Just a short break...

To all my regular readers, I will be taking a break for two days on this. After all this time and some 337 stories (posts) I am not out of ideas or new stuff, but I need to take a break to get some other work done. I should be back on line by the weekend.

I have established what seems like a regular number of readers, between 20 and 30 a day usually, seven days a week, and I don’t want to loose you.

Fear not, even though the same old story is here, come back on the weekend and see what I’m up to.

Arthur

The Parade

In the mid 80’s, we were given an opportunity to be in the Hudson’s Thanksgiving Parade. This was to be on national television, or at least a part of it was to be televised as part of a parade sweep around the US.

Our Dean of Students, I believe, was given the job of organizing such an event, and we went to work dreaming up what we could do with no budget and it not making much sense to any of us but a great opportunity to be on a national stage.

A float was discussed, but the cost would be prohibitive. So, what does an art school do? A marching band made no sense for us, and what kind of thing worked? The AH-HA syndrome took effect and an idea was hatched.

We could do a moving painting!

Several banners, painted on canvas, moving down the street held by students, moving as a choreographed unit. This was a moving abstract work which changed images as the units moved from side to side and worked their way down the miles of the parade route.

Voila! A plan went into effect, and every morning the little bands of students walked the empty parking lots, marching with the help of a faculty advisor, working on a pattern. They held aloft (4-6 foot dowels on each end) large white panels of canvas, to be painted the days before the march.

Now along comes my dear friend Lothar Hoffman, graphic artist and world renowned calligrapher, entering the picture. One day, Lothar comes in to work early, and comes upon the marching students with the big banners.

Lothar escaped from East Germany before the wall was built, and valued freedom more than most of us. He was a patriot, a zealot. He arrives at school early, sees groups of unknown students with “pickets” flying, and is incensed! He decides to run them over with his vehicle, and almost succeeds but they see him coming!

He later understands that it was a peaceful art event and not angry picketers disturbing his life. We all laughed about it and the students were spared.

The paintings were completed, the parade happened, we made national television and the only problem was that the media never understood the moving painting concept, and made it clear that what we were doing was clearly unclear.

The Drowning Experience explained...

I said, in the earlier post, “There were two camps I remember most of all, Sightseeing Day Camp in Ellicott City, MD, and the camp at Har Sinai Temple, in Baltimore, although my actual drowning experience must have been at the YMHA Camp in Baltimore.

Let’s visit the drowning experience. It has left such a powerful image in my mind that it has effected the rest of my life. It may be the reason I can’t swim. It clearly is the reason I try never to be in water over my head, and still causes me bad dreams.

It must have been 1949 or 1950. It was my first day camp experience, and it was through the YMHA, the precursor to the JCC. I remember that we had to go on a bus to the “Y” for swimming, and the rest of the camping activities took place elsewhere, although I have no memory of any other event surrounding this one.

In those days, I was told, we didn’t go to swimming pools or beaches etc. because of the fear of polio. I know there was some kind of relationship, and it hampered any vacation my parents even thought about because you didn’t take kids swimming, at least not in my house. This all could have been an excuse, because they seemed willing to let me go swimming in camp.

So the set up is, I’m six, seven or eight years old, and a big kid to boot, so I look a bit older due to my size (height). The kids are all told to line up on the pools edge. I was in line with the rest of the kids, but unlike most of them, I’d never in my life seen a swimming pool. I couldn’t tell what was deep or shallow and had no reference point for that. I was standing, first in the line, at the edge of the shallow water, by the rope. I didn’t know it was (as I think about it now) probably five feet deep, maybe just over my head.

The camp councilor blows the whistle and yells, “Everyone jump in!”, and we did.

I hit the water and realized there was no bottom! I was floating around with my eyes open in a total panic! I couldn’t breath except to blow bubbles. I didn’t really understand what had happened but I was scared and I was screaming into the water! I can still feel it as I write about it and my breathing is labored now.

I assumed quickly that I would die, when there was an arm reached down and saved me! A lifeguard, I guess, reached in and pulled me up. I was chocking and smiling and crying, all at the same time.

I have no memory of the next time I went swimming.

