Archive for the ‘Art’ Category
Friday, March 31st, 2006
March experiment—day thirty— As the announcer used to say on the program called “Iron Chef,” the battle is oh-vah!
Because the competition was with myself, I won—that means I also lost, but only the counterproductive habit patterns that were due to permanently go. The transformation feels vast, but I’m still too close to all I’ve been through to judge the full effects. Everything has culminated with the creation of my prototype for a personalized commemorative illustration. Tonight it will be unveiled before members of The Wood Duck Society, and then tomorrow it will be presented for target-market evaluation at a fundraising dinner—the Kentuckiana Chapter of Safari Club International in Louisville. By Sunday I’ll be in a better position to begin reflecting on these past few weeks.
Posted in Art, Business, Friends, Priorities, Television, Time | Comments Closed
Wednesday, March 29th, 2006
March experiment—day twenty-eight— I’m sprinting for Friday’s deadline, with a totality of attention to my example of “Legacy Art,” and bringing into focus all the sensitivities of my month-long self-study…
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Tuesday, March 28th, 2006
Now that I’ve learned the lesson not to worry about something that isn’t in front of me, I have to learn something more difficult, and that’s how to avoid spinning my emotional wheels with the real task that is in front of me, to stop fretting about how it will turn out and to promptly start making the first permanent marks on top of the sketch that will be erased. This might be the most critical habit I can develop, but it will require vanquishing another that has been on my back for most of my life, and I’m sick and tired of it…
Begin!
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Sunday, March 26th, 2006
March experiment—day twenty-five— I spent my 30 minutes of silence at Mack’s increasingly dilapidated cabin praying fervently for my uncle, who’s fighting his way back from critical care, so he can get the heart surgery he desperately needs.
I ran back to Danville afterwards, just as I had run the five miles out to the cabin, but my legs became alarmingly stiff at nine miles or so and I had to walk a bit. I smiled to think that only a few minutes before I’d been advising J M on how to accomplish his 50-miler next month. Obviously, I’m no ultra-marathoner these days. When I mentioned it to Dana at breakfast she reminded me that it’s been four years since I did mine. True enough.
After the silence, our friend J R (Buck) shared eloquent words about how an aging athlete faces the traumatic decline of the physical body. Fortunately I have no experience with this subject, so far. Uncle Joe does—more than he deserves.
For decades, there was no greater advocate for physical fitness in Southwestern Ohio than Joe Sullivan. He’s had a positive influence on hundreds of educators and literally thousands of young people. He introduced things like tumbling mats and trampolines to the region and designed numerous state-of-the-art gymnasiums. And that doesn’t even touch on his contributions to coaching or his achievements as a college professor. You would think that he’d earned some points that would spare him the pain and indignity of a physical breakdown—he of all people, but it looks as though the Lord makes no such deals. Grace, on the other hand, is another issue.
I will continue to pray the Hail Mary for Uncle Joe.
Today’s sight bites— The march of ditch clutter, to the lower left of my stride, a parade of Newport packs and green Mountain Dew bottles—c-l-i-c-k—Little Caesar’s cartons—c-l-i-c-k—blue Bud Light cans—c-l-i-c-k—Long John Silver’s boxes—c-l-i-c-k—red McDonalds French-fry pockets—c-l-i-c-k—Arby’s bags—c-l-i-c-k—dip containers, soda straws, and orange candy wrappers—c-l-i-c-k—with the helpless notion that I should at the very least interpret all this as an artistic statement, an homage to Kurt Schwitters called Scenic Kentucky Highway 52…
Tomorrow— Drawing a good friend in Africa, plus an important call to Virginia (the Mother of Presidents, not Mombo—the Mother of Me—although that’s not a bad idea)…
Posted in Art, Dana, Education, Exercise, Family, Friends, Mombo, Prayer | Comments Closed
Saturday, March 25th, 2006
March experiment—day twenty-four— I rescheduled my ten-miler when I arose to discover a steady shower of wet sleet at first light. Well, at least I didn’t have more than my hopes invested in the proposed venture, unlike other ambitious people. I may be bonkers, but I’m not a madman. Not yet, anyway. However, I do recall running in worse weather during the winter of oh-two. A local man stopped his car and yelled, “You’ve got to be crazy to run in this!” I shouted back, “You’ve got to be crazy to drive in this!”
