Archive for the ‘Art’ Category

Thirty two

Wednesday, March 10th, 2010

March Exercise V —day ten— Woke up early with a sore throat, after a feverish, restless night. I really did not want to keep my consulting appointment, but I felt satisfactory once the meeting began. Joan and Mombo stopped by later in the day to deliberate on the topic of a new mattress, but I was a far cry from 100%. All I can do is rest up and aim for a more productive tomorrow. I learned that the Artisan Center wants to purchase three of my wood engravings up front at the wholesale cost. It will be equal to the best price I’ve ever received for one. This is the 32nd anniversary of my first date with Dana. I wish I was feeling better.

Today’s sight bite— The face I see each day —c-l-i-c-k— is the face I shall see forever.

Previously on M-Ex— I do battle with the “inner wimp.” (3/10/07)

Tomorrow— Sitting in local judgment…

young dana

Someplace else

Tuesday, March 9th, 2010

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

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

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

Tomorrow— A new project begins…

Someplace else

Renaissance man

Friday, March 5th, 2010

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

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

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

Tomorrow— Rest and regroup…

John “Pop” Seitz

Negative splits

Monday, March 1st, 2010

March Exercise V —day one— After a fantastic weekend packed with friendship, today began with a mood of glum dissatisfaction because the initial cadence of my regimen left something to be desired. By afternoon my attitude had shifted, and I found myself in a mode more characteristic of my best 5k-run experiences: start out with a comfortable pace and successfully pick up speed. In the running world it’s called negative splits. Why didn’t I think of that sooner?

Today’s sight bite— Concentric rings of vivid vessels suspended overhead —c-l-i-c-k— with each globe of pure color reflecting the terrazzo compass at my feet.

Previously on M-Ex— With a few finishing touches, “Spellbound By Brass” is complete. (3/1/07)

Tomorrow— Seventh vision therapy session…

Library Rotunda

“Jonrik” is no more . . .

Friday, January 8th, 2010

jonrik cartoon

This is the last image I created in a partially successful effort to provide “cartoons to the editor,” in partnership with my pal, Rick. It’s from 2003, when several improbable events converged: Kentucky elected the first Republican governor in a generation, Saddam was captured in Iraq, Boyle County and Danville football teams concurrently won state championships for the third time, and local voters passed a liquor-by-the-drink ballot measure. The cartoon was rejected for unknown reasons. In retrospect, it does seen to violate one of the basic rules of editorial drawing— focus on a single, easy-to-grasp idea. Oh well, I still like that style, but it was too much work to continue for free.

Various & Sundry, part eighty-four

Thursday, December 31st, 2009

— Year of 2009 workout totals: Swim-43; Bike-38; Run-1; Lift-3; Pilates-16; Lupus Drill-3

— Back spasms and muscle injuries shut down my gym time early in the year, and I never could recapture the momentum. Eventually had to curtail the Pilates work, too, but assigned myself an improved swimming and cycling pattern. Running played no part in the annual effort. My new hope is that 2010 will take on a more balanced character, otherwise my long-held exercise habit could turn into a flab-it.

— An even more regular fitness regimen is on my list of New Year’s resolutions. I also need to:

•   Partake of the great writers—
     Conrad, Hugo, Dickens, plus more Hemingway, Kipling, Tolstoy
•   Gain new levels of skill with hand, eye, and mind—
     Brush Stroke, Graver Line, Digital Effect, Options Trade, Chess Move
•   Spend more time in the knobs with Marty
•   Take Dana to the west coast — somehow . . .

— Another year has passed, and it is ever gratifying to create things which satisfy one’s own artistic urge, while promoting commercial activity that helps provide abundance and livelihoods to others. But, as always, it is never pleasant to continually justify the role of the design professional in an environment of declining visual literacy, where everyone can stand their uninformed, subjective ground to affirm the inappropriate, or declare that mediocrity is “good enough.”

— An unexpected viral assault has threatened my long-anticipated year-end participation in Louisville, but a counter-barrage of immune system boosters is under way, and, so far, I successfully made it to the city intact for the wonderful rehearsal dinner last night. The final day of the year is a bedridden affair, with fifteen back-to-back Twilight Zone episodes to suitably infuse the atmosphere with surreality.

To Caitlan and Kyle— Happy New Year!

V & S

Eventidings

Thursday, December 24th, 2009

Our Christmas Eve celebration with Clan is over. Joan captures it best.

Earlier today I was trying to locate a print for us to give as a gift and ran across a collage that I barely remembered creating. Interestingly, I was not overly impressed, although I had to admit the piece is visually striking. So much of my life involves the effort to exact compensation for my creative abilities. My impressions have given rise to the typical holiday-season musings:

First thought . . .
I’ve neglected mixed media for inappropriate reasons.

Second thought . . .
My original investigations were unrelated to economics.