One of the funny things that happened to me in life, was in 1978, I moved into a house with a swimming pool! All those panic stricken thoughts came back to me. We loved the pool; I just seldom ever used it.

If you remember the story I wrote a while ago, “The light has been shed”, June 8, 2009, about sex in my pool, you’ll see that others were happy to use it anyway.

Summers in the early 50's....

In the 50’s, I was one of the “lucky” kids to be able to go to day camp. This was, according to my mother, a privilege given to a few kids, and most of my friends in the neighborhood never had the opportunity. Translate that to their parents wouldn’t spend or didn’t have the money to send them. The proof of this was shown to me when I came home each day on the camp bus, there would be a small crowd of kids waiting for me.

Who knows if my mother was telling the truth or just trying to get me to get on the bus? But for a number of years I went to day camp.

Real campers never went to day camp; it was a non-dirty, non-threatening babysitting service, which was great fun. Whatever camp I attended, we had fun. There was always swimming and arts and crafts and stories and weird food. I guess that pampered Jewish kids went to day camp.

There were two camps I remember most of all, Sightseeing Day Camp in Ellicott City, MD, and the camp at Har Sinai Temple, in Baltimore, although my actual drowning experience must have been at the YMHA Camp in Baltimore.

Sightseeing Day Camp was run by Dave Davidson, who was probably the owner and knew my parents prior to my going there. As I piece it all together in my head, his daughter Dorna (DeeDee) was in Nursery School with me; the Greenwood Nursery School in Baltimore. The fact that I can remember all this stuff even scares me.

Dave was a guidance councilor in the city schools and must have owned the camp as a summer income.

I can’t remember how many weeks it lasted, as I am in charge of an art camp now, we sell it one week at a time, and parents choose. A few have even done the whole nine weeks, but we always hope for a week or two attendance. I may have gone for a number or weeks each year but I can’t remember.

People were allowed to bring a friend to camp, if they made arrangements, for a day, as if your cousin was in from Altoona or something. There probably was a one day charge, but it didn’t happen that often. One day, Dennis, one of our neighborhood kids was in as a guest. He may have been a guest of my childhood friend Alan, but I’m not quite sure. It was 60 years ago! (I am leaving out his last name as he may still be alive and I don’t want to embarrass him or get sued!)

It was lunch time, and as we waited, the rolls and butter were passed around the table. We were learning manners as well, I guess. The butter was on a plate by itself, with a butter knife. The rolls were already around and we waited for the butter. As it went from kid to kid it fell upon Dennis to take his butter and pass it on.

Dennis took the butter plate, put the butter on his plate, and put the communal butter knife in his mouth and sucked of the remaining, butter while 20 kids watched!

What can I say! I bet he never did that again!

Friday afternoon ghost story...

It’s a simple Friday afternoon. I had lunch at the Panini Bar at the local supermarket, and while I was in the store, I looked through things to see if I found any bargains.

Q-Tips were on sale, and I bought a box with a small, purse sized boxed attached, and went back to work. When I came home, I was alone in the house (except for Max the Wonder dog, and eventually, as I was going downstairs to use my computer and call an old friend, I decide to take the Q-Tips, and put them on the stairs to go into the linen closet, when I went back up again.

I went down to the computer, did some work, and made my call. It was five before six when I came back upstairs and the Q-Tip box was at my place on the kitchen table!

I freaked, and thought however, maybe they all came home and I didn’t hear them. It was not true. I was alone and the box had moved back to where I started, about 8 -10 feet away.

The hair on my arms grew straight as my goose bumps came out! I was scared! It was bright outside and no one had been in the house, and my dog can’t even get to those places.

My wife thinks I’m nuts, my daughter thinks I’m crazy as well, and I went out to tell my next door neighbor, who thinks I’ve had a senior moment! Not so!

When I came back from the neighbors, my daughter, now downstairs, had moved the box again. Back to the table! I screamed with laughter, knowing it was a prank (thank God!)

I can't believe it, a Robert Ryan story....

As often happens, I may have written this one before, but I can’t find it.

