Cats and Jammers Studio

A little tribute to Simms Tabak

Simms Tabak was one of very favorite illustrators, if not THE favorite. He very recently passed away and since I find that this blog seems more and more to be about losing artists who have touched me, it would be terribly remiss to not talk about Simms.

Although I got to know his books through reading them to my youngest son, Ben, I actually got to know his art when I first used one of his designs to wallpaper the room of my middle son, Mike. That was more than 22 years ago. Sadly, I cannot find a single image to post to show that lovely wallpaper. And it has been long papered over. It do remember that it was leaping kids, a boy and a girl, doing jumping jacks or something to that effect. If anyone has any left or knows where I can get some, PLEASE contact me!

I just discovered a wonderful video created based on his Old Lady WHo Swallowed a Fly book. It is narrated and the music sung by Cindy Lauper. I think this may be the best video adaptation of a kids' book I have ever seen. It seems that I cannot embed it. But go to Youtube and watch. It is totally worth the time.

I think my very favrotie book was the Caldecott wining, Joseph Had a Little Overcoat.

I think that this book is everything one can want in a children's book. It is has a page turning quality, with a lovely repetitive rhythm. It is fun. It is also beautifully illustrated, without being tight and self important and self congratulatory, not to mention pretentious, which is what so many kids' book art is. Not this book. The art has a wonderful mock-primitive feel that is actually extremely sophisticated and extraordinarily satisfying, from an artist's point of view. Any artist, even in the absence of liking kids' books, would love and appreciate this artwork. The art stands completely on its own. To be honest, a lot of art for kids' books may hold up in the children's book market, but would fall flat as art for art's sake. Tabak's art soars way above that crowd.

By the way. if you go to his web site, you can buy a signed poster. The proceeds are going to a college fund for his grandchildren. Satisfy your need to have his wonderful art, and also help out. I bought a few, this wonderful fish poster among them.

 

 

Now I know what my problem is!

My ethnic heritage is half Norwegian/Swedish and half Italian. The way I figure it, that is my the source of my weight problem, because when it comes to food, my appetite is the offspring of a marriage between a conquering Viking who invented the Smorgasbord and a loving Mama Mia, chanting, "Mangia, Mangia!" In other words, I love good food and drink and enjoy a great meal with close friends, or even friends not that close for that matter, as much as anything in the world. And that love is simply deadly for the waistline.

After reading Jeff Gordinier's delightful interview in today's New York Times with Simon Doonan, discussing Donnan's new book, Gay Men Don't Get Fat, I think I might develop another theory: I eat like a straight, macho guy, or, at best, a healthy Lesbian who likes to climb mountains and hunt. The solution is pretty straightforward, if not "straight": I need to eat like a Gay Guy: sushi, salad, berries, light, light, light.

Don't get me wrong. I love all that stuff, like whole grains, salads, and fish filets and legumes. The problem is that I love them to excess, like  hungry Nordic lord or a zoftig  Italian Grandma. I also love Meat. Almost any meat. Burn the hair off and serve it up. Not good, even in small amounts.

I have to say that I found the interview totally entertaining and that Simon Doonan came across as a person I would love to get to know better--probably over a hearty meal with lots of red wine, instead of a light lunch. The dry humor and quick wittedness apparent in the article have only whet my appetite for more, so I think I will have to read some of his other books,  like Wacky Chicks and Eccentric Glamour, to consume some more of his entertaining repartee.

Meals. Appetite. Consume. Sigh. It's all about food in the end, isn't it? Oh, well. Pass the champagne. I'll toast to that.

Now off to get the books. Check back for a review at some point.

Because every life is a story worth knowing

The above photo is from Robert Heller. It is of his parents and was submitted to the New York time for this wonderful piece: THE LIVES THEY LOVED. Do yourself a big favor. Take the time to look at and read through this slide show.

If you have read this blog on a few occasions then you know that the single thing that most fascinates me is the passing of time. In keeping with that, I want to take a moment and wish that anyone reading this takes a moment and reflects on life, love, lives, loves, and how very quickly we experience all of it. 

This NY Times collection of memories from not-famous people of not-famous loved ones who have left this earth this past year will touch you in a way that warms your heart and make you think of your own loved ones, alive or gone. 

Here's to finding time in 2012 to reflect on what exactly it all means--not that we will come to know for certain, but maybe we can all just think about it some more. And let's think about loved ones who have left us and about what our lives should hold for us going forward. Will those words written about you reflect that you lived life fully and richly, generously and thoughtfully? Hope so.

Have the happiest and most thoughtful of holidays!

Back to business and blogging...as time allows...

It's been a Loooooong while since I was able to carve out blogging time. I am hoping that I can get back on schedule after a solid year of non-stop art work with books and fabrics.

Mind you, I am not complaining. I am thrilled to have the illustration work and the inspiration to create. But balance it always good, and so, after having stuffed myself silly with work this year and stuffed myself silly with food over the Thanksgiving weekend, it is time to regroup, step back, and assess. 

So stop back and visit me again soon. I'll be posting  some "deep thoughts" something later this week.

 

 

First Billy Taylor, now George Shearing. I feel the 70s slipping away....

It seems that this blog is often turning into a forum for obituaries of people who have moved me. That may very well be, for I if I am going to write about things that are important to me, then that needs to include losing people or artists who have touched my life. I guess as one gets older and more of those key players in a person’s lifetime pass away, it becomes even more important to acknowledge, reflect upon, and celebrate lives well lived.

Along those lines, several weeks ago I was so sorry to read in the NY Timesthat Jazz artist Billy Taylor had passed away. Here is another blog post about it on Mirror On America. I was  also so sad to read about the passing of George Shearing in today's NY Times. When I want the kind of harmonic jazz that is both contemplative and inspiring, I think of Billy Taylor and George Shearing. Their music  has a distinctly classy and urban New York feel to me.  I love it for the harmonic, sensitive and thoughtful sound, as well as for the fact that it reminds me of early years in New York, listening to live jazz in the city. That sound reminds me of being very young and feeling the world was there for the celebrating and taking.

I was very young.  A good friend of my then-fiancee, Phil's and mine, Norm Freeman, was a student at Julliard. Our summer evenings would often be like this: I would work until my shift was done at Capra's Restaurant in Stony Point, NY. That was usually until about eleven at night. Norman and Phil would pick me up and we would then zip into New York City to catch some live jazz. Getting down to the village about forty minutes later meant we could catch at least one set in a club.

And in the early seventies, you could   hear some great music in the clubs at night. We most often ended up going to the Village Gate (Top of the Gate)  or the Village Vanguard or the Half Note. At the Vanguard we  caught the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis orchestra in a place where we would descend a flight of stairs into a smoke filled and alcohol fueled room. The experience was transforming. I can still see the bass player in my mind's eye-spacey and totally grooving to the power of the music. Here is a nice history of the Vanguard.

Because Norman was studying with the drummer Ray Mosca, we went to the Half Note where Mosca was playing with Zoot Sims. 

Photo: New York Times

And then there was the Top of the Gate. I liked it there best of all. At the Village Gate we did have the ernomous pleasure of hearing Billy Taylor live, in an intimate setting. He was one of a number of Jazz greats we heard there, most of whose names are hard for me to recall. But I especially remember Billy Taylor, though. Norman asked him to play his signature piece, “There will Never Be Another You,” which he did. His music was so lovely. I still enjoy listening to it and it is a favorite in my studio. We had to leave when he was on a break, just  sitting with some friends at one of the tables in the room. He looked up with a lovely smile and gave us a nod good-bye. I can still see him sitting there, incredibly classy, handsome, and just plain nice.

New York in the seventies was totally unlike New York now.  Of course, that’s stating the obvious; forty years would make a difference anywhere. But apart from the physical (there was much more evidence of 19^th and 18^th century New York than there is now) and the technological, there is the sense of the city that has changed greatly. Let’s face it. New York today is cleaner and safer than New York in the seventies, largely thanks to Rudy Giuliani who transformed the place completely.

Want to imagine NY in the 70s?  Imagne Scroses’s “Taxi Driver.” That is a nice snapshot of the city back then: gritty, grimy, ruthless, and hurting. Still, we were young. We were fearless and game for anything, including the rough streets of NY.

In contrast to the grime, New York was also exciting and happening and full of great things in the arts and socially. Wonderful creative things happened. Great art was made. And the city held for me, even then, an attraction that is hard to put into words. There is a line in a Kenny Rankin song, “Killed a Cat,” that sums it up for me back then:

 

New York, you're a mother

And like no other

You been oh so good to me

I remember how you felt

I was innocent

And I wanted you

 

And I did want New York. Badly. But it was never to be. My life took other directions.

I found this site about a book of photos, New York in the 70s: A Remembrance by Allan Tannenbaum I may just have to get it. Take a look at the wonderful photos there. This is my memory of the city back then when I was just beginning to take it all in as a young adult. 

By the way, it does not surprise me that our friend Norm Freeman added "minister" to his resume, and not only that, but  a minister who incorporates music into his services. We have fallen out of touch over the years (I should do something about that), but the Norm I remember was always kind, thoughtful and sensitive. He was so much so, that he was almost an old soul even while so young. His seriousness and his dedication to his music was palpable. Music is one of the best ways I can think of to have a truly spiritual expereince, so it makes sense that he would take it to that level officially. 

Thinking back to that summer of 1971 and hearing Jazz in the city and being young and carefree makes me remember a simpler time, even while I am saddened to think that Billy Taylor and George Shearing have passed away. Thank goodness for the ability to record sound. It makes it possible to be nineteen again in the best of ways.

 

R.I.P., Milton Rogovin. Thank you for the inspiration.

In the early to mid-1970s, I was living in Buffalo. Having grown up in the NY/NJ area, and pretty much mired in the overpowering megalopolis of NYC, the contrast of Buffalo, against what I was familiar with, was striking. Make no mistake. Even though the city is officially in the state of New York, Buffalo is very much a part of the great Midwest. For me, it was extremely different. In the winter the sun NEVER came out. It was a city that had a small town feel. The foods had different names. There were even foods served in restaurants up there that nobody thought of back then (they don't call them Buffalo Wings for nothing). The accent? The total opposite of a New York accent. A Buffalo accent is the same as a  Chicago accent--the A's cannot possibly get any flatter. 