Third thought . . .
I must reject any temptation to invite commercialism.

Fourth thought . . .
I am capable of pushing this medium beyond previous levels.

Team approach

Saturday, November 7th, 2009

I’ve come to the end of a outstanding week that began last Friday when I headed to Monterey for my fifth workshop with Wesley Bates. I didn’t pitch a tent this year, but had the familiar loft at Larkspur Press to myself each night. The opportunity to concentrate on wood engraving for three days in that extraordinary environment made sleeping on a wood floor seem like the ultimate in accommodations. I continue to learn more about the art form with every retreat, and I now face the breakthrough act of finally acquiring my own set of customized tools, so I can maintain a year-round practice to replace my once-a-year introductory learning curve. On Saturday night, Wes, Juanita, Leslie, and I drove over to Hanna’s “house concert” by Kraig Kenning, at the home Prajna Design created for her (builder Garry Murphy was there, and I chatted with him). I’m prepared to say that Kenning is the best steel guitar performer that I’ve heard live (and I once watched David Lindley tape a Soundstage concert with Jackson Browne in Chicago). An enjoyable nightcap with Wes extended deep into the night as both of us discovered that we have even more in common as creative professionals. It was nice this time around to balance social enjoyment with lots of one-on-one time with Wes.

The subject of my block was a pair of handsome mules that worked the Realm of Greystone when James brought in low-tech loggers after the ice storm of 1994. I managed to get some decent slides while they were in the Valley—undoubtedly the last high-level transparencies I may ever take. It wasn’t a bad note on which to end my slide-shooting era. I’ve always wanted to begin exploiting those images for my art, and so I selected a shot of two mules with the tobacco barn in the background (a suitable tribute to the recently fallen landmark). My goal was to chose a style that would enable me to complete the block and print it within the weekend constraint, and that meant consulting with Wes about how to use an approach that didn’t rely on time-intensive technique (the path I found myself on last year, resulting in a missed deadline). I may not ultimately like “Logger’s Team” as much as my 2008 print, but I learned much about the medium, with a big step closer to understanding the elegantly minimal line quality that Bates has truly mastered.

Last night I headed north again with Dana and Joan for Richard’s First Friday event in Old Frankfort. Wesley’s wife, Juanita Wilkins, performed and Richard read poems from his new volume about Abraham Lincoln (commissioned for the bicentennial observation). Everything about the evening was splendid, and there was a magical moment when the unknown “Harmonica Man” appeared from nowhere with his “harp belt” to jam with Juanita. I’ve been so fortunate to hear her a number of times now, and she never sounded better to me than last night; nor had she conversed with her audience so impressively or in such a personally revealing way. Absolutely wonderful…

Wesley Bates Studio

Support and resistance

Friday, October 30th, 2009

“The chief cause of stress is reality.”
~ Lily Tomlin

It’s hard to accept that nearly three weeks have flown by since Dana and I were traveling to North Carolina, bearing the brunt of a devastating tempest that left 35 homes “unlivable” in Casey County (based on information I learned through the Salvation Army). Since that stormy day I had two wonderful weekends with family at both Broadwing and Blue Bank Farms. Carol and Bob are as youthful as ever and at the pinnacle of insight. Shame on me for taking five years to make a return visit. I was delighted to see how they had displayed my drawing of the old barn, and Pete showed off my pen and ink sketch of the Vulcan stove from their early years above the French Broad. I couldn’t help but contemplate the decline in my sketchbook activity over the past year. During my two days at the Hall, I made an attempt to complete work on the rock flue, but ran into mortar problems again while battling Panyon’s tool thievery. My “Son of Dirk Man” character was a bit of a flop, compared to Jay’s Pappy, Mombo’s Rufus, and Clay’s Donkey Kong. Nevertheless, the day was noteworthy for the revival of our Clan Hayride—a “harvest jamboree,” as Joan called it—and also for her tip about Pandora.com. The Council voted to commission an illustrated map of Clan Valley. Wow, how do I come up with an estimate for that? (Lord, help me finish it quicker than my stone masonry!) Dana called me from town to break the news that our friend Irina had been discovered lifeless, the apparent victim of a heart attack. She was a year younger than me! It took four or five days for me to grasp the finality of losing her awesome talent. Early Sunday morning I decided to tote my Hawken-style 50-caliber down the Valley in search of venison. The ache of a gifted comrade’s passing was on my heart when treetops dipped to let the sun pour its precious gold into our beloved hollow. The goal of hunting for meat dissolved abruptly to a deep reverence for the beauty of our rural legacy and my gratitude for life. When I got up to move farther along the road, something caught the corner of my eye. Four good sized does were now moving purposefully across the hay field. Before I could swing my muzzleloader into play, all were into the wooded drainage. If I’d only lingered a minute more, I probably could have had my pick. The following days were tainted with sorrow, but the request to create Irina’s memorial keepsake helped me channel my emotion, although, sadly, the local printer once again seized the opportunity to complain about our predicable attention to detail. By week’s end, the fabulous distraction of sharing Rick H’s 50th birthday celebration was trumped by the news of Glenda’s bizarre mishap at the Haunted House, which resulted in her breaking four back bones. And this comes on top of her and Jay dealing with the aftermath of burst plumbing and extensive damage to their newly remodeled home. The Graybeard Prospector had the second of two successful networking sessions in Lancaster, and Sunday Silence at Simpson Knob was another welcome break, but the heightened oscillation of desirable and undesirable happenings is becoming too strange. All I want to do is immerse myself in the upcoming wood engraving workshop at Larkspur and try to take myself back to a point of quiet equilibrium. Well then, load the truck and go!

