  |
|
My weeks fly by with sailing (took an 8th and 2nd tonight), art class, and spending time with family and friends. It's amazing that I have anytime for cleaning, groceries, or God-forbid, my full time job. I rarely turn my TV on before 11:00 PM these days and end up staying up way past my bedtime. 6:30 AM shows up real fast. I've acquired the nasty habit of watching crap TV late into the night and then falling asleep on my couch. These days, I sleep on my couch more than in my bed, which is slowly feeling foreign to me. I need to change my sleep-time habits and actually get some sleep! Life is full these days, that's for sure. Despite all of the planning, lack of sleep, and spending of money that has to be accounted for, I really can't complain. If I looked at my life, and realized that it wasn't full, that would be quite sad. The opposite of full is empty. And who wants that? With all of these plans, constantly happening at the speed of light, it's hard to feel alone or lonely, living this single life of mine. For as busy as I keep myself, I relish the time I have to myself. I know one of the positive trade-offs of being single is actually having the time to stay busy like this. These are good times. And for the shitty hand that 2004 has dealt for me and my family so far, this other part of my life is pretty damn good. Maybe that's the balance. Maybe that's what's allowing me to cope and escape and get by. Perhaps that's all part of the greater plan. Wow. This post took on a weird life of its own. That's all for now. Wednesday's Playlist 1. Alanis Morisette - iTunes Originals 2. Dido - Life For Rent 3. Michael Jackson - Number Ones 4. George Michael - Patience 5. Prince - One Nite Alone...Live Disc 2 |
|
So tonight, with this relatively random sketch, once again done at Escapades, the margarita bar, after a successful art class, are a few random thoughts about the past weekend (or so). It's as if my summer really just kicked in. Last Wednesday night: Sailing. We took a 9th and a 3rd. They called the third race because the weather took a turn for the worse. It was an exciting night sailing. Our boat almost tipped over during the race. Then we almost were pulled into the current of the dam (which would have sent us over the dam) on the way back. The second I walked to my car, it started raining. Had I left 10 minutes later, I would have driven through that tornado that struck near my house. Crazy night. Thursday: Drove down to Milwaukee to see Prince. What stated out as Splash and I going to Summerfest for the day ended with us hanging out with Julie's friend Jodi and getting to Summerfest just in time for the concert. I would have had a good time with just Splash, but hanging out two really cool girls made for an awesome time. It's one of those things where plans completely change, but for the better. I slept on Jodi's hardwood floor that night and got little sleep. Friday: Got home from Milwaukee around 2:00 pm. Took care of the yard work and tried to catch a nap. Still pumped from the concert, despite how tired I was, I couldn't sleep. I ended up bringing my entire Prince CD collection over for Splash to put on his computer. We rented season one of Six Feet Under, and totally got sucked in. 400+ songs on his computer later, and about four or five hours of that show, we called it a night. I retired on my couch at 4:00 am. Saturday: After only a few hours of sleep, I woke up to a full day. My friends Heather and Eric were in town for the weekend. We spent the day in Green Bay. It's great hanging with people as sarcastic as I am. We spent time at Lambeau Field, had lunch, went to the mall, and had coffee. We were a bunch of chatty Kathys. I plan on visited them in Minneapolis this coming weekend.
Sunday: I spent the day Sunday, hoping to somehow squeeze in a catnap, watching my nephews. Another day of lawn mower rides, macaroni and cheese, and chasing after those two little tykes. It was a good day but I was running on empty. Somehow, I still managed to go to bed late Sunday night. So much had happened since Wednesday, I couln't turn off my mind.
The rest of my week seems equally as busy. Sailing tomorrow night, art class Thursday, Minneapolis Friday through Monday. For as busy as my life may sound, I wouldn't have it any other way. That's all for now! Tuesday's Playlist 1. Rufus Wainwright - Want One 2. Sarah McLachlan - Afterglow 3. Sheryl Crow - Sessions @ AOL EP 4. Celine Dion - One Heart |
|
|
|
In the past, Prince has shied away from his older music. Hell, he has over 40 albums worth of music to choose from. But I can understand an artist's longing to not focus on the past. I couldn't imagine being an artist remembered and having a fan-base for something that was done 20 years ago, especially when that artist is currently equally, if not more prolific. Of course, from a fan's point of view, usually it's those songs that put the artist on the map. That's what the casual fan wants to hear. Prince did an incredible job of performing the favorites of the past, but infused them with the spirituality that his path currently is taking him on. At times, he changed lyrics. Other times, lyrics simply took on a significantly different meaning if you understood his vibe these days versus that of "back in the day."
Toward the end of the show, the fireworks for Summerfest kicked off. Behind me, This amazing fireworks display was going on, while in front of me, Prince was doing a jaw-droppingly fantastic cover of A Whole Lotta Love. Through his music, you could sense the love in the air. During that song, he laid his guitar on the stage, and messed around with the feedback. It was a total tip of the hat to Jimi Hendricks. For a moment, I swear I felt Jimi's presence in the house. With the fireworks, the Zeppelin, and the Hendricks, it was a pretty fuckin' surreal concert moment. Amazing.