Today is about dealing efficiently with a multiple of tasks recently sidelined by a critical deadline, which naturally tends to subordinate other priorities. It’s about breaking a habit—temporarily letting go of my discipline or indulging an escape after a major presentation, instead of shifting the same level of focus to a new area of active creativity. Maintaining a momentum of accomplishment is a more desirable reward, if a reward is necessary. I’m tired of having to regain my inertia over and over again. I’d rather keep a more even pace of achievement. I’ve learned this from exercise, but the idea has taken on a new power for me, the more I pay attention to the advice of artists who know how to routinely get things done.
Last night before bed I spent time with Kazu’s description of how he creates his “Copper” strip. This morning I’m “mining” an interview with Arundhati Roy. Some of her thoughts fascinate me because I’m trying to find a way through the challenge of shifting my fine art from a gift-oriented activity to a more self-centric ambition, in order to professionalize it within a desired array of income modules. For reasons unclear, I’ve been getting more out of listening closely to writers and filmmakers (and a dancer!) than I get out of listening to designers or visual artists.
“You know, I always believed that even among the best writers, there are selfish writers and there are generous ones. Selfish writers leave you with the memory of their book. Generous writers leave you with the memory of the world they evoked. To evoke a world, to communicate it to someone, is like writing a letter to someone that you love. It’s a very thin line. For me, books are gifts. When I read a book, I accept it as a gift from an author. When I wrote this book, I presented it as a gift. The reader will do with it what they want.”
Roy’s keen insight applies to all the fine arts—in my case, the applied arts. If I’m to be honest with myself, it’s my identity as an illustrator that I seek to define, rather than as a true fine artist, at least in the near term. Earning commissions for the type of imagery I intend to create involves meaningful service to a customer, and so I must juggle my own artistic agenda while capturing a high level of personal significance for my client—balancing the selfish with the generous—providing pleasure in the sense of legacy, a useful satisfaction. Emerson often draws his distinction between the fine and the “useful” arts, but makes clear that both can lead to wealth.
Why is it that I’ve been more comfortable with dedicated effort toward seizing health and less so with wealth? Is it just cultural conditioning or is it part of my DNA? I wanted health, so I built it into my body. It took time, but I did it. I have goals that require a solid microeconomic platform. Forget wealth. I would hope that I could just free myself from the low-grade financial stress that erodes well-being. But Emerson doesn’t dance euphemistically around the issue. He uses the word.
“Wealth is in application of mind to nature; and the art of getting rich consists not in industry, much less in saving, but in a better order, in timeliness, in being at the right spot.”
Indeed. Let’s get back to the drill.
Today’s sight bite— Afternoon sunlight cuts across a wall the color of thick mucous, as my paint-saturated roller subtracts the distasteful hue—c-l-i-c-k—with white, glorious white, overtaking the wall, swath by swath.
Tomorrow— Running toward the dawn, to share the silence with friends…
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Wednesday, March 22nd, 2006
March experiment—day twenty-one— Having my morning schedule play out with precision was a source of encouragement, but that was followed by another chaotic stint in the studio. That’s what happens when a client calls and asks you to work with ten-year-old files as if they were created last week. Nevertheless, there were solid insights to gain from the contrast of an impending deadline and the all-too-typical, wild-card elements that seem to inevitably insert themselves into the day. Well, I don’t remember which famous general said that even the best battle plan doesn’t survive first contact with the enemy, but the last couple days have driven home the point for me. Not that my clients are the enemy—far from it—but you’ll probably catch my train of thought. The focus of my 30-day experiment is enabling me to examine dynamics that have always been too obvious to scrutinize. Interesting.
Today’s sight bite— Taking a mental break with page after page of exquisite narrative graphics—c-l-i-c-k, c-l-i-c-k, c-l-i-c-k—temporarily immersed in the flowing talent of Rudolphe Guenoden, Kazu Kibuishi, Giuseppe Ferrario, Chris Appelhans, Justin Ridge, and Herval.