Somewhere in the 50’s, my dear late friend Jim Striby was out and about traveling with his wife, and they were in a small, touristy town shooing. As he went into a store he was struck by one of the other shoppers. It was one of those, “I know, I know him from somewhere” kind of feelings and it bothered him.

They went on to another store and lo and behold, the same guy shows up and the same thing happens.

Finally, in the third store Jim gives in to his feelings, and sure as he can be he approaches the stranger and says, “Pardon me, I’m Jim Striby. I know I know you from somewhere, I’m sure we went to high school together”.

The stranger looks at him, smiles and says, “No, we didn’t go to high school together, my name is Robert Ryan, I’m an actor”.

Jim smiled and crawled away.

I can't believe it, a Robert Mitchum story!

Years ago, in the early 60’s, my friend Marty was stationed on an air force base in Dover, DE. He and his wife lived there for a few years, and this is really his story, but I remember it and if either one of them reads it here, they may correct me on the details.

Robert Mitchum lived on a ranch, I think, somewhere in the area. His wife was from Delaware which may explain why he was in the area. If you’re too young to remember Robert Mitchum, here’s the story: (from Wiktopedia)

Robert Charles Durman Mitchum (August 6, 1917 – July 1, 1997) was an American film actor, author, composer and singer. Mitchum is largely remembered for his starring roles in several major works of the film noir style, and is considered a forerunner of the anti-heroes prevalent in film during the 1950s and 1960s.

My friend’s wife had met a guy from Mitchum’s entourage, and he was telling her about the possibilities of an acting career. She was just perfect for acting roles, he explained. This began to bother my friend who perhaps saw an ulterior motive to these shenanigans.

A dramatic meeting took place in a local restaurant, with my friend and his wife eating dinner and looking over to see Robert Mitchum’s party occupying a large table. My friend, seeing an opportunity, walks over and confronts Mitchum about his friend offering his wife roles in a picture.

Mitchum smiles, looks at my friend and says, “Looks like someone is trying to f**k your wife!”

An awkward moment of silence occured...

An awkward moment of silence occurred as my dear old friend, Mr. Hedeshi Saito, from the Niigata School of Art came to visit us in Beverly, Massachusetts.

We had been working together for a number of years developing an exchange program for his students to come and finish their art education in the US. I went over to Niigata and gave a speech for their convocation, as their guest. It was an amazing week for me, and I profited immensely from the experience.

I was so happy to have him in our house, I didn’t think of the myriad of art objects sitting around, but when he was in our kitchen talking to me and my family, I noticed his eyes wandering over to a framed 14” x 36” poster on the wall, pictured here.

I was stuck for a moment without the ability to think! What could I say? It was clearly not a Japanese friendly image, a WW2 movie poster about bombing Tokyo! I had never even thought about the war, it was just a “neat” poster I had acquired some years before when I lived in Kansas city! I had several, but the one anti Japanese one was in the kitchen!

I tried to explain that it was just an unimportant souvenir of another time, but there was no way out of this one. I just had to hope that our friendship could survive this gross idiocy!

It did!

A little more about the auction...

Every year I get to open the auction.

What I do is to introduce the politician of the day, usually it’s our City Councilor, Russ Powers, and he welcomes everyone to the school and the auction. Russ is quick, because he knows, as we all do, that no one came here for the speeches.

Next, I introduce the current Board Chair who gives greetings and knows too well that no one wants to hear a speech.

Then I give it a shot, and usually try and be a bit funny, tell a little more about the auction and I introduce the Auction Coordinator, usually Heather, our Director of Advancement. Heather thanks our volunteers and our sponsors, and than she introduces our auctioneer, and the live auction event starts.

We try to keep “speechifying’” (a word derived from the Beverly Hillbillies) down to about ten minutes, if we can.

For the last two years, as many of you know from this blog, we have had “mystery pieces”. These pieces have taken special handling, and I have been asked both times to come back and explain the piece. The first time we did it in 2009, I was surprised as the auctioneer had to get to the bathroom, and used the idea to get me up there and get him out of the room, with a moderate amount of confusion. This year we planned it and he didn’t have to leave the room. You don’t want to lose momentum in an auction crowd.