The concert was a night full of awesome jams, funk, spirituality, love, sensuality, and a real lesson in what good music should be all about. His new album is called Musicology, and Thursday night was lesson 101 on what music should be all about. He was able to convert a few casual listeners into big fans, and proved that he's still at the top of his game. Concerts like that are why he was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame earlier this year. This tour has been surrounded with hype, but for once in this world of media and music, the hype was well-deserved, if not missing the mark of just how great this musical genius really is. That's all for now. I have to get ready for the CD release party of my friends Clear Blue Betty's Never Been A Rebel. Being the designer on this CD, much like any other "release" I've been associated with, my stomach is full of butterflies and feel like I'm going to throw up! In my mind, tonight is partially my "opening;" a night to celebrate some of my success as well. This is a big night for me. Gosh, what weekend, full of music. Blogging to: Prince - One Night Alone...Live! |
|
Purple
Rain With A Chance Of Thunder Thursday's Playlist 1. O+> - Chaos And Disorder 2. Prince - The Purple Medely Mix 3. O+> - Emancipation |
|
Mother
Nature Is A Dirty Bitch The situation is cool now, but a tornado did strike only a few miles from my house, a location I drove right past about an hour earlier. The tornado struck even closer to where my parents and grandparents live. I'm still shaking. I was glad to be with my neighbor at the time; she was glad to have somebody offer some help. It sucks being alone at times like this. I bet sleep won't come easy tonight. Later. Wednesday's Playlist 1. Prince and the New Power Generation - Diamonds And Pearls 2. Prince and the New Power Generation - O+> 3. Prince - The B-Sides 4. Prince - Come 5. O+> - The Gold Experience P.S. In my attempts to get ready for the Prince concert tomorrow, I started my day out today with his song Thunder. Sample lyrics: "Thunder; all through the night; promise to see Jesus in the morning light; take my hand and it'll be alright; Come on save your soul tonight." I'm finding this only subtlety humorous. |
|
I felt good about the class and am glad I've remained certified for the fourth year in a row. It struck me odd today, though, although extremely necessary, how sometimes, we can treat death as just a matter of fact. It is what it is. There's no escaping it. With putting Grandma in the old folks home a few months ago, and then cleaning out her house, I'm amazed at how often my family talks about things such as wills, final rights, division of possessions, cremations, burials, funerals, etc. Although this has created a good dialogue amongst my family (I think Mom and Dad are finally going to prepare a will), a part of me feels sad that life has come to this point of talking about death in such a casual manner. This past Friday, on yet another day off of work, I found myself in an insurance office, switching agencies and increasing coverage on my auto insurance. We also talked about additional life insurance policies other than the one I have through work. Phrases like "in the unlikelihood of your death" and "if you would by chance die tomorrow" came up many times. Again, it was talked about in such a casual way. When I walked home from the insurance office, I shook my head, and felt the heavy weight of adulthood creeping in. Part of life really has to be about dealing with death, doesn't it? On Sunday night, after a long and emotional Father's Day with my sick dad, I retired on the couch to watch one of my favorite shows of the moment, HBO's Six Feet Under. As the main character, Nathan, is screaming and crying about the death of his wife while the other brother is trying to console a mourning family (the main characters run a funeral home), I thought to myself, "Why on earth am I watching this?" But of course, I couldn't turn it off and will watch it again next week. The real draw to that show for me is the raw weight of it. It forces me to think about my mortality and that of those around me. I rarely watch the show without ending up in tears. It's that awesome of a show. So now the concept of death also has entertainment value?? I guess I find something quite cathartic about being exposed to that darker aspect of life, if not a slight opening of my eyes. This post wasn't meant to be sad or depressing. It was simply meant to point out that death is everywhere, and that sometimes, it doesn't always have to be a sad thing. When I unconsciously started connecting my day of Red Cross training together with a few other recent events, I was a bit surprised by just how much we all probably really deal with Father Time and Old Man Winter. Probably on a daily basis, if you really start to think about it. I suppose I write about Mother Nature all of the time; the old men of the family needed some attention too. Tuesday's Playlist (the Prince concert is getting closer!) 1. Prince and the Revolution - Parade 2. Prince - Sign "O" The Times 3. Prince - Batman 4. Prince - The Black Album 5. Prince - Graffiti Bridge P.S. I'm also finding a tad bit of irony in the fact that I'm writing this on one of the longest days of light of the year! |
|
But then there are times, like a couple of weeks ago, when I felt threatened and mortified by their talent. Sometimes, seeing how much they've poured their lives into their art, makes me question every aspect of my life as an artist. Where do I want to take this talent of mine? Can it exist merely on its own, like it currently does? Does throwing money or galleries into the mix change things? What are my intentions? Am I simply happy with having people view my work via this website? So many questions when I think about my art...How does one define something so intangible? I've always been an artist. I remember drawing when I was very little. I remember copying pictures of Goofy, Pluto, and the Big Bad Wolf out of coloring books long before I was in school. I started the third grade at a new school, and remember my art already hugely identifying who I was. The first person I remember from the new school was a girl named Shiela. I was immediately impressed with how she could draw horses better than I'd ever seen before. She always made them white with yellow manes. I was also quite fond of a girl named Luanne. She always printed really well, made double exclamation points into smiley faces, and drew characters who somehow looked sweet and mischievous at that same time. I remember her version of Kilroy and how she drew the Shirt Tails (Tales?) so well. I spent my summers, all the way until I left for college, creating different cartoon characters, comic books, and comic strips. My first group of characters was called The Weirdos. They had rounded "Ws" with little dots in them for eyes. I distinctly remember the mom having Marge Simpson-like hair (and this was a decade previous to the Simpsons!). The guilty Catholic in me stopped drawing them when somebody informed me that their eyes looked like a woman's breasts! I had a comic strip called Arthur, featuring King Arthur, Queen Beth, Prince Bill, Princess Lori, Lance the Knight, Merlin, etc. I'm sure it was a complete rip off of The Wizard of Id. One summer I even created a super hero who was a tree that wore a cape and could talk, fly, and fight crime. Once I realized that it was pretty easy for the bad guys to just toss a match his way before he went up in flames, I axed that idea. That was hasn't been the only time I've drawn myself into a corner.