Tomorrow— Mares and foals… foals and mares…
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Wednesday, March 15th, 2006
March experiment—day fourteen— Up before the alarm, with my mind too full of typography to postpone the opening ritual. Did I really think I could write and design a point-of-purchase promotion for “Share the Road” and circulate it among the Commissioners before 9 am? Not really. Didn’t think. Just set to work, to short-circuit the doubt.
To just begin, and trust the habit of creation.
“Finished is better than perfect.” Spoken inside without fear, these words from Gene Johnson—who may have swiped them—can be a certain kind of victory for me today.
Tonight’s Kirov concert was a lesson in contrasts. Tchaikovsky’s D major Violin Concerto with Mikhail Simonyan, followed by the Shostakovich 10th. Who wouldn’t find delight in the former? But, if you appreciate a brand of music decidedly in the “spooky” vein, you might prefer the latter.
Today’s sight bite— A carpet of emerald clippings under a sculpted yew—c-l-i-c-k—and the rusted tines of a familiar rake.
Tomorrow— Halfway through the experiment, it’s time to ratchet up my focus in the studio, and to lead a strategic discussion with local cyclists later in the day…
Posted in Art, Creativity, Music, Personalities, Public Service, Studio, Words | Comments Closed
Tuesday, March 14th, 2006
March experiment—day thirteen— Today’s dramatic change in weather makes me realize I got just what I wished for. Hmmm—perhaps, while I’m on a roll…
A few interesting things happened today. I was happy to get back from the gym in time to catch Junger’s interview on C-SPAN, and it made for some good breakfast viewing. Although I’ve broken my habit of watching early morning television, this was a worthwhile aberration. I share with him a special concern for the Afghan people that goes back to the 80s, when friends and I met with Mujahideen representatives during their stay in Dayton. I can’t like a journalist as much as I like Junger unless I trust that person’s instincts, and for some reason I completely trust this guy to get exactly the right take on whatever he observes. So now I’ll have to go find a copy of “Vanity Fair.” This afternoon I had a crucial discussion with Wilma at the Community Arts Center about raising my profile as an artist, and her advice may prove invaluable. The most stimulating thing is how much it coincides with some of the suggestions and encouragement I’ve gotten from David. A daunting transition, to be sure, but one that I must initiate in the near term. Stay tuned.
Today’s sight bite— Flags snapping on the Salvation Army pole against a field of midday blue—c-l-i-c-k—the kind of pure, deep shade that invigorates my soul.
Tomorrow— Conference call with KBBC Commissioners, trip to the courthouse to pick up my “Share the Road” license plate, and an evening of Russian music…
Posted in Art, Friends, Nature, Nonfiction, Personalities, Priorities, Television | Comments Closed
Monday, March 13th, 2006
March experiment—day twelve— This dismal weather is starting to get to me. I’d rather be forced to wear a heavy coat and gloves, if it would get me a blue sky. Continued to use my time matrix to chip away at projects, not all of them money-makers. Took the equine-packaging job from sketches to electronics this afternoon and that’s an important step. After five o’clock, I tried to finish cleaning up the front yard, but it started to rain. Didn’t that happen yesterday? Tonight I sat down again with “FLIGHT, Volume Two.” This collection doesn’t seem as awesome to me as Volume One, but I’m enjoying it immensely. That’s just the way it is with sequels, I guess. I can’t help but observe how much some of these artists have been affected by the drawings of Bill Watterson. Reminds me of when I look at political cartoons and realize that an entire generation of editorial artists have been influenced by Mike Peters and Jeff MacNelly.
Today’s sight bite— Sky like a canopy of yellow-grey bruises—c-l-i-c-k—with a tree swaying the way a nervous man shifts his weight from one leg to another.
Tomorrow— Wake up to the stationery bike and another gym workout (try to catch
Sebastian Junger on “Washington Journal”), and then get in some billable time before the Salvation Army executive committee meets…
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Saturday, March 11th, 2006
March experiment—day ten— Tackled the lopsided landscaping in front of the Town House porch (between thundershowers) for most of the day until it was time for our trip to Richmond. We had a pleasurable “first-date observation” at the Punjab, and then attended the St. Mark’s annual theatrical performance—my sister Joan’s last to organize there, before she moves on to new adventures.