Saturday, October 17th, 2009

Irina Ilina



Irina Ilina
a dear friend
an extraordinary artist
R
I
P

. . . and now this story can be told.

Tuesday, August 11th, 2009

 

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

—Leo Lionni

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

Danny D

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strange matters

Saturday, June 27th, 2009

 
Three Girlfriends, 2008

Three Girlfriends
John Andrew Dixon
Tinted acrylic glazes and colored pencil on wood panel, 2008
Collection of Sara Jane Montgomery

This business of creating things can be an odd affair. There are times when I employ a high degree of focused passion that shoves everything to the periphery. Putting things into perspective when finished, I recognize faults or miscalculations in my approach to the work, especially when the client indicates “back to the drawing board.” Nevertheless, I often must be fully in that place of positive intensity to do justice to the task, even to the point of believing that it will be the most sensational thing ever done. And then there are other times when I struggle through a process fraught with doubts about the idea or quality of the execution, finding scant grist for satisfaction. Strangely enough, the client can be joyous at the outcome, while I continue to perceive flaws. It takes weeks or months to arrive at a new state of observation, only to discover that I very much like the result.

So it is with Three Girlfriends. A package of pleasure arrives after a long delay, and I ask myself, “How did that get lost in delivery?”

Wildcards and constants

Friday, June 19th, 2009

 
Unconditional Surrender, 2009

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

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

Legacy Artworks

Friday, May 15th, 2009

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

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

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

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

Maria Eckerle Safari (detail) by John Andrew Dixon

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

Vacancy of the heart

Friday, April 17th, 2009

dixon_gbo2.jpgFor the rest of my life I shall draw and paint pictures of my father. Of course, I can’t say I know what he’d think of that, but I suspect his feelings would be mixed. Modest enough to be uncomfortable with the practice, he probably would have approved, on the other hand, of my using his image as a mechanism for continuous artistic improvement. It’s natural for me to think about him on his birthday, what he would be like in his 80s, or how different my life might be if I still had access to his evolving wisdom, pragmatic 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 departure from the stage will be less profound, depending on how we have played our part. If one is as beloved as my namesake, the absence is a deeply felt void which sends ongoing ripples across the surface of family life.

Broadwing barn

Sunday, March 29th, 2009

March exercise—day twenty-nine— My uncle Bob kindly emailed me a photo Dan took of how Pete framed with chestnut the picture I created of their old barn, which has since collapsed. Seeing it again raised my spirits. I made that picture during a period of heightened sketchbook activity. During those years I was constantly drawing with pen, but I created very few finished works outside my journal pages. Above the frame is an antique weather vane. I must admit to a selfish desire—seeing the kitchen wall arrangement firsthand. Of course, it will be good to see my Dixon kin, too.

Today’s sight bite— The face of a lady hunter, between the horns of her trophy kudu —c-l-i-c-k— coaxing me back to my drawing board.

Tomorrow— Into the zone…

High compliment

Saturday, March 28th, 2009

March exercise—day twenty-eight— At the end of last month, my astonishment at randomly meeting an art student who’d written a paper about my artwork on display at EKU caused me to write on Facebook that the incident blew my mind. Long-time friend Craig S commented that, “Dix has been recovering from a blown mind for 40 years.” Putting all nonsense aside, I’m pleased to have that student, Jonathan R, take the time to email his finished assignment to me. Coming from someone of his demonstrated talent and artistic dedication, I consider it an honor that he selected my work for investigation. There are times when I’m convinced that all one needs to do is follow creative intuition and let the universe take care of the rest.

Today’s sight bite— The plate-steel square at 300 yards —c-l-i-c-k— alarmingly small to the naked eye when positioned above the tip of a rifle’s front sight.

