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2022 0117 risk disk

Though it is undated, and may be reworked at a later time, this drawing is essentially done as of today, January 17, 2022. Today is Betty White’s 100th birthday. Betty is no longer with us but her legacy of empowerment for women–she led by superb example–and reverence for animals is alive and well.

Two days ago I briefly served as a Docent for the Glendale Arts Council, spending the afternoon at Sahuaro Ranch Park welcoming visitors into the Fruit Packing Building, where the Council’s 58th annual Juried Fine Arts Show was in progress. After I had done my duty I took a long hike to my friend Martin Klass’s house. Before I had gone a mile I was walking past a mini-flock of sheep, and I stopped to take pictures, and some of them left the flock and came up to the fence, thus:

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I was subsequently compelled to write this about our encounter:

no baa, no humbug

out the gates of sahuaro ranch park
and east on mountain view
west of fifty-first ave
reside livestock
including sheep
who were clumpingly champing on grass
bout fiddyfeet from the chainlink

and were so bored
that a pedestrian with a phone cam
was a welcome distraction

and three nay four
came up to the fence
to say hello
and mouth-grab dry leaf from the links

they were mellow
matter-of-fact
and i hope not disappointed
that i gave them only
murmurs

Two days later, rereading the poem, it seems to me that it sounds eerily similar to the “voice” of William Carlos Williams in his famous poem “This Is Just To Say.” I gratefully acknowledge his influence.

As for my own poetic voice, in the form of the acrostic poem in the image above, here it is, transcribed:

risk disk

ruminate in fleece array’d
indolence: it’s toujours gai
sacrificial-lamming desks
keep it pesky–add some pesk

And the image, which was sketched and calligraphed on a card approximately 3″ by 5″, is a rather muddled blend of at least three faces. the central face is that of the ewe in the photo, the one on the right. It is flanked by a couple, one of whom has one hand on top of the other’s, though that is nearly impossible to see, what with the superimposition of ewe-face and poem. There MAY be a duck’s profile helping the ewe’s right ear do double-duty, and there MAY be a grinning clam doing the same with the left ear. (In this surreal Image-Universe, clams are every bit as sentient as were the oysters in Lewis Carroll’s famous poem “The Walrus and the Carpenter.”)

I say MAY be, because this image is preliminary to a much larger drawing on the same type of paper, but with 32 times more square footage. (Inchage? [smiles]) I hope to spend at least a week on the larger, more elaborated, less murky drawing. It is inevitable that I will find new things to say and draw to honor Betty White and her love for all creatures, which is ancillary but vital to this image. (Notice how the sheep is saying “Happy Heavenly Birthday, Betty White!) I love the idea of having some small part in continuing the divine Ms. White’s earthly mission. And so, inspired by the example of mypoet and professional-organizer friend Michelle Frost, today I made a modest donation to the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Friends, I urge you to make some donation to some animal-advoicacy group today.

2022 0117 aspca donation

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The house on Krall Street inhabited by my unique friend Martin Klass (see Foom-Bozzle-Wozzle parts 1 and 2) is nestled in diverse overgrowth of bucketed flowers, crawling vines, and trees. Marty is a horticulturist and a hoarder, so much so that the City has issued him at least one citation, and not the good kind, either.

Yesterday I made my public-transport way to Marty’s place, and found to my mild dismay that a ceramic vase, which I had made and either given to Marty or had it dumpster-dived by him when I cleaned out my former workshop after my amicable divorce with the very nice small-town Minnesota gal Joni née Froehling, was in one of Marty’s flower-buckets, toppled over. I grabbed the vase and tried to open the screen door of the house, but it was strangely stuck. “HELLO…”

“Bongo!” replied Martin son of Max & Betty. (He calls me Gary infrequently. “Bongo,” “Ca’Bear,” and “Bernanke” are more frequent forms of address.) “Jussaminit!”

Inside his enslovened abode, I brandished the vase, told him how I’d found it, and accused him of neglect. He nodded in agreement and assured me that many other works of my creation on his property were being neglected, and that some in his back yard had been destroyed in storms. (I knew that already and it didn’t bother me–a lot of what Marty had were “factory seconds” of mine, unsuitable as showpieces. Prolificity’s downside is also its upside.)