All of my life, I've identified myself with my art. There's never been a separation. I have friends who know of me as an artist, who have never seen anything I've drawn or created. I've just always been the artist. Identifying so strongly as an artist in my life, doubt has had many intruding moments. Much like other aspects of my life, jealousy and envy play a role in my art as well. I try to fight those feelings, but at times, they just swell up and are extremely strong. Growing up in a community of farmers, it seemed like an acceptable practice to play the victim and be jealous of those who had it better in life. It's a nasty streak that I'm not proud of having. On nights when I may be struggling with a drawing, or dealing with some problem at home that I bring to my work, I tend to easily get jealous with those around me who are doing work I perceive to be better than mine. The night the pencil sketch in this post was created, I simply felt annoyed with my art class. My frail little ego bit the dust, hit the bottom. But when I looked at the drawing the following day, I wondered why I was getting so down on myself. At times, it's difficult for me to look at my work simply in the confines of what I do, who I am, and what I've accomplished in my career as an artist. The week after I felt so shitty in my art class, I shared my negative feelings with my friends over a couple of margaritas. I told them how I felt, how I hate that I get that way, but how, so often, I feel inferior and full of doubt. Their responses amazed me. They both have felt this way time and time again. They struggle with doubt all the time. I'm beginning to think that doubt and self-loathing are necessary traits an artist must have to conversely feel inspired, confident, and passionate about their creations. That night, my friends assured me that we're all well on our way to something bigger where our art is concerned. We're equally in the dark about just what that is, though. I'm beginning to realize, that my drawings, my charcoal sketches, and my cartoons and doodles are just all part of an extremely unique style that's been evolving for over 30 years. Much like I am. After my little talk with my friends that night, I felt stronger, more focused, and far greater inspiration as an artist. I suppose these occasional moments of doubt aren't even necessarily connected with being an artist, they're simply part of life. But for me, art, life, and who I am are all one in the same. And I wouldn't have it any other way. Monday's Playlist (as the Prince concert draws near) 1. Prince - Prince 2. Prince - Dirty Mind 3. Prince - Controversy 4. Prince - 1999 5. Prince and the Revolution - Purple Rain 6. Prince and the Revolution - Around The World In A Day |
|
So today, on this Father's Day, as my dad was in pain despite the medication he took earlier in the day, I had to focus my energy on something positive. That something came in the form of two little blonde bandits, full of endless energy. These nephews of my mine really blow me away. In this time of struggle, they're the pain relief for me and my family. They keep on going, despite what's currently happening. At times, they're my strength through all of this. They're the light shining through the dark clouds. My afternoon with them today consisted of giving Brett rides on Dad's new John Deer lawn mower, as Derick followed us along in his electric "Gator". My parent's have five acres we can drive around on, so the boys were in seventh heaven. We did this for hours this afternoon. They were both upset when it was time time to quit for supper (steaks no less!). Today was one of those bitter-sweet days. I wished it could have been better, but tried to make the most out of what was handed to me. My nephews are a gift from up above during this dark time. That's all for now. Happy Father's Day. Blogging to: Rufus Wainwright - Want One |
|
But then there are times, like this past Thursday night, where being around fellow artists, seeing how good they're getting, inspires me beyond belief. Thursday night, my friend Mark invited a few of us over for dinner before class. In his basement, he has a room devoted to his art with all of his paintings displayed. It's a pretty impressive thing to see. Although he completely blows me away as a painter, I didn't let his awesome display blow me away. Instead, it inspired me. It inspired me to start displaying my stuff around the house more. It inspired me to even push myself further as an artist. I want to draw whenever I can. I want to practice like there's no tomorrow. I know the more I do it, the stronger I'll get. As I was sitting there having dinner with these friends, I knew the importance they now have in my life. They've become a huge force of inspiration. They help me fuel this passion I've recently rekindled with my art. I couldn't do it without them. It's an amazing thing to have people like that in my life. In class that night, I didn't allow myself to do a lot of chatting or visiting. I decided to treat class as less of a social thing, and more of an real opportunity to really dig deep into my art. I had my iPod with me, cranked up some Rufus Wainwright, my newest U2 and Coldplay of the moment, turned myself off to the class around me, and completely lost myself in what became the drawing you see in this post. By the time class was done, my hands were smudged black and full of charcoal. The shorts I was wearing we covered with charcoal and eraser soot. I'd lost myself in my art. The comments I got on this piece were that it's quite bold and aggressive. Perhaps self-assured? This is closer to the style I was doing back in college. Although I like where some of my other drawings are going right now, I'm quite happy that I've reconnected with this style of my art too. Thursday night, I really felt like "I got it." My perspective on things was back. It's amazing how being around a group of incredibly talented artist can sometimes fill me with doubt and scare the living shit out of my muse. But then other times, they fill me with such a greatly deep and profound sense of purpose and inspiration that really makes me want to soar. I have much more to talk about where doubt and inspiration are concerned, but for now, this will have to do. At the moment, I'm actually feeling quite inspired to do some serious house cleaning. I better grasp on to that inspiration when I can! That's all for now. |
|
After work tonight, my friend Jamie and I had another race for the sailing club. The weather was absolutely beautiful; actually too beautiful to race, as there was little to no wind. After one incredibly slow race (which we placed sixth out of ten), the committee boat canceled the other two races. Because of the light wind, we took our time gliding back to shore. The worst of two evils for this beautiful summer's night was that I ended up on a calm lake, absolutely at peace. With scenarios like this, it's hard not to be head over heals over this Mother Nature chick and want to sleep with her again tonight. God, am I becoming a nature boy... I think I need to hug a tree!! Saturday's Playist: 1. Christina Aguilara - Stripped 2. Rufus Wainwright - Want One |
|
