“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 ‘Technology’ Category
With a whole bunch o’ help from my friends . . .
Thursday, May 30th, 2019Here’s an overview from The Collage Miniaturist about the
creative development of my tenth poster for the GABBF:
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
“While many modern-day album artworks tend to favor strict minimalism, The Beatles make a serious case for going bold and wacky without any type of restraint.”
— Nicole Singh
As promised, I’m devoting an entry to the project that kept me out of the collage studio for at least a dozen weeks. I shall beg your forgiveness at the outset for delving into the details of a digital process. Not only has this site kept a seven-year focus on traditional cut-and-glue techniques, but I haven’t indulged the applied-arts side of my multiple personality as a graphic artist. I’m going to depart from that now — perhaps just this once — because it’s been an extraordinary circumstance for me, and a few of you may find the description worthwhile. At any rate, I encourage everyone to read Patrick Roefflaer’s article for a story that is genuinely more interesting than mine!
Not so long ago, a prominent local musician and former brass band director took me aside at an exhibition opening. Based on her recognition of my fondness for collage, she asked me if I would take on a visual homage to the Sgt. Pepper’s album cover design. The purpose would be to mark the 30th production of the Great American Brass Band Festival, held each June in our hometown of Danville, Kentucky. 
It had always been her dream to link the announcement of her retirement at the annual weekend of concerts to the classic album, with a medley of tunes arranged for brass instruments. Sadly, a severe health crisis had forced her early retirement before that could happen, but she preserved hope that a multi-discipline Beatles tribute for the festival’s upcoming milestone might happen in 2019.
I’d already designed nine posters during the festival’s lifespan. To create a tenth was tempting, and this idea had a barbed hook. It really snagged me. My previous experience offered no sense of proportion about the magnitude of time to which I was committing myself when I said, “Sure.” The first obstacle was whether we were allowed to do it at all. we soon discovered that an enormous number of entities had made a visual salute to the famous image over the past fifty years, and that it had already become a ritual of pop culture, in spite of the complexities involved. There’s even a website that shows over a hundred previous parodies. Before long, we had mutually decided that it might as well be our local festival’s turn to pay homage.
The assignment was now in my lap, and I was overwhelmed with a desire to do it justice and exceed expectations. I found inspiration in filmmakers who I admired (like John Frankenheimer or Robert Altman), because their time-consuming approach would be required for what I’d bitten off. I wanted to bring the same passion, attention to detail, and collaborative leadership to my effort. I ended up shelving all other priorities and putting a ludicrous amount of time into the project, but not without the help of many partners. First and foremost was my wife, Dana, who jumped in head first to play a key part in nearly every aspect of the creative enterprise. After getting advice from an experienced model railroader, she began crafting a miniature flower garden to display the festival acronym for a mandatory foreground allusion. More than once, she would come back to the unfinished artifact to find that its spongy base had “spit out” some of the “flowers.”
The rest of it hinged on two important elements — whether we could pull together our own “Fab Four,” and then surround them with a crowd of numerous figures. 
It was determined that the Beatles would be “represented” by the previous directors of the Advocate Brass Band, a Golden-Age-style band associated with every festival. Their initial formation to color a political rally in 1989 was a direct influence on the organizing of the annual event itself. This made perfect sense because the foursome would include the festival’s pair of co-founders and their band uniform jackets, although not psychedelic, would be an effective visual reference point. We immediately knew that some digital sleight of hand would be called for, since only two of the four were locally present.
One was near a university town many counties away, and the fourth had moved to a distant state. It took lots of coordination to solve that equation, and we pulled it off with the crucial participation of my friend, photography pro Bill Griffin, who took time away from his day job of wealth management. In keeping with the guiding theme of “a little help from our friends,” getting all the ingredients for the poster art to coalesce would demand the magnanimous assistance of others — furnishing space, props, and standing in at our photo shoot, plus image research and acquisition.
At a certain point, I began to focus on researching the background “crowd of fans,” to honor the countless performers, organizers, sponsors, staff, and volunteers who made three decades of festivals possible. It became a daunting, complicated task of culling and selection. I realized that the poster would be the size of a picnic table if everyone who deserved to be on it were included. The original setup by Jann Haworth and Peter Blake was peopled with life-size, hand-tinted cut-outs that imposed a certain physical limitation, and it was fabricated within two weeks. A virtual approach was too open-ended for comfort. There was a limit to how methodical I could become in choosing ingredients for the montage of faces. The solution was to approach it more intuitively, as I would any of my “maximalist” works.
All collage art worthy of the name is irrational at some level, and one of the reasons the original Beatles art is so iconic is the sheer illogic of it. And so, for us, that idea led to a few incongruous personalities, such as Carrie Nation and Howdy Doody. The final assembly was challenging, painstaking, rewarding, and fun, all at the same time. After refining the list of candidates and compiling the source files, each master image had to be sillouetted, retouched, color balanced, and optimized for inclusion. It seemed like the rearranging would never end before every element of the composition appeared to “belong.” I shall confess that I do not possess a powerhouse workstation. The increasing quantity of digital layers in Photoshop had to be continuously merged to prevent the composite file from paralyzing my Macintosh. Even so, it would often exceed 500 MB in size. I tried to save and back up as often as feasible without breaking stride, but there were periodic freezes that would result in “three steps forward and two steps back.”