Today’s sight bites— Pre-teen waiters with slabs of cake—c-l-i-c-k—greasepainted faces caught in a spotlight crossfire—c-l-i-c-k—button-breasted singing maidens—c-l-i-c-k—a wide-mouth “Master Colin”—c-l-i-c-k—and the joyful expression of a mentor surrounded by her proud students.
Tomorrow— Early morning ride to Mack’s cabin, as well as a few stubborn issues in the studio to solve…
Posted in Art, Dana, Education, Home, Joan, Music | Comments Closed
Thursday, March 9th, 2006
March experiment—day eight— Don’t have much graphic product to show for myself today, but my time sensitivity, efficiency, and focus were on track. Much of the day involved helping sort out the high-res PDF problems associated with software upgrades. I made decent progress on modifying the project schedule for IFP, plus I had enough energy to swim a 450-yard sprint in 8:05 (a personal record), run the vacuum cleaner, and make a get-well card for my Uncle Joe, too. Had my first look at Paul’s unfinished painting for the Brass Band Festival Poster. The letter I sent yesterday appeared on the Advocate’s opinion page, which helps my effort to organize the local bike-ped task force. Before the library closed I treated myself with “FLIGHT, Volume Two.”
Today’s sight bite— A colorful, plate-size Greek salad that Dana made me for lunch—c-l-i-c-k—a joy for the eye and a treat for the tummy.
Tomorrow— 28 years since my sweetheart and I went out on our first date…
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Monday, February 20th, 2006
It took longer than I expected, but my drawing for the Housing Authority was a pleasure to execute. The illustration technique I used was directly inspired by my favorite masters of pen and wash—Jack Unruh, Ken Dallison, Joe Ciardiello, and Alan E. Cober. Dallison is known for his automobiles and Ciardiello for his portraits, but all of them have worked with great breadth of subject matter. I’ve marveled at their skill for decades, but they have a similarity of approach that is close enough to my own capability that I can relate to how they visualize and have learned from their prolific examples. Unruh is exceptional—equally adept at rendering people, places, and the natural world—and I could die happy if I gain a fraction of his ability. Cober, who, of the four, actually did die (happy I hope, although much too young), holds a special place in my personal history. At the height of our indecision concerning what to do about the crumbling situation at Wright State, Dana and I had the opportunity to question him at a workshop. He counseled us to trust and follow our instincts, so the two of us got out together. He was a great adviser to hundreds of talents over the years, and I’m grateful to have been one of them.
Posted in Art, Craftsmanship, Creativity, Dana, Education, Gratitude, Personalities, Priorities, Studio | Comments Closed
Friday, February 17th, 2006
• I flipped away the afternoon again at the Rotary Club’s annual Pancake Day, where I foolishly tried to expand my exalted reputation by attempting to make a cake with the shape of a Salvation Army Shield. I blistered the edge of my hand on the hot griddle and experienced the same agony of defeat as poor Lindsey Jacobellis. After that, Dana and I went into the city for the Gallery Hop, so I could participate in the reception at the Carnegie Center for Literacy and Learning. The “Art of the Alphabet” exhibition was a hit with all ages, and the original print of my letter H was the second one to sell. Steve Houston of Texas bought it for his daughter because all of the images present in the montage held significant meaning for him and his family. Quite remarkable.
… graybeard prospector …
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Friday, February 10th, 2006
• Opening a statement from the Social Security Administration did not get my day off on the right track, and it began to go downhill from there. Fortunately, I was able to recover a bit by putting some good sales moves on the Republican candidate for Boyle County Judge Executive, who will definitely need a high-credibility graphic image as part of any success campaign to unseat the entrenched incumbent. After that, I attended the opening of “4 Seasons — 4 Directions,” Kathleen’s inspiring collage exhibition at Danville’s Community Arts Center. By evening, Dana and I were in Berea with Lee and David, eating delicious Thai food and learning English Country Dance—so the day ended fully back on its proper rails.
… graybeard prospector …
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Thursday, February 9th, 2006
I did it! For the first time in many moons, I attacked the massive tower of storage boxes that was metastasizing in the corner of our meeting space. To be honest, it had steadily grown like a Schwitters Merzbau until my continuing to call the area our “conference room” had become an irritating exercise in self-delusion.