As you all know by now, I love this event! I developed the “mystery piece” idea a few years ago, and now look forward to finding something that will fill the bill. I have been accused of manufacturing the items, and I have thought about it, but in reality, the real mysteries of life are out there and no fraud should need to be involved.

I am working on a lead for one for next year already.

Replacing the carpeting...

The stairway and hall carpeting had to be replaced. The original job (the one that was here when we moved in) was home made, it turns out, and had some problems. However, it has been replaced! The experience was amazing.

The carpet guy arrived at 9:30 a.m. and left at 10:30 p.m. He did a great job, worked non stop, and told me he spent all his time in preparation, so the carpet laying went quickly. He never stopped working, but chatted a bit. He didn't eat or drink and just kept on working.

On April 5, 2009, I wrote a story called “Replacing the Carpeting in the Library”. This story (in case you don’t rush back in this tome and read it) was about the great difficulty and expense involved in moving the books.

We needed to replace the carpeting in our stairway and hall and we have six bookcases up there with all of our literature and art books. The others, the cook books, are all down stairs in several book shelves in the family room, adjacent to the kitchen.

“Six book shelves”, I thought, “how bad can that be?” It turned out to be very bad! There are hundreds, maybe a thousand books to be looked at and a decision has to be made, since we’re going to all the trouble of moving the around, as to whether or not we keep or dispose of them. (Note: dispose means, of course, finding a new home, God forbid we just dumped them!)

As well, we needed a place to put them, and their book shelves while the carpet guy installed the carpet. And, by the way, since we’re moving it all in a once in a lifetime move, we should paint the walls while we have a chance, and by the way, how about three coats?

It is done (the carpet and some paint), I have to do the rest and move it all back, especially because my daughter will be coming home from Montreal with her stuff and we can’t get into the door of her room.

It does look nice…..

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (movie review)

Two nights ago I received free tickets for a screening of the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I had finished reading this book about two weeks ago, and am looking forward to the next two books.
Stieg Larsson wrote the trilogy and then died. These are the three and have become international bestsellers. The movie, which came out last year has had lots of hype, but has its drawbacks. The main one being it’s in Swedish!

In recent years, a lazy public wants its movies in English, or at least dubbed in. In days of old, when there were art houses around, we had subtitles, coffee served in the lobby and art on the walls!

Critics everywhere have been saying this is a good or even great film, but there will surly be an English/Hollywood version which will be a big hit.

Rolling Stone reviews said:
This dynamite thriller shivers with suspense. So if you ignore The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (from the global bestseller by the late Stieg Larsson) because it's in Swedish with English subtitles, you probably deserve the remake Hollywood will surely screw up.) Better to just go with the twisty flow as pierced, tattooed twenty something hacker Lisbeth Salander (a dazzling Noomi Rapace in a star-making performance) teams up with middle-aged journalist Mikael Blomqvist (the excellent Michael Nyqvist) to unearth secrets in the family of an industrialist who thinks his niece was murdered 40 years ago. Homicide is just the tip of this Nordic iceberg, which finds Lisbeth and Mikael buried in perversities that would floor the Marquis de Sade. Lisbeth's revenge on her abusive guardian (Peter Andersson) is graphic enough to freeze your blood. No fair revealing more, except to say that Danish director Niels Arden Oplev fits the puzzle pieces together like a grandmaster of the mystery game. Larsson followed Tattoo with two more posthumously published bestsellers, The Girl Who Played with Fire and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest (both shot for Swedish TV). But Tattoo is the only one directed by Oplev, whose gift for ratcheting up tension and deepening character makes him a talent to watch. His haunting and hypnotic movie gets under your skin.

This was a 850 some page book, with lots of difficult Swedish names to try and keep straight. However, it is a great film, a great book and a difficult film to watch.

There are some difficult scenes to watch, but it moves. The film is 152 minutes long and I never noticed it. It leaves out parts of this very long book but it captures the very essence of the book.

This is one to watch! They have already postponed the opening here, so I have no idea if anyone will ever see it in Hamilton!

Some post aution thoughts...

A few little auction related stories come to mind, it still so close to the event.

A man bought “bread for a year”, 54 coupons for $2.50 off of a loaf of bread, valued at $150. He got home and eventually multiplied $2.50 times 54 coupons and discovered it was only worth $135. He called to complain! We are getting him additional coupons to make up the difference!

Two ladies were walking by me on Friday afternoon and one says to the other, “I saw just as good a piece at Home Sense but it had a small flaw in it! It’s hard for me to imagine someone comparing a printed reproduction of something to any original work of art.

As we neared the end of the evening, my wife asked me if I wanted to increase my bid on an item and I said yes, go to $200. A friend who was with me asked why I would do that and I told him what it was and what I knew that made me want it. He went in an outbid my wife!

Since the auction publicity has been out, I have been offered some amazing art works, which people forget about until they see the publicity and remember they have something they want to dispose of. Usually, they want me to take their piece the day after the auction is up. Sorry, just not possible!

I have been offered a collection of art, jewelry and antiques that’s been sitting in storage for 10 years, as it was left to the man by an Aunt. Another woman has a large number of art works she purchased in 1986, and they’ve been in a crawl space for many years.

We almost never have problems with works of art trying to be returned, except for small damages every now and then, but non-art items are a pain in the butt!

A woman “purchased” dinner with the restaurant critic and was never satisfied with his restaurant choices, and we finally gave her the money back so she would just go away!

More people bid on expensive pieces than bid on lower priced ones. Therefore, often the “bargains” come in the lower priced items.

Lots of people do research these days on art items due to the internet. Most pieces go for close to or slightly over their actual value due to the research.

Desire is still the key element. We all love to see auction bidding wars! I love them, however, do not love being in them. My head goes into some other place. There is some sort of sexual type rush! The blood in my ears rushes and I get “into the zone”. You know you are in trouble when you win and everyone applauds!

Dream Sequence

Last night (sort of) at 2:00 a.m. this morning, I woke up, having fallen asleep around 9:00, and was wide awake. I went downstairs and turned on the TV, with my wireless headphones on, and had a bowl of cereal and watched “5ive Girls” with Ron Perlman.

The plot of this “classic” goes something like this (from IMDB): “In St. Marks catholic boarding school for girls, the religious student Elizabeth is attacked by evil forces and disappears from the classroom and the impotent Father Drake is incapable of saving her. The school is closed and five years later it is reopened. Five troubled unwanted girls - Alex, Mara, the blind Cecilia, Leah and Connie - are left by their family in the institution, severely directed by the headmistress Miss Pearce with hands of iron. Father Drake is their teacher and the girls are forbidden to go to the mysterious third floor. When Alex has visions of the possessed Elizabeth, weird things happen in the spot and the girls have to fight against a legion of two thousand demons.”

Needless to say there is some good nudity, lots of Catholic schoolgirls in uniforms going bad and a huge amount of blood!

This came on late and lasted 2 ½ hours due to a never ending group of commercials. I watched an entire episode of Hoarders during the commercial breaks.

As it ended at 5:00 a.m., I was dozing and looking to see what else was on. I drifted asleep, sitting in an upholstered straight back wing chair.

I dreamed that my youngest daughter and I were out for a walk, I think, and she was about 7 or 8 years old. We met a strange young man, and he did seemed very nice. He was in his late twenties. He was walking along with us and maybe we were inside of some very big warehouse.

As we walked along, a woman started screaming, “Stay away from that man, get away from him! He is a killer! He will kill you!”

I never have such dreams and as it was so scary, I woke up to realize I was still hearing the screaming!

As I mentioned, I was wearing wireless headphones, and on the screen was the film, “Friday the 13th, A New Beginning”. A woman on the TV was screaming at a late twenties guy, the one I with whom I had been walking.

Somehow, I managed to bring the dream and the movie into a "perfect" blend in my head!

Just What I Needed, Another Work of Art #2

This ceramic piece is 6 1/2 feet high!

On March 4, 2009, I started the story “Just What I Needed, Another Work of Art” with these words:

“The devil made me do it, but sitting here watching my stock market investments dissolve into the blue, I had been talking about investment grade art (something I can't afford) as a better idea. I ran into an online auction from Ritchie's, their 3rd one ever. For my American friends, Ritchie’s is Sotheby’s partner in Toronto, and the place I have sold some stuff over the years.”

Now here it is April, 2010, Ritchies is gone, the stock market is recovering a bit, and I still am not buying “investment grade art”, but if last nights auction proves anything to me and my wife, I still buying art!

The “Mystery Sculpture”, that I wrote about yesterday, did well at $750. I was called up to the front and explained the story, just as I’d explained it to you. There was a short flurry of activity and the piece was sold.

I bid on a sculptural piece and won, much to the surprise of my wife who was sitting next to me and didn’t think I bought it. Since she looked a bit upset, I bid and won two other (a pair) of pieces she wanted. Now we have to find room for more “stuff”!

Here's what we "got"

COLLEEN O'REILLY, "Roses are Red, Violets are Blue", porcelain, # 6
Colleen O’Reilly has been a ceramic artist for over 30 years. In 1990 she established “Spirited Clay” specializing in colourful porcelain tableware and tile. Over the past several years, as a reflection of her own creative and spiritual quest, Colleen has been creating unique totems and sculptural pieces that now grace the homes and businesses of many collectors. In December 2009 the Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade Canada purchased five of her life size totems to use for permanent display at Canadian Diplomatic Missions abroad. This continues the Canadian Government’s support of Colleen’s work as it has in the past with purchases from Brian Mulroney as official gifts to former British Prime Minister John Major and former Russian President Boris Yeltsin.



MICHEAL CLOSE, Faces I, Faces II, acrylic, #7
Michael Close was born and raised in Toronto, Canada and received his education at the University of Guelph, Ryerson Polytechnic Institute and Ontario College of Art. As early as the 1970’s Michael has sought the synthesis of both the intellect and the sensual in an attempt to arrive at some universal truth. This is what led him to focus on images of the human face to which we all respond, more or less intensely; some eliciting emotional sensations, others appealing directly to our intellect. Set in flat, non-existent space, these simplified forms whose contours are bold and energized and animated calligraphically by line and colour, fuse into one another in a fiction of shifting points of view. It is the artist’s intention in these works to combine a variety of elements and experiences to serve the conveyance of truth and beauty to his viewers in the spirit of the freedom in which they were created. Michael Close had more than fifteen solo shows in museums around the world. And his works are in the permanent collection of: National Art Gallery and Cultural Centre (Honiara, Soloman Islands); Bitola Museum (Bitola, Macedonia); Prilep Museum, (Prilep, Macedonia); Ohrid Museum (Ohrid Macedonia); Skopje City Museum (Skopje, Macedonia), Biuro Wystaw Artystycznych "Art Stilon", Museum, Poland; National Gallery, (Macedonia).

MYSTERY SCULPTURE

On April 19 2009, I quoted from the Hamilton Spectator:

Is it or isn't it?

The buzz around this Saturday's 39th annual Dundas Valley School of Art auction, or at least one of the buzzes, is whether a certain unsigned painting, dated "1921 Canada," might actually be by Lawren Harris, of Group of Seven fame. The painting has the look, and DVSA executive director Arthur Greenblatt says, "Some people believe it's a Harris."He's not saying whether he's one of them.And, of course, there are skeptics, too.But, adds Greenblatt, "There's no way to know for sure."

I went on from there, followed by another piece in the paper after the auction ended, giving the results.

This year, they said I’d never do it again but they were wrong. We have the Mystery Sculpture for sale tomorrow night at our 40th Annual Art Auction.

Here’s the story:

In the mid-1950's, Canadian sculptor William McElcheran joined a Toronto Architectural firm as a Liturgical Designer. As an artist of remarkable inventiveness, his influence bears heavily on the work of this period in both the building and furniture design. McElcheran's influence continued into the early sixties when he left the firm to devote himself full-time to sculpture.In addition to the many churches, McElcheran's influence was quite evident in the McMaster Divinity College and Chapel (1958). His work there is generally highly regarded and may have been instrumental in bringing the firm work at Mount Allison University in the sixties.

This beautiful, Mid-century piece, believed to be "St. Francis of Assisi and Other Saints" was brought into a Hamilton repair shop in the late 80’s in need of a new head for the Saint.
The head was not completed until 2009 (by DVSA), and the piece was never called for by the original customer.

It was said at the time it was left for repair, to be church work done by McElcheran. The artist’s name and the title were written on the back of the piece at that time by the repair shop.

It has been sitting in storage since the late 1980’s. It has been in my office since 2005.

I have shown the piece to the architectural firm in Toronto where he worked, and they do not recognize the piece as theirs, but said it was surly possible that he had done it.

It doesn’t look like the work we know he did as a sculptor, which is mostly portly bronze businessmen on downtown street corners in Calgary, Montreal, and even one at the Hamilton International Airport.

I spoke with the Toronto Gallery that handles the work of his estate, and while they didn’t recognize the style as his, the title was a real giveaway fro them, because, it was said, “Before Bill became a Buddhist; he was really into Saint Francis!” "Quite possibly he could have done it, the style is clearly the late 50's and early 60's".

Clearly a great Mid-century style, this wooden relief piece, with the repaired head, is our Mystery Sculpture.

From yesterday's newspaper, here's what I've been doing

http://www.thespec.com/article/749080

The Easter Weekend

It was the recent holiday weekend, and my family (my wife and our youngest daughter) went to Montreal for the Easter Weekend to visit our other daughter who lives there at McGill University. This was a much looked forward to trip, and was a huge success for all.

Max, dog wonder and I were here happily doing our merry little things, and living the very quiet lifestyle we’ve grown accustomed to while the “girls” shopped and ate and partied the weekend through.

On the colorful streets of Montreal they saw large groups of Hasidim, with great long, colorful coats and fur hats walking with tons of little children, complete with peyes (sideburns, sort of).

From Wikipedia: Hasidic Judaism or Hasidism, from the Hebrew חסידות -Hasidus meaning "piety" (literally "lovingkindness"[1]), is a branch of Orthodox Judaism that promotes spirituality and joy through the popularisation and internalisation of Jewish mysticism as the fundamental aspects of the Jewish faith. It was founded in 18th Century Eastern Europe by Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov as a reaction against overly legal Judaism. His example began the characteristic veneration of leadership in Hasidism as embodiments and intercessors of Divinity for the followers. Opposite to this, Hasidic teachings cherished the sincerity and concealed holiness of the unlettered common folk, and their equality with the scholarly elite. The emphasis on the Divine presence in everything gave new value to prayer and deeds of kindness, alongside Rabbinic supremacy of study, and replaced historical mystical and ethical asceticism and admonishment with optimism, encouragement and fervour. It sought to add to required standards of ritual observance, while relaxing others where inspiration predominated. Its communal gatherings celebrated soulful song and storytelling as forms of mystical devotion.

My daughter was surprised because she was too young to remember all her visits to Baltimore, watching the “parading” Hasidic families walking Park Heights Avenue. My wife did tell me that the folks in Montreal were much more colorful dressers. (In Montreal we spell it colourful.)
Seeing all this, my daughter figures this is an opportunity, having just come from one of Montreal’s famous bagel stores, to score a Challah. She decides they can find a Jewish grocery store to get the bread. If you translate Jewish to Kosher, this is simple. They see just what they want and go in.

My dear family, schooled in the world of living two religions, celebrating every holiday possible except maybe Kwanzaa and Ramadan, go into a kosher grocery on Passover, looking for a Challah. Luckily for them, all “chometz” was covered over with plastic sheets, and before they asked the ultimate dumb question, they remembered it was Passover and happily went to the car.

Takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'

The next day, after the Uneventful Event (yesterday’s post), we planned a trip to Tijuana.

We all drove to the border, walked across, and took a cab to what we hoped was a good restaurant. We asked the driver to take us to the best place in town for food (this was a suggested way of doing it). This restaurant had a large, prominent government seal on the door. Not a closed for business seal, but a seal of approval. It also looked pretty nice and the food was good.

All this happened in 1987, so I have lots of hindsight going for me. I remember I had something that required a brazier being brought to the table; I think it was a mixed grill. We stuck with beer in bottles and stayed away from water as was suggested by many seasoned visitors.

I ended up going to the bathroom and dragging all my friends back to see it. The beautiful marble bathroom had large marble wall urinals in it and had mounds of limes in them, (from used Margaritas), in order to keep down the smell of urine. (It worked!)

Later on we went shopping. My friends had recently been to the Orient and had some bad experiences with customs in trying to bring back “fake” goods and were prepared to kill all my chances of shopping success. I went looking for a great “fake” Rolex, and after a while, many stores later, bought a nice gold one (I skipped the diamonds) for $26. I bought a medium sized leather bag for another $25.

My friend assured me that it would be confiscated at the border, and if not, it wouldn’t last six months.

Later that evening I crossed back to the US with my leather bag in hand (I still use it when traveling) and my watch in my pocket.

To my friend’s credit, the date mechanism in the watch did start to give me trouble, about a year ago!

The watch itself still keeps on ticking! (23 years later)

The Unevetful Event

We were in San Diego at a rather plush hotel, and wanted to get some dinner. First we went to the bar for drinks. There was my dear friend and his wife, and my wife and I. We had several martinis, probably two each and than we were off to the restaurant. We had directions, and one of us drove the car.

The restaurant was fantastic, I have no recollection of the name, but the waiter asked us if we had ever had this restaurant’s salmon. We of course said we hadn’t and he assured us it was the best salmon in the world.

By that point we had at least one or two more martinis and if he said it was so, we believed him. We ordered salmon, and it was, for that moment, the best in the world!

We had a bottle of wine or two with dinner and probably some dessert.

The hotel was about six blocks from the restaurant, and we decided that my wife was the only one capable of driving anywhere at all, so she was elected. In those days before MADD etc., it seemed like a good idea.

The ride back was uneventful and we were home in a few minutes. There is little to be remembered about that evening, except for the salmon and the ride. It was probably the last time either my wife or I drove a car when we were that far gone.

It was clear to us, from the next morning on, that driving was not a contact sport, and maybe we had better slow down. We both consider that event to be a turning point in our lives, based on the fact that nothing bad happened.

We think it was a sign!

It was, an uneventful event.

My Easter Story

My thanks to Quentin Tarantino who is cast as this street preacher.

It was 1958, the Saturday before Easter (the same as today but 52 years ago), and my friend Ted and I had made our way to New York City. We were 16, but both of us were pretty big, and we had fake ID’s if we needed them, and the drinking age in New York was 18. The rest is history.

We had a great time, and even got to the Village Gate to see Brownie McGhee and Sonny Terry on stage. It was remarkable in many ways, including experiencing going to a bar at the 8:00 a.m. opening. I’ve never done that one since. We watched (and drank) with what I thought of as “professional” drinkers, I guess alcoholics by today’s standards. I do remember we had a good time, no cars were involved, and we all lived to tell about it.

However, the most memorable event to me those 52 years ago, was walking in Times Square at about 8:00 p.m. and there was a man in a suit and tie, with the “good book” held high above his head, screaming with a Southern accent,” What are you doing, out on the streets of New York, the night before Easter, without a bible in your hands?”

So wherever you may be, as you read this, in that crazy man’s honor, let me ask you, “What are you doing, wherever you may be, the day before Easter, without a bible in your hand?” (Accent implied)

Technology Wars

Editors note: Yes, I know these are color enlargers, but you can do black and white on them and the photio was readily available.

I heard an amazing and funny story today about competing technologies. This is the new killing the old, I guess.

The head art teacher at a local high school was telling me about his Black and White Photo class. He has a digital class or two, but he also has, available in the 11th grade, the traditional Black and White Photo class.

We were discussing if we should call it antique processes at this point, even though that title has been usually reserved for ambrotype and daguerreotype etc., times have changed enough that silver printing is quickly becoming an antique.

He told me that in his class recently, he has been having a problem in the darkroom.

Kids in the class are having their paper ruined and no one was able to determine why this started to happen. After continued problems, clearly not only paper from a single box, which could have been exposed, he investigated and discovered that the lights from kid's cell phones and MP3 players were ruining the paper.

Maybe we need a safelight app!