There should be no misunderstanding, however. The marathon endeavor was punctuated by many fortunate, often astonishing developments. One of our “Fab Four” individuals made a vital connection with an outstanding photographer in Athens, Georgia, who went the extra yard in matching my parameters for an important superimposition of the black-suited Dr Foreman. He also shot an antique bass drum to add another convincing Sgt Pepper’s touch — the same one that appeared on the festival’s first poster in 1990, and it still had the original, hand-painted emblem! Dana took the lead in preparing the poster “mechanical” for offset production, as she always has done for Dixon Design. She also knocked one out of the park during the solicitation of bids. As a contribution to the landmark production, Mike Abbott of Thoroughbred Printing agreed to produce the job at cost, and spent an hour with the press operator, Dana, and me, making sure we were satisfied with the quality.
Our closing duty was to devise a printable key for identifying all the individuals and design elements. My original idea of including a longer “blurb” for each line item quickly became far-fetched when producing the abbreviated version dragged on. By the time we declared it done, the “labor of love” vibe had been exhausted. There wasn’t much love left in the air, and I just wanted all of it to hit the street, which it has, of course, and the positive response has been even more than I anticipated.
This post is already far too long, so I won’t get started on my Eva Marie Saint story, but I need to explain why we included a picture of the creators, and then I’ll finish up on an appropriate collage note. I was adamant that I would not fall prey to the Hitchcock Urge. I had no interest in, nor justification for, inserting myself, since I was making so many brutal choices to leave others on the cutting room floor. Dana was in total agreement, but the team of people who helped with the proofing process took an opposing viewpoint. Their collective drum beat was that the final rendition must include us! You can see that we eventually waved the white flag and stuck a small portrait on top of the Bourbon barrel.
A tiny figure seated at a kitchen table was provided by the Great American Dollhouse Museum as a nod to the Shirley Temple doll in the original composition, which also featured a Madame Tussauds wax figure of Sonny Liston on the opposite side. I knew there had to be a way to include Kentucky’s own Muhammed Ali in our version. Rather than take unavailable time to solicit permission to use a photograph that might get buried in the sea of faces, I turned to my friend Robert Hugh Hunt, who kindly let us insert the extraordinary collage portrait from his 20th Century Icons series!
Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends!
30th GABBF Poster
digital homage by Dana and John A Dixon
24 x 36 inches
Purchase one now!
Online order page includes a printable key to identification,
plus a ‘special thank you’ to all our essential collaborators!
Look! It’s a bird . . .
Monday, January 26th, 2015Intelligence-gathering drones to mimic the look and behavior of bumblebees, hummingbirds, and bluefin tuna? Kiddoes, this will not be your Grandy-bo’s Cold War.
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.
March-Ex VI: hacked through on day seven
Wednesday, March 7th, 2012If the front side of the coin of success is the ability to set clear goals for yourself, then the flip side of the same coin is the ability to get yourself organized and work on your most valuable tasks, every minute of every day. Your choices and decisions have combined to create your entire life to this moment. To change or improve your life in any way, you have to make new choices and new decisions that are more in alignment with who you really are and what you really want.
—from Goals! by Brian Tracy
Struggled through the old quicksand of dragging a project up to its production deadline, while discovering more and more unsolved problems. But, as usual, with two minds brought to bear, everything was resolved in the end. Then I hurried over to the bank to test the digital projector made available to me for Friday’s presentation. Just giving the guys a quick preview of my talk made me realize I know my subject thoroughly. The topic is not the issue; it’s all about the delivery. Linda’s workshop was an unexpected clinic on public presentation. With that in mind, I have plenty of time tomorrow to prepare. Bert Cooper exclaimed, “Turning creative success into business is your work, and you have failed!”
Grounds for Confusion
Rhetorically speaking
Thursday, April 28th, 2011Why did the royal wedding have to fall on my birthday and usurp its date forever? Why did a wave of tornadoes hit Alabama instead of Kentucky? Why did Uncle Clarence have to expire three days before I planned to visit him? Questions with no answers cluttered my mind this morning when I awoke early to prepare for our departure. It was off to Chicagoland for Marty’s graduation from USN Boot Camp. Dana, Terie, and I pushed steadily north through a barrage of rain storms. We saw our first-ever wind farm southeast of Gary. In spite of our best precautions, we hit rush-hour traffic on the Dan Ryan Expressway, but had enough in the tank to endure the gridlock. We finally settled into our accommodations a half hour from Great Lakes.
Ides of Pooch
Tuesday, March 15th, 2011
March Exercise —day fifteen— Spent most of the day with interactive classwork on the Web. Can’t believe how quickly the hours pass when I immerse myself like this. KET replays Charlie Rose at noon, which makes for a convenient lunch in front of the tube, if I don’t swim laps. It was another hour devoted to the NYT guys who write about emerging personal technology, and that means they talk mostly about the newest Apple products. I don’t really lust after that stuff if I don’t pay attention, but how can I not pay attention? I can’t seem to put my finger on it yet, but there’s something vitally important about these advances that directly affect my future as a creative person.
Today’s sight bite— A pit bull, brownish lab, gray shih-tzu, and some sort of Jack Russell-chihuahua mix —c-l-i-c-k-e-t-y-c-l-i-c-k— were among the assortment of canines sparked into animation by my brisk town walk this evening.
Tomorrow— Perhaps the warm sun will be back . . .