But today was a different story. After work today, I stopped by my parents to see how Dad was doing. The new doctor gave him a patch the he has to change every three days for pain relief. By the end of the third day, yesterday, he was in pain again, but the doctor says that medication will take some time to get into his blood stream. Today was the first day with a new patch. He's still feeling a little pain, but says it's leaps and bounds better than before. This amount of pain he can live with. It's incredible. He's a new man. Watching him and Mom interact tonight was funny. They were back to their old selves, joking and fighting in the same breathes! Seeing this wonderful new development in my dad's struggle with diabetes made it hard for me to feel sad today. While I was over there, they showed me some stuff that they got out of Grandma's house. They're in the process of emptying out the house which will then be put up for sale. For as sad and depressing as this has been, with the positive change in Dad's health, the outlook on this predicament is changing too. Believe it or not, Grandma, at 91, is doing quite well in the home. She's finally getting the care she needs. As they slowly are going through her stuff, they are trying to return it to the people who gave it to her. Today, for the first time, I saw my Dad's high school graduation picture. How cool is that?! My uncle found numerous boxes of slides that my Dad shot when he was in Vietnam. The last time anybody viewed them was when I was a little baby. Eventually, they will be given to me to put into a movie, make prints from, and somehow restore the color and pictures. Dad also brought home a birthday card I drew for Grandma when I was little. I couldn't believe it! They also gave me a letter I wrote to Grandpa when I was just starting college. These gifts are incredible treasures. Being surprised from these wonderful relics from days gone by, again, made it hard for me to feel sad today. Once I left my parents, I stopped by the cemetery. I expected to feel the weight of the world come quickly crushing down on my shoulders again. But instead, I reflected on the rough times that have been going on, and felt extremely thankful for the relief we're experiencing, if not only temporarily. As odd as it sounds, as I was there in that graveyard, I became quite aware of this beautiful day, possibly the nicest day we've had this summer. In the cemetery, I suddenly became aware of all of the wonderful new life around me. When I got home, I went for a long, aggressive run. On beautiful nights like this, I could run forever. The smells of the summer were in full bloom. Whenever I felt moments of doubt or physical aches creeping in, I felt guided by Michael's spirit. I felt his touch, which I've always associated with a cool breeze. The longer I ran, the more that all of the death, old age, and sickness that's been bogging me down lately started a weird dance in my head with all of the amazing new life around me. Tonight, life won this odd little dance-off. I always dread June 15. It's been a day for the past nine years that has always weighed me down, reminding me of some of the horrible realities life throws our way. But today, on this particular June 15, the day became a day about starting over, reflecting on the wonderful aspects of legacy, and a celebration of life. And although Michael died at a very young age, I'm sure that's how he would have wanted it. So as I write this, I'm far from sad. Not sad at all. Not today. Instead, I'm taking in the scent of a vase of flowers, taken off a perennial bush that my parents always call Grandpa's bush, which usually blooms around the anniversary of his death. I put some of the same flowers on Michael's grave during my visit tonight. On this night, I'm reflecting on my wonderful run. A run which became a dance with new life and a dance with the angels. A dance with Michael. Tuesday's Playlist 1. Sting - Mercury Falling 2. The Beatles - Revolver 3. Echoes: The Very Bet Of Pink Floyd 4. Prince And The Revolution - Purple Rain |
|
Sophomoric
Obligations Sometimes I wonder if I don't spend too much time on these things. But then I think to myself, if I wasn't writing this right now, what would I be doing? Watching TV? Surfing the web? (Sleeping?)? For the most part, I find a great sense of accomplishment doing something that feels productive to me. I'm finding it a waste of who I am and was meant to be if I didn't strive to create a little each day. On those days when I miss a post, usually just because I can't get to it, I'm always a bit bothered, like I'm selling myself short. It's amazing what happens when the flood gates are opened. The handwritten text in this post was copied from a philosophy book by an unknown author back when I was a sophomore in college. It's the second page of my first real sketch journal, done in a very inspired time of my life. It seems quite fitting these days, as my artistic muse is soaring. Perhaps this is the sophomore phase of my art...That's all for now. Monday's Playlist 1. Alanis Morisette - So-Called Chaos 2. The Beatles - Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band 3. James Horner - Field of Dreams Original Motion Picture Soundtrack 4. Jeff Buckley - Grace 5. U2 - Achtung Baby 6. U2 - The Best of 1990 - 2000 |
|
But when I talked to Dad, and then after I showed up, it was if he was a new man. He said last night was the first good night's sleep he's had since this all started. He actually slept in his bed for a change, instead of on the couch that's become the routine. He slept hard and heavy, woke up around 3:30 due to Mom's snoring, and actually had energy to start house cleaning. He swept the floor and folded clothes. He told me he felt great and couldn't sleep any longer, but not due to pain, due to feeling well-rested. Once Mom woke up a few hours later for work, he went back to bed for some more uninterrupted sleep. When I was there this afternoon, he was talking up a storm. He seemed like the man I remember, if not happier. We all talked about plans for the summer. Planting a dozen or so new trees. Putting up a flag pole and landscaping around it. Going to the zoo. Visiting the Packer Hall of Fame. All things that three days ago, nobody even dared to talk about. Three days ago, he couldn't see any future. We had no idea what tomorrow would bring. He just wondered how he was going to live the painful existence that had become his life. Today was the first time I saw extremely strong signs of hope in his eyes and from my family as well. I can't even begin to describe how that makes me feel. Now obviously, we are cautious with this new attitude and these awesome new developments. The new pain medication that the specialist has Dad on is in the form of a patch that needs to be replaced every three days. Tomorrow will be the third day. How will that day be? Will the pain start coming back before a new, fully loaded one gets replaced? Time will tell. When I think about it, this weekend was the first time since he got sick, that he wasn't sleeping or resting on the couch the entire time I saw him. It's amazing. It's as if somebody turned a switch on, and said, Here's your Dad back. Today was the brightest, most cheery I've seen my Dad and family since Christmas morning. We all felt it. We're all hoping this will be the answer. For now, we can take solace in the fact that Dad had a really good weekend, his best in months. And for the time being, a heavy weight has cautiously been lifted off of my family's shoulders. Hopefully now, hopefully, life can start getting back to normal. As I said, time will tell. |