Tomorrow— Final Sunday of the month…

Marks made

Friday, March 27th, 2009

March exercise—day twenty-seven— It’s been a supportive day for my aspirations as a wood engraver. I sold two prints to Dave the collector, and then Gray phoned to let me know that he’s finished the limited edition press run of Manning poems with my block illustration, Boss’s Bucket. I felt a surge of profound satisfaction. Earlier today I asked myself why I tend to study writers for insight into the heart of creative motivation, and the answer came to mind quickly enough to make me feel a bit silly—writers are obviously better than visual artists at verbalizing. Faulkner told an interviewer that “really the writer doesn’t want success, that he knows he has a short span of life, that the day will come when he must pass through the wall of oblivion, and he wants to leave a scratch on that wall—Kilroy was here—that somebody a hundred, a thousand years later will see.” Nabokov wrote that a work of art existed for him “only insofar as it affords me what I shall bluntly call aesthetic bliss, that is a sense of being somehow, somewhere, connected with other states of being where art (curiosity, tenderness, kindness, ecstasy) is the norm.”

Today’s sight bite— A worker high up on the new dome of the expanded library —c-l-i-c-k— nailing a layer of roofing with the evident skill of a specialist.

Tomorrow— A working weekend…

Halftime show

Sunday, March 15th, 2009

March exercise—day fifteen— Made some decent progress on a new safari artwork and prepared two final-number engravings that I’ll send on approval to a print collector. Accidentally spent time in front of the tube watching an art history program on the KET-ED digital channel. Realized I must never forget to learn even more about the roots of modern art. It dovetailed with our recent viewing of The Rape of Europa, one of the best documentaries I’ve seen in a long time. Dana produced art in the kitchen with a another day of fine meals. As usual, I am the fortunate beneficiary.

Today’s sight bite— A Sunday invasion of workmen and their equipment —c-l-i-c-k— executing a belated but welcome pick-up of our ice-storm waste heaps.

Tomorrow— Second-half buzzer sounds…

Ripe thoughts

Saturday, March 14th, 2009

March exercise—day fourteen— It’s a rule of thumb that it will rain whenever I need to deliver physical artwork, but I managed satisfactorily to get a new set of engravings over to the Art Center and also had my first chat with the incoming executive director. So, if you need it to rain in your town, just arrange a display of my artwork and that should take care of it. Not you, Brendan; I’m quite sure you get enough precipitation out there, although it would be cool to have some of my art make it to the west coast. I get ideas like that, but there’s often not a lot to back them up. Maybe I missed my chance when I was churning out some interesting collages while Ian was in L.A. Many ideas are fresh and I get right to them. Others hang around so long they become annoying, until I realize it’s me at whom I’m perturbed, for allowing them to rot, or, worse than that, I get sick and tired of chattering about them in my head without any action. Ideas like that are usually disavowed, or I just get fed up and finally proceed with one, invariably pushing away another newer, more stimulating notion that just stands there listening to the other one grumble, “Move aside, buster, I’ve got seniority.”

Today’s sight bite— A black and white print in a plastic holder on the wall, somehow seeming tiny and drab —c-l-i-c-k— but that’s my engraving featured next to the gift shop’s doorway.

Tomorrow— Avoid the lure of Sunday languor and prepare for an ambitious workweek…

Friday treizième

Friday, March 13th, 2009

March exercise—day thirteen— Nothing much to highlight, except that I did finish signing and numbering my two most recent limited editions of wood-engraving prints. A recent “email conversation” with one of America’s most impressive exemplars of the Arts and Crafts style yielded praise for my printmaking. That’s more than enough to keep my enthusiasm intact, but I know I can do even better. When I look at my work I tend to see the flaws. That’s constructive on the one hand, but I think it deters me from being more prolific. I would never want to lose the capacity for a self-critique, but there must be a reliable, practical way to surmount the hesitancy. Perhaps that’s why Brendan enforces his week-day display of creativity. Must we thus trick ourselves? Probably. Indeed, it may be the only way, until habit takes over.

Today’s sight bite— Too large to be called a Yorkie; too small to be called anything else —c-l-i-c-k— Bruce’s friend, Hoosier, negotiates the back steps on his 16th canine birthday.

Tomorrow— Nothing less than the full-fledged matrix…

Measured gains

Thursday, March 5th, 2009

March exercise—day five— Improvements were recognized today on all fronts, but I don’t think I shall personally feel 100% for a bit more time. Bruce was doing a newspaper puzzle (a most welcome sign), but seems more concerned with solving the riddle of his unexpected plunge into such a perilous state. Brendan sent a heartwarming note of support. The County Judge and I secured an appointment in the state capital to visit with Transportation Cabinet people. Attended the reception at the Arts Center, learned more from David F about getting introduced to an art buyer, and met a very good pastel artist from Lexington. After that, Dana went to the New York Philharmonic performance with our Russian friend, Irina, another exceptionally creative individual.

Today’s sight bite— Bruce in his demeaning hospital garb —c-l-i-c-k— sitting on the edge of his bed in conversation with an ever-faithful mother.

Tomorrow— A new attempt at imposing the exercise…