The New Cheese
Wednesday, March 9th, 2011
March Exercise —day nine— There is much for me to learn about adapting to the evolving field of graphic design. I simply don’t know yet what it will be like to make a living as a designer during this decade of the twenty-teens. I’ve given most of my creative life to that profession. There are things that I will do to keep pace with changes in the communication arts, but there are other things that I will watch pass by, with no intent to chase. On the other hand, I’ve determined to accept the challenge of learning entirely new skills and frames of reference for an emerging phase of life. I’m not prepared to disclose more about this now, but suffice it to say that I’m currently a couple years into a learning curve that will enable me to generate income in a completely different way. It’s something of which I’ve always been capable, and in which I’ve always held a strong interest, but advances in technology now make it feasible for me to follow my enthusiasm for developing such a new kind of expertise. I should be able to apply these new skills in earnest by the time I turn 60 years old. I expect it to become a vital part of my work-style into later years, and, when fully successful, to provide new levels of creative freedom. In actuality, there is no summer and autumn of life. There is only the promise of perpetual springtime.
Today’s sight bite— The brave blooms of March —c-l-i-c-k— that rear their purple heads when nothing else looks like spring.
Tomorrow— An important observance . . .
Geekhood or Else
Tuesday, March 8th, 2011
March Exercise —day eight— When your “cheese” has been moved, it often takes time before disbelief gives way to action, but unconscious denial is complex, and it peels off in layers like sunburned skin. I’ve been slower to adjust in some areas and quicker to respond in others. The core aspects of being a graphic communicator were disseminated into lay culture in such a gradient way that it was too easy for me to believe that people still valued the basic skill set. Which services a customer might now consistently look to the professional to achieve is increasingly more difficult for me to identify. For over 30 years we have scrupulously avoided working “from the hands down,” convincing ourselves that what clients really wanted were concepts. But now that nearly anyone can quickly execute one’s own ideas in an adequate fashion, I’m beginning to think that what most of them desired all along was someone fluent in an esoteric technical process beyond their ken. Question: What shall I do, now that producing graphics is no longer mysterious?
Today’s sight bite— The shapes, colors, and textures of downtown, —c-l-i-c-k— ready to shake off drab winter and preside over another season of human activity.
Tomorrow— Publication design continues to be the counterbrace of my life as a functioning designer . . .
The Do-over Day
Sunday, March 6th, 2011
March Exercise —day six— That feeling in the pit of the gut when one’s new car gets its first scratch on bumper, fender, or door— exactly what I sensed today after my well-meaning blunder rendered Dana’s refurbished Mac Pro unable to start up. Yes, it meant I couldn’t present to her a pristine configuration as the result of my several days of work. But that’s all. No need to get agitated… no need to react as I might have in the past. Finished is better than perfect. Apple anticipates such a thing with its “Archive and Install” option, so use it and don’t fret. I now can see how, in the past, something like this might have set in motion a spiral of self-criticism. And so I put my checklist in reverse, came to terms with a few hours of delay, and took Walie on a long, chilly walk around Bellevue Cemetery.
Today’s sight bite— Muted tones of stone the same colors as the variegated sky —c-l-i-c-k— constituting rows of aged grave markers in a sea of desaturated grass.
Tomorrow— The Monday discipline is applied again in earnest . . .
The Clear Light
Tuesday, March 1st, 2011
March Exercise —day one— Unexpected March is upon me. The day is marked by a rare, scintillating clarity that only arrives after a major storm front has passed through the region with its atmospheric cleansing. One mild day a lamb does not make, but this seems to be in contrast to the signal from Punxsutawney. I’d prefer to see the last of winter now. Yesterday, after an overnight stay at Blue Bank, Dana and I drove Mombo into town for her medical appointments during a heavy downpour. With Marty’s departure for USN training, plus two studio computers to configure, the close of February has caught me by surprise this year. Very well. Let us begin it all again.
Today’s sight bite— Vivid architectural facades bathed in pure sunlight —c-l-i-c-k— as I walked to the campus pool for my midday mile.
Tomorrow— Voice-over supervision for the bank’s Jacob T campaign . . .
Various & Sundry, part eighty-five
Thursday, December 30th, 2010I do not write regularly in my journal… I see no reason why I should. I see no reason why any one should have the slightest sense of duty in such a matter.
—Occupant of The Hall Bedroom
— Year of 2010 workout totals: Swim-35; Bike-40; Powerwalk-3; Run-0; Lift-0; Pilates-0; Lupus Drills-0
— There is no good justification for having any of these annual numbers come in under 48. I managed to preserve some level of basic fitness this year, thanks only to continued pool access and my fondness for being on a bicycle, but I can’t kid myself—if I don’t reverse this slow decline in vigorous activity, I shall pay a price over time, and it will be a price I can’t afford. My hope for 2011: a new momentum of exercise that will result in a more balanced routine, with 7-10 pounds of weight loss by my birthday.
— The best exhibitions I’ve experienced this year? The ones that occur to me now are the Surrealism show at the Cincinnati Art Museum, the California Impressionists show at the Dayton Art Institute, and the Collage show at Northern Kentucky University. I shall not soon forget seeing my first original Schwitters collage or Cornell box. I am challenged to learn more about Louise Nevelson, Hannah Höch, Alfred Mitchell, William Wendt, Percy Gray, Matthew Rose, David Wallace, Cecil Touchon Janet Jones, Dennis Parlante, and Stephanie Dalton Cowan.
— One of these days I’ll start to fully comprehend what mobile technologies portend for my creative work style. Believe it or not, I still don’t know what to make of these changes in communications. They seem to be touching everything, even my annual experience at Barefoot’s Resort. Being able to have a MacBook Pro and access to a wireless broadband connection changes everything about staying on top of project priorities while out of the studio. Bullets showed me his Kindle and I liked it. I didn’t expect to. Everybody around me seems to have an iPhone. How can I stay abreast? How can I hope to remain a communication designer amid all these transformations?