I had a proposition for Marty, spawned when I picked up my vase. I was there to pick up the bird sculpture that had been rejected by Bruce Cody, the juror of the Glendale Arts Council’s 57th annual Juried Show. But I would rather have the vase, made by me on the 19th of May 2003 and having a suggestion of hard-to-capture antiquity, of ancient days, about it, than the rejected bird, made recently, which I could easily replicate in a couple of hours spread out over a couple of bisquing/glazing weeks. How about a trade?

Marty instantly agreed, and also agreed to pose for a photo illustrative of the trade:

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I left soon after, but before I left I said, “You’re my best friend,” perhaps quoting Jessica Tandy as Miss Daisy, or perhaps telling him a simple truth.

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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!

Every year the Glendale Arts Council presents a juried art show in Glendale, Arizona’s Sahuaro Ranch Park. For the past few years, due to my frequent changes in residence, I haven’t received the application and notice for the show, though I’ve been in the show in every single decade since the 70s, and a few times brought home ribbons, and twice cash.

But this post is about Procrastination, not Bragging. Even when I did receive ample notice I would put off the selection and preparation of two show pieces till the last minute. I had a few day’s notice this year, and produced two pieces in advance of deadline, but due to work and reliance on public transportation was not able to get them to the receiving point in time.

So let’s have a little two-piece art show right here, Friends:

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“Appeal,” armature wire, 9″ x 7″ x 4″. Category: Sculpture.

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“Diptych in Black, White and Gray,” 11″ x 17″. Category: Mixed Media.

Critiques are welcome, Friends, and the more clinically honest, the better.

But we can’t sign off on this post yet. If I want to stop being a Last-Minute Charlie, and believe me I do, there must be an end to this dysfunctional method of preparation. One thing I could do is enter a LOT of Art Shows, not just one a year. The other possibility that comes to mind is having more of these private, blog-posted shows–say one a month. Then there is that which has not occurred to me yet. But that can wait–or can it?

 

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Behold Bart Turner, mainstay of the Glendale Arts Council. In this photo he is in the act of bucking the tradition of not making any presentations nor announcements during Opening Night of the annual art show, and I’m glad. Among other comments, he gave some history of the show, whose first incarnation was in 1963, and outside, and used clothesline to display some of the artwork. Later I asked him for a one-sentence quote for blog publication. His charming companion said, “Bart doesn’t do one-sentence quotations…” but after some thought Mr. Turner said, wisely and accurately: “Our show is a favorite of Arizona artists.” He then added, “Tell them to Like us on Facebook,” so it turns out his charming companion was right.

Speaking from authority, since I am an Arizona artist, the show IS a favorite of Arizona artists. Each year they pick a juror who has proven herself or himself to be an artistic force to reckon with. After the jurying, a preview opening is held that features not just the juried-in entries, but all entries deemed acceptable for jurying. The venue is the historically significant Sahuaro Ranch Park Fruit Packing Plant. The show lasts about four weeks in what is usually extraordinarily balmy weather for January.

Sorry, Mr. Turner–I am not going to tell my independent-minded readers to Like the show on Facebook. I will, however, invite them to check out the Glendale Arts Council Facebook page for themselves, and will provide this link to do so: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Glendale-Arts-Council/147185502008516

Lastly, since this is and always has been a Blog for the Aggrandizement of Gary W. Bowers, here’s some related me-stuff:

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Here’s my “Planes and Plenum.” Note the blue and green stickers. Blue means it’s in the show; Green means it’s getting an honorable mention.

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Here is Martin Klass, a man I have known for more than 50 years. Though we are not always friends, for this picture he friendlily and obligingly scrunched a little, while I stood on tiptoe, making me appear to be taller than he. Marty’s mom, Betty, 90 years young and a saint of a woman, was also in attendance.

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Here is the young man Marty calls his “nephazoo,” Tom. The name on his tag, Tom Klass, is not the one he was born with, but that’s a long story, untold here. Tom is a caregiver for Betty, and an excellent one at that.

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Here are a trio of ladies, 2/3 of whom I have known for a long time. The one in the middle is the brilliant artist Marilyn Michelle Klass, daughter of Marty. To her right is her mother, Dorine; to her left is her friend, Emily, who, though not named after Emily Dickinson, is familiar with that wonderful poem which wonderfully begins, “Hope is the thing with feathers…”

Long story a little longer: it’s a good show, with a wonderful variety of styles, viewpoints, and media, and well worth seeing, and I hope you do.