In August I again became a college student, enrolling at South Mountain Community College so that I could be in their 3D Design class. The third sculptural project for the class is due today, November 6, 2017, in less than nine hours. The assignment: Make ten gesture drawings, have the instructor approve one of them, and create a wire sculpture based on that drawing.
I had never worked with wire before. It is fantastically fun to be doing so now!
If I ever write a memoir about my struggle with (perceived; I’ve never been diagnosed) mental illness, the way H. G. Wells (MIND AT THE END OF ITS TETHER) and F. Scott Fitzgerald (THE CRACK-UP) and Philip K. Dick (VALIS) did, “When the B’ao Breaks” will be the title, and the above sketch may well be an illustration. Happy to report that things are going well now, and there is not the desperate urge to codify my madness the way those three fine gentlemen storytellers did. But Life is fickle; it could happen.
These two efforts, one a month in the making and one reactive and near-instantaneous, complement each other, if not quite complimentarily.
frailty
when a dream shatters
one must be careful not to
step on shards barefoot
Last night I watched the DVD of GUERNICA. It was about the village of that name that was used by the Condor Squad of Hitler’s Luftwaffe to test the effectiveness of Blitzkrieg, “lightning warfare.” The bombing was conducted by a cousin of WWI’s Baron von Richtofen. It was April 26, 1937, and the bombing was called by him “a birthday present for Hitler.”
It was a good movie, with personal stories of love, heartbreak, betrayal and loss. I kept getting distracted by the costumes, hairstyles, and vintage automobiles, though, and soon froze the frame for a sketch, and kept freezing it for an interesting expression, explosion, or other eye candy. Consequently it took the better part of five hours to see a two-hour movie.
Parts 1 and 2 of this series detailed the provenance of the developing image. A work crisis loomed. Employer wanted a certain number of hours from the employee during holiday time. Employee would not receive the Social Security benefit for that month working those hours, as income would exceed maximum allowed.
The crisis is resolved. The employee called in, not sick, but unavailable, two of the days of the month. One of the days was Christmas Eve. This absence on Christmas Eve meant, per the union contract, that the employee would not receive holiday pay for work performed on Christmas Day. That reduced the monthly income by slightly more than 4 hours’ work. There was also continual encouragement of the employer to save payroll money by sending the employee home early if things were slow.
The employee, myself, consequently will receive the Social Security benefit. The employer, SSP America, did not suffer overmuch for my absences. Win-win!
Here is a variant of the final version of the now-framed image, showing relief on two of the faces of the image.
In my lonelier moments I nO evoM, which is Move On backwards. I UNmove on. Backtrack. Grind my teeth over how I cannot unturn events, cannot Revert To Saved Version.
I was in such a dysfunctional mode this morning, and so I gave myself the illustrator’s version of a good talking-to. Good PENCILING-to? Sounds painful. –Hey, it was, a little. But it may have done the job.
Here is the acrostic:
pass your past
poetry‘s my s.o.p
andy hopfrog told his flea
schmaltzy, lurid odes engross
some poor bastards NEED a ghost
S.O.P. stands for Standard Operating Procedure. Why a Hopfrog talking to a Flea that belongs to him? Metaphor for a dilettante with a Jiminy Cricket. Why is [told] in brackets? Alternate close words like toed, toad and towed offer different flavors. Who’s the Asian babe and the old guy? The heart of the page, that’s who.
This morning I started the above image, and got stuck and put it aside. I then had lunch at the Senior Center, got a call from my mother asking for help, went with her to Walgreen’s and then Bashas’ and then back to her house to put away the groceries and then to Dignity Health to visit my ailing brother Brian and then back to Mom’s house, where I left her with her neighbor Jeff, who’s been helping her out as well, and then I walked to Yoshi’s (Have A Rice Day) and had their Spicy California Roll, an eggroll, and a medium Dr Pepper. The George and Dragon was a stroll away and I went there to watch the Chicago Cubs tie their World Series with the Cleveland Indians with their thrilling 9-3 victory, and I had vanilla ice cream topped with the coffee liqueur Kahlúa® to celebrate. Shortly after that I left for the bus stop on Indian School Road that would take me home, and it was there that a strange, slow tune blossomed in my head, and I came up with some words for it, and then some more, and discarded some, and continue to this moment, even after I finished the image with a mind to illustrate the song. Here are the words as of this moment:
search
i’ve searched for you
in time in space
i long to view
your loving face.
i know you’re way
beyond right now
i seem to sway
with you somehow.
some things are felt
before they’re seen
may travel melt
the in between.
may we behold
each other’s gaze
the tale be told
and well amaze.
i’ve searched for you
and we’ll be crowned
with dawn and dew
when we are found.