— Dana’s blunder with the non-existent gas line sent me into a bit of a tailspin, until I realized that tearing apart my work space in the basement would probably result in a better situation after the dust settled. Lesson: disruptions can be opportunities. I need to embrace change more, as I used to do. Look at how Dana has taken on a new discipline with Bruce’s in-home dialysis. We all tend to make room for what we consider the most important things, and that includes procrastination.
— Very well . . . here I am at the close of another year. I can’t change a single thing about the past. In hindsight, the preceding weeks look like some type of malaise. Not that there haven’t been a few highlights, such as the Safariland Doe with my solo harvest at Blue Bank Farm, or the recent push to restore our conference room, but overall it has been a dismal quarter. Enough with the negative. I have the new-year opportunity to shake off the “humbug” and get it together. There’s always the historically strong motivator of Resolutions, to reboot my priorities and catalyze a new momentum that would carry me toward my 60th birthday in 16 months. Time to plot a systematic, gradient escalation to full engagement— physically and mentally —to balance professional, financial, and artistic activity. Reclaim it!
Awesome bevy
Monday, March 8th, 2010March Exercise V —day eight— The clock ruled the day, and it was 7 pm by the time I finished the photo-retouching for the next newspaper ad in the Jacob series. I’m astonished with how much I’ve broadened the exploration of music advantageous to my studio work, now that I have a Macintosh powerful enough to handle iTunes and Pandora.com while running intensive graphic applications. The ability to follow with minimal impediments one’s own evolving musical tastes is yet another fantastic benefit of the rapid advances in content delivery. For the first time in my life, I’m genuinely enjoying the output of great female vocalists, and have been drawn lately to the classic Portuguese samba and bossa nova tunes as a perfect adjunct to many of my typical daily tasks as a graphic designer. And, my goodness, no other ladies possess “that sweet beat” quite like Maria Rita, Gal Costa, Roberta Sa, Vanessa Da Mata, Carol Saboya, Rosa Passos, Nara Leão, Bebel Gilberto, and so many others. Maybe it’s that early infusion of Lalo Schifrin that predisposed me, but, damn, it sure took me long enough to come full circle and discover Cal Tjader, Bebo Valdés, Tito Puente, and all the others.
Today’s sight bite— The familiar smile of my “bay-bo brother” —c-l-i-c-k— making a diagnosis on two different ailing vehicles within a dozen minutes.
Previously on M-Ex— The momentum is placed in service to some of my finest works of collage. (3/8/07)
Tomorrow— Vision Therapy session number eight…
Musculoskeletal setback
Tuesday, March 3rd, 2009March exercise—day three— (Dear Back, You picked a great time to act up again. Please knock it off and return my mobility. Your friend, John.) The probable result of a 24-hour dose of stress, my lower back has treated me with an unexpected spasm when I bent over to work on a snarl of power cords. Bruce is doing slightly better after they moved a dialysis unit into his ICU chamber, but he still doesn’t recognize his visitors. Mombo sent out a nice prayer request.
Today’s sight bite— The high-resolution digital television picture —c-l-i-c-k— that is a result of solid professional know-how.
Tomorrow— I have absolutely no idea what Wednesday will bring…
Crash Bucket Chronicles — Epilogue
Friday, February 20th, 2009“Death is at all times solemn, but never so much so as at sea. A man dies on shore; his body remains with this friends, but when a man falls overboard at sea and is lost, there is a suddenness in the event, and a difficulty in realizing it, which give to it an air of awful mystery.”
—Richard Henry Dana, Jr.
Two Years Before the Mast
We navigate in a sea of souls…
Grim reality has a way of sweeping aside all the self-absorbing trivialities that clog a journal like this, but rather than ask myself — “What’s the point of it all?” — why not scratch ahead with a continued search for meaning? Maybe for me. Maybe for you. Maybe, maybe not. If I stopped believing it worth a try, this would be my final post.
Not long after the bulk of our community had shaken off the surprise of our shared crisis, most of us were shocked to learn that the life of a respected local leader had been tragically lost. If his name was added to the list of Kentucky’s weather-related deaths, it is unknown to me, but what is clear is that he was found in a vacant house where he’d been working with a generator. The coroner said the circumstances were consistent with carbon monoxide poisoning. It was a mild day. He wasn’t attempting to heat the building. People speculated that the wind blew the door shut while he was operating a sump pump. The precise circumstances remain a puzzle. I didn’t know anyone active in town affairs that didn’t consider him a friend. He covered the leadership bases—from business to social service. He made multiple trips to the Gulf Coast as a volunteer to help with the Katrina response. He was highly intelligent, compassionate, and knew how to do almost anything. The Chamber of Commerce named him “outstanding citizen” over fifteen years ago, but he never slowed down. He took to his grave an unmatched knowledge of the County’s industrial development history and infrastructure. He was the last of a breed of quiet men who had made a truly significant difference. The abrupt vacancy was painfully felt. I spent two hours in line to offer his family a few words that wouldn’t sound trite. I’m not sure that I succeeded.
