was determined to boost the frequency of my fitness sessions to get in triathlon shape, the cookie began to crumble, everything hit the fan, the wheels fell off, and the pooch was screwed…
— What do you do with a Jennifer Wilbanks? Has she had time to contemplate what a thoughtless, selfish, and ultimately cruel thing she’s done? On the one hand, you have the family, with the job of loving and nurturing a very mixed-up woman old enough to know better. On the other hand, you have the authorities, with the job of ensuring effective deterrence and managing the limited resources of taxpayers. Court-ordered counseling? A public apology to volunteers? Ample community service among Hispanics? An invoice for the overtime hours clocked by each peace officer involved? Perhaps all of the above… Nevertheless, my hope is that she finds a new direction for her life and in some way learns to put others before herself. May she find the inner strength to use her inadvertent celebrity to do more good than the harm and pain she’s already caused. And one more thing: every sensational media outlet that milks the aftermath should donate the profits to assist the victims and families of actual abductions.
— Maybe I’m thinking about the Wilbanks affair because this morning I met six young people, three men and three women, who are leaving to spend the summer in Russia and Chile helping others have a better life. It’s an adventure into the unknown for them, but I can tell their real motive is to serve—to be Love in action.
— Speed bump. That’s the message from Indianapolis concerning Bruce. He’s still waging war against infection and having his ups and downs. It remains a difficult situation, now that he’s back on drugs that suppress his immune system (to prevent rejection of the transplanted kidney that’s miraculously kicked back in).
Majestic aspirations vs elusive microeconomics
April 30th, 2005While out at midday on a five-miler, I was imagining what would happen if I took a collage miniature and enlarged it to gallery size after subjecting it to a mezzo-tone or stochastic conversion. I must have at least a dozen images that lend themselves to this graphic treatment, but when I consider time, materials and framing, I don’t see how I could finance it, not to mention the lack of anyone asking me to prepare such a large exhibition. I’d better start with just one and test the waters.
Happy Birthday to me
April 29th, 2005– repeat –
(with Caliterra…)
This one’s on the Haus
April 28th, 2005Precisely three years ago, Marty and I spent much of our day documenting and dismantling my 50th birthday “Haus of Cards” retrospective exhibition. At the time I thought it might be the high point of my card-making activity, and I was probably right. After a peak of 309 hand-made cards in 1999, I created 166 in both 2000 and 2001, bumped it back up to 189 the year of my Danville show, but saw the total fall to 105 by the close of 2004. So far this year I’ve made 22, a far cry from those productive years, when I might top 50 or 60 cards by Brendan’s birthday.
Nature abhors a shopvac
April 27th, 2005I spent the day with exterminators (don’t even ask!) and felt my livelihood slide one more notch toward crisis. All I want to do is watch “Alias” and “Eyes,” back to back (the two most entertaining dramas on network television, due to Ron Rifkin and Tim Daly).
The dad of Father George
April 26th, 2005While visiting Bruce at the hospital, I heard a priest about my age talk about his dad, a veteran of World War II. He shared a story about a particular beach assault and how his father had dug his way under a stack of boxes to escape devastating fire. After pushing more sand out of the hole, he’d pulled one of his fellow soldiers in behind him. In time, he found out that they were the only members of his unit to survive. He also found out that their refuge was under a pile of ammunition and explosives.
Listen; partake not of quotations ye disdaineth, but believe
April 25th, 2005“Every noble work is at first impossible.” —Carlyle
His transplanted kidney declared a loss, Bruce nevertheless takes up the fight.
“An enterprise, when fairly once begun, should not be left till all that ought is won.” —Shakespeare
Branches of prayer extend as the roots of the faithful deepen.
“A good intention clothes itself with power.” —Emerson
Thirty-eight days later, when renal function is restored, doctors are heard to use the word “miracle.”
“The divine insanity of noble minds, that never falters nor abates, but labors, endures, and waits, till all that it foresees it finds, or what cannot find, creates.” —Longfellow
And to top it all off, a lost hat is restored!
Passing Olga
April 24th, 2005I knew I’d been spending a lot of time at Methodist Hospital when too many people looked familiar. That was about two and half weeks ago. I saw a lady in the hall today, walking in the opposite direction. It didn’t surprise me to recognize her as one of the cashiers from the cafeteria, but I freaked myself out when I realized I knew her name. Good Lord… Bruce has been in there over five weeks.
An answer to our prayers
April 23rd, 2005Anybody who reads this will be pleased to know that Bruce has improved to the point of getting out of the ICU. Over the past five weeks he’s battled back from the edge of the void with the benefit of advanced treatment and lots of love, positive thoughts, and prayerful intent from an amazingly huge network of well-wishers.
Our studio clients have stood by us with compassionate understanding during a very difficult period. We’ve been in business long enough to know the kind of customers that many companies have to deal with. By contrast, Dana and I are fortunate enough to serve a group of people that happen to be exceptional human beings. In the competitive marketplace, that’s a true blessing.
Family has made the difference in so many ways. In these times, the word “Family” is defined in various ways. For me, it comes down to “crunch times” like this. However you choose to compose it, if it doesn’t pull together in support to get you through this kind of a challenge, then it isn’t really a family after all.