In those years, I was a stranger in a strange land. We had no money. We barely eked out an existence. Naturally, I did the only thing I could do: I made art. And my art reflected my experience. It was dark and it was pensive. 

Fresh out of college, I had left painting and drawing behind for fiber art, because the trauma of an obnoxious art program made me want to flee from what I knew. And so, I began to create in cloth the very figures I had always drawn. The odd thing was this: as unfamiliar as it was, Buffalo was the perfect place to really get in touch with myself and my aesthetic.

And THAT is where Milton Rogovin came in. I had been making cloth figures for about a year when I discovered his photographs. I was already familiar with the work of Diane Arbus.  I found her photos tremendously inspiring. But Rogovin's work touched me in a way that made for a shift in my thinking. What I learned from Milton Rogovin is that portraiture is best when in context. That is to say, that the things that people surround themselves with or the things that hover in the background, are as much a statement about who the persons are, as are their actual faces. And his work contained a more positive, and less depressing "feel." The picture above was part of the collection of his work that first caught my eye in the mid seventies when I was still living and working on the north side of Buffalo.

His work  influenced me even more in my years as an editorial illustrator. The work I did in the early to late 80s was filled with the kinds of images that might have been pictures taken of actual people by Mr. Rogovin, had they been real and not out of my imagination. I like to think that I channeled  his way of thinking into my art as an illustrator, as I had done as a fiber artist.

What I also love about Rogvin's work is that it has much less  "photographer presence." His ego does not get in the way. His subjects seem to shine forth on their own with a power and confidence, no matter  their social standing, for there is an astonishing lack of judgment on his part while he captures them on film.

Milton Rogovin has just passed away at the age of 101. That I should read about his death on the very day that my Sketchbook Project is to arrive at the ART HOUSE Co-op is totally appropriate. Almost eerie, since I think the lessons I learned from his work all those years ago are evident in my sketches of today. I guess when all is said and done, we do not stray very far from our artistic roots.

His was a life filled with the appreciation for the kinds of people who are often unsung. Do yourself a favor and check out his work. There is a wonderful slideshow at the NYTimes, along with audio from Rogovin, here.  I did blog about him at some point, but I cannot locate that post. Oh, well. He was a youngster then, and still in his nineties.

As for me, I will take his passing at this particular time as a sign to continue to make art, from my heart, and in the very non-commercial way that I did 35 years ago. Thank you, Mr. Rogovin. 

High School Reunion: Rip Van Winkle Revisited

Tomorrow my husband and I are heading down to good old Rockland County, New York for my 40th high school reunion--North Rockland High School, Class of 1970. The school is now located in Theills, New York and has been since it opened for my senior year. This won't be so tortuous for my husband because he actually went to school with most of these people until his family moved to another nearby town in 10th grade. The best part is that the reunion will take place in Haverstraw (which is where the grand, old school was from 1933 until the new one was built) in a place just a half a block down the street from the house (on the Hudson River) in which my husband grew up, until the fateful move.

Needless to say, this is a prime experience for a time-passing-obsessive-nut like myself. What could be better than participating your own Ken Burns experience? I am not exaggerating when I say that with very little effort, I can put myself right back in my late 60s mindset, in the very halls where my high school heart still wanders in my dreams. In that place, everyone still looks exactly as they did 40 years ago. Close my eyes, and it is not much of a stretch to be back in my old clothes, in my old classrooms, cafeteria, and locker room, with a vivd sense of what was. I can recall the feeling of the halls, the big old windows, the way the old granite and marble steps felt, the vivid CCC/WPA  Depression painted murals on the walls of the Home Ec classroom, and the sense of a solid and substantial building meant to last (they still use it for the Middle School).

I won't go into much detail about how the new, one level, barely finished high school structure felt for the one laskluster year I was there. But suffice it to say that the yearbook staff managed to sneak one four letter word via morse code into the monotmous brick cover of the yearbook itself; that exposed where our collective hearts really lay with regard to the new school vs. the old stately building. It was a very silly and immature act of rebellion in retrospect, of course, but accurate at the time for a bunch of 17-18 year olds who loved the old building and town fiercely. 

In any event, I am very much looking forward to doing some time travel and some great catching up with my former classmates to see where our lives have led us during the past 40 years. We may not look now as we did then, but I am sure that many of us still feel like adolescents in our hearts.

After a weekend of High School revisited in Rockland, back in Boston the following week my husband and I have are having dinner with one of his law school classmates and his wife, after not seeing them for 30 years. Here is another case where it is effortless to imagine us once again back in Ithaca where we lived for 3 years, and get into that late seventies mindset. And it is equally vivid: clothes, food, house, soft sculptured dolls everywhere, while he happily toiled away in the evenings at his studies. Got local yogurt, Earth shoes, Indian wrap skirts and home made bread? Oh, yeah. That and lots of granola. And I can tell you from years of futility: you cannot make brownies with honey and whole wheat flour so don't even try.

So, yes, I can time travel back years and remember very clearly what life was like years ago. But the last twenty-plus years? Where the heck did they go? Was I here? What did I wear, eat, think, watch? Did I make all my appointments? (the answer is no). When did my hair start to turn gray? I know I made plenty of art work and changed plenty of diapers. Did I ever cook? I think I did. I think I actually used to cook real meals, using real cookbooks and real pots and pans. Or so they tell me. 

Fact is, with three boys to chase around and extended family to worry about and sometimes care for, and illustration jobs to get done, along with a husband who works long hours, much of my more recent life has flown by in a blur of extreme busyness, multitasking, family celebrations, caring for loved ones and sleep deprivation. From the time I became a parent  (which is when I feel like I finally became an adult), a good night's sleep has eluded me, and while my family is what really gives my life meaning and purpose beyond all else, life has also flown by so quickly that I have come to feel like Rip Van Winkle: asleep for 20 years only to wake up and find myself and everything around me is now older and very changed.

What does all this mean? It means that I had to revisit that old story by Washington Irving a little bit today, of course!  I learned some interesting facts: Irving wrote that story while living in England for a spell after meeting with some failure and filing for bankruptcy. The story idea came to him after an evening of what else? Reminiscing! According to Wikipedia, he locked himself in a room after waxing nostalgic with his brother-in-law and wrote non-stop all night. I guess the conversation much have ignited a long-suppressed creative urge, since it is said he "felt like a man waking from a long sleep."

And so it hit me: the story of Rip Van Winkle is simply an allegory for life itself, for as our lives march forward we can get so caught up in the day-to-day acts of just keeping things afloat and our homes intact, that we often suppress dreams, creativity, and that risk-taking side of ourselves that seemed to vibrate with potency when we were young. 

I have been lucky enough be able to have embraced my creative side for the last twenty years. But those years have still flown by. I find myself waking up to see my children looking grown up and more and more independent. Fashions are coming back in vogue, and I still haven't gotten rid of them from the first time they were stylish. My musician son lists the Beatles and Rolling Stones as two of his favorite "old" bands. And when I watch "Mad Men" I can actually catch the anachronisms because that era was the beginning of my pre-teen awareness of everything around me.

The good part about raising a family and getting older is that as your children become themselves, you gain more time again within which to reflect and savor what life offers, because you know that as quickly as the previous years have passed, the remaining ones will do so, only with greater speed. Even though it sounds corny, I do think that this reunion is so much more than simply catching up and saying hello. I absolutely do not get it when people have no desire to attend these events.  It is about understanding the past in the context of life. If you don't examine where you have been, how can you possibly get a grasp on where you are and where you are going?

It's all part of getting older and the game of life. I do like to play it and I am glad I still can.

Just can't get enough of this time travel: Sherman, turn the way-back machine to 1920.

 

Just when I thought there was absolutely no reason to watch television anymore, along comes the best thing since, well, the other best reason to watch television--the Sopranos. And the new best thing? BOARDWALK EMPIRE. If you haven't heard already, this new series on HBO, is set in Atlantic City in 1920--at the beginning of Prohibition and what would become the roaring twenties. Leading the show is the charcter of Nucky Thompson (based on real-life boss Nucky Johnson, see below), City Treasurer and the boss of everything that goes on in and around life on the Boardwalk. 

I have to admit I was already pretty eager to watch this show after catching the preliminary hype. What's not to anticipate with glee when you see names like Martin Scorcese and Steve Buscemi and Terrence Winter? Still, I wondered, will it really be so good? Nothing will ever come close to the Sopranos....

Well, I have just found appointment TV again. Last night I caught the first episode, directed by Scorcese, and it was everything I had hoped for, plus much, much more: the dialogue was rich in the way that classic Sopranos dialogue used to be (touched with the hand of authenticity and believability of character, gilded with surprising black humor in the perfect places); the attention to visual details was near perfect; the scenes were shot with the sense of true cinema, complete with near brain-scan close-ups and vivid costumes and makeup;  the period music sent you back in time; and the actors were absolutely perfectly cast. If I have to make one complaint, I would say that I caught a touch of mis-matched dialogue/film synching, that distracted me somewhat early on, but I got over it.

Prior to seeing the first, I had read that it would take seeing a number of episodes to buy into Steve Bsucemi as the infamous Nucky Thompson. Not so. Within minutes I was sold on his portrayal, and even though the name of James Gandolfini as the lead was bantered around in the pre-show hype, I cannot imagine anyone better in this part than Buscemi.

Michael Pitt practically has steam escaping from his pores, as he plays the part of Jimmy Darmody, Princeton drop-out who comes home from his service as a dough boy in WWI to embrace his darker side (discovered, or, perhaps, uncovered "over there") as Nucky's right hand man. Let's just say he simmers with the need to satisfy those urges.

Especially suited for the role of Margaret Shroeder, a battered Irish immigrant wife, is Kelly Macdonald. Her face looks as though it were plucked right out of the historical photo blog I read daily, SHORPY  (blogged about it here) . Never have I seen a face so evocative of the 1920s. Her performance and face feel so authentic, that I think she actually rode some sort of time machine to get from 1920 to 2010, just for this part.