I didn’t attend the funeral the next day, but paid a visit with my friend Danny to the Abbey of Gethsemani. It was my first time there. It was raining and in many respects would have been considered a dismal day, but others were also making the same pilgrimage, and I found a sense of peace in the setting that defied personal understanding. God is everywhere, but keenly present in some places, and that suggests to me the appropriate use of the word “sacred.” We also stopped at the Saint Rose church in Springfield to meet Father Murray, and I had my first look at the extraordinary Bavarian-style windows. Father Murray is extraordinary, too. At age 87, he looked to me to be in his mid 70s. He told me, “Well, I’ve always gotten a lot of exercise.” He pointed out 70-year-old trees damaged in the ice storm that he helped plant when he was a novice. The seminary was moved east long ago and the associated buildings demolished, but the church remains, a splendid structure full of artistic treasures, including a 13-figure Last Supper and a 12-figure Pentecost, all wood carved in the Italian fashion. Danny wanted to show me the Convent near Loretto and to check on any damage to the outdoor Way of Sorrows. It was evident that huge limbs from the tall grove of surrounding trees had crashed all about, but the only casualty was The Crucifixion. We marveled that each figure of Our Lady had escaped harm, but that “Christ took the hit.”
Several days before, Joan had an opportunity to meet Danny when he joined Joan, Dana, and me at the Hub for coffee after one of Hayley’s high-scoring victories. It was another meaningful, in-depth discussion about heavy subjects. Joan thought she might have intruded and skewed the conversation. Nothing could be further from the truth. Danny told be later he was pleased to meet her and said that my sister was a “strong soul.” He is correct, of course, but I’ve already known that for some time. Danny is quite a soul himself. The word I would use is “magnanimous.” Yesterday he brought over his pole saw and tied himself to my chimney so he could deal with the big branches that were still jack-knifed on our rooftop. One of his earliest memories is watching his father top trees as a lumberjack in the high Sierras. He seems to have the right tool for everything and knows how to use them safely. I can’t say how much I appreciate that in two hours of work together, his generous favor of skill has saved me hundreds of dollars in tree-service fees (or maybe more, from what I’ve heard around town about what people have been charged since the storm).
So, with power now restored for Mombo and Clan Valley and the last of my storm-related headaches resolved, can I say that circumstances have returned to normal? “Not hardly,” as the expression goes. I think I’m battling the same virus that put Bruce back in the hospital yesterday with pneumonia. We’re sleeping on the floor because we made the blunder of giving away our old mattress before FedEx delivered the complete replacement set (and, wouldn’t you know it, they lost part of it). I have no complaints. Things are picking up in the studio, and I have a fun project to work on with KK & K. It’s time to put the Crash Bucket away and begin preparing for the March Exercise.
Crash Bucket Chronicles — Day Five
Saturday, January 31st, 2009“It is not the least of the advantages of allowing sailors occasionally a day of liberty, that it gives them a spring, and makes them feel cheerful and independent, and leads them insensibly to look on the bright side of everything for some time after.”
—Richard Henry Dana, Jr.
Two Years Before the Mast
HITCH—Can I finish my coffee first? COLE—You surely may.
Terie’s power was restored last night, so all of us ate dinner at her place in Junction City and watched the Ed Harris picture, Appaloosa. (Superb western!) Terie fixed me up with a replacement mobile phone before we left. Even though KU has declared our residence restored, there was no power when we got home, but things seemed a bit more tolerable, just for having been in a warm, functional space for a few hours. Dana and I shifted our sleeping arrangements to the downstairs room in front of the gas grate. I was restless most of the night, until early morning, although probably better off than I would have been on the frigid second level.
Worked outside today on the “endless” expanse of fallen limbs—slow progress without a chain saw. I talked to Bill, our business neighbor, and, although he still had no power at his Parksville residence, he discovered he had electricity in his law office across the street. Dana got through to the light company again and informed them of our status. The CPAs next door are still without power, too, and, since we’re both connected to the same utility pole, all we can do is wait for someone to show up to fix it. Ruined limbs are visibly putting pressure on the line. Bill thinks that might have triggered something.
Dana is anxious to get out of the house, so we’ve decided to use the locker rooms at Centre, find an open restaurant, and then spend the evening at Lee and David’s, not knowing what we’ll come back to. Bruce went to Terie and Marty’s, so we’re shutting off the gas and leaving for the evening—with our fingers crossed.
Crash Bucket Chronicles — Day Four
Friday, January 30th, 2009“A man is no sailor if he cannot sleep when he turns in, and turn out when he’s called.”
—Richard Henry Dana, Jr.
Two Years Before the Mast
Power to the People!
Everyone here made it through the night without mishap, but I’m not sure about sleeping again in that cold bedroom upstairs. Shelters continue to accept more people as house temperatures drop and it becomes harder to tough it out. Radio reports indicate that the north side of Danville is still basically without power, and this would include Jay’s new house, although I haven’t heard from him. Terie and Marty are still here with us. Junction City and Perryville are still dead. Boyle County is one of the worst-hit areas in a state-wide disaster. Sounds like local officials are getting their act together with a declared state of emergency and multi-agency coordination. Hometown Radio continues to suspend all music and commercial activity for ’round-the-clock emergency broadcasting. Chunks of the city are returning to normal, but it’s clear that we’re at the center of a federally declared disaster. Some people around here have more difficult days ahead. Will that include us? I’m not optimistic about our power being restored today. I would think differently if I saw a KU truck somewhere in the vicinity. All we can do is hang in and try to stay out of a shelter ourselves. At some point there will be big bills and a big mess to clean up.
To break the monotony, I decided to tackle our personal disaster zone, since the city is supposed to start picking up debris this weekend. Decided to clear the driveway again and made a good dent in the piles of debris out front, cutting limbs to the recommended maximum length. While I worked, I started to see more utility trucks moving through the neighborhood; this was encouraging. Amazing what some physical exercise and a hot shower can do for one’s disposition. That and some reheated soup made me feel like a man reborn. I have to say that we’ve been eating well. Dana can sure make do with the most meager kitchen basics.