|
The drawings also reminded me of a place that, in any other year, my dad would be at right now: his yearly fishing trip in Canada. But considering the horrible twist and turns that his pain keeps taking him, he opted out of the trip this year. Last week, the doctor changed Dad's medication. On Wednesday night, he was in good spirits and felt quite good. It was the first glimmer of hope we've seen in weeks. It was the first time that we actually thought things may be getting back to normal. But then sometime that night, and all day and night Thursday, his feet hurt the worst yet. Mom stayed up night with him, rubbing his feet. Dad's current doctor simply expected Dad to live like this until the end of the month when he had an appointment scheduled with a nerve specialist. Yesterday, Mom called the neurologist and begged him to see Dad. Nobody can live this way, she explained through sobs. I can't tell you how deflating this is, for all of us, to have our hopes up so high and then see them dissipate into thin air. One step forward, two steps back. So Friday, my day off was spent at the neurologists office, in a tiny room with my mom, dad, and a new doctor. A specialist. I've never seen my parents so desperate. The doctor's test were quick, and he seemed a bit short with us at first, but to my understanding, this is the first time a doctor actually acknowledged the severe pain Dad is going through. Apparently, the medication that he's been on all this time has only ever been to take care of the nerves in his feet, never to relieve any pain. I can't believe how insensitive some of these health care professionals have been through this. It's as if they just don't listen or ignore the human being sitting in front of them.
Last night, only a few hours after leaving my parents, I had to babysit my nephews, Derick and Brett. Seeing them always raises my spirits. Right now, they are such beacons of hope for us all, such wonderful distractions. Once I tucked them away safely into a world where sugar plums, La La, and construction vehicles dance pleasantly in their little heads, I felt like I finally had a few moments to myself. I could finally reflect on this life of mine and the struggle that my family is currently going through. I turned on the TV and watched an hour or so of the Ronald Reagan funeral. All week long, as this mourning has been going on, I couldn't help but think about my Dad, his time in Vietnam, and that someday, he too will be decorated with an American flag on his coffin, a 21 gun salute, and the sad tune of Taps. It's a fuckin' morbid thing to think about, especially with everything that's going on, but it's impossible for me not to piece together a connection. Toward the end of the service, when Nancy said her final goodbyes, broke down sobbing, and clutched on to the coffin, I just lost it. It was too much. Tears streamed down my face, I couldn't help it. I could no longer be strong oldest son. In the privacy of my sister's living room, I wept like a little baby. Today though, is a different day. A day filled with hope. I woke up to an answering machine message from my sister. She sounded happy. Dad called her and said that already last night and this morning, was the best he's felt since this all started. He said had he felt like this a few days ago, he'd have gone on his Canada trip. Later on this morning, I went over there to help him cut his lawn. Mom and Dad have a five acre lot, three of that is grass that needs to be cut. The patch that the doctor has him on has him feeling a bit dizzy, so he asked for my help. By the time I left today, he was feeling a bit tired, but seemed more like his old self than any day since this diabetes and neuropathy crept into all of our lives. Today, at least, I left feeling a bit of hope again. We'll see what tomorrow brings. Two steps forward, one step back? As a small, kind of related instance of my weekend, shortly after I got home from helping Dad with the lawn, I received a phone call from my sister, in a panic. She needed me to come over and watch Derick. She and her husband had to run Brett to the emergency room, with what they thought was a broken arm or hand. I hurried over there, wondering if this is some cruel test. When is it going to start raining frogs? Derick and I played outside, went for a walk, and got ice cream. As I killed time, waiting for them to return with Brett in some type of cast, I couldn't help but go over the weekend in my head, only half over. I'd spent yesterday in a doctor's office, last night caring for my nephews, this morning helping my sick father, and this afternoon being the uncle who was there in case of an emergency. I thought back to the pictures I found in the bottom of my closet, the pictures that reminded me of such a dark time in my life. But looking at them, I realize that there's a much deeper heaviness going on in my life right now. I have a feeling that with age, that's what happens. With life and responsibiltiy, that's what happens. It becomes less and less about me, and much more driven by a family unit and those I care about. And above all things, driven by unconditional love. I wrote earlier this month that there are times when living this close to home, I wish I could just run away, get away from things and only be around for weekly updates. But this weekend, I realized how important my part is in this family. They depend on me as much as I do them. And I have to tell you, that's a pretty powerful realization. Again, it fills me with hope. And in the end, Brett only dislocated his elbow, which the doctor was quickly able to pop back into place. Things could have been much worse. That's all for now. Sheesh, and it's only Saturday! Saturday's Playist: 1. Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring - Howard Shore 2. Clear Blue Betty - Never Been A Rebel 3. The Beatles - Past Masters Vol. 2 4. Madonna - Ray Of Light 5. The Beatles - Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band 6. Rufus Wainwright - Want One |
|
Georgia
On My Mind "Georgia...." Thursday's Playist: 1. Dido - Life or Rent 2. Dido - No Angel 3. Bon Jovi - New Jersey |
|
Regardless of which side of the fence you're on, one can't deny how this war in Iraq, coupled with the upcoming election, has created an even greater gap between political sides. For me personally, it's hard not to have some type of affiliation with one side or another. It's funny, how during these war times, when the whole world just seems so fucked up, disagreements about constitutional freedoms, liberties, and allegiances to ones country come up much more frequently. At least people are talking, I guess. An open dialogue can never truly be bad, can it? People are passionate about their political beliefs, that's for sure. If anything, during all of this for me, it's gotten me thinking about the freedoms I have in this country, and what it means to be an American. And for as cliched as it may sound, in these heated political times, when it seems like the left and the right will never see eye-to-eye on anything, I'm still damned proud to be a citizen of these United States. It's because of these wonderful freedoms that this country grants us, that we're able to fight like cats and dogs. When I got done with work, after sailing was canceled due to bad weather, I stopped in again to visit my dad. He's just started some new medication, and feeling a bit off, but