I could go on and on about the other actors in their roles--Shea Whigham as Nucky's sheriff brother; Michael Stuhlbarg as Arnold Rothstein; Vincent Piazza as Lucky Luciano; Stephen Graham as Al Capone, and Michael Shannon as Fed Agent Van Alden (who seems particularly sinister)--  all perfectly matched to the parts they are playing. Furthermore, the performances are incredibly enriched by the attention to set, costume, and make-up detail, which I hope will continue to  play as much as a part of the series as the action and story itself. Personally, it is in that kind of attention to the small things that make for superb filming. My guess is that Martin Scorses was the driving force behind those kinds of period-specific touches; Goodfellas and Casino are both movies that demonstrate just how much details can elevate a film to a category that marks it as "superb," as opposed to just "very good."

 

What makes this series even better, is that the character of Nucky Thompson is based on a real person, Nucky Johnson, who actually did run the Boardwalk show, so to speak, and make Atlantic City what it was between 1911 and 1941. For more information I intend to read the book by Nelson Johnson. I would love to have gotten the first edition before the cover became HBOed, but I'll settle for the TV tie in if I have to.

In the meantime, hop over to this blog, Press of Atlantic City, and watch this wonderful documentary about the real Nucky. Totally fascinating.

Having grown up in the 50s and 60s--a good deal of it spent in New Jersey, and also at the Jersey Shore, including Atlantic City-- I am very happy to have a vivid memory of what AC was like pre-Casinos and all the totally lacking-in-character feel it has now. The Boardwalk then still had some evidence of a bit of the old heyday, with the rolling carriages, the Steel Pier complete with diving horses, small shops, salt water taffy, Mr Peanut with his big Planters Nuts, and grand hotels over looking the ocean, along with cheap boarding hotels on the side streets. The trashy glitz buildings of today remind me of a phrase an old friend once used--"Piss Elegance." They are a sad testament to the Atlantic City of yesteryear. 

Fortunately, I have this series to time travel with. I'm hooked. And I am thrilled that HBO has already put in an order for Season 2!  How about we run the show from 1920--when it starts--to 1941--when the real Nucky goes to jail. I figure that's 21 years of great TV.

Thank Goodness: Discovering Charlie Chan and it happens in Buffalo!

Somewhere in the 80s, I was out with three friends of mine, all Asian. I can't remember exactly how or why, but the discussion turned to Charlie Chan. "Oh, I loved Charlie Chan," I said, sincerely and innocently. "Those were my favorite old movies!" And they were. My husband and I used to watch them religiously back in Buffalo in the 70s, where one of the local stations would broadcast one every week at around 11 o'clock. It was my first experience with appointment television since counting the minutes until five o'clock waiting for the Mickey Mouse Club twenty years earlier. 

 

"Ugh. You can't be serious," was the collective reply of my friends. "He is one of the worst stereotypes for Asians."

I felt like someone hit me in the chest. First, to think that I would willingly subscribe to that kind of thinking about people was an embarrassment. But, more important, I did not even see the reason for their disgust with the character (and hopefully, not me). My husband and I loved him and loved son number one (played by Warner Oland and Keye Luke respectively). In my mind, Charllie made everyone else around him look positively stupid, goofy, awkward, and incapable of seeing the details. He, on the other hand, was brilliant, had a fantastic gift for dry humor, and was all-knowing and all-seeing without being obnoxious. What's not to love? What better kind of stereotype can one ask for?

Reading the August 9th edition of the New Yorker yesterday I came upon a wonderful review by Jill Lepore of a brand new book by Yunte Huang: Charlie Chan: The Untold Story of the Honorable Detective and His Rendezvous With American History. Ms. Lepore offers some enjoyable information about Earl Derr Biggers, the author who first brought to character of Chan to book form and  the  movies themselves. But, even better, is reading about Huang's book which reveals that Charlie Chan was based on an actual Chinese detective with the Honolulu police force, by the name of Chang Apana, who was a legend in his own time for solving crimes. There are more wonderful facts to glean from the book, so get a hold of it and dig in. It is available now for pre-order (I made sure to order mine, you betcha).

 Just as intriguing to me, is the story about the author, Yunte Huang. Mr. Huang was born and brought up in China, and may well have not been around to write this book had his parents not sent him a deceptive telegram some years earlier saying that his mother was gravely ill and that he needed to return home immediately. He came home and she was actually fine. But the place we was lured from was Tiananmen Square, where he would have been  the next day when the massacre took place. Ultimately, Huang ends up in the US to study, needing to leave China,a country that is no longer a place he wants to be. At some point he ends up in, of all places, Buffalo, getting a P.H.D. in English ("going through the alphabet" as he puts it in his interview with Charles McGrath for the New York Times). Up in Buffalo, he happens upon a garage sale where he buys a couple of Biggers novels and becomes hooked on the character of Charlie Chan, especially after renting some videos. The rest is history.

So what it is about Buffalo that people who live there end up discovering their passions? I have to say that I love the fact that Buffalo is some sort of epicenter for Charlie Chan appreciation. Maybe there is something in the Lake Erie air. For me, I not only fell in love with Charlie Chan in Buffalo, but that is the place I discovered my true life's direction in art. Another story altogether....

In the meantime, take a moment and read both Jill Lepore's piece in the New Yorker as well as Charles McGarth's piece in today's Times. And then REALLY do yourself a favor and buy the book and rent or buy every Chan movie you can get your hands on. The films are great. Even though I think Warner Oland was the best Chan, I did come to eventually appreciate Sidney Toler, as well, and son number two, played by Victor Sen Yung, who was as charming as Keye Luke.

 

Incidentally, Warner Oland was a half-Russian Swede who actually did have Slavic/Asian features. He also played a Jewish character in The Jazz Singer.  And, for the record, the Chan movies were very popular in China as well as with Chang Apana, who was, after all,  the inspiration for the famous detective character. Keye Luke, who passed away in 1991, loved them. When told how politically incorrect they had become he responded, "We were making the best damn murder mysteries in Hollywood." Nuff said.

The one thing we can count on in this world is that attitudes change when it comes to popular culture and what is politically correct or not. It's a good thing. And the honorable detective would be very pleased, I am sure.

  

Flying the flag yesterday and until after the 4th

 

Yesterday was Flag Day. Not  knowing where the holiday came from, I looked it up and found these facts on Wikipedia: June fourteen is the day on which the Second Continental Cogress adopted the flag in 1777 as the flag of the United States.  In 1916, President Woodrow Wilson proclaimed June 14 as Flag Day and in 1949 National Flag Day was established an Act of Congress.  Pennsylvania is the only state to celebrate the day as a state holiday. Right here in Quincy, MA there is a long running Flag Day parade, and in 2010, they celebrated their 59th. The largest Flag Day parade is held in Troy, NY and the oldest continuing parade is held in Fairfield, WA which has had one every year since about 1910, with the exception of 1918. I would love to attend one of these parades. I love parades amd I am nothing if not patriotic. Don't forget--I have an entire powder room I call the Oval Office. 

 
 

Every year Flag Day sneaks up on me and I seem to miss it. Actually, every year the entire year sneaks up on me and I seem to miss it. This year, however, I was determined to fly the stars and stripes. And I remembered Flag Day! There was too much going on yesterday for me to take pictures, but I thought I would go out and shoot today. My flags will stay up until at least past the 4th of July, so it makes me happy to know they won't be collecting spider webs in the garage for another year, unused.

The end of the music of my art life for more than 3 decades

 photo from mcgarrigles.com

Besides reading the obituaries of two well know writers in this morning's New York Times, Robert Parker and Erich Segal, I was terribly upset to read of the death of Kate McGarrigle, at 63.

If I had to pin point specific music to be the soundtrack of my life as an artist working in my studio, it would be the music of the McGarrigle Sisters, whom I first heard on Saturday Night Live in the mid seventies, performing "Heart Like a Wheel." Naturally, even with the most limited of funds, we went out and bought that first album, "Kate and Anna McGarrigle," which became the very music that followed me from home to home, and studio to studio. 

 

The beautiful harmonies and melodies of Kate and Anna filled my small back room studio in Buffalo, New York while I sat and sewed the figures and dolls that first began my true life as a full time artist. When we came back from three months as vagabonds in Europe and settled in Elmira, New York, the album was the first to resume its proper place as number one on my play list. Happliy sewing away in the dining room of an old flat in the even more old fashion town of Elmira (which I loved, by the way), I listened to the sounds of that first album almost non-stop. I loved when they sang of what I thought was upstate New York in "Talk to Me of Mendocino," and I thought for sure I heard a slight smile in the voice of Kate when she sang the lead in "Go Leave," which I always imagined was her send off to her former husband Loudan Wainwright.

Make no mistake: as wonderful as the tunes themselves are the lyrics to the music of Kate and Anna. Theirs is truly poetry set to music in a way that makes it impossible to separate the two. Their sweet voices embraced the words and told the stories and your heart was never left untouched. The only time things went over my head was when they sang in French. I had not a clue about what they were singing. I liked it anyway.

In 1978 we moved to Ithaca so my husband could attend law school at Cornell, and I set up shop in a ramshackle house on Route 79, Slaterville Road. There, amidst the dolls and the cloths and the threads, and the painted eyeballs, played the wonderful, harmonious McGarrigles. 

 

And there, we happily added two more albums to the play list, "Dancer With Bruised Knees," and "Pronto Monto." Why Pronto Monto has still not been issued on CD is a total mystery to me. It is even stronger than Dancer. But music and art often baffle me to the ends of the earth anyway. I still think that the late Michael Jackson was the single most overated artist in musical history.

 

Our life in Ithaca was like this: I would spend all day, every day, sewing dolls and soft sculptures, and Phil would come home in the evenings from class, and when he needed a break from his studies, he played the piano. Since he always made sure to have the piano tuned to concert pitch, that meant he could play along with albums, and that meant he often played along with Kate and Anna.

On Dancer, two songs remain my very favorites for melody and mood: "Southern Boys" and "Kitty Come Home." And on Pronto Monto, the original version of Nacl (Sodium Chloride), is as charming and clever as a song can be.

