“The Zuckerberg admission has much larger implications than anyone has yet admitted. It provides a first official and confirmed peek into the greatest scandal of our times, the global silencing of critics at all levels of society, resulting in manipulating election outcomes, a distorted public culture, the marginalization of dissent, the overriding of all free speech protections, and gaslighting as a way of life of government in our times.”
Archive for the ‘History’ Category
Tuesday, July 30th, 2024
“The evidence was in plain sight. The question for historians is ‘Who knew the fix was in?’ And equally importantly, how could these powers behind the throne unseat Joe Biden the candidate and still leave the nation in the hands of Joe Biden the president for another six months?
That dangerous proposition is why we can’t wait for history’s verdict, and why it is imperative for journalists to dig down immediately and unravel the plot that sought to undermine not just Biden but America’s democracy and left us weaker and wounded on the international stage.
You can bet the mainstream media won’t take up the challenge. They have bought wholeheartedly into the narrative that Biden is an American hero for resigning his campaign, so it will depend on a fearless outsider like Sy Hersh or Bari Weiss to get to the truth. Let’s hope they get to it before Election Day.”— Frank Miele
March Ex(clusion) — twenty-seventh day
Sunday, March 27th, 2022“We enter the contemplative experience when the movements of the mind — reason, memory, imagination and all their compounds begin to settle into silence. However simple this may sound it is hard work because it demands a radical detachment at the core of our identity.”
– Laurence Freeman
Ah, that every day would behold the inner mood of a Sunday morning, whether quiet preparation for bicycling into nature or loving anticipation of yet another crack at meditation. So there you have it. Make each one like that. Especially Mondays. If you bring that into an outing devoted to art, you may bring that into one more day in the studio, too.
Today’s sight bite— A now innocuous square of concrete, with nearby toppled gravestone and pile of discarded lead strips, —c-l-i-c-k— plus foraging robins and squirrels, oblivious that the site once presented a hatless guy of stone whose story was erased in lieu of a full-context teaching opportunity.
March Ex(clusion) — sixteenth day
Wednesday, March 16th, 2022“Plutarch states that Cato ‘undertook the service of the state as the proper business of an honest man.’”
– Thomas E Ricks, First Principles
When the belligerents are making overtures to de-escalate the conflict, why are many so-called leaders failing to soften their hawkish stance in favor of advocating for peace? When the president of Ukraine (still alive) invites a negotiated settlement based on the offered demands, why is the elite “influence class” pushing emotionalism and reckless militarism? Who will benefit from instability, destruction, bloodshed, and death in excess of what the Russians have factored into an achievable outcome? Another potential question: why didn’t Volodymyr Oleksandrovych Zelenskyy stop playing the NATO card long before his nation was ruined? Was he naive, complicit, or merely a dupe? What happens next is unknown, but, without a doubt, analysts will argue over all of this for the rest of my lifetime. The hellish suffering will forge new cadres of radicalized youth and hardened ideologues. Welcome to the ancient steppes of Eurasia.
We won’t go into what Iñigo Navarro says about seeing multiple crows.
Today’s sight bite— Five crows resting high in the “Simon Kenton” maple, —c-l-i-c-k— as they noisily greet number six and seven to the murder.
Tuesday, January 19th, 2021
“Now, as I leave the White House, I have been reflecting on the dangers that threaten the priceless inheritance we all share. The greatest danger we face is a loss of confidence in ourselves, a loss of confidence in our national greatness. No nation can long thrive that loses faith in its own values, history, and heroes, for these are the very sources of our unity and our vitality. At the center of this heritage is also a robust belief in free expression, free speech, and open debate. Only if we forget who we are and how we got here could we ever allow political censorship and blacklisting to take place in America. Shutting down free and open debate violates our core values and most enduring traditions. In America, we don’t insist on absolute conformity or enforce rigid orthodoxy and punitive speech codes. We just don’t do that. America is not a timid nation of tame souls who need to be sheltered and protected from those with whom we disagree.”
— Donald J Trump, Farewell Address
Sunday, March 29th, 2020
“And in case anyone still hasn’t figured it out, the whole ‘republican, democrat’ split of the population in two rival camps is nothing more than theater meant to distract while those in control loot not only the here and now, but also rob the future generations blind. Because the sad truth is that behind the fake veneer of either progressive ideals of conservative values, politicians on both sides have one simple directive: to perpetuate the broken status quo for as long as humanly possible, and get as rich as possible in the process.”