his spirits were good and the pain in his feet wasn't as bad as it's been lately. We watched the Reagan funeral procession for quite a few hours together. Life is funny. After my little political discussion today that I was far from proud of, I actually found myself being moved and feeling quite impressed by the pomp and circumstance of the funeral activities. Dad and I agreed that we were watching a piece of history today. I was quite impressed by the deep traditions that were being followed. I was especially moved by the empty horse with the backwards boot on it, and the planes flying in formation, with the solo plan flying ahead. I was also impressed by the men and women who had the honor to be in the procession or carry the casket up the steps of the capitol. I couldn't imagine being involved in such a thing. Watching the Reagan funeral tonight, I laughed to/at myself, in light of my discussion/debate earlier at work. There I was, sitting with my old man, who I completely disagree with in almost every aspect of the political world. But yet, we were able to somehow find a common ground. I think we dropped the politics of it all, and watched it together as two Americans moved by an impressive display of history and honor being served. Watching the Reagan funeral procession with my father tonight was the most that Dad and I have ever sat and talked to each other. Yup, history in the making. :) God bless America. Wednesday's Playist: 1. 10,000 Maniacs - Our Time In Eden 2. Rufus Wainwright - Want One 3. Coldplay - Parachutes 4. Clear Blue Betty - Never Been A Rebel |
|
My last few posts have been quite heavy. They've been quite challenging to write as well. It's just that right now, things are heavy. I've got so much shit pent up inside. Tonight, it's nice to not feel or want to dwell on anything too deep. I don't want to think about legacies or the greater meaning of my my art or my belief in God. Tonight, I just want my train of thought to take me to a simpler place. So enjoy this simple little sketch tonight, another one done at Escapades, the margarita bar. The sketch, much like this post, was simply my train of thought going off, doing its thing. My living room is beginning to cool off now. The windows are wide open. A breeze has made it's way in for some temporary relief. I can smell that somebody's burning a campfire. I may watch Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers for the 100th time and relax some more, making a full night of it. Stay cool... Tuesday's Playist: 1. Five For Fighting - The Fight For Everything 2. U2 - The Joshua Tree 3. Clear Blue Betty - Never Been A Rebel |
|
At the opening, I had a mixture of feelings ranging from pure jealously to pure ego. "I'm as good as this," I found myself thinking many times. There's a part of me that really feels like the gallery world is primarily a mixture of politics and pretentiousness. Is that something I want to be part of? Much of the work is simply amazing, but then some of just seems technically off. It's as if the gallery setting and lighting, an expensive frame, and a $10,000 price tag somehow makes it more relevant. To me, it just seems to cover up gimmicks and repeated formulas. If you want to sell, I guess, your stuff has to be instantly recognizable. That's the jealous part of me talking. Mara and Mark are striving to be painters. Their stuff is getting better by leaps and bounds. They are both extremely talented; I'm becoming quite envious of their work. I have a degree in art, and I feel like they're kicking my ass right now. But sometimes, their concern seems too much about the money. They do oil painting because that's what sells. They take classes by instructors with huge reputations in that world. I'm always left a little frazzled. I feel like I'm on the crest of something...but I just don't know what.
I'm finding that so much of this gallery world is about who you know and where you're from. If you're an artist from Door County or somewhere out west like Denver, the stuff has a higher price tag than if it says Green Bay, WI. What the hell?! I get quite uncomfortable talking about art and money in the same breath all the time, as if it's stock or some type of currency. It's art. I never know where this "finer" art side of me fits in. I have a good career as a graphic designer. I've got many options and much room for my career to expand. I don't draw much at my job, but I am able to shoot photographs, design, and be creative all day. Perhaps I was meant to keep my career and that other part of my art separate from each other. But I know that other side of my art has a greater purpose somehow, somewhere. I just haven't figured it out yet. The most obvious answer people give me is that I should get into cartoons. When I was a kid, that's all I drew. Garfield, The Smurfs, The Flintstones. My dream in high school and college was to draw comic books. Spider-Man, The Hulk, The X-Men. But with age, I really lost interest in that medium. I'm no longer interesting in the muscle-bound spandex-wrapped exploits of the mutants with some genetic x-factor. That part of me grew up. My real goal was always to share my art, share my perspective on things through my art with the world around me. I wanted to take people to places they've never been before, or help them deeply relate to the places they've already been. I know a big part of me is beginning to do this with this site. That's why it's become so precious to me. The fact that last month, 760 unique visitors viewed my site at least once, is a profound thing to me. It's almost as if I decided to stop waiting around for somebody to allow me to show my art, and just started doing it myself. How is this web community viewing my artwork really any different than the people who walk through the galleries of Door County? Is this website a virtual gallery of sorts? As an artist, shouldn't it be the same form of gratification? All I know, is that there's something bigger than this site. My art has a greater purpose. I can feel it. And I suppose, much like my conquests for finding the right woman, my search for God, and my attempts to connect with friends and family, the art issue will be another one of the things I'll spend the rest of my life searching for. The sketches in this post, by the way, were done after a long day in Door County at the margarita bar, Escapades. The larger drawing I did of Mara, and the smaller one she did of me. I think the differences in style strongly illustrates our different philosophies on art as well. Oh well. Here's to art. Monday's music: Christina Aguilara - Stripped |
|
The gift really meant a lot to Dad. Seeing just a written description of it on Christmas morning was nothing compared to the real thing today. There's a certain weight to it, just looking at it. My family knows the significance this football team and stadium have to this town. We all know the legacy they evoke. The Packers are part of our lives, whether I like it or not. But this gift has nothing to do with the Green Bay Packers. We all know it. Dad commented that the brick will be there years long after he is gone. The fact that his grandsons gave his this gift only adds to the preciousness of it. To me, this gift really isn't about the Packer legacy or the Packer tradition at all. It's about our legacy. Our lives. Our family tree. The building blocks of new generations. The foundations of stone.