Fast foward to Massachusetts in the 1980s. Their albums continued to be played, and I shifted my art form to illustration. And then ---I took a break when we started a family. I was not spending as much time making art and I was not listening to as much music. It was not until we built me a new studio in 1993 and put in a stereo system that I began to listen once again to music as I worked. And it was then that I found out about "Heartbeats Accelerating."   

As much as I love this album, it is often difficult to listen to. Not because of the music, because the music is wonderful. It is because there is a sadness of time passing and lives winding down. "I Eat Dinner" almost always brings tears to my eyes. It is about love lost, lonely evenings, youth passed, and the rhythm of life as we age which can be sad as we understand that youth has left. Still, I began to get back to serious art and illustration, and once again, the McGarrigles played in the background. 

Down the road, came The McGarrigle Hour, which is a much more upbeat CD. Even though "Alice Blue Gown" and "What'll I do" are not original McGarrigle songs, their renditions of those songs set off a brand new flurry of musical direction for Phil and I as he began to play those two charming old melodies  consistently, and I found myself lost in the 20s musically and visually. I also fell in love with the breathy, overly melodramatic Rufus Wainwright and "Heartburn."

Now, hearing that Kate has passed away, I am so very sad in a way that I have not been for a long time. I had always thought that she and Anna would once again return to creating albums as wonderful and inspiring as those first three. I thought that maybe, once they were truly gray haired and embracing ripe old age, they might find new inspiration for the kinds of songs that colored theirs and my youth. They never received the sort of wide acclaim they truly deserved. I feel robbed of what might still have been --like when John Lennon was shot. They have always deserved greater fame and fortune.

When I began to listen to Heartbeats, I thought I should write to the sisters and tell them how much their music had colored my life as an artist through the years, because I felt it was just that important and I was so grateful for their creativity. Now I can't do that. Heartbeats Accelerating has an even more overwhelming poignancy for me now. 

I may not be able to play "I Eat Dinner" again.

Daily Dose of Humor, Part II: CAKE WRECKS-Sweet!

 All photos courtesy of Cakewrecks

Here is the problem when you like to blog and when you also like to read the blogs of others: it all takes time, and on any given day, I seem to have less and less of it. Truth be known, when it comes to choosing between entertaining myself reading what other people have written or attempting to wax poetic myself and share my thoughts with readers, I choose--you guessed it--entertaining myself! Surprise, surprise!

In the blog post before this one, I wrote about getting in my daily dose of pick-me-up at Awkward Family Photos. Love the site. Can't stay away. Can't stop laughing. 

But my other, equally enjoyable place to visit and find a smile on my face and maybe even tears of laughter in my eyes is CAKE WRECKS. Cake Wrecks is exactly that--a blog devoted to the so-called professionally done cakes one can buy in a bakery, supermarket, or wherever, that are, in a word, wrecks. As defined by Jen Yates, the genius behind the site and the book that came out of the site:

 WHAT IS A WRECK?

"A Cake Wreck is any cake that is unintentionally sad, silly, creepy, inappropriate - you name it. A Wreck is not necessarily a poorly-made cake; it's simply one I find funny, for any of a number of reasons. Anyone who has ever smeared frosting on a baked good has made a Wreck at one time or another, so I'm not here to vilify decorators: Cake Wrecks is just about finding the funny in unexpected, sugar-filled places."

 Cakewrecks Caption: "Poo-Dolph, the Bulldozed Slain Deer"

I am not overstating  how very clever Jen Yates is. While the shots of pathetic looking cakes are silly, it is Yates' writing that  makes the site such a treat. Her text, combined with some of the most ridiculous looking baked goods known to man, has perfect comic pitch and timing--if you can have good timing on a blog. I usually find myself laughing out loud in the same way I do at Awkward Family Photos.

As though being incredibly funny wasn't more than enough, right now Cake Wrecks is making money for charities. Here is info about the Cake Wreck Charity Challenge:

"Instead of buying gifts or trees or decorations this year, John and I are going to donate a minimum of $200 to a different charity or worthy cause, every day, for the next two weeks.

Are you up for my dollar-a-day challenge? Then give one dollar each day to each charity. That's it! Together, we can use the power of Wreckage for good, and make a difference for those in need."

Head over to the site and partake of the sweets and go back and check out some older wreckerators, too. Then be generous and check out the various charities and give a buck. Believe me, the kind of smiles that the site will give you are worth so much more.

Er....fair disclosure. If you do not have an appreciation for good old fashioned bathroom humor, the "flavor" of the site may be lost on you. Also, sometimes the subtle humor of the site is best appreciated by we (ahem) sophisticated adults. 

 
 

Smile! Say cheesy!

 

All photos courtesy Awkward Family Photos

Addicted. Totally. And without remorse of any kind. It's my computer and I. It's not just that I love using it as a tool to create art. It's the web. The Internet is my worst vice and my greatest enjoyment. I am always on it. My husband has even said that someday he expects to come home find me stuck INSIDE the monitor, like some sort of Twilight Zone episode.

 
I can justify it to some extent, because I am not a TV watcher of any significance. I'd rather be on line, checking out everything from eBay to newspapers to blogs by other artists and writers then sitting in front of some mindless sitcom or self important drama. I've even discovered a whole cache of blogs that write about vintage stuff and collecting, which is what this very blog started out as about 5 years ago. There is no end to the kind of information I suddenly find myself interested in. Hey--wanna  know more about scroll saws? Ask me!

Lately, however, my addiction to the net has to do with something more essential: getting my daily dose of humor. And my top choice of enjoyment?  AWKWARD FAMILY PHOTOS.

  
The magic of photography is the capture of the small moment. The unseen record keeper getting the great shot in the split second. Naturally, we think of the epitome of this genre, Henri Cartier-Bresson: 

"The simultaneous recognition, in a fraction of a second, of the significance of an event as well as the precise organization of forms which gives that event its proper expression... . In photography, the smallest thing can be a great subject. The little human detail can become a leitmotif." 

And then, sometime the success and attraction of photography comes in the form of the posed picture or the planned portrait. I could go on and on about that kind of photo shoot with regard to the genuine artists I love who perfected that genre, like Diane Arbus, but since I am talking about my daily laugh-out-loud moment, let me get back to Awkward Family Photos, a site dedicated to just that: awkward family photos--the kinds of pictures we shoot or are taken of us that are generally purposeful or meant to be taken seriously, but end up anything but. The sort of picture that tells us much more than the picture's subjects may have intended.

 
No matter what my mood is, once I head over to this web site, I am laughing. Literally. Sometimes to the point of tears. And, I even look at the older entries, and laugh again. And again. Of course, I must give credit to the site's creators, because often it is their captions for the photos that make for the funniest part of my visit. The caption for the picture below is: You can always spot the father who someday, will have trouble letting go.

 
If pictures alone are not enough for you, there are also great stories shared by family members. Like this hysterical letter regarding what kind of responsibility guests need to take on to insure a successful Thanksgiving. Ahem! Read it now, you lazy schnorers, you!

I have to admit I had the hardest time choosing pictures to put in this post. And, once I started looking at the site again, I couldn't stop. That's a problem, because things that need to get done are not getting done. I'm having too much fun hanging out at AFP. My best advice is to tell you that you need to really take your time and check out the site for yourself. Make sure to pour over every page. CAUTION: DO NOT SIT AT YOUR COMPUTER WITH ANY SORT OF BEVERAGE, UNLESS YOU DON'T CARE IF YOU SPRAY YOUR DRINK THROUGH YOUR NOSE ONTO YOUR KEYBOARD.

 
Once you've had a chance to get your own belly laughs, head over to this site and vote for AFP. They deserve to win!

Finally, let me share my favorite picture from AFP. Look closely. Look VERY closely.  BTW, has anyone seen Aunt Telcia?

 
 

I loved Soupy. Even before I knew what edgy was, I loved it.

Yesterday the news hit that Soupy Sales passed away. He was 83. In my mind, it will always be 1964, or 1959, depending on which Soupy TV show I happen to be remembering.

Soupy first premiered on NY television in 1959. He came on at 12 noon on Saturdays on channel 7-ABC.  I loved him immediately when he did his initial "First one here gets a box of Jello" bit, followed by old film footage with a cast of thousands of people, or even an elephant stampede, all racing to get the Jello. Something abhout him just cried out, "SMART ALEC"--but in the nicest way. The bit above is most likely from the show that was on channel 5 in NY, WNEW, which debuted in 1964. Watching it I realized that Soupy was even edgier than I realized.

Here is a link to a great blog post by Dan Brockway, which excellent shots of the show actually in production. The fact that the show was shot and that Soupy was always relating to the crew, is what made the show as much fun as it was. Soupy was making himself and his crew laugh more than anyone, and we all got to be in on the joke. My favorite skits always had WHITE FANG or BLACK TOOTH. Here is a great one with White Fang.

Found this wonderful stand-up bit by Soupy as he tells the story of the famous "Green pieces of paper" scandal, in which he asked kids to raid their mothers' and father wallets and send him money. And, yes, he really did do that:

When I was watching the movie, The Conspiracy Theory, with Mel Gibson, some years back, I kept having this sense of recognition. Mel reminded me of someone during the entire film, and I had this sense of watching someone else. It took me a spell before I finally identified who the familiar face was: Soupy Sales! I'll post some pictures and you tell me  there is no resemblance!

 

Honestly, I really like Soupy More.

Do yourself a favor and go on Youtube and watch several clips. Then you'll be in on the joke, too.

RIP, Soupy. Seems like just yesterday I was laughing on weekday evenings in 7th grade....

The Next Best Thing to Being There: the Shorpy Time Machine

If you read this blog, you already know that I obsess about the passing of time. You know that I wish I could time travel. You know that I love antiques and Ken Burns and the Oxford Project and anything that allows me a glimpse into the past. 

Now that I have discovered Google Street View, I even take trips to old neighborhoods of my past so I can "walk around" a see what those places now look like compared to  years ago. Let me tell you that can be fun, but also depressing. Sometimes places look very much like they did when I was living there, like my old street and house in Stony Point, New York (but the town itself is totally different) or the house my husband and I lived in in Buffalo, NY,  as newlyweds. Most of the time, however, things have changed so much, I don't recognize the neighborhood at all, or, in the worst case scenario, they  don't even exist, which is the case with both of the apartment buildings I lived in as a child with my grandparents in Newark, New Jersey. Gone. Empty lots. Rubble.