— ‘Tyler Durden’ — ZeroHedge.com
Sunday, February 23rd, 2020
“The advent of civilization is a wonderful thing. It creates leisure. It creates material wealth, luxury. It’s civilization. It’s not tribalism. It’s not barbarism. But in that process, we become tame, and yet the world around us is not tame, and we don’t quite know how to justify using violence against people who want to kill us.”
— Victor Davis Hanson 2/13/20
50 Years
Saturday, July 20th, 2019Certain things have a logic for me that probably make no sense to anybody else — a cropping of Marty’s Nineteenth Cosmosaic posted on the observance of the original moon landing.
Humanity’s “First Man” and my own “All-American Boy” seem like a fitting juxtaposition.
hatless guy of stone whom I sketched, once upon a time
Monday, June 24th, 2019“When fascism comes to America, it will not be in brown and black shirts. It will not be with jack-boots. It will be Nike sneakers and Smiley shirts.
— George Carlin
I first noticed the statue in McDowell Park about the time I started to walk around Danville after we got the Town House. There was something about the artistic interpretation that appealed to me — not entirely realistic, but only slightly abstracted from life, perhaps like the way I might draw something. I reacted to it as sculpture before I thought much about it as a Confederate symbol. Eventually I did draw it. I don’t remember the year, although I could look it up. At any rate, it was a long time before tragic events were used as an excuse to denounce antique works of art. As soon as they were condemned elsewhere, I thought, “Danville seems immune to such things, but it’s only a matter of time before that statue becomes a target for destruction or removal.”
My recent conversation with a local artist has informed me that the day has finally arrived. The decision to spend a lot of money to truck it off apparently has sparked a firestorm within the church congregation with jurisdiction over the statue, which is probably about a hundred years old. I once heard that it’s the northernmost Confederate memorial, but I can’t see how that would be possible. It is understandable that with the Perryville Battlefield only a few miles away, and the history of the conflict’s effect on Danville, that there would be a monument here to honor dead CSA soldiers. More than that, it is a work of art. Period. It was created as such, and is part of of American, Kentucky, and Danville history. It makes sense to preserve it, to conscientiously interpret it, and to put it into the context of the times. Some are certain to have found it offensive, most likely from the time it was erected, and I can respect that, but it is very dangerous territory to use that as justification for the censorship or desecration of art. The whole thing brings a wave of sadness over me. I doubt that those who oppose the decision will successfully swim against a strong tide of political correctness. When the relocation takes place, I hope it ends up north of town, over at the Danville National Cemetery, near the graves of southern men who were buried far from their homes.
Each time the Taliban or other radical groups obliterate Buddhist artworks deemed objectionable, it would appear to a reasonable person, on the face of it, as an abomination. When art historian Robert Hughes describes Stalin’s repression of the Russian avant-garde after 1930, he writes that, “as a wholesale trashing of a civilization, only Hitler’s demolition of the German modernists compares with it.” Although I’m not holding my breath, it will remain my hope that American culture warriors with a self-righteous upper hand are not embarking on an enterprise that people in the future will classify as yet another ideological outrage.
Tuesday, August 15th, 2017
“Madam, do not train up your children in hostility to the government of the United States. Remember, we are all one country now… Bring them up to be Americans.”
heading into March . . .
Wednesday, March 1st, 2017I was stumped about an idea for Gwen’s “225” show about Kentucky’s history until I turned off the radio on a drive to the farm. Dana had suggested Star of Abraham, but I figured I needed to revise and extend it somehow. Near Hustonville it hit me: Lincoln’s noteworthy declaration, “I hope to have God on my side, but I must have Kentucky.” I got down a flurry of thumbnail concepts in my journal when I arrived at the Blue Bank Hall. It was barely necessary to ever look at them again, because the development of the final idea took on a momentum of its own. Tonight I finished the home stretch of the artwork when I finished painting the lettering with acrylics, assembling the components for a photograph, and making the midnight deadline with a half hour to spare. As I enter into March, my thoughts are concerned with my annual exercise. Now that I have “I Must Have Kentucky” under my belt, I am committed to a series of low-stress improvements in my collage studio and work pattern. If I also complete some new experiments, that will be icing on the proverbial cake.