I see my sister as who asks all the questions, does all the research on the internet, calls the doctors and nurses, helps him with his diet, etc. She's really been a pillar of strength, despite the endless worrying she does when he's not around. My brother is the one who takes Dad's mind off of things the most. He's the one who comes over and talks trash about the Packers, NASCAR, and the sports pages. He's the one who always helps Dad with the yard work. He probably talks to Dad about the sickness the least, but actually talks to Dad the most. Mom, of course, carries the biggest burden. She's the one who has to prepare his meals and buy the groceries. His change in diet was a huge struggle for her as well. She's the one who rubs his feet every night. She's the one who tries to put on a happy face too, tries to be strong. She sees the changes and the sadness. She's the one who tries to get him out of the house. She does her best and has remained quite strong, again, despite the worry and sadness she's holding in. My role? I'm never quite sure about that. Being the oldest son, I'm the one who always checks in with everybody. I'm the one who stops over there the most, just to see how he's doing. When he first got sick, I was over there every night of the week. But I'm the also the one who struggles the most when it comes to connecting with him. I try and try, and many times it just seems so futile. It's frustrating to me, being such an expressive guy, dealing with a man who's so quiet at times. Through this all, though, I'm learning much about him and myself. Then, of course, there are my nephews. Dad's two true brightest beacons of hope. They're the ones that always seem to cheer Papa Meulemans up the most. I see his eyes beam when they arrive. They bring laughter and levity to a house that sometimes seems too dark and quiet. With that said, that one little brick, from these two little fellows, which can now found in row 5A of the Lombardi Avenue side of the Lambeau Field atrium, speaks volumes and shines bright. Seeing Dad there today, looking at that brick and watching my nephews play with a smile in his eyes, gave me a deep sense of happiness, hope, and satisfaction. Sunday's Playist: 1. The Beatles - The White Album 2. Clear Blue Betty - Never Been A Rebel |
|
Born a poor young
country boy - Mother Nature son I love shooting photos of flowers, especially ones that I raised and cared for. I love watching them grow, and enjoy their unique fragrances which surround me when I sit on my front porch and draw the world around me. Real soon, I hope to do portraits of these special friends. Sit beside a
mountain stream - see her waters rise Around lunch, I went over to my parents. They had a day's worth of work lined up for me. I helped Mom plant a few flower beds and then helped Mom and Dad add some perennials to an on-going landscaping project. The sun slowly disappeared on us, but the rain held off. We worked hard, but got much done with much success. We are all quite happy with how things are turning out. Find me in my
field of grass - Mother Nature's son It felt good today to be out in the sun. It felt even better to get my hands dirty, covered deep with soil. I know I'll leave a ring of dirt in the tub when I hop into the shower tonight. Everyone's spirits were good today too. I could tell Dad was getting tired as the day went on, but I tried to do what I could; all the heavy lifting, shoveling, wheel barrow moving, etc. I knew he appreciated my help. I never have many conversations with my dad; it's always been a weird relationship. But I feel like when we work on these projects together, that's our way of being close and staying that way. Especially now, with him being sick, I feel like he's depending on me even more. He mentioned today that in a weekend or two, he'd like some help planting a dozen or so new trees. As Dad gets older, me "helping" him is more about me doing and him directing. Oh well. Even though I'm physically spent, with a sore back and aching knees, I feel good inside too. Now it's time to kill some brain cells.... Saturday's Playist: 1. Norah Jones - Come Away With Me 2. Norah Jones - Feels Like Home 3. John Denver - The Rocky Moutain Collection 4. Celine Dion - All The Way....A Decade of Hits 5. Alanis Morisette - So-Called Chaos |
|
I went to my art class feeling tense and agitated. The classical music that was playing seem very loud, dark, and manic; it only added to my general feeling of discomfort. For the first time in that art class, I put my iPod on to block out the NPR. John Lennon, I thought, that'll help calm me down. Grow Old With Me, Happy X-Mas, Imagine, Love, and God helped do the trick. After awhile, I took the headphones off, and chatted with our model, Kathy. We talked about things such as energy, auras, new age healing and medicine, stone massage, etc. It was a very new-agey type of conversation, but quite relaxing and interesting. Although I felt that I was in a better mood, and managed to pull off a couple of nice drawings, I still felt a deeper agitation and restlessness. A heaviness that I couldn't shake. As usual, I went out with my friends for margaritas after class. The bar was the most packed I'd ever seen it. Between the crowd, the loud music, and all the smoke, I just was feeling annoyed and didn't want to be there. Of course, my friends and I talked about art. But this was the first time our philosophies on it really clashed. It was odd, I actually felt a strong jealously of their talent creep in. I felt like I was on a very different path than them, way off and out of place where they were concerned. It was the first time since I met my art friends over a year ago, that I actually felt like an outcast. The entire time, I was feeling irritated and defensive. It was the earliest I ever left a margarita night. I drove home feeling annoyed, agitated, defeated, and a deep sense of sadness. Now, I've been noticing the differences with my art friends for a few months. It's nothing more than a difference in philosophies, priorities, and that endless age-old