The discovery of Google Street View is just one of the wonderful things I came upon when I discovered my absolute favorite, MUST VISIT EVERYDAY blog: SHORPY.

To quote from the site:

THE 100-YEAR-OLD PHOTO BLOG

  Shorpy.com | History in HD is a vintage photography blog featuring thousands of high-definition images from the 1850s to 1950s. The site is named after Shorpy Higginbotham, a teenage coal miner who lived 100 years ago.

The blog is run by Dave, who posts the most magnificent high resolution pictures of years gone by. I do not know any personal information about Dave, except that he has some facinating looking family members whose mid century pictures he occasionally puts up on the site.  

Each day, he shares several pictures, most scanned from glass negatives. Because of this, when you click the link to view the images at their full sizes, the clarity is astounding. Often, I feel as though I am right there, standing in place, a hundred years ago, or more,  in real time. I look for small details of every day life, like clothing, furniture, signs, etc. I look for things that give me an idea of what even the most mundane aspects of living were like so very long ago. The size and sharpness of the posted photos allows the viewer to linger over the images like a detective looking for clues to a crime. I do that, only I am looking for clues to  the past. Is the shirt soft looking? Is that a package of gum? What did they buy in the drugstore? I am less interested in the specifics of who the people were or where the shot is taken. I want small details. I am looking for that feeling of being transported over time into the spot where the picture was shot, imagining that I am there, and the time is now. I want to capture that very moment. 

My favorite shots are those that are street scenes or store interiors or average neighborhoods with average people milling around. It is those scenes that really transport me back and allow me to pretend I was truly there. Perhaps it has something to do with actually having lived a childhood in the 1950s where much evidence of the early 20th century was still very much around and a part of my everyday experience. A lot of the places I frequented as a kid in 1958 still looked as they did 50 years before, so much of this imagery takes me back to my own childhood. Like now. Think about it: many things around us now also look the same now as they did 50 years ago. And now, what was common or familiar to me in the 50s, is officially one hundred years old. Time flies, doesn't it? 

Make sure to read the story about the kid, Shorpy, the namesake of the blog, who was a child laborer from Alabama in 1910, and whose picture I have put above.  Check out the pictures of Shorpy taken by  Lewis Wickes Hine  (a photographer who took a great many wonderful pictures in the early 20th century and who sadly died in poverty, unappreciated in his last years for his great photographs) and read what little is know about this little worker.

Aside from the pleasure of the time travel experience I have when I linger over the wonderful pictures, I enjoy the comments left by people who visit the blog and who have plenty to say about the photos. The comments are almost as much fun as the pictures. And a lot of these people are doing the same as I: looking for clues to the past hidden in the details. 

You can become a member of the site ( which I have been meaning to do, and will make myself do today!), which makes leaving comments easier, and also allows you to post your own pictures. 

The real danger of visiting Shorpy? You can lose yourself for hours and hours, going over all the wonderful pictures archived on the site. I did that several times this past summer. I lost myself in the pictures and in time.  It really is the closest thing to a time machine I have found for a long time. Hey, I think I'll go grocery shopping, circa 1964. Wonder what wonderful junk food I'll find...

OK, so, maybe I need to declutter a little bit....

Photo NY Times

Happened to catch a piece in yesterday's NYTimes reviewing E.L.Doctorow's new novel, "Homer and Langley."  The novel is another Doctorow blend of fiction and fact to tell the story of two brothers who lived in New York city in their Harlem brownstone during the first half of the last century. I love Doctorow's books, so I'll make sure to catch this one.

The bothers in this story/history were somewhat eccentric, to say the least. And they were collectors, too, but referring to them that way,  might be the understatement of the modern age if you check out the article and their history. Here is a hint: the bodies of the two men were found in their home by police in 1947, one buried under a pile of trash kept inside the house and the other of starvation.

As a collector myself, I often worry what our children will have to deal with if my husband and I do not divest ourselves of years of stuff. Just read a couple of posts back and you will see what one son did with his mother's stuff. Oy.

Apparently, Andy Warhol suffered from the same malady that I and countless others have, which makes us loathe to part with things. Check out this news item about what going through HIS stuff entails. At least I threw out any wedding cake I have had left over!

In all truth, I am not so bad compared to the people I have read and written about. I'm very selective about my junk. I actually go out and buy it, as opposed to hoarding it. Why I even will go so far as to say I pale by comparison! I'm a piker! 

Hey, guess what-I just had a revelation:  that means there is nothing wrong with taking Mom out for lunch and junking today to get more! Off to the antique races!

Woodstock: That was a fast 40 years. This is the best way to finally "be" there....

This is a post I actually meant to do more than a year ago, after my family and I had the pleasure of visiting the Museum at Bethel Woods--part of the Bethel Woods Center for the Arts.

For those of you who have not heard read about it, this complex of performing arts center and museum is built on the site of the famous music festival held exactly 40 years ago this summer, which was not actually held in Woodstock, NY, but  in Bethel, New York.

Forty years ago, I had just finished my junior year in high school in good old Haverstraw, New York. In that year I was still very immature, but I managed to  see Hair on Broadway--and survive even tho I thought I would faint at the end of Act I. Here is a clip from the Smothers Brothers and some of the original cast.  This song from that show played on WABC for half the year.  That summer of 1969 was the summer of my seventeenth year-- a great and  worry free time in my life.  It was a wonderful summer, full of long hair, lake time, and lifeguards ( I dated an awful lot of lifeguards that summer, because that was when a casual  "date" was  just that--a date--and nothing more). It was a summer about getting excited thinking of  my last year of high school and getting ready to go away to college and wondering and talking about where that college would be. Naturally, it was a summer of great music (actually it was a decade of great music, but that is another long post altogether).

Unfortunately for me, even though I grew up not too far from the location of the event,  it was not a summer of great music at the Woodstock festival because I came from an old fashioned family that needed to know where I was at night and with whom. I had curfews, doncha know. Heading off for three days to listen to music and sleep somewhere other than my own bedroom? Ha! Sadly not in the realm of my growing up experience; my mother would have had the state police out looking for me, and I was not a good liar at making up plausible "where I was going" stories. So, even though I know there were plenty of kids there even younger than I who had the ultimate rock and roll experience in the summer of 1969, I

 was not one of them.

Fortunately I have had the pleasure of f a) living through that whole time and b) visiting the Museum at Bethel Woods. 

If you have not yet done so, you make a point of visiting this museum. This museum is not just about Woodstock, even though that event and this property were the driving force behind the creation of the entire Center for the Arts. This museum  is really about the 1960s, a decade that started out like "American Grafiti"   and "Back to the Future" and ended up like Gimme Shelter. To use yet another movie reference for those of you not yet alive or too young to know, think--"Hairspray" is set in 1962. That is a heck of a lot different from the whole hippie/love-in/flower children/ ambience of Woodstock just seven years later.

Our dear friend Micahel Egan was the person in charge of bringing this museum into existence and overseeing the project working with the multi-talented designers at Gallagher and Associates. The whole project was made possible by the generous upstate NY businessman, Alan Gerry, who purchased the land and funded the work with the very idea of creating the magnificent site that is there today.

 

Heading to Bethel Woods is well worth a trip. The museum does a great job of presenting the picture of 1960-1969 in a way that everyone will understand and will be able to grasp, no matter what point of reference is brought to the table. With  a great many interactive displays it is a great hands-on experience for young and old alike, so bring the family.

Needless to say, it was a fun time machine adventure for me. I left wishing I had braved the wrath of my parents and lived life a little more dangerously in that summer of 1969. Ah, well, it would not have been who I really was back then, which was very young in so many ways--maybe even "younger" than the fourteen year olds who did indeed manage to sneak up there for three wonderful days.

Well, back to work for me. Lately, while I work I have been listening to a sixties music feed. My head is stuck somewhere between big giant rollers and Dippity-do. I must be trying to conjure up the summer of '69 once again. Not too hard when one is lost in thought and art and music of the time. 

Part of me will be glad when the summer is over. I think it will be a welcome relief when I will return to 2009,  which I expect to do with more energy once I step out of  this endless summer of time travel.

But, until I do, I'm revving up the jukebox and thinking about Coppertone, Saturday nights, and Inna-Gadda-Da-Vida.

Edited to add:  I did forget to add that 1969 was also the summer of the Moon Landing, of course. Where was I? I was in the Kopper Kettle in New City, NY on a date (probably with one of those lifeguards) watching it on TV. Thank you, Carol, for reminding me about that special summer event! 

For a wonderful movie that captures that summer, the moon landing and Woodstock, check out "A Walk on the Moon" with Diane Lane, Viggo Mortensen, and Liev Schrieber (with lovely additional performances by Anna Paquin and Tovah Feldshuh).

Art redefined: The accumulation of a lifetime, and a lifetime's worth of stuff.

Photo: Todd Heisler/New York Times

This morning over breakfast, I was immediately drawn to an article in today's NY Times," The Collected Ingredients of a Beijing Life " by Holland Carter. The article is about the Chinese artist Song Dong, and his wonderful installation at MoMa entitled "Waste Not."  Mr. Song has taken the entire contents of the house of his mother, Zhao Xiangyuan, and arranged them in the museum's atrium, along with a piece of the house itself. Presented in sorted piles of like objects, the art is a testament to the idea of a life defined by the possessions one accumulates and hoards. 

Photo: Todd Heisler/New York Times

It is no secret from my blog post that I consider love, creativity, art and objects ( both ordinary and exceptional) to be be the stuff that life is made of. Essentially, I think who we are as humans is defined by  how we love, how we create, and what we choose to collect and surround ourselves with. My grandmother was someone who loved and spoiled and fed me. But she was also the person who collected an enormous number of knick knacks and figurines; held on to every piece of clothing she ever owned; saved every plastic shopping bag and Cool Whip container she came across, and who was joined at the hip to her sewing machine. When I remember her, I always remember her in the context of these things. They were as much a part of who she was as the endless hugs and kisses and lasagna she bestowed upon me.