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Wednesday, February 8th, 2006
Last April I wrote, “If I make a mistake and publish a typo, everybody feels bad, but nobody has a funeral. I’m not an architect. My designs can’t fall down and kill anybody.”
Well, let’s take another look at that. Even though I haven’t made much money at it in recent years, I still consider myself a cartoonist, and, if you haven’t noticed, people are now actually getting killed over a few cartoons.
I remember writing a report in high school about this “ungentlemanly art,” after I’d sent a batch of correspondence to famous editorial cartoonists. Paul Conrad, at the beginning of his long career at the Los Angeles Times, sent me a friendly letter with helpful details that became my favorite among the replies. (As a result, I always felt a personal connection to him, and was elated several years later when Los Angles mayor Sam Yorty failed to successfully sue Conrad, who drew Yorty dressed in a Napoleon suit.)
After that project opened my eyes to political opinion, I’ve never underestimated the power of a cartoon, but this current situation borders on the absurd. In the words of Doug Marlette, “…the world has, in fact, become a cartoon.”
Posted in Art, Current Events, Personalities, Political Affairs | Comments Closed
Monday, February 6th, 2006
In Memoirs of a Geisha, the main character reflects on the advice of her mother, who taught that water, with time, can cut through the hardest rock, and, when blocked, will always find another way.
Why is it that everywhere I shift my attention, I’m reminded of the power of persistent, repetitive action? Is the universe using the method itself to make sure the concept gradually penetrates my stubborn personality?
When I look over the past dozen years or so, the most noticeable change I can recognize in myself is the transformation to high physical activity from a sedentary mode. It wasn’t initially inspired by a dream. Rather, it grew out of an apprehensive realization that I undoubtedly carried the same predisposition to heart disease that had claimed my father’s life. Out of weakness came strength—increment by increment, workout by workout, mile by mile.
So, there I have it. Out of my weakness to believe that I could achieve without grinding, habitual effort my dream—a dynamic life on the land, making art from a studio in the Knobs—can come a new practice and ritual which is the only course that will ever take me there. Yes, there will be obstacles and inner resistance. At times, the water will need to find an alternative path, but there is no alternative to the necessity of the “drill.” No other way than through the power of focused routine, and a life of productive habit.
Once again, I must read the words of Emerson and let them sink in—
In chemistry, the galvanic stream, slow, but continuous, is equal in power to the electric spark, and is, in our arts, a better agent. So in human action, against the spasm of energy, we offset the continuity of drill. We spread the same amount of force over much time, instead of condensing it into a moment.
Once more.
And again…
Posted in Art, Dadbo, Exercise, Family, Movies, Nature, Nonfiction, Priorities, Time | Comments Closed
Friday, February 3rd, 2006
This is one of those moments when I think that I didn’t begin to get a real education until after the age of 50, when I finally settled for me as a teacher.
Me said, “It’s not too late to learn how to think.” I answered, “Ok, Me. Let’s get started.”
Joan was kind enough to make some of Joe Wood’s books available, and there was one I accepted with particular seriousness—“The Conduct of Life,” a collection of essays by Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Perhaps true book-larnin’ doesn’t take place until one can center on an idea or theme after confronting it from multiple directions.
A good start, but there’s little chance a revelation will be internalized until put into actual practice.
Here is something I just read from the essay called “Power”—
When Michel Angelo was forced to paint the Sistine Chapel in fresco, of which art he knew nothing, he went down into the Pope’s gardens behind the Vatican, and with a shovel dug out ochres, red and yellow, mixed them with glue and water with his own hands, and having, after many trials, at last suited himself, climbed his ladders, and painted away, week after week, month after month, the sibyls and prophets. He surpassed his successors in rough vigor, as much as in purity of intellect and refinement. He was not crushed by his one picture left unfinished at last. Michel was wont to draw his figures first in skeleton, then to clothe them with flesh, and lastly to drape them. “Ah!” said a brave painter to me, thinking on these things, “if a man has failed, you will find he has dreamed instead of working. There is no way to success in our art, but to take off your coat, grind paint, and work like a digger on the railroad, all day and every day.”
