I’m no artist. Cannot draw/paint/sculpt to save my life. Lucky to be able to sketch a short straight line if needed, usually crooked. (I can sing (moderately) – but, is my singing ART?)
Because of this, I’ve a great appreciation for true artists, people like my college roommate Dave – who has been making art since he could walk. And the classical artists – Leonardo, Michaelangelo and such. Modern folks not-so-much. An exploration of random color splotches doesn’t move me as does La Giocanda.
And my understanding of art is it is to make one feel something…
My friend Doc In Yuma sent me a collection of art (via email) which did move me. Not just because of the skill of the artist, but, because of the media used.
A few examples, and his story:
Don Marco, the Master Crayola Artist
Don Marco was born in Northern Minnesota in the late 1920’s. His interest in art was evident even before starting school. As a young adult in the Army Air Corp, he began his life’s career in Air Traffic Control, which continued until his retirement from Honolulu International Airport in 1973. Much of his spare time was spent as a professional artist.
Before retirement, Don started developing a technique to create fine art, using Crayola Crayons. Shortly after retiring, he published his first print. Living in Southern California, his work was in demand, including commissions from Burt Reynolds and a one-man show at his Dinner Theater in Florida …
It’s hard to imagine these are done with crayons!
It is with a truly heavy heart that I post this.
The Producers, Blazing Saddles, Young Frankenstein, and so many others…
I still have a wooden dollar, commemorating my going to the Arizona premiere of Blazing Saddles – somewhere.
While I am no longer married (although my ex and I remain dear friends), I do have the distinct memory of asking her of doing me the honor of being my wife, after asking her to turn down the sound on the TV so I wouldn’t be interrupted.
We were watching Silver Streak at the time.
It’s said it was Alzheimer’s disease…
At least he can now be with his beloved wife, Gilda Radner.
RIP, funny and talented man!
Addendum – my sincerest apologies to the current Ms. Wilder. Gene remarried after the passing of Gilda, and she loved him for another 25 years. I’m sorry for your loss.
Uh, NO, it’s orange.
My roomie and I watch
a lot a correct amount of television together. We both like movies (Alfred Hitchcock), and many of the same intense TV shows (Graceland, Suits, The Shield, True Detective, Complications), and some less intense (Property Brothers, House Crashers).
Recently, she was convinced we should try watching Orange Is The New Black. It’s a series (based on a book) surrounding a poor little rich girl, who, when she was young and stupid, moved some cash for a lesbian drug dealer (who also became her lover).
Then, years later, when she was engaged to be married (to a man) the Feds found her and advise her the statute of limitations was 12 years for her offense. And it had been 10 years. Someone had dropped a dime on her.
Presto! She’s in a federal prison for 15 months. And the show recounts her adventures.
With the prison administration. Corrections officers. Other prisoners. In a women’s prison. (translation – violence, unfairness, depictions of both lesbian and straight sex, just short of requiring an X rating!)
Replete with her whining about how unfair everything is.
Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately, depending on your view) the whining and sex are not the entire focus of the show.
As the show progresses surrounding the main plot, the back stories of the other prisoners are revealed. Sometimes they are victims who made poor choices, sometimes they are controlled, sometimes controlling. Sometimes mentally ill.
And sometimes just plain evil.
I never watched OZ, but I get the idea this is similar, except with women.
And I expected not to like it (except perhaps some parts:-)), but it’s really not bad. My biggest complaint is whoever did the sound mixing had no idea what they were doing! We have to keep playing with the volume to either hear or not go deaf.
And watching with a good female friend, with whom you used to be romantically-involved, who is now your landlord is the most uncomfortable part!
I have met many fine folks whilst posting this blog.
Fortunately, prior to posting this blog, I have also met many fine folks!
TOMI THE ART HISTORIAN is one of them!
She and I met working side-by-side @ TMCCC, while she was in school. Now, she is teaching at the school!
AND, she began her blog yesterday!
She has oft commented here. And more importantly, she and her husband have been terrific friends.
PLEASE go and make her welcome. (at the link)
(Sorry. I don’t normally utilize geekspeak any more than I do ebonics – Guffaw)
America’s Vanishing Historic Movie Theaters
by David Rosenberg
During the golden age of Hollywood, the excitement of going to the movies wasn’t only about seeing the stars on screen. It also meant spending time at the neighborhood movie theater, an architecturally ornate center of the community’s social life.
Photographer Stefanie Klavens has long been interested in 20th-century American popular culture, specifically its aesthetic qualities, and has created a photographic series of iconic movie palaces titled “Celluloid Dreams.”(…)
I love living in The Valley of The Sun (except when it’s over 107) but, old buildings here were built in the 1920’s (until back East when it could be the 1820’s – or earlier! Sadly, many folks here seem to think progress means destroying anything over 50 years old – at least some things, like the Orpheum Theater, are designated historic sites and immune from destruction.
And they are still being used today!
My good friend Crystal is participating in a public art tribute to those (like herself) who suffer from chronic health conditions, and those who are survivors of conditions such as cancer (like Guffaw).
Being a big believer in voluntarism, I support her in her efforts to get the message across that folks who suffer are not victims, but are simply trying to be understood and accepted.
She is 49% funded in her efforts, and supporters get original goodies when they contribute! She has 10 more days left in this effort.
(at the link below – I HAD it embedded, then it went away! DRAT!)
50% of Americans have a chronic illness that they don’t talk about. As a society, we’re uncomfortable with less-than-perfect health. When you fund this public art installation, you acknowledge the elephant in the room and celebrate the resilient people who surround you and their caretakers, mentors and sponsors. – Crystal Daigle
(I get nothing from her, save her friendship. I much prefer this approach on a more personal level than large bureaucracies or government funding. Please view her message even if you cannot participate. Thank you.- Guffaw)
My sister has a ‘thing’ regarding guys named ‘Bob’. Her ex-husband, step-son, green grocer, 27 guys at the office, you get the idea. My thing about names seems to be ‘Dave’. The mechanical wizard, philosopher, artist, bunches o’Daves. Today, we post about childhood friend, artist Dave.
My dad married my step-mom, and we moved to Tempe, from Phoenix. At the new school, starting the 3rd Grade, I met David. Even that young, he was artist-extrordinaire! You probably remember these guys. Always free-hand drawing everything: Cars, copying comic books, art on their binder covers. This guy was, and is amazingly talented. Then, he moved and we attended different high schools, and that was that. Years later, I was working as a graveyard shift security guard, and walked into a 7-11. Dave! He was the night clerk! We quickly re-established our friendship. Soon, he told me he and his brother shared a house, and they were looking for a roommate. Would I be interested? HELLO? I soon moved in. It was the best and weirdest two years of my life, college and roommates.
So, one day, I walk into the bathroom (the door was open) and there’s Dave, sitting, pants down—and drawing on a large poster board in pencil. Eventually, the drawing was finished. It was half self-portrait (the lower part, he had been facing a full length mirror to make the drawing-yikes!). The head and shoulders part was a marble bust of Beethoven. The ‘portrait’ in total was fascinating, and anatomically correct. Beethoven on the throne.
He told me he couldn’t come up with a name for it. I thought about it and offered two ideas: Bowl with Fruit, or, Beethoven’s Fifth Movement. I don’t remember if he chose either of those, but it hung on the back of the bathroom door for some time. I wish I had the drawing, now.