I just tried singing it, and it is so syrupy sweet it’s embarrassing. It doesn’t matter. It was the catalyst that helped me complete an image, so I’m grateful for the song.
Here is a bit of wordless storytelling. The viewer is not given a whole lot to go on, and what there is is strange. There seems to be sadness and perhaps resignation. The title hints that the venue is not Planet Earth. There are odd juxtaposes and transparencies.
Pop quiz, class: What’s the story here? Any answer at all will do. If you think of a story that makes the image make sense, give yourself a gold star and an A. For extra credit, post your story in the Comments section . . . and if there are at least six comments, I will add mine. No pressure, though!
Since it’s Inktober, this image was made using all ink. Next time this subject matter comes up after Inktober, watercolor or acrylic wash will be used.
Here is the “final” version of “buster browne,” my acrostic homage to Jackson Browne. I put “final” in quotes because I had intended to make this an oil pastel, and I may yet, when I am sure I will not ruin it. I refer you to Part 1 for a clue as to how shaky my proficiency with oil pastel is. This drawing has nuances that I cannot yet transcribe into that more difficult medium; but I see nothing wrong with glorious black and white, for now.
The title/acrostic is “buster browne” both for the irony of the reference to the shoe spokesboy Buster Brown and for my admiration for certain of Browne’s songs, in particular “Lives in the Balance,” wherein he calls to account (busts) the Reagan Administration and its shenanigans in Central America. “Lives in the Balance” is equally applicable to other misdeeds worldwide, with passages like this:
In the radio talk shows and TV
You hear one thing again and again
How the USA stands for Freedom
And we come to the aid of a friend.
But who are the ones that we call our friends?
These governments killing their own?
Or the people who find they can’t take any more
And they pick up a gun
Or a brick
Or a stone . . .
Browne is deservedly in the Songwriter’s Hall of Fame. He has solid songs in each of five consecutive decades. A year ago January I recited “For a Dancer” in its entirety, from memory, at a poetry event after the death of my beloved friend Karen Wilkinson. Here is its finish:
Keep a fire for the human race
Let your prayers go drifting into space
You never know what will be coming round . . .
Perhaps a better world is drawing near
Just as easily it could all disappear
Along with whatever meaning we may have found . . .
Don’t let the uncertainly turn you around–
( The world keeps turning round and round)
Go on and make a joyful sound!
Into a dancer you have grown
From a seed somebody else has thrown;
Go on ahead and throw some seeds of your own,
And some time between
The time you arrive
And the time you go
May lie a reason you were alive,
But you’ll never know . . .
Browne could be a bit of a rascal, too, with sexual innuendo. Try on his song “Red Neck Friend” and see where it gets you. And his song “Rosie,” about a sound man who lost a girl to the drummer of the band, has this chorus:
But, Rosie, you’re all right (you wear my ring)
When you hold me tight (Rosie, that’s my thing)
When you turn off the light (I got to hand it to me . . .)
Looks like it’s me and you again tonight,
Rosie.
And that is why in my drawing, in the background sub-portrait, I have Jackson Browne sporting a halo that also puts bunny ears, or devil’s horns, on him.
Here are the words, which refer to his songs “The Pretender,” “Walking Slow,” “For Everyman,” and “Running on Empty.”
buster browne
bitterness of brew and herb
urgency!!! dissolve and stir
some pretender? we dunno
though he takes his walking slow
every man ought say it plain
runs on empty keep us sane
*****
Here is a rough cut of the illustrated version of my poem “come love me.” In Part 2 I intend to have a less sketchy illustration and a more calligraphic transcription, and I am also thinking of writing variations and additional stanzas. But as of now the words are these:
come love me
come love me said the blinking text
come play with fire come share my bed
we will disrobe and do what’s next
with no regrets and nothing said
come love me he replied at last
we’ll dine on scones & tea & such
our eyes will meet our souls hold fast
our hopes will mix our psyches touch
come love me now and bring your trust
her answer came ten minutes hence
we will be naked as we must
our lust become our testaments
come love me if you dare he wrote
we’ll shed our bodies get our bliss
we need no flesh to cross the moat
nor lips to frame the perfect kiss
an hour passed
two hours
ten
the silence s t r e t c h e d and
too
despair
they sought a love
had never been
they wanted something
was
.
not
.
.
there
One with Clay, Image and Text 