Monday, June 6th, 2016
I am not surprised (but do pay attention) when progressives are characterized with analogies to the French Revolution.
“The Clintons, like the Bourbons before the French Revolution, have ensconced themselves in such a bubble of operative and media sycophancy that they’ve mistakenly viewed escalating distress and legitimate demands from citizens as mere noise. Sanders voters are taking their cue from Talleyrand, the statesman who navigated the Revolution and the turbulent 50 years that followed with remarkable success: ‘I have never abandoned a party before it abandoned itself.’”
— Yves Smith (aka Susan Webber) 6/1/16
Taking stock
Monday, April 16th, 2012Certainly there are numerous examples in our modern world of neglected values and inhumanity, but one would hope that the race is making steady progress, when we score ourselves against the prevailing conditions of the not-too-distant past: unbridled tyranny, wholesale intolerance, unapologetic bigotry, vicious persecution, and the justification of might for its own sake. Nevertheless, there are deeply troubling problems with aggressive human greed at the core: gross manipulation of the food supply, relentless loss of biodiversity, the trampling of fragile cultures for resource acquisition, a mass media that thrives on the banal, and the insidious stripping of individual freedoms in the quest for political gain (to name a few). Although woefully less self-reliant, I think that most human beings are less violent and more sensitive to others than our typical counterpart from previous ages, but the base distortions that drive our pervasive communications infrastructure would make us believe otherwise.
Indebted to Merz
Tuesday, February 28th, 2012Three of my works have been acquired by the Ontological Museum in connection with the centennial of collage, 1912–2012. No visual art form is more vital than collage on its one-hundredth birthday. Certainly there are antecedents in mosaic, the fabric arts, and various folk traditions, but the art historians have decided that either a Frenchman or a Spaniard crossed a significant threshold a dozen years into the previous century. Some may continue to debate whether collage as a technique was “invented” by Georges Braque or Pablo Picasso, but in my considered view, the seminal genius of the medium was Kurt Schwitters, perhaps the first modern artist to fully master the process. That should be no surprise to anyone who follows this blog.
Clan Valley ~ the place to go . . .
Sunday, November 27th, 2011Out of the blue — a rare eagle-eye view!
Recently I had the great fortune to enjoy a flight in a small plane with a pilot who is a fellow bicyclist. Earlier in the summer he mentioned that I should go up with him, but I forgot about it until I received his invitation by email. I was excited to join him, and I was prepared to share whatever he wanted to do. Unexpectedly, as soon as we departed the airport vicinity above Junction City, he asked me what I wanted to see. And so I happily guided him to a destination in the Casey County knobs — for any red-blooded member of the Dixon Clan, it was unquestionably the “place to go.”
This is the part of the story where clearly I should provide some kind of apt description of just how magnificent that experience proved to be. Instead, I hope that a few pictures will capture the perspective better than anything I might write. I hadn’t been in a position to do any aerial photography for at least 15 years or more. At that time, I had borrowed superior camera equipment and was in an aircraft which enabled me to hang out an open window with Dana clutching my belt. Because I was on the clock for a client that day, the idea of heading toward Blue Bank Road wasn’t in the cards. This time around, I only had our inadequate digital, and the plane windows were picking up a lot of glare, so I did my best to grab some decent angles in the time available, falling short of the desired “full coverage.”
There was also a significant degree of turbulence that morning, and when my friend offered me the controls, I declined, believing that the constant bumpiness would deprive me of any true “feel” for whatever modest adjustments I would be brave enough to make. Nevertheless, one can’t ascend in a small craft without being gripped by the wonder of flight. We were soaring with the land, just as pioneering aviators had done. As we circled through Marion County, past Forkland and into the Boyle County I had crisscrossed on a bike for nearly 20 years, my “sense of place” shifted abruptly from a ground-based familiarity to an eagle-eye awareness. I was struck with the thought of my father leaving behind his life as a pilot, giving up flying after he had known these same awesome perceptions far more profoundly than me. Why? Was it the unpleasant “baggage” from too many wartime hours in the air? Was it the power of youth’s love for field, river bottom, and the woodland creatures of a surface world? Or was it something else entirely?
