May 30, 2009
May 29, 2009
May 28, 2009
Interesting how our generation molds our view of erotica. In my 1940's small Ozarks community our pre-adolescent knowledge of sex was zilch. Once we were old enough to whisper exchanges of our knowledge, we still were confused. Our boy "thing" we called a "peter". The girl's "thing" we called "cock". Imagine the embarrassment when at age 16 or 17 we begin connecting with the broader world.(I was 17 and had just joined the army.) So our sense of erotica (of course we didn't know such a word) was formed by movies and stories and whispered rumors. By age 15, the ideal fantasy girl for me (and most of my friends) was the 1930's and 40's "dames" we saw sitting at the bar table, lifting her cigarette to her bright red lips, slightly leaning forward, a tight necklace shinning, and slightly lighting the hint of a widening crease between her breasts, and waiting - for ME - carefully, confidently to also lean forward, and light her fag. Ahhh.. It has never gotten better than that.
I sometimes write stories. Very brief. Take something real from my emotions, my memories, and add a slight twist. A "what-if?" See where it goes. And ends. Brief enough to contain in a page or two. And illustrate.
May 27, 2009
Yeah, me. The ol' iconoclastic commentator and artist. I have no problem with what religion or belief system works for others, I just have found none specifically works for me. And being me, I do my take on all - hopefully with humor. What do I believe? I believe in LOVE. Love opens us up to new things, to new ideas, to an on-going sense of wonderment and joy. Proof? A child in a good environment. LOVE is there. I believe in FEAR. It is fear that prompts us to retreat into a shell. To feel threatened by any belief or people or society or change that may question the existence we have that is familiar and comfortable. I have many fears. Love, I hope, can remove some. I do have faith. And hope. My faith is there IS a reason for existence. My hope is that reason is LOVE.
My first computer was a Commodore 64. (64k of memory - whiz machine!) My second was a major upgrade to the Amiga. It was even touted by Andy Warhol (in a paid ad) as being the choice pic for artists. I loved it. A lot of early work was created then. Many images I have updated using my current PC. 256 colors? Time does tell.
Ahh... written several years back. Before comics received the clout they are generating today - particularly "graphic novels". Even academics are starting to realize comics may be an expressive form of "true" art. My pic of self here shows this Notches page was created some time ago. (Pre-white beard days. Also note I'm not wearing my usual smiling face. I put on a somewhat "frowning" posture to show I was SERIOUS.) (grin - as always.)
May 24, 2009
Me, Mike, and E.C. Childhood buddies and close friends throughout our lives. All sharing a Tom Sawyer/Huck Finn childhood in our small remote Ozark town. Outdoor toilets. Milk cows. Creeks to wade, swim, fish in. Caves to explore. River bluffs to climb. And all colored by our missing fathers and uncles and older cousins away, working at war plants, marching and saluting in National Guard units, and fighting and some dying across wide, wide oceans (which we could only imagine) against even more unimaginable evil bad guys called Germans and Japs. We did our share. Wore sailor caps, soldier caps, helmet lines, carried wooden stick guns, learned to stand at attention and salute, pulled our wagons and collected scrap iron for the war effort, helped our moms hoe and weed our gardens to help with food rations, built model airplanes, collected our own toy soldiers, drew comics with our own superheros doing their share. We were at war! The atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima on Aug. 6, 1945, one day before my 7th birthday! Something awesome had happened! We did not know what but we knew all grownups were in awe. Atom Bomb? We thought it was "Adam Bomb" - Adam from Adam and Eve. We definitely knew it was of Biblical proportions.
We wanted to grow up and do our own share. Mike and E.C., 2 years older than me, joined the service as age 18. I joined at age 17. E.C. served 20 years in the Navy. Mike and I chose the Army. We both served in Germany during the 1950's at the height of the Cold War. 30 months tour of duty. Mike and I even got to visit each other while stationed there. (We were in different units. Stationed about 50 miles apart.) World War II. Actual vets? No. But as kids, in our minds, our dreams, our nightmares, and our lives, we served. E.C. died some years after retirement. He had became a jounralist. Mike and I both attended art schools, and also wound up in journalism. Today we are entering our 70's. Still dreamers. Still artists. And still remembering. And thanks for Memorial Day.