Photo: Todd Heisler/New York Times

So, I completely get the piece by Song Dong. For me, I do not think the installation is as grand a comment on Chinese society as it is a portrait of one person and that person's life. Politics, changing social structures and society may affect who we are and who we become. But, still, we are more a part of the world we create for ourselves than we are apart of the world at large. "Waste Not" is more than anything else a portrait of a son's mother and of her specific life. Mr. Song included EVERYTHING in this piece down to used tubes of toothpaste and empty plastic bottles. The effect in the photos in the NY Times slide show, is enormously powerful. Make sure to check it out. The artful arrangements of the like objects make little displays within the display.  This is an art piece that would make me want to take a lot of time. I long  to study, absorb, and thoroughly enjoy every single bit of it, right down to the last toothpaste tube. I hope I can get down to NY to see this exhibit in person as soon as possible. The show runs through September 21. 

Of course, I cannot help but wonder what would a similar piece look like if my son were to attempt to do the same? I think it might require a space like Madison Square Garden. And even then, it might not fit. 

Not just because I love French Bull Dogs...

From a Chronicle Books tweet (and, yes, I am getting addicted to Twitter even more than Facebook)  I learned about this great new book coming out by Catherine Ledner:

GLAMOUR DOGS.  DO yourself a favor--go watch the book trailer on YOUTUBE.

There is something about the combination of dogs and decor that just makes me smile. Or maybe it is the combination of dogs and so-called-glamour decor that is humorous, because, when you stop to think about it, the entire concept of glamour is a bit ridiculous in a typically human centric sort of way. 

What better way  to scoff at the pretentiousness of "elegant living" other than to take a pooch and plop him on a satin sofa, with an exotic wallpaper in the background?  Add a wind machine and fur and floppy ears flowing in the artificial breeze, and you would be hard pressed NOT to conjure up any film you have ever seen about models and photographers and how self involved they always seem. Can you stop yourself from smirking when you think about how seriously human models take those glamour shots compared to these four-legged ones?  Compare the top video with this one. 

The notion of "glamour" is absurd, really. Just look at these dogs. Think they're getting paid thousands of dollars to look every bit as beautiful as super models? More likely a biscuit or rawhide chew. And to think they do it all without makeup! 

Mind you, they picked the best kind of dog for the cover shot--a French Bull dog, just like my Itty Bitty Busy Body. 

I had a hard time deciding which blog to put this post on. Since my other blog is largely about design, I flirted with putting it there. 

In the end I decided it had to go here, because, more than anything else the book sends a subtle message about life and silliness and the things we humans do and value. 

Can't wait to get my own copy.

When children's books were cheap and plentiful

On one of my recent antique hunts in one of my favorite shops in New Hampshire (the Glass Knob in the Centre Harbour/ Moultonborough area), I found these little books for kids. They are called "LOLLIPOP BOOKS," and they were published in 1949 by "John Martin's House," James and Jonathan Co. out of Wisconsin. I was able to dig up this Time Magazine article from 1932 that gives some information about who John Martin was (at the time of the article, anyway, real name, Morgan Von Roorbach Shepard). According to the information I have so far, John Martin loved children, and published for them, including a magazine, but had no children of his own.

I love the period illustration along with the period ink palette. The "slightly-off-registration" print job adds to the charm.

I have a fondness for books like these. My own home library was what these books were all about for me:  inexpensive reads picked up on the fly for pennies-- Golden Books, Miss Francis Ding Dong School Books, and others of that vintage--read over and over again. Most of my books as a child cost all of about twenty-five cents a piece.  One can only wonder what each of these little books went for, though I would guess they were sold as a collection.

The size of these books makes them especially charming. They are roughly three by four inches each. I haven't taken the time to actually read them because I am so enamored with the design and feel of the lot of them, that I just want to hold the books and think about ways to design and decorate with them, maybe combined with some vintage fabrics and toys.

They practically fit into the palm of my hand. Perhaps I need  a miniature kid's room? It's hard not to wonder who owned these little books as a child. Did he/she love them?  Or did they get tossed into a dark place, only to resurface in 2009? I think the latter. There is some staining and surface wear, but the bindings are quite tight. I would venture a guess that these books were not read much.

I design retro fabrics using these bright process colors from the 40s and 50s whenever I can.  It would be nice to set up a display using the books, some vintage chotchkas, and fabrics--preferably my own. That will be next. One of the things I love is that items from earlier times go well together because of a much less sophisticated printing process along with fewer colors available. It is easy to set up theme displays using items from the same period. If I do, I will post those on Design Rocket.

Apparently this publisher also published  A Big Book For Little Folk, in 1919. I wonder if he billed this small collection  as Little Books for Big Folk?  Hey--I guess that would be I! In the meantime, I would love some more information about these books and this publisher. Email me if you can add something to this story.

A new addition to the family...

Things have been very quiet on this blog. Life, art and everything else have kept me from posting. Add the muse to that list of distractions or problems. She seems to have taken leave again from the blog world, bopping back from time to time, long enough for me to eek out a post here and there, and then off she flies again. Damn her. That chick is in serious trouble when I get my hands on her. Really though, the thing that has kept me from blogging most  is this fact:  I feel that the wheels are turning again in my life as an artist and other things have often been clawing their way to front of the line, begging for attention.

I'm still working on my book illustration work. And I am still writing. Got some deadlines to meet this summer and a picture book dummy to rework. There's a YA still cooking on a back burner (well, maybe it is really in another kitchen altogether), I have a  chapter book manuscript that I want to turn into a graphic novel for the younger set, and a brand new idea for a  book character and story line has popped up that has really got me excited. Just need a few more hours in the day, that's all.

But my experience getting ready for Surtex, as well as enjoying making the shift to my new studio, have provided a distraction of the best kid,  and I am following the wind, which has always been my habit.

At Surtex, I had the pleasure of meeting some lovely people from a fabric company  who seem to really "get" what it is I love to do. They will be bringing out a collection of my fabric designs, which they hope to debut at Quilt Market in Houston in October, and which will should hit the shelves come the first of the year. 

After  working in fiber arts years ago, the fact that I am returning to textiles  is incredibly exciting for me. I would find it even more strange if somehow I end up making dolls and puppets again. But--I'll wait and see on that front.  As the details and designs get closer to reality, I will eventually post more about them. In the meantime, I am branching off onto a new blog that will be fewer words and more pictures:

Design Rocket.

 

I'll still be posting here at  Cats and Jammer when I want to write more and attempt to wax poetic. Sometime a gal's just got to go on and on about something that speaks to her. This is the "I have something to talk about " blog. But once Design Rocket is going full steam,  Ill be looking to share lots of pictures over there. Check that blog for posts about collecting, design, art, collecting, decorating, textiles, collecting, and--did I mention?--collecting. (Don't I sound like someone who went and indulged her thrift shop/antique habit yesterday?)

Which is really what this blog originally started out to be all about years ago, anyway. Now it will have it's own forum.

One thing though: If I am going to write on 2 blogs, I have to do something about that missing muse....

SO much art, SO little time...

I have been on a whirlwind of doing nonstop artwork for about 6 months now. Not much time to breathe, let alone blog.

It started with my decision to exhibit at Surtex in New York this May. Surtex is a trade show specializing in art and images for surface and textile design, as well as licensing. Some good friends had attended last May 2008, and reported back about the experience. At that time I had absolutely NO interest in licensing my work. None. Nada. Zip.

And then something happened. I think it had to do with the fact that if there is one thing a reviewer will comment on when writing about my book work, it is the "colorful patterns." So, when I stopped to think that I could actually make the patterns independent of the books, and as an end in and of themselves, I thought "Whoop-de-doo! Now I'll be cookin' with gas!"

And that is exactly what has happened. I've been on a pattern roll and I am obsessed with it. Surtex, here I come!

In addition to Surtex prep, I had to complete the illustrations for the latest Bones book: Bones and the Birthday Clown Mystery    by David A. Adler. One thing I can say about that, is that I love working on these books. David Adler has a great way of telling a simple story, yet filling it with wonderful hints at character, while adding a touch of dry wit.  That art just finished up a couple of weeks ago.

Next came the SCBWI Conference right here in New England up in Nashua. I taught a workshop on illustrating chapter books, featuring those Bones books of course, and there was prep for that as well as attending the conference itself last weekend. Always a pleasure, of course, and let me add that Cynthia Lord and Floyd Cooper were wonderfully inspiring keynote speakers.

On top of everything else, has been the ongoing project of moving into my new studio at Gorse Mill and getting ready for the grand opening this Friday night, May 1st, as well as Needham Open Studios which will be running all weekend long. Check out the home site  and you can download a wonderful brochure here. More than 70 artists open their studios up to the public and participate in this event, which is now in its 11th year!

And if you are around on Friday night, please stop by and say hello at Gorse Mill

Gorse Mill Studios

31 Thorpe Road

Needham, MA

Or try to visit all the wonderful Needham artists over the entire weekend. It's worth the trip!

Now, back to work to meet another deadline.....

Serendipity + Pluck = Life

There was an interesting article in today's New York Times Business section entitled "Well-Orchestrated Accidents," as told to Patricia R. Olson.  It caught my eye because of the word "accident." That word, being in the business section, seemed a touch out of sync for me, but it was enticing enough to catch me because I am a firm believer in the power-magic-inevitability of "serendipity," a word not usually used in the same sentence as "business plans."

I assume the column comes under a regular heading called "The Boss." I wouldn't know if that is a regular column or not. Nutty artist that I am, I hardly ever read the Sunday Business section. I had to be  lured to read it by the front page piece entitled "Pulling Art Sales Out of Thinning Air," which was all about art sales in this crazy economy ( and remember, that read "thinning air," not thinning hair, which also is a by product of a tough economy).

Anyway, I enjoyed the read which told about Evan WIlliams, C.E.O. of Twitter, which, until a month or so ago, I was fairly unfamiliar with. I especially liked reading about Mr. Evans and his transformation from Nebraska farm boy to web mogul. And I was struck by the journey that he has taken so far, at the ripe old age of 36. I like life journeys. The voyeur in me especially loves reading about other people's. I am pretty nosey.