For John Edward, there must surely have been times during that first decade after the Pacific tour when he faced an opportunity to reclaim the sky. A different vision must have taken hold not long after he came home—a vision of family and fatherhood that had no meaningful role for skills he had learned, taught, and then relied upon to survive a hazardous duty. Perhaps he had read Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, the famous French writer and pioneer of flight who was lost over the Mediterranean in 1944. Of Saint-Exupéry, David McCullough says it best for me:
Central to all he wrote was the theme of responsibility. In The Little Prince, it is the fox, finally, that tells the Little Prince what really matters in life, by reminding him of the flower, the single rose, he had cared for at home… “Men have forgotten this truth,” says the fox. “But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose.” Writing of his friend Guillaumet, an intrepid mail pilot, in Wind, Sand and Stars, Saint-Exupéry said that moral greatness derives more from a sense of responsibility than from courage or honesty. “To be a man is, precisely, to be responsible.”
Responsibility. Any of us would be challenged to find another word that better fit the man we knew as Grandy-bo, Dadbo, Eddie … that handsome young man of the open sky who would return to earth and become the founder of our Clan.
Aerials taken on Sunday morning, November 6, 2011.
Click photos to enlarge.
This is Clan Valley — the place to go . . .
The heartland of our Clan, the vision of a man . . .
The Blue Bank Farm and family cemetery . . .
The “Heartyard” and home to our Clan mother . . .
The Realm of Greystone includes Knob End . . .
The former Cabinhood recently changed hands . . .
The Shire — newest addition to Clan holdings . . .
to California by train ~ part three
Monday, November 21st, 2011We grabbed a table in the lounge car for an early breakfast. That first sip of hot coffee tasted good after my miserable night. I had shifted from one spot to another, trying to find a minimum level of comfort, including a stint on the floor at the back of our coach car, where the attendant usually stows the vacuum cleaner. For some reason I still can’t stay reclined in my seat for very long. The ugly scrub east of Reno gave way to an increasingly beautiful climb into California. Now I must read the late Eckert’s account of the Gold Rush to fully appreciate this majestic country. Today I shall just soak it all in visually. I keep my camera handy, but most of the cloudy views are for the fleeting eye only. On the long, slow ascent up the Truckee River Canyon, each snow-topped pile of rock or dusted pine was its own quiet work of art. On through the “big hole” to top the crest of the Sierra Nevada range past Donner Lake, and we now begin our descent to the anticipated destination. It’s intriguing to contemplate reversing this entire journey in another ten days or so. How will I be thinking and feeling differently when that departure time arrives?
Thursday, July 7th, 2011
†
Allan W Eckert
1 9 3 1 – 2 0 1 1
He told the
story of America.
R I P
Shoot, Munch, Quaff
Tuesday, March 22nd, 2011
One of the highlights of each year has become my participation in the traditional British Single-Shot Sporting Rifle Match held at Simpson Range. In the busy lead-up to this annual event, I clearly lost interest in a daily log entry for the March Exercise, so now I’ll just focus on applying for the rest of the month my regimen for self discovery, putting aside the blogging ritual. The combination of friendship, hospitality, competition, precision activity, history, fine food, and the joy of life make for a unique weekend that holds a place in my heart to rival September in the Les Cheneaux and our quarterly Clan gatherings. I am a privileged man to have gained access to touchstones of authenticity such as these. John O’Donohue said that “the duty of privilege is absolute integrity.” There’s my food for today’s thought.
De jure belli ac pacis
Tuesday, December 8th, 2009I was disappointed to discover that my copy of War and Peace is “edited for the modern reader.” Should have realized it much sooner, since it’s “only” 741 pages long. Nevertheless, I’m feasting on the translation with immense pleasure, while at the same time skimming General Armand de Caulaincourt’s memoir, With Napoleon in Russia. I don’t know why I dart around like this, just when I was beginning to take a new interest in the American Revolution. Perhaps this will bring me around again to our second war with Great Britain, or a fresh look at Tecumseh. 1812 was certainly a landmark year, and right at the heart of my favorite period in our national story. I shall never exhaust my curiosity with this era. But here’s the real question— How can I turn my attention away from the works of Tolstoy? He understood, as Shakespeare did, just about everything there was to know about anything.