May 22, 2009
May 11, 2009
Top cock of the woodland stump - w/snake in grass. Dated l982. On this day. I would have been 42 years old. A period of creativity for me. I had been sober for some months and my work, my intensity was improving. It didn't last. Within a few years I was cushioning reality again with mary jane and booze. The piece below - titled "Fear" while done during this same period of sobriety, was what I was feeling inside. I knew my fall was coming. I just didn't know when. It is my take on Munch's "The Scream".
May 10, 2009
The Dreamer? The loneliness of dreaming? My mother? My memory? My imagination? Yes. My imagination. The stories our minds tell us and re-tell us until we believe they are true. Mother. Born 1906. Turkey Creek. Arkansas Ozarks. Population within 5 miles? Maybe 50. A mill creek. Stories she told. Not often. Quietly. Little detail. My mind can only fill in the blanks. Loneliness. Dreaming. 8th grade education. One-room school. She would get a new pair of shoes in the fall. For school year. She could only put them on after waking the creek that ran in from of her home. And remove them again when she walked the wooded trail to return. Christmas. An orange. And dreams. Never told. But dreams. She lived to by almost 87. Good years. Long life. But still...the dreams. From my imagination. Drawing this. I thought of her.
May 7, 2009
I never studied poetry but I have long enjoyed word play. I like the term Jack Kerouac used: 'word sketches”. I started to do it myself.
Real. Or off the cuff. Like now:
Posting. Back-spacing. Oops.
Cigarette taste. Smoke helps.
What’s ahead? It’s now behind.
Just type. Put it down. Okay.
If it doesn’t work…Forget it.
At least its done. I did it.
May 4, 2009
ramblings.
I understand, Muse.
It is not the words I write but the value of the words written. I agree. Still, if I write 10 thousand words and all are trash except words 1,917 to 2,006 are not only revealing but exciting, and the words from 7,218 to 7,246 are not only exciting but fantastic! - doesn't that make me - in the true sense of the word - a poet?
Hey, only kidding, Muse. Lighten up a little.
--------------------------
I am the sleep gap,
the way-wind surfer,
a tom-tom man
with staccato pulse
targeting the dish
and scooping the net.
Counting the swoons.
---------------------
Suffice it to say
it has been
a rough day
and on no account
as we shall see
if there is any
satisfaction
in moving
the action
beyond the realm
of dreams.
---------------
Listen.
Here. Now.
The cat walk
dreamer
on the high wire,
stalker with grim face
and ready claws,
poised to pounce,
catch,
and crunch anew
the tempted,
the neglected,
and the edible.
-------------------
We learn what we learn. Choice is not a factor. Nor is truth. Step on a crack, break your mother's back. Sugar and spice isn't always nice. Puppy dog tails sweep aside the snails. Snapping turtles clamps tight and only releases at midnight. So cross your heart. If you lie, you die. Reality intrudes slowly. Content to follow its own path.
--------------------------
May 3, 2009
The question was: What is the best $10 investment you ever made?" It was posed on another blog. I posted my response. As copied here:
My best $10 investment had to be the $9.95 I paid for “How to Draw the Human Figure.” A large table-type book. I was 19 years old, serving in the Army, stationed in Germany (1957). I came from a small Ozark town, I had long loved to draw, but I had never had a formal art class. (Such was not taught in the small school.) I had never paid more that 2 bucks or so for a book before. I couldn’t resist. I bought it. And started drawing - page by page -working my way through the book from start to finish.
When I was discharged I knew I wanted to study art. My family had moved to California and I enrolled that fall in a junior college. The first (and only) in my family to do so. The second semester I was introduced to figure drawing. I was nervous. I knew I would be in the midst of students who had studied art in high school - even before. I need not have worried. I did fine. I caught the teacher’s attention for my work. Thanks for that $9.95 investment I felt secure in pursuing my art.
May 2, 2009
May 1, 2009
The several posts below tagged with the letter "N" is the completion of a project posted by Misstified.. A letter is assigned the the viewer who is then asked to come up with 10 things that interest them starting with the letter. I was pleased to get "N". Plenty of negatives and no-no's to delve into. Thanks Ms. Misstified. I have enjoyed the project.