Posted in Art, Education, Family, Joan, Nonfiction, Personalities | Comments Closed
Tuesday, January 31st, 2006
I’ll admit that the aesthetically exquisite “Outside my Window” influenced my color choices for the Carnegie Center illustration, but it’s time for me to take “FLIGHT, Volume One” back to the library and I really don’t want to do it. I feel as if all my ancient desires to become a comic artist will eventually bubble up to actual conviction if I keep looking through it. Oh well, if I stay diligent and get my nose above the water line again, there’s no reason I won’t be able to buy things like this and build my own library. Plus, I can always continue to study these artists on the Web—Khang Le, Chris Appelhans, Catia Chien, Mudron, Bengal, Kazu Kibuishi. They do more than preserve a wonderful genre; they breathe inspiration into a natural part of my creative DNA that I allowed to become dormant.
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Saturday, January 28th, 2006
• After I got back from a 10k at daybreak, my first Saturday-morning run since the year-end holidays, I put in a session on my digital poster art for Lexington’s Carnegie Center for Literacy and Learning.
I’m among those who qualified to participate in their “Art of the Alphabet” project. 26 artists were chosen to create the “Carnegie Center Abecedarium,” a collection of illustrated letters of the alphabet. Following an exhibition that begins in mid-February, the Center will distribute the individual 26 reproductions of letters to local pre-school children over the course of a year.
I think that most of the artists will use a more painterly, humanistic technique. or what they consider to be a style of illustration suited to the young child. My approach is intended to be a contrast to what I expect will be the dominant look of the series, and perhaps awaken in children a regard for the graphic arts.
I’m still not clear on all the details of the project, but the honorarium is low, so I’m trying to be economical with my time by recycling some of my previously created elements. I’m using a montage style typical of the way I’ve been thinking visually for some time, but still very much a graphic design. It should be only the first of a series of various works that I’ll be doing this year to boost awareness of my capabilities within the city.
Oh, I hadn’t mentioned, but my letter is H. Try to guess my images before you see the finished piece.
… graybeard prospector …
Posted in Art, Creativity, Exercise, Letters, Studio | Comments Closed
Wednesday, January 25th, 2006
I first encountered Paul Watkins as a memoirist, and then set out to investigate his novels, reading both a later and earlier one. But, because I’d discovered his prose as nonfiction—spoken in his own, highly personal voice—I just had to find a copy of his first autobiographical work, “Stand Before Your God,” an account of his coming of age at English boarding schools. Thank goodness for the Kentucky system of interlibrary loans!
“Stand” is a bit tough to settle into, due to its uncomfortable opening. As a boy, Paul was literally tricked into leaving home at the age of seven to get an education in the centuries-old manner of the English upper crust. Unfortunately, he was an American, and was made to feel the misfit from the first startling moments. Out of this inescapable loneliness his creativity is born, and by page 100, I’d grown so fond of the lad that I was already bemoaning the end of the book.
A few years ago, after finishing “Drawing Life: Surviving the Unabomber” by David Gelernter, I understood that it’s possible for one to develop such a deep affection for the mind of a writer that the life-span of an exceptional book triggers all the emotions associated with birth, maturation, separation, and, inevitably, the finality of mourning.
I think many dedicated readers would understand what I’m trying to describe. Although I’m a bit uneasy with this phenomenon, I’m not ashamed to admit that on rare occasions, I can actually fall in love with an artist’s creative personality. Maybe it’s even more than that—a non-physical soul union of some type that alters you for the better.
When it comes down to it, most art is basically stupid… but not when it reaches heights worthy of the word. To be able to produce a single significant, enduring work of art is a tremendous achievement, but to consistently connect with others at such an essential level—as Watkins is able to do—almost defies comprehension.
Posted in Art, Fiction, Nonfiction, Personalities | Comments Closed
Tuesday, January 17th, 2006
It sent out a beam like a laser sight, hitting my eye sideways from across the library, and I couldn’t believe I was the first to spot it on the new-purchases shelf. I immediately brought home “FLIGHT, Volume One” and consumed it as I would a delicacy—which, of course, it is. I’ve been to Bolt City and other webcomic sites, but savoring this collection plays to my print bias. It makes me realize how much other incredible work I’m surely allowing myself to miss. I’ve got to do something about that. A new golden age of the comic strip is already under way.
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