debate about the true meaning of art. It's such an individual journey for each of us, that it really doesn't matter (or at least shouldn't matter). But my artist ego is a very frail thing. It's no longer sure what it wants out of life, where it should go, or what it's deeper meaning and purpose is. I will write more in depth about these philosophical differences at a later date. My point with it tonight, though, is that I'm sure I would have been fine where my art friends were concerned last night, had I not felt so agitated about things going on with Dad. I felt that way at work today too, and wasn't able to shake it until I got home. Usually, if things bother me, I may carry that weight with me to work, but never let it affect what's going on with the people I care about. Last night was the first time in a long time that all the problems going on with my dad really seemed quite impossible to escape. And the really fucked up thing, for me at least, was that I didn't want to talk about it with anybody. Instead, I tried to stuff it deep inside and not let on. But I can't live life that way. Not this guy. How long must this darkness continue? Blogging to: Music from all three Lord of the Rings soundtracks (on shuffle) by Howard Shore. |
|
Shoot
The Moon Yes, it's already time for sailing. Last year, I started in the second leg of the summer season. This year, I'm doing it for the entire season. My friend and co-worker, Jamie, is the real sailing enthusiast. He's been sailing his whole life. We race his boat, Shoot The Moon. I'm his trusty sidekick and first mate. I did it a handful of times last summer, but am still quite the novice. Tonight, in our first race of the season, we finished third in the first race, and first in the second one, both out of ten boats. Not a bad first try. It was an incredible night to be outside. The weather was absolutely perfect. After a few weeks of really shitty, rainy, cold weather, this was well-needed. The smell of the fresh water and the gentle breeze of this early summer's night was a pleasant way to cap off a Wednesday. This sailing thing is quite an amazing experience for me. It's quite the learning experience for me as well. I'm beginning to feel some ease with certain aspects of the race, and even some of the lingo, but still have much to learn. I should really learn to swim one of these years. Between sailing on Wednesdays, and my art class on Thursdays (and Tuesdays if I choose to go), my summer nights suddenly filled right up. But how great is it that they fill up with such an eclectic range of things that I love? There are times when it really feels good to be alive. Monday's Playist: 1. Clear Blue Betty - Never Been A Rebel 2. George Michael - Patience 3. Rufus Wainwright - Want One 4. Norah Jones - Come Away With Me 5. Norah Jones - Feels Like Home |
|
My sister and I are in the midst of planning Mom and Dad's anniversary party for the middle of next month. Tonight I had to call a couple people to get a handful of addresses to finish sending out the invites. With both phone calls, the inevitable question "Why are you throwing a party for 34 years of marriage?" came up. With both people, I explained how it's been a pretty shitty year for my family so far, between Dad and Grandma, and that we're just looking for a little relief from this dark cloud. Once again, I felt bothered by the scenario surrounding this party. Once again, thing are taking on that heaviness. The drawing on the right has always sat on the desk of my old bedroom at my parent's house. I still call it my bedroom. I still call it home. The drawing's around 17 years old. It's a drawing of an old wood pile by the old barn and our old John Deer tractor next to my old dog Sweetie's coop. None of those things exist anymore. When I see that picture, sitting in my musty old bedroom, it reminds me of a time in my life so different than now. It reminds me of a time of wide-eyed optimism, when I was still a kid and my parents took care of me, not the other way around. Seeing it in my old bedroom yesterday made me realize how heavy and sad things seem right now. How, sometimes, it sucks to be an adult. The picture also reminds me of a time in my life, when I eventually left for college. In a lot of ways, it was great; running away from home. I didn't witness or experience every event that happened in my family's life, at least not on a day-to-day basis, like I do now. Granted, I love living close to my family. I've made a conscious choice to stay this close. But there are times like now, when I wish I could just escape from some of the shit that's being thrown our way, and only be given weekly updates. Living so close to home is a double-edged sword. People will joke and make comments about not cutting the umbilical chord. There are many, many great things about living close to the ol' homestead. But there's also an added level of responsibility. During these extremely heavy times, I can't ignore these problems that we must face. They're always here. I suppose there's a real blessing and an equal curse to being this close to the ones I love. For me, I suppose, that's the real meaning of love. In the end, of course, I'll have no regrets about my choice. Once these darker times are somehow resolved, I'll never regret that I didn't run away again. But there are times, times like today, when it would be nice to just be able to concentrate on my life a little bit more, like so many of my friends who have moved on do. Gosh, does that sound amazingly selfish when it's words in front of me on the screen. Oh well. This is my life, these are my choices. Monday's Playist: 1. Clear Blue Betty - Never Been A Rebel 2. U2 - Rattle And Hum 3. George Michael - Patience P.S. Be sure to check out the May archives. It was another full month, probably my fullest month where these entries are concerned. Also, be sure to check out the photography section for some cool updates. When one door opens.... |
|
If you any questions, comments, or requests, you can contact me at: |
|
Days
Go By
Random Play
Saturday
night, I went to the CