Here is some minimalism, and yet still content-rich enough to include a bad pun.
n.e.s. #19 of 480
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Tag Archives: art
n.e.s. #12 of 480
Our narrator is joined by The Moon, or A Moon, anyway, singing “By the Light of the Silvery Me.”
I thought it would also be fun to reveal the gloriously messy continuum that this sketchbook rests on:
A Special Thanks to my lunaphilic friend Sylvia Frost is included. Sylvia is hyperaware of moonphase, and shares with her friends the moonrise time on days when the moon is full.
I’d also like to acknowledge the influence of Will Eisner, legendary creator of The Spirit and savvy comics businessman, whose book on sequential art is a treasure-trove of How To. So thanks also to my good friend Russ Kazmierczak, who gave me Eisner’s book in a karma-balancing bit of Sequential Art of its own–a long story that may eventually find its way into this blog.
Won’t Ya Be My Ballantyne?
Two days ago on Facebook I posted a Bad Pun Brain Teaser. I asked my audience which John Denver song was the favorite of Belfast resident Leland Finn. I added that the first person with the correct answer would be the subject of a custom-crafted, illustrated acrostic poem. The acrostic would be a pun on some form of the winner’s name.
Quite soon after I posted, Jessica answered correctly with “Leaving on a Jet Plane.” Friends, please take a moment to try to deduce why Belfast resident Leland Finn would regard “Leaving on a Jet Plane” as his favorite song.
Got it? No? Well, Jess DID get it–that the (nonexistent) Leland Finn, also known as Lee Finn, might love airplane travel so much that “Lee Finn on a Jet Plane” might tickle his fancy.
Anybody groan with displeasure? I did, again, and I wrote the damned thing. It is not just a Bad Pun–it is a WRETCHED Pun. But it made a good Brain Teaser for the agile brain of Jessica “Hot Jess” Ballantyne.
So a deal’s a deal, and Jess, Congratulations, and I hope you like it!
Won’t You Be My Ballantyne?
What a Pleasure ’tis to B
On a Role with scones and tea
Ne’er a Worry e’er a Thrill
‘Tis a maid with looks to Kill
Yesterday in Slam’s arena
Awesome Tactics meat and Vegan
Bittersweetness to a T
Esoteric artistry
May this Worthy Lass long reign
Young and gleefully Insane
Christy & Gary & Saturday & sundaes & Sandcutters
This is Christy White. She is now, and has often been, the President of the Arizona State Poetry Society. Sometimes she has been its Treasurer. I have known her for about ten years, and a few times I’ve participated in poetry-sharing meetings she has conducted at the Mustang branch of the Phoenix Public Library. We see each other at spoken-word poetry events as well, both of us being enthusiastic participants in open mic.
Early last October Christy asked me if I’d be willing to be a featured “Poet/Artist” and cover artist for Sandcutters, the poetry anthology that ASPS now produces annually. I was glad to agree, and I invited her to harvest my blog for whatever she thought would be fit to print.
Yesterday, Saturday, we met at the Arizona Center, at Cold Stone Creamery, so that I could treat her and myself to a sundae, and she could treat me to the 2019 edition of Sandcutters. Christy had the Apple Dumpling Sundae, and I had the Chocolate Delight in the I Love It size. (I did in fact love it.) We talked about poetry, personal histories, The Vagina Monologues, Neil Diamond, Elvis Presley, and this and that and other things for about an hour. Christy is a spellbinding storyteller and her playfulness is complemented by a beautiful, mischievous grin.
And we took a couple of pictures, I of her and her of me holding her anthology featuring my artwork and poetry, and the poetry of a host of creative, talented people from across the country as well as from the Valley of the Sun. Teens and oldsters, New Yorkers and small-towners, all participated–it’s a wonderfully diverse crop.
Here I am on Page 142:
There’s more of me, and MUCH more from about five dozen award-winning poets, between the covers of this fine publication. The hard work that Christy threw into the book shows on every page. And it can be a fine addition to YOUR library for the unbelievably low price of Nine Dollars US!!! If you’re interested, please go to http://azpoetry.webs.com. Or if you’re in the Valley and want a free sundae to go with your purchase, let me know with a reply to this post, and I’ll see to it!
2bird Tubered
Today I left work early and went to Sahuaro Ranch Park, where my sculptured bird is on display as part of the 57th Annual Glendale Arts Council’s Juried Show. I found my bird, “Cockeyed Optimist,” on a little pedestal:
Less than an hour later I was sitting in front of the entrance of the library just north of Sahuaro Ranch Park, and a peacock walked by and then stood in front of me:
As for being Tubered, I have been on this planet for more than 65 years, and only today learned that the word “tuber” comes from the same source as “protuberant.” It delights me that “tuber” is bookended by “pro” and “ant.” Just waiting to be unearthed by a word-digger in need of sustenance! 🙂
Six-Decade Acceptance Crow!!!
Today in the mail came the news that one of my entries for the 57th annual Glendale arts Council Juried Fine Arts Competition was selected for inclusion in the show.
My delight at being included is made more savory by the fact that this acceptance makes SIX consecutive decades that I’ve gotten in at least one year. Way back in 1975, when I was an art student at the University of Arizona, my artwork was included in the show for the first time. Kept plugging away during the 80s, 90s, 00s, and 10s, with an acceptance/rejection rate of maybe 60% or so for the years I entered. Some years I struck out completely. One year I went 3 for 3.
I grew up in Glendale, Arizona so I try to enter the show when feasible, being a loyal son of Glendale.
The birds above were not entered, but were made along with the entries (also clay sculptures of birds) in the same “Beyond Basic Wheel Throwing” class I’ve been taking at the Thunderbird Center for the Arts, instructed by master potter Jon Higuchi. If you want to see the bird that is in the show, please make your way to the Fruit Packing Plant at Sahuaro Ranch Park, just north of Glendale Community College. A display of all entries will be there January 11th and 12th, and the pieces in the Juried Show will be available to view from the 14th through the 26th, 10AM to 5PM. Stay tuned for a future post of the show itself, Friends!
Dusty & Left Alone/Trivial One
Here we are at year’s end. And here is an acrostic poem that is both revelatory and cryptic.
Dusty & Left Alone/Trivial One
Duty-free & obsessed with Trivia
User friendly so Ell O Ell
Seeking Kindness & room & kibble–O
Tears of Shame may yet fill my well–in
Yearning Dreams there sleeps une Belle
Gift/Life
Gift/Life
Gravitation/wherewithal
Intuition/wisefolk III
Free expression/Goofy Golf
THAT’S what Spirit/means to me
Ma’am, I Exist
Here’s a Stephen Crane poem in its entirety, courtesy of the Poetry Foundation:
A Man Said to the Universe
A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”
****
Three things strike me, fifty years after I first read, and was enamored with, this poem. Third, the Universe is conversing with the man as if the man were NOT part of Herself. Perhaps the man feels lonely and he has codified his loneliness, and sense of rejection, into this imagined conversation.
Second, She has a voice. How does She speak? Does She implant thoughts in the man’s head, does She make air vibrate, or did She employ corporeal form à la Dr. Strange’s odd compadre Eternity, who resides in the universe of Marvel Comics? Or is the man imagining it all?
But first and foremost, the man addresses the Universe as “Sir.” I think he is wrong to do so. The Universe is forever gestating, creating phenomena without end. And all of Her creations are still in Her womb, for She IS the womb.
So, playfully-or-not, I reboot Crane’s notion, thus:
Gary Said to the Universe
Gary said to the Universe,
“Ma’am, I exist!”
Here is some proof:
I finished that just this morning. And here are some vessels, Ma’am, made from your very own clay:
Ma’am, I just want to say I’m grateful to be here.
And ask you: Did God make you?”
“Yes, we are,” replied the Universe.
“As to your question,
We can but reply
‘Here we are.'”
“I don’t understand,” I answered.
“You cannot understand,” She replied.
End of reboot, except to say
I’m neither believer nor atheist,
And this is Exhibit A.
My Amazing and Heroic Aunt Diane
Here is a true and recent story about my Aunt, Diane Householder Norrbom.
A couple of weeks ago Diane’s sister, my Mother, Jane Stoneman, had half her power go out in her house when lightning struck quite nearby. Supposedly all fuses and breakers were checked. Two major electrical firms, George Brazil and Parker Brothers, were called for diagnosis and help. The George Brazil estimate came in at $14,000. Parker Brothers wanted $11K. Diane drives over from California. Finds a fuse box no one checked, including the two prestigious firms listed above. Finds replacement fuses in a drawer. Hey, presto–full power.
But it gets worse, then better. Some signs all is not right. Home security batteries need to be replaced, plus at least one surge protector. Diane goes to Home Depot. “Picked up a guy there who said he was an electrician,” says Diane. She took him to Mom’s and he finds that the intermittent-outage problems that are still occurring are due to APS (Arizona Public Service Company, Mom’s power supplier) not doing a good job when they switched Mom to a “smart meter.” They call APS. APS checks, ACKNOWLEDGES FAULT, and makes things right. Mom’s house’s wiring fully restored. Diane spent a LOT less than a grand–maybe between $250 and $500–to completely fix the problem, and update the maintenance on the alarm system’s backup power to boot.
At the same time, she got Mom a new, dependable yard guy, who worked tirelessly to clear tree-debris and get Mom’s yard back on track. She did a boatload of other things too. All in one long weekend.
So this is my salute to her. It’s awfully clumsy. Diane is Beautiful, but my portrait of her is off the mark, because, as always with those I care deeply about, I tried too hard and clenched up. But the respect and love is there.
In the poem, I call her an “Uber-Mama.” That’s not saying she drives an Uber. It’s saying she’s the Mama of all Mamas. Heck, she’s even playing Mama to MY Mama at this point. She has a power of attorney, and thank Heaven she does–enough said about that!
I also compare her to Top Ramen, that favorite of college students, because Dirt Cheap Yet Gets The Job Done. It is extraordinarily difficult to get Diane to agree to be reimbursed for the many things she’s done on Mom’s behalf.
The poem refers to a “passe-partout.” A Passe-Partout is a key that will get you through any door. I have barely scratched the surface of all the doors Diane has opened along her journey. She is an incredible survivor, and beloved by many.
My Amazing and Heroic Aunt Diane
Matriarch and Uber-Mama
Youngster (in your 60s)–you
Are like noodles of Top Ramen
Much like Heaven/passe-partout
And your Deeds are truly Legend
Zapping Evil Right and Left. I
Illustrate your fine Agenda
Nipping-budding Waste & Theft. In
Grace nigh-Wiccan Pitch & Blende
One with Clay, Image and Text 