We’re getting ready to go to Indianapolis again to be with Bruce, along with my sister Joan (Brendan’s Mom! That’s why my name is Uncle John!). I don’t think the full impact of relief will strike me until I see him in his own room, minus all the medical paraphernalia that was necessary to provide the fighting chance that he employed with such stoutheartedness.
Bravissimo!
Tearful eye vs clenched jaw
April 22nd, 2005I haven’t been sure if I had any more “olden” entries in me, for now (because they might be something cathartic related to the past 4-5 weeks), but then I went to my Rotary lunch meeting today and heard a performance of the Boyle County Chamber Singers. These highschoolers are tackling Mozart’s Requiem and other pieces that would be considered advanced at the college level. To think that there are youngsters today with this kind of access to high-quality fine arts instruction at a local public school… well, it just might get me musing again about my own dearth of artistic mentorship and stir a few dying embers of resentment for your amusement.
Fidgetronic visioneering
April 21st, 2005Every so often it’s cool for our studio to get a naming project, but I’ve never been asked until this afternoon to recommend names for the new company a client is setting up to replace the need for services we are currently offering them. Now, let me run that by you again…
Oldenday VI
April 20th, 2005When I was a preteen, Dadbo brought home a carload of aerospace magazines from work. Did I cut out all the cool pictures of rockets and supersonic aircraft? No… I cut out and saved the marketing symbols and corporate trademarks. I can’t explain it, but I always had an affinity for letters and graphics (the GE emblem on the refrigerator intrigued the heck out of me), but I had no clear comprehension of either the fine or applied arts, any sense of the distinction, or what an artist actually did for a living, other than maybe draw cartoons, paint signs, or think up a few crazy advertising ideas like Darren Stevens. My junior high art teacher had worked as a commercial artist before switching to art education. She didn’t actually instruct me in any specific graphic arts techniques, but I did gain one valuable thing from her—she made sure I understood that commercial art was a viable aspiration for a talented person. But there was something else between the lines, as though it was our secret, this notion that commercial art wasn’t exactly noble, that it wasn’t real art. Hmmm, so what was real art? Didn’t have a clue. Norman Rockwell? For petesake I didn’t even realize who Bob Clampett and Ralph Bakshi were poking fun at when they created a cartoon character called Go Man Van Gogh (the wild beatnik artist on “Beany“). I just knew that I was fascinated by comics and advertising art and loved to study lettering and draw words as pictures. I remember painting the word “ICE” with watercolors, adding the archetypical mounds of snow and ice-cycles around the letters. It was almost a right of passage. Weird, eh? I had four different art teachers in four years of high school. I hate to be unkind but each one of them was worthless. I had talent, so there was no reason to spend time with me. It was more important to babysit the goof-offs who took art as a “cake” elective. No wonder I sent off for the Famous Artists home test. I don’t think I even realized how desperate I’d become. What others might have viewed as crass merchandising was a Godsend for me. The individual attention I got from instructors in far-off Connecticut was something I’d never experienced before. And even though the course introduced me to both the fine and applied arts, there was something about commercial art that made me feel at home. When I saw the classes offered by UC I didn’t get the same electricity from reading about figure drawing, painting, or printmaking like I did from discovering that I could take design fundamentals, typographics, photography and film/animation. I was pumped! I wanted to go to college so bad I turned cocky and couldn’t wait to blow my hometown and head for the big city…
Various & Sundry, part fourteen
April 19th, 2005— It’s a perplexing day when the media decides to focus on the naming of a new pope instead of the monumental story of the year: that Lance Armstrong will retire!
— Joan tells me it’s difficult for her to read this log on her computer because each entry is a single, horribly long horizontal line of text that scrolls endlessly. Must be a problem with her browser settings, and I hope it can be fixed. Don’t stop reading, Sis! I can’t afford to lose 50% of my fan base!
— I have no idea how it ended up in the library of the University of Indiana Medical School, or why it’s on display, but Marty and I couldn’t deny ourselves a close look at the death mask of John Dillinger. It’s got to be one of the creepiest damn things I’ve ever seen, not because of the casting itself, but how it was so amateurishly hand colored. And while we’re on the subject of creepy, you’ll find a whole archive of death masks at Thanatos.net.
— I remember Joe scolding me the time I made a condescending remark about Pookie, explaining that he just needed to find his identity as a dog, and, if we gave him a chance, he would. I never thought about Pookie the same way after that, and now it gives me a bit of pleasure (within the sorrow) to know that he got the second chance that Joe could see and I couldn’t.
— Bruce is breathing on his own and striving to gain the upper hand against his numerous infections. I try to accept how often they put him through yet another test, but that’s just the nature of modern pharmacological care. They try to match the drug to the bug. Dana is by his side at the hospital while I hold the fort at the studio. According to her latest report, he’s able to maintain a good, steady rate of respiration and cough productively, much better that when the ventilator was removed before. They’ve taken away the special bed that rotated and vibrated his chest. The PT seemed pleased that he’d gained strength since the previous therapy. The nephrologist cancelled the scheduled dialysis. Nobody has made an official statement that he won’t require it again, but the kidney numbers are normal. My son is a freakin’ warrior! God bless him up one side and down the other!