I handed the article to my 22 year old son and suggested he read about the extent of "going with the flow" in this man's life, and about how  being in the right place at the right time seemed to work to his advantage.  My son dismissed me out of hand after he read it:  "It has nothing to do with serendipity. In fact, it's just the opposite."

Oy.

So I went back and read the piece again. 

Please forgive my metaphor overload, but after a second read, I still maintain that it is all about allowing the wind to take you places, but knowing enough when to steer the boat yourself. It made me think back to all the times that I have followed the wind, even never knowing where I was going, and yet I found myself ending up in the best place for me to be.

It has happened to me from the time I was a kid until the present. Yes, I take active steps toward goals that I set for myself. But many time those goals come about as the result of something totally unplanned and unanticipated in my life. They are lucky accidents. Directions I never dreamed of. And I follow them. Some examples of pure chance that ended up changing my life for the better:

1) When I was a kid, my family moved to Stony Point, New York (because it was the only town in which they could afford to buy a house) and in 7th grade, I met the love of my life, and future husband.

2) Strictly on a lark, at the age of 19, I took a job at a school where I met Lois Bohevesky, who began to teach at the same school. She turned me on to puppetry, so I went with her into NY for a summer to study at the Bil Baird Theatre.

3. Because of that, my husband-to-be and I became puppeteers.

4. We transferred to SUNY Buffalo to be together ( and I passed up the chance to attend Parsons in NYC and major in illustration). At some point we gained a reputation as puppeteers in Buffalo and we were hired to perform at a Craft Fair. The committee that hired us was not able to pay our full fee, so they gave me a booth to sell my hand made  puppets.

(that's the very booth above)

5. Because of that, we were hired to perform at another craft show, and after that I ended up being invited to exhibit my creations as well at a very reputable craft fair at Kenan Center, in Lockport, NY.

 6. At that craft show, I heard about the American Crafts Council show in Rhinebeck, NY and thought I would give that a try.

 7. I did that show and began to sell my dolls/soft sculptures all over the country, full time.

 8. When we moved to Boston, I took a job teaching soft sculpture at the Boston Center for Adult Ed. Because I taught there, I got to take a free course, so I tooka course in graphic design. I learned all about getting things into print and I made a decision to pursue illustration…again.

 9.  I put together a portfolio and became an illustrator in 1982. Shortly afterwards we took a trip to Florida. On another lark, I took my portfolio to the Miami Herald and the Ft. Lauderdale News.  

I ended up leaving Tropic Magazine with an assignment that very vacation and  I did a number of assignments for both of those publications for several years after that. 

11. In 1987, when our oldest son was a baby, we took a trip around the country for a month. What the hell. I took my portfolio. I ended up doing art  for the Chicago Times Magazine, Chicago Magazine, and the Detroit Free Press after that.

(Chicago Times Magazine above)

Let's fast forward to 1997. Past the "baby period" and kid chasing period. Past other countless examples of accidental life (we’ll keep this basically professional). Two more sons arrived (and, believe me, they were REALLY happenstance) and I decided at some point to go back to illustration. 

12. One day, completely out of the blue, I got a call from someone I hadn't spoken to in about 15 years. We started gabbing and she gave me the name of someone running an SCBWI group in Cambridge. On yet another lark I went to the meeting and that led to attending my first SCBWI conference. And from that point on I was bitten by the bug I had put aside many years before: to pursue illustration, especially  for children's books.

 For me, the rest is history. Other "on a larks" and other "simply-by-chance" episodes. They keep happening to me. Like the on-line writing group I "accidentally' ended up in around 2000, that is still growing strong. Like the group of artists I "accidentally" connected with, who, even after my reluctance, have now turned me on the idea of licensing my art. I value their energy and ideas and find them inspiring. As a result I will be doing the Surtex show in May. Yet another ride on the wind, and I have no idea where I will end up. 

Am I preparing for Surtex with a vengence? You betcha! I don’t leave that much to chance, ya know.  But still, I often wonder: how did I get here? Sometimes the only answer really is "the wind."

So, that is why I do believe in meaningful accidents and the power of serendipity. Life is much better when you do not try to over-plan. My advice to aspiring artists is to always leave themselves open to good accidents. Go catch some wind. See where you end up. And then know when to jump off onto your own two feet.

The Best Valentine's Day Present: A New Studio!

Over the course of the many years I have spent making art, I have always made studios where I've lived. In Buffalo, as a craftsman working in fiber, I took a small bedroom in our apartment. Surrounded by shelves of fabrics culled from the Salvation Army and Goodwill, I sewed away making dolls and soft sculpture, while my dog and cat slept nearby. In other places, I worked in bedrooms, dining rooms, living rooms, and kitchens. Most of the time I took over the main living spaces. That was BK--Before Kids--before having to worry about crawling babies and exploring, wildmen toddlers (one of whom literally tried to swing from a chandelier and who also put French Toast into the VCR to see if it would play).

When we bought our second house I took to the basement. In the basement I first had a roughed out corner, and eventually  a new 20 x 20 studio with a light well. I stayed down under for roughly 15 years until we did a second addition which gave me a lovely studio space on the main floor (!) right off the kitchen and in which I have worked since 2002. I love this studio and have illustrated more than 12 books in it.

As much as I have loved the spaces where I have worked,  I have often longed for the kind of space where I could throw up several 4 by 5 foot canvases and really let loose. Now I will have one as I prepare to move into a brand new space in the Gorse Mill Studios building. The building is a 120 year old mill building, smack dab in a residential neighborhood here in Needham, MA.  My space is a little more than 500 well lit square feet. I should be totally in it next month, keeping my home studios for writing, digital work, and office work.

Of course, good things do not happen n a vacuum. In my case good things usually come about with the help and support of my husband. Here are some shots of the "still in development" space, with the best guy in the world taking charge. He actually got up before I did yesterday and went over to the studio and began painting. THAT was the BEST Valentine's present a gal could ask for!

Phil taping the corners, above and below. he had just painted the corner and walls  covered with Homasote.

A view of the sink and looking off to the "thinking corner."

Close-up of the thinking corner. Those are some of my older, editorial pieces on the walls.

Bitty makes her first visit to the studio! It's tiring watching all this activity, so she settles into her new bed.

Phil, doing yet more painting  of the homasote on the other end of the room.

What a guy! And with a bad back,to boot! Is it any wonder that the man needs a rest afterwards?

Thanks, Honey. I'll catch ya later. ;-)

My very best to you, Abe. You deserve more respect than you get.

My how times have changed. Back in the dark ages, otherwise known as the years I went to elementary school, holidays honoring historical figures and times were days we studied and learned about and had some respect for. October belonged to Columbus. November was all about the Pilgrims and the Native Americans (we very respectfully called them "Indians"). And then there was February.

February was much more than just wonderful boxes of Valentines and chocolate filled hearts. February was a presidential month, because we always studied Lincoln and Washington, and we had their actual birthdays off--not various days in a  random weekend, now mostly used for trips to the ski slopes or   to anchor one end of a school vacation week. Hell, we didn't even HAVE February school vacations back then.

With that in mind, I find that I am filled with wonder about  the fact that I have heard no buzz and have read no articles in the papers leading up to the fact that today is the 200th anniversary of the birth of one of our greatest presidents. Maybe there have been some articles here and there, and maybe the morning will bring some others (I am writing this just after midnight) but I haven't caught any.

The post card above is one of the many antique post cards that I have collected. It is a piece  from the patriotic assortment of ephemera that inhabit a small powder room I like to call "The State Room." One of my son's refers to it as the "America Bathroom." Whatever it's called, it is filled with the images of presidents, flags, embroidered maps of the US and so on and so forth. And, it is not just for show. I am truly very patriotic and I love my country.

This card  is one of my favorites. It was printed n 1908 in anticipation of the 100th anniversary of Lincoln's birth. You can see the copyright on the lower right hand corner. And here is it another one hundred years later, looking almost as good as new. The back is not written on, except for the printing which tells us that this card is one of the "Lincoln Birthday Series", and that domestic postage is one cent, and foreign is two cents. I guess one hundred years really do fly by, not to mention the fact that things really do get a lot more expensive. Ask any centarian  around today about value and also how fast life seems to have passed. And while you are at it, ask them what Lincoln's birthday meant in their day.

Happy Birthday, Abe.  Thinking of you.

Finally Welcoming in the New Year

I figured that before the month of January was gone, and before I could actually post about 2009, I would sneak in a last farewell to Holiday Season 2008. I am always loathe to take down my December Christmas/Hanukkah Decorations, and this year was no exception. All this stuff will be packed away this weekend and then taken out again next year, when I will once again drive my family crazy as I look for a real birch tree, then proceed to concoct and build something not really found in nature. Especially lovely is the art of Kevan Attebury, which I proudly show you next to what is really my theme these days of financial uncertainly. Eat, drink and ....

And here is the tree--always on the brink of crashing down.

Happy New Year! Make lots of art in 2009!

The movie. S'Wonderful. And life is, too.

 

Sometime around 1965, I was hanging out at my Grandmother's house in Paterson, New Jersey. I think it was during the school Christmas break. It was the late afternoon, and I was channel surfing, to the limited extent one could back in 1965. Actually, since I was in the NY metroplotian area, that did  mean a serious number of viewing options for those pre-cable times. I had my choice of channels 2 (CBS), 4 (NBC), 5 (WNEW), 7(ABC), 9 (WOR), 11(WPIX), and 13 (which was the "educational station" but I cannot remember the call letters). 

Anyway, I ended up on Channel 5. And there was a movie starting. Might as well watch this, I thought. The movie?  Frank Capra's "It's a Wonderful Life."

From the start, something felt different about this movie. The acting seemed less like acting. There was an authenticity to the kids in the very beginning scenes that rang truer than any other movie kids I had seen--'ceptin' maybe those Little Rascals. And that scene with the druggist Mr. Gower. Nowadays I can't even get past that sequence without crying. But even back in my little 13 yr old head, that was powerful stuff.