Even if our power comes on, Bellsouth says that it will be next Wednesday before our downed phone line is re-connected. That means no Internet before mid-week. Must find a way to check email before then. Dixon Design is a business in name only as we deal with basic survival.
Crash Bucket Chronicles — Day Three
Thursday, January 29th, 2009“But all these little vexations and labors would have been nothing—they would have been passed by as the common evils of a sea life, which every sailor, who is a man, will go through without complaint—were it not for the uncertainty, or worse than uncertainty, which hung over the nature and length of our voyage.”
—Richard Henry Dana, Jr.
Two Years Before the Mast
We are out of champagne and I’m stuck my dear…
Water pressure came back around breakfast time. I immediately began filling a bathtub, but forgot about it, and it almost overflowed (my tub is so old it has no safety drain). Still no power, though. More areas of the city have been restored, including Lee and David’s neighborhood, but the whole idea of our benefiting from a downtown priority was in error, because Main Street is back in action with traffic lights and storefront electricity. Obviously, we’re not part of that circuit. More likely, we must pay the price for all the tree damage on Lexington Avenue and the block of Broadway to the west. Fortunately, our new gas water heater is operating again, so at least we now have hot, running water, which makes taking a shower the most inviting development of the day.
Two KU trucks were out front for a few minutes and linemen were examining the service connection next door, where the anchor is broken and the conduit is touching the roof of the car port. It looked like a promising sign, but a neighbor told me that the utility guys said what they’re currently working on would not affect this end of the block. I get the notion that nobody considers our area “low-hanging fruit.” I understand they want to restore the greatest number of customers as rapidly as possible, so if one happens to be on an oddball circuit, tough luck. As our house continues to lose its residual warmth, we cling to the idea that we’re on somebody’s checklist.
In the event that it could still be days before we have electricity, I’m starting to urge more conservation of cooking propane, but, at the same time, push for a more open distribution of heat throughout the rest of the house to safeguard pipes. This results in a lower temperature for the main gathering room—not a popular condition to be advocating.
Crash Bucket Chronicles — Day Two
Wednesday, January 28th, 2009“Such are the trifles which produce quarrels on shipboard. In fact, we had been too long from port. We were getting tired of one another, and were in an irritable state, both forward and aft.”
—Richard Henry Dana, Jr.
Two Years Before the Mast
IDEAL FOR: Camping, Tailgating, Emergencies
We made it through the night without any “casualties.” Before bed, Dana had reached her brother in California to discuss carbon monoxide safety issues. We cracked a window for fresh air and verified that the flames were burning a steady blue. I’d already made sure to set the flue damper for a decent exhaust draw. Dana also had contact with Joan. She was burning wood at a socked-in Kelley Ridge. Mombo had been evacuated to the Keep by Glenda, and the Hellyers were reportedly clustered around a kerosene heater. We hoped that they also had made certain of adequate ventilation.
Bruce and I disagreed over his wanting to go outside to begin clearing fallen limbs. In addition to the hazard of continuous downfall, he’d just been released from the hospital over the weekend after recovering from pneumonia. I protested harshly and we both over-reacted in turn, which is usually how these stress-induced arguments take hold. As it turned out, we soon apologized and teamed up to clear the driveway just in time to relocate our other two vehicles before more heavy limbs from the big maple crashed down. Old “Simon Kenton” is taking a horrendous splintering, and the worst may be ahead, if the wind picks up. I’d dodged a bullet with one night of “Ned” sitting underneath, but once the knee-jerk emotions were cleared out, I knew we had to get the truck and Bruce’s Corolla over to the funeral home parking lot right away. Too bad we blew our cool for a minute. I shouldn’t have been so tactless with my objections. In fact, by myself, I might’ve been unable to extract both cars in time.
So far, several massive limbs have cracked and jack-knifed to the roof of the house and garage, but none have caused significant damage. The pin oak out front has shed major downfall, too, but the only real damage to property up ’til now is one severed telephone wire. The power line looks unharmed, but we won’t have a net connection, even if the electricity is restored, until the broken land line is repaired. Our second phone line is intact, but has no high-speed service. It will be a bitch to deal with all of this when the weather breaks, but we have it no worse than nearly every property owner in sight, and clearly there are some who have sustained severe damage.
It’s a good thing I’ve been reading Two Years Before the Mast, or I’d believe that this was true hardship. Nothing must compare to laying aloft in a gale of freezing rain to furl a sail with your bare hands off Cape Horn. Lord, how did they do it? Youth and necessity, I reckon—how it does remind me of the soft life I live by comparison!
One of the first orders of the day was to get the propane camp stove from the attic, so Dana could prepare the hot meals she prescribed for all. I finally went down to the basement and opened the “crash bucket” to claim its fuel canisters and spare batteries. So long in storage for just this kind of misfortune, the large Rubbermaid tub filled with emergency supplies hadn’t been disturbed or replenished since the Y2K scare. We defied the warning against using the camp stove indoors and set it up in the kitchen, but closed off the room to the rest of the house, keeping the back door open for fresh air. While in use, the kitchen’s temperature was not much different than that outside. Dana is nothing else if not a trouper. She used some poultry that was in danger of spoiling to fix a tasty fried-chicken dinner, and I helped make the mashed potatoes.
We had plenty of drinking water, since we routinely distill our own and maintain several days worth on hand. I dug out my Sony Walkman to listen to local radio reports. Garrard County has no public water. Wal-Mart and Food Lion sold out of bottled water. Inter-County Energy phone lines are out and even the 911 call center can’t make contact with them, due to jammed lines. Reportedly, crews are now closing in on 30 hours without sleep in their efforts to restore power. With the forecast of 15 mph winds tonight, lines could continue to come down again, even after repairs are made. If the current comes back on, I can’t think of anything to do first except distill more water, in case we lose power again. Other priorities? Cook food and run the furnace as long as it lasts. I can presume that downtown Danville will be a priority for responders, but, with the latest news, we may need to face another cold night without electricity before we have the benefit of repairs—maybe two.
As the light begins to fail, I’ll make these last notes of the day. Lamp oil has been added to the lantern and new batteries have been inserted in preparation for another night without power. Radio says the entire twelve-county Touchstone grid is down, with a spokesperson declaring “several days” before expectations of wide service. No word from Kentucky Utilities about the city, but I would assume the prospects are better. No more news from Clan. Dana tried to reach Eagle Nest, but no success. Bruce was able to charge a cellular phone battery with his car’s converter. It’s getting too dark to write comfortably, so it’s time for me to be about my duties at nightfall. It will be colder than last night, but the gas is still on. God knows how much it’s costing us to burn constantly like this. My prayer is for a quiet night, and the return of power on the morrow.
Various & Sundry, part eighty-two
Tuesday, December 30th, 2008— Month of November workout totals: Swim-4; Bike-2; Run-2; Lift-2; Yoga-0; Pilates-2; Lupus Drill-3
— Here it is, the tail end of December, without my making a full entry in well over a month. I suppose I haven’t had much to say, or maybe I’ve been bogged down in the same economic pessimism which seems to grip the country (and who needs to hear more of that?). Well, enough of procrastination. Let’s take an overdue look at some recent personal developments of a more positive nature:
— Bridget at Maker’s Mark® announced that The Mark of Great Art Website now lists the final disposition of our summer collection. Pursuit of Happiness is hanging at Cantaloupe (35 Charlotte Road, London) and The Mark of Stardom ended up at Toys (Calle Infanta Isabel, Madrid). I received good exposure in a feature about the London event, which was also used to raise money that provides visual art projects for people with mild-to-profound learning difficulties. You might agree that the article is not that well written, but who’s complaining? Those Brits don’t understand real English anyway, yuhknowhattahmean?
— I completed my newest wood engraving and returned to Larkspur for a day of printing on Gray’s antique Vandercook, a marvelous piece of equipment to which I’m blessed to be given access. No. 11 at the Paddock is derived from a digital I took at Keeneland during the recent Fall Meet. I also took the opportunity to finally create a numbered edition of Waiting for Joe, my first block under Wesley’s guidance. Needless to say, this low-res image is a poor representation of the actual engraving—
— Although my hope was to devise “The Original Joe’s Christmas Box” for our CAC’s holiday exhibition, I did manage to deliver Cosmic Cusp, a fusion of previous year-end compositions. I made the deadline in response to Dana’s suggestion, and the resulting piece is a stronger effect than the individual mixed-media components. That’s synergy for you!
— Sara Jane stopped by today to take her first look at my latest portrait commission, and it’s no exaggeration to report that she’s delighted with the result. Three Girlfriends is a departure for me. I haven’t worked with acrylics in ages, but I chose the medium for what I thought would be an appropriate interpretation of her original photograph. The picture of ladies posing dramatically on a beach suggested a series of translucent glazes to capture the luminosity of the morning surf, and lent itself to the back-lighting of the figures. I’m pleased that it worked out as well as it did, but I had the notion that if I patiently built up layers of thin color and milky washes on a smooth panel, I could avoid a brush-stroke technique (not my strong suit) and rely on years of experience handling liquid effects. I put in some necessary details with colored pencil, but the sealed acrylic surface made it more like “rubbing” tones and highlights, as opposed to typical drawing. In the final analysis, it proved to be a very interesting exploration.
— EKU’s Chitauqua Lecture Series Juried Art Exhibition (wow, that’s long) has once again favored one of my collage artworks. The upcoming “Freedom” show will include Fifteenth Cosmosaic, and I’m looking forward to the opening reception on January 23rd. As most people familiar with my work already understand, this series of spontaneous “mystical” compositions originated with graduation presents for my nieces and nephews. I’ve never been certain about how it might appeal to a public audience, but perhaps this is a good indicator.
— Three years ago I wrote about Paula, who lost a bout with cancer too early in life. During that time, the KBBC worked to find a way to put to good use the proceeds from the sale of the “Share the Road” specialty license plate. On December 11th, we finally had our public announcement of The Paula Nye Memorial Education Grants for bicyclist and pedestrian safety.
The endorsement of our effort by the Transportation Cabinet and current administration was not a foregone inevitability, but when they realized: A) Thousands of plate buyers had made a voluntary contribution to help make Kentucky roadways friendlier to non-motorized travel; B) The Commission’s intent to independently administer the allocation of funds would cost the state nothing; and C) The grant program was a fitting tribute to an employee who had worked to diligently promote highway accommodations for bicyclists and pedestrians … How could they not support our concept? To their credit, the Lieutenant Governor and the Mayor of Lexington were at the Horse Park for our kick-off event. Strangely enough, David D, the public information professional who had shown enthusiasm for our project from the beginning and had orchestrated the media splash, died suddenly at work a couple weeks before the scheduled announcement, and that made the event even more tinged with emotion than anyone could have expected.
— I came back to the Blue Bank Farm this month with a muzzleloader and tried my best to close the season with some venison. Didn’t spy a single white-tail, but had to hear about Greystone’s Astrea dragging in a ruined ten-pointer that somebody failed to successfully track after the shot. Such was my luck as a hunter this time around. I haven’t enjoyed being in the woods this much for goodness knows how long, plus I had the rare opportunity to hike the knobs with brother Fron, as we marked boundary lines and plotted a mutual strategy for selective logging throughout our holdings. I have no good excuse for not connecting my soul with the land on a more regular basis. I allow myself to forget how much I will always love those acres. Folly!
— There is much room for gratitude and optimism in the coming cycle. Nevertheless, there are many significant challenges for all of us to face in 2009. I know a guy as old as me who has been retired from GM for eight years. He’s a nice man, but did he genuinely work hard enough during 20 years of employment to deserve a big income and benefits from the age of 48 until he dies? That could easily be twice the number of years he put in as a worker, or, if he takes care of himself, even more. Now, it’s one thing to dodge Taliban rockets in God-cursed terrain. In my book those brave Americans have earned a more-than-decent pension. But assembling ugly, inefficient cars that most thoughtful people would rather not drive? That’s “a horse of a different color.” Our nation would’ve surely crashed decades ago if all corporations had been managed as poorly as the Detroit auto companies. And they want to continue juicing the taxpayers to avoid restructuring under bankruptcy? Now, that’s what I call audacity.
Various & Sundry, part eighty
Thursday, October 16th, 2008— Month of September workout totals: Swim-5; Bike-3; Run-2; Lift-0; Yoga-1; Pilates-2; Lupus Drills-0
— With my bicycle miles winding down, I’m adapting again to the Pilates routine, and the pool is beginning to feel like the best place to be for a satisfying workout. Tradesmen were replacing the lane blocks today, and the slender gal on duty was trying to tell me to avoid splashing their work area, but her voice was so soft I could barely hear her, even when she was standing close by. These students are technically lifeguards, but I wonder how often they look up from their assigned reading to see if a fiftysomething guy like me is on the bottom with a cardiac spazz-out. I’ve seen some fairly hefty dudes swimming laps in there, too, but I shouldn’t criticize, since I was a pool guard back in the day. One time I did have to pull a guy to the side who outweighed me, but it’s not like making a “save” in a pool is honest-to-goodness lifeguard work, compared to a lake or surf monitor. That would be like the difference between a first responder at a warehouse blaze and a homeowner putting out a grass fire with his garden hose.
— The deli on Fourth Street has taken a new turn and become the most interesting hangout in town. (I haven’t been within walking distance of a tap with Stella since living in Bruxelles as a callow youth.) Dana and I were down there having a chat with Geri about software upgrades, and I found myself talking like a proponent of “vintage systems.” Perhaps that’s because I’ve been making do with applications that suit my fluency, but are clearly a few notches off the cutting edge. Sometimes new means better, but not necessarily; it’s become a risky practice to make that assumption. Our friend Pat, an experienced user, and Victoria’s brother, a novice, are both living through a nightmare with their Vista operating system upgrades. People are talking about how Bob Staake illustrated a recent New Yorker cover using Photoshop version 3 on a Mac running OS7. Hey, we had our nearly 40-year-old Hobart refurbished this summer, and nobody will convince us that it isn’t far superior to anything built today. Old is the new New!
— My story about meeting Johnny Crawford was recently added to Ginia’s tribute site. She’s a very nice person. I like her quotation from Mark Twain: “A cat that sits on a hot stove, will not sit on a hot stove again. He will not sit on a cold one either.” Also found a connection at her MySpace page that Joan will get a kick out of: The all new DonGrady.com!
— I had fun creating a piece for the Library’s recent call for artwork. The opening reception for the resulting exhibit was tonight, and Nancy M won the best of show with her outstanding felt composition. Julius F was the juror, and he selected items for merit awards and honorable mention. He didn’t recognize my entry, but the collage, Cascade of Knowledge, was among those works library representatives chose for purchase and display in the new facility. This pleases me, because I produced it with the library setting in mind, hoping it would appeal to them.
— Bruce had a great letter to the editor in the paper the other day. Maybe his best so far.
— We never removed the old-fashioned TV antennas from our rooftop. I always liked the period look they gave to the dwelling, and besides, they were virtually inaccessible. Yesterday I climbed up there and installed an amplifier and new line for digital signals, without falling or electrocuting myself. By george it worked, just in time to watch the pie maker and the presidential debate.
— We always heard stories about how local county government had been interested in bidding for our downtown building on the 1988 auction day we won the Town House. That was nearly 20 years ago, and, for most of that time, we didn’t think much about it or suspect there was any continued interest. And then, with a flurry of new judicial centers being funded over the past few years, we began to hear rumors—too many to suit me—so I sought confirmation or denial from the Judge Executive. He admitted that the option to take our lot by condemnation to create the footprint for a court-system expansion had been discussed in his presence. Although he would not pledge to oppose the idea on my behalf, he declared that it was not his preferred course of action. I let him know how strongly I felt about my desire to keep our home and business location intact, here on historic West Broadway. Recently I shared the information at our annual neighborhood “Block Party.” With the current fiscal constraints on state government and the backlash against perceived extravagances in some of the judicial centers recently constructed, the mood may be slightly in our favor, but it’s difficult to shove the unpleasant possibility from the back of my mind, and the uncertainty works against the necessary enthusiasm to undertake improvement projects and the confidence to continue investing in our property.