Find your place in the sun
Tuesday, July 8th, 2008Hey, look, I probably get a buzz seeing famous people as much as the average guy, but I take absolutely no interest in celebrities just because they happen to qualify for the description. On the other hand, I really do like the stars I respect, especially if my admiration for them is rooted in the “silver age” of television, and I’d probably step on my Yorkie to shake the hand of Peter Graves.
When I learned that Johnny Crawford was coming back to Danville, I knew I had to meet him and experience his current style of entertainment. Like Kurt Russell and Ron Howard, he was a child star who kept himself on the rails, and he went forward to do an impressive range of cool things in his life as an artist, athlete, and entrepreneur. Most of all, he held true to his earliest passion—music.
If Dana didn’t fully appreciate how much I was looking forward to hearing Johnny’s vintage dance band, it was because I tried my best to avoid behaving like a groupie beforehand, but I think she understood when I dug out one of Dadbo’s old bow ties and taught myself how to tie it. It’s been quite awhile since the two of us had a nice picture taken, so I was tickled when Joan and Caitlan agreed to document our night out. Thanks, ladies!
The extra time for pictures cost us the opportunity to pick out a choice table at the Playhouse indoor theater, but I managed to discover an empty love seat near the stage. It was a fine spot to watch Crawford re-enact the period manners of a band leader from the 1920s and 1930s. We were treated to a superb group of musicians 
hired locally to become his vintage orchestra for the evening, including Miles Osland, Dave Henderson, and Rick Cook. Watching Crawford’s seat-of-the-pants coordination was a delight, and the entire effect was a testament to the sheer professionalism of everyone on stage. On top of that, the “CD Release Party” aspect seemed to put the star of the show in a heightened mood, and his vocals and repartee at the microphone were thoroughly entertaining. I think Dana would agree the only way it could have been more enjoyable is if I’d spent less time with the bow tie and a bit more with remembering how to do the fox trot. Maybe next time; I hope he’s invited back for an encore performance.
Years ago, when I fell in love with Danville’s brass band festival, I gained a new, profound regard for the quality of American band music from the mid nineteenth century to the era of The Great War. I also came to understand how much work it takes to resurrect all of the instrumentation to recreate a period sound. This summer, Johnny Crawford shared with our community the same preservationist spirit, and it makes me think he may be emerging as one of the country’s most important historians of our popular music, salvaging lost orchestrations and discarded arrangements of favorite dance tunes from that unique period between two World Wars. As David McCullough reminds us, Americans from a different period of our history were less similar to us than we like to believe. They lived differently, and they thought differently. It was the age of radio. Everyone aspired to be a musician, if they didn’t already sing or play an instrument. All popular music was music meant for dancing, and if people didn’t go out to dance, they probably were at a motion picture to watch others dance. There was a spirit in America that observers such as David Gelernter have told us is all but lost. Well, perhaps so, but not if Johnny Crawford has anything to say about it.
Don’t go ’round moping, hoping happiness will come.
That’s not the way; it doesn’t pay.
If you want happiness, help yourself to some.
Why don’t you try to take life the way I do:Let the whole world sigh or cry,
I’ll be high in the sky,
Up on top of a rainbow,
Sweeping the clouds away.I don’t care what’s down below.
Let it rain or let it snow.
I’ll be up on a rainbow,
Sweeping the clouds away.I have learned life’s lesson: fighters who always win
Are those who can take it right on the chin—and grin.So I shout to everyone:
“Find your place in the sun,
Up on top of a rainbow,
Sweeping the clouds away!”
Various & Sundry, part seventy-six
Saturday, June 7th, 2008— Month of May workout totals: Swim-0; Bike-5; Run-1; Lift-2; Yoga-0; Pilates-1; Lupus Drills-2
— When a boy makes his uncertain journey toward manhood, he will never forget the famous beauties that adorned his itinerary:
Charmian Carr — Connie Stevens — Donna Mills — Peggy Fleming
Diana Hyland — France Nuyen — Madlyn Rhue — Barbara Bain
Janet Leigh — Barbara Hershey — Julie Christie — Natalie Wood
— After nearly a month away from the weights, I found myself back in the gym yesterday, hoping to get my fitness regimen into balance. Hearing a Roberta Flack tune always gets me thinking of college days.
Back in 1971, one of my earliest journal entries was about taking a date to see Play Misty For Me. The experience forever solidified my appreciation of Clint Eastwood as a cool dude, and I now regard that motion picture as the beginning of how he used his Dirty Harry appeal to negotiate with Warner Brothers a series of opportunities that would enable him to became one of the most extraordinary filmmakers of our time. If, like me, you have any libertarian leanings at all, you really have to admire a guy like Clint. He’s never been afraid to express his disdain for political correctness or those who shamelessly traffic in it.
— Not that there’s any reason for you to remember, but last summer I daydreamed in this space about my hope that a boyhood idol would eventually return to Central Kentucky (not as a mere beau, but as a performer). Needless to say, I’m thrilled to learn that my wish is granted.
Johnny Crawford is best known for playing Mark McCain on “The Rifleman” from 1958 to 1963. Unlike today, it was a time when the quality of the typical child actor in Hollywood would raise the mental question, “Whose powerful uncle pulled strings with the producer?” Crawford was one of a handful of young television performers—Patty Duke, Ron Howard, Tim Considine, Kurt Russell—that were cast for their obvious talent. Throughout his run on the popular series, he not only held his own impressively with star Chuck Connors, but opposite a constellation of entertainment heavyweights, including Dennis Hopper, John Carradine, Martin Landau, Kevin McCarthy, Sammy Davis Jr., Buddy Hackett, Warren Oates, and Michael Landon. Trite as it sounds—those were the days. The tube was small, but the icons were huge.
— The passing of Jim McKay makes me think of so many entertaining Saturday afternoons in the 60s, as we experienced the infancy of sports-casting through his distinctive coverage. A decade later, any of us who were watching in 1976 will always remember his marathon reporting from Munich, when his place in the history of television was secured. McKay and the late Roone Arlidge surely redefined the medium during those years, and, ever since, I’ve been as equally fascinated by the technology and professionalism of sports broadcasting as I’ve been with what happens before the cameras in a venue of competition. So far, 2008 has been a great year for upsets—beginning with an exciting Super Bowl, and on through another horse racing saga that culminated dramatically today. Zito has firmly established himself as the preeminent crusher of Triple Crown dreams—a class act, in contrast to the trainer of Big Brown, who, with his arrogant posturing, disqualified himself for much sympathy. Instead of partying with Trump in Manhattan, he’ll be, as Marty put it, “just another sweaty guy in a horse stall” tonight. On the other hand, one has to feel sorrow for the Kent D family and be concerned for the talented stallion himself. Yes, there’s only one compound phrase for it: The thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat. Let the summer games begin!
Memorial Day Musings
Monday, May 26th, 2008False happiness can be built on willful ignorance, escapism, denial, or even convenient lapses of memory. Lord knows I’ve indulged my share of each, and shall dedicate current efforts toward genuine balance and the renunciation of procrastination. The shallow gratification that accrues with patterns of creative avoidance is too thin to endure self-scrutiny. With every new commitment comes the potential for mishandled priorities, but also an opportunity to evolve greater accountability, and so I continue to make promises. Is there any other way to reinforce a level of personal integrity upon which true serenity can be achieved?
Each artist selected for the Maker’s Mark project was permitted to submit four concepts in the next round of approvals—which I did— and received the go-ahead for two of my ideas. Final pieces are due by the end of August. For my latest journal-cover assignment, I chose a more “tech look” than previous illustrations. Despite computer-related obstacles, I was pleased with the solution, but I haven’t heard from the client yet. However, I did hear back from the owner of “Song of America,” and his one-word response to my packaging layout for black-oil sunflower seeds was WOW, with 28 exclamation points. (Yes, I’m weird; I did actually count them.)
I suppose it’s time to move on. Just heard thunder again, so I’m commiserating with those who planned outdoor events for this holiday. Also thinking about America’s war dead, and remembering that, proportionately, most of them were from the Revolutionary War and Civil War. When computed in terms of today’s population, one gains the shock of how dreadfully huge a segment of our society was lost in both conflicts. May they all have eternal rest. We owe them everything because they sacrificed everything.