And so began the tradition of loving one particular movie for a very long time. My husband did not see the film until we were both married for quite a spell. Needless to say, he loved it. And he cried, especially at the end. In fact, no matter how many times we watch the film (and we have seen it a gazillion times) he ALWAYS cries at the end. Such a sentimentalist. Gotta love him.

Because I love this movie so (especially the character of George Bailey who, time after time, thwarts his own dreams for the greater good of Bedford Falls and those he loves), I was saddened to see it fall into disregard for a spell--put down as corny and cliche ridden, and even --aack!--colorized! One extended family member who shall live in infamy, actually went so far as to say that the God-awful "A Christmas Story" was the new holiday classic. BLECH! That overgrown TV movie, poorly acted (does one stupid commercial really qualify a Messy Marvin to be anything other than a Messy Marvin?) and filled to the brim with one glaring anachronism after another, should be relegated to the bargain bins at Walmart, if that. But "Life?" Nothing comes close to it. It rightly deserves permanent placement on the pedestal that many of us have placed it on.

And so, in this morning's NYTimes, there is a great piece by someone who gives "It's a Wonderful Life" the same  high regard as my husband and I. Check out Wendell Jamieson's take on the movie, including his very funny analysis of what he thinks it REALLY all means. So--maybe "Pottersville" would have been a lot better an end to BedFord Falls than we thought? Hmmm. I'll have to ponder that notion. In the meantime, I will try to watch the film as before, although, I am not sure I can ever look at Bert and Ernie the same way again after reading his take on those two.

Jamieson adds a few nice details that many of us LIFE junkies already know about the film, like the fact at good old Our Gang Alfalfa was the guy who made the dance floor turn into the swimming pool at Harry's HS graduation. In a recent deluxe DVD version I purchased, there is a section filled with additional details, like how they made all that snow, and the fact that James Stewart did that very romantic scene with Donna Reed and the phone call from Sam Wainwright in ONE take. There are interviews with Frank Capra, and a great many facts and figures to learn. One of the favorite  things I learned, (though I do not think it was from the DVD) was that a photographer shot one of those long photos of the cast and crew of the film--the kind with hundreds of people in them--where the camera actually scans from left to right. Stewart and Capra stood at one end, and while the camera scanned the crowd, they ran like Hell to get to the other end, which meant that they were in the photo in two places. That  sense of fun is right up my alley. And knowing that sort of tidbit,  makes me love them and this movie all the more.

Do yourself a favor. Watch the movie. As long as your heart is not stone cold, you will enjoy it.

Happy Holidays everyone! And, more importantly,  "Merry Christmas, you old Building and Loan!"

Lots of thanks

I'm gonna make this my annual Thanksgiving image. It is the first color illustration assignment I ever got--a piece on Turkey farms for Boston Magazine back in the 80s. Again, thanks to the late Stan McCray, the art director of the magazine when I was doing art for them and when I was just starting out as an illustrator. Stan was sweet, handsome and fun to work with. Because of Stan I have had the pleasure of being able to be a professional illustrator for more than 25 years.

And that's a good segue to the purpose of blogging today. To remind myself and everyone else to be thankful for all the good that we have.

Good health for my husband and children. Family and friends. Being able to spend time writing and making art.

To the powers that be: thank you, thank you, thank you.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I've been given absolution...

It's been quite a while since I last posted anything on this blog. I know that and it has gnawed at me. It's not that I imagine that I have a regular audience or anything. It is just that this blog is my way of reflecting and processing things that seem to speak to me. And I haven't done that here for a spell now. And I haven't wanted to. And it's bothered me, sort of in the same way it does when you have homework to do that you don't feel like doing.

At first, I was just caught up in a few distractions. I actually had something very specific and very wonderful that I wanted to post a big blog about, but things got in the way. In September, I had taken a trip to the Museum at Bethel Woods, which is essentially the upstate NY location for the Bethel Woods Center for the Arts, and, more famously, the site of the Woodstock Music Festival which took place in the summer of 1969.

The museum is so much more than a museum about Woodstock. It is really about the entire decade of the 1960s and the incredible changes in society during that time, with the music festival serving as the climax to all of it. If you have not been, you really need to go, no matter what your age or your taste in popular music.

But I could not get to that Bethel Woods post when I should have, which is right away, after I went. And then, the time had passed, and it even got later, with the winter weather rushing down the pike at full speed. So, that is all I want to say about that right now, because the Museum and the site are really worth a serious and lengthy write up and it's better that I push my blogging about my experience there until the spring or perhaps even closer to the 40th anniversary of the music festival itself, when maybe some people will be inspired to go there and have the experience for themselves.

But surely there have been other things that made my wheels turn and made me want to blog? Well, yes to the former, but no to the latter. Yes, I have been doing a ton of planning and thinking and developing projects. I have new manuscripts. I completed a new picture book dummy. I went away on a writing retreat. Lots of good stuff. But, no, I have not wanted to blog. It is very hard for me to say why, except that my blog is strongly muse driven by a need to share. The blog muse has to kick me in the ass and say, "You must blog about this. You must share this." And she hasn't. And I haven't. So that is it in a nutshell.

And knowing that I have not felt like sharing has gnawed at me. Like having a goldfish with a bowl that needs cleaning, so you just put it in an out-of-the-way place so you don't have to look at it. That's my blog. A dirty goldfish bowl. Problem is, pretty soon, you can't even see the damn fish anymore. Is it alive? I was in fear of letting the fish die, 'cause the longer you let it go, the less you want to do it.

Until today! The water is clear, the fish is still swimming, and the muse is back. Why? Because I have been given absolution that it is OK to only write when I feel the need to. In this morning's times there is a nice piece about "slow blogging." Titled "Haste Scorned: Blogging at a Snail's Pace" and written by Sharon Otterman, I am now happy to know that I don't have to blog at a pace that is not who I am. Sometimes I bustle and sometimes I crawl. And sometimes I am in between. And that's how I blog. And guess what--there are others who blog the same way.

Hallelujah! Absolution! Guilt be gone.

The Oxford Project: I could spend years reading and looking at this kind of material

In past posts I have confessed to an obsession with the passing of time. I have had this obsession all my life. I am not sure why, but I have. On New Year's Eve, 1958, I wanted my grandparents to get me a jar with a lid.

"Why?" they asked.
"Because I want to save some some 1958 air," I told them. "Then I will have a little bit of 1958 forever."

When I look back on this memory, it makes me smile and shake my head at the way a kid's mind works--or at least the way MY mind worked. But I also still feel more or less the same way: very aware of the passing of time and wanting to preserve the present moment for future reference and for experiencing it once more. I guess you could say my little jar of air was my child's version of a time machine. But even though I am not filling jars with the air of time anymore, I still feel pretty much the same now as I did then. It's why I love antiques. It's why I play jukeboxes. It's why I will watch anything produced by Ken Burns. It is also why I read the obituary from my on line, home town newspaper every day: The Journal News, Rockland County section.

Yeah, I know. That sounds like something your grandmother would enjoy doing. Still, I do it. Everyday. Sometimes I see the names of parents of high school friends. Every now and then, I see the names of the high school friends themselves. Believe me, that is sobering. The strange part is that when I see no names that are familiar to me, I have a macabre sense of disappointment: no news, nothing of interest. And then, when I do, I wish I hadn't, because I would really have enjoyed seeing that person again at some point in the imaginary future, even though I have not spoken to him or her for that past 35 years.

One of the nice parts about reading obits is that I also check up on who else died, as reported by the Associated Press. In their little sidebar I learned that Killer Kowalski died even before I saw it in the Times. I learned that silent film star Anita Page passed away at 98. I read about famous Peanuts animator Bill Melendez. And I learned about the death of Jim Hoyt.

Who is Jim Hoyt? Jim Hoyt was the last surviving veteran of a group of four soldiers who liberated Buchenwald concentration camp. Jim Hoyt was a an extraordinary guy and an ordinary guy at the same time, because Jim Hoyt was part of a generation of countless soldiers who fought bravely and namelessly in a war unlike any other, where there was a clearly defined evil of great magnitude that needed defeating. Jim Hoyt lived a quiet life, was not a person of renown, and we would most likely never know about him except that he participated in The Oxford Project.

The Oxford Project, from an editorial quote on Amazon:

In 1984, photographer Peter Feldstein set out to photograph every single resident of his town, Oxford, Iowa (pop. 676). He converted an abandoned storefront on Main Street into a makeshift studio and posted fliers inviting people to stop by. At first they trickled in slowly, but in the end, nearly all of Oxford stood before Feldstein's lens. Twenty years later, Feldstein decided to do it again. Only this time he invited writer Stephen G. Bloom to join him, and together they went in search of the same Oxford residents Feldstein had originally shot two decades earlier. Some had moved. Most had stayed. Others had passed away. All were marked by the passage of time.

In a place like Oxford, not only does everyone know everyone else, but also everyone else's brothers, sisters, parents, grandparents, lovers, secrets, failures, dreams, and favorite pot luck recipes. This intricate web of human connections between neighbors friends, and family, is the mainstay of small town American life, a disappearing culture that is unforgettably captured in Feldstein's candid black-and-white portraiture and Bloom's astonishing rural storytelling.

You can visit the Oxford Project website and read some of the stories and see some of the pictures. That is where I went on to read about Jim Hoyt, who's obituary via AP I just happened to catch one day while checking the daily obits at the Journal News. I had never heard of Jim Hoyt, and I had never heard of The Oxford Project, but I am so glad to have discovered both of them. It is incredibly fascinating to see a picture of a person and a picture of the same person 20 years later. That kind of thing has always been my favorite part of the Ken Burns documentaries, and here is an entire book of aging faces, and what makes it even better is that these are ordinary citizens, living ordinary lives that are as meaningful and interesting as any celebrity or historical figure.

This book will be available on the 16th of this month. You can read more on the Amazon link. Needless to say, I have already ordered a copy. If I had thought about it, I would have created this book myself. It is, as they say, "right up my alley."

I do have one question for Stephen Bloom and Peter Feldstein: did you save any 1984 air?

EDITED TO ADD: Please take a moment to read the comment left by photographer and Oxford Project creator, Peter Feldstein. He shares a touching bit of information and an update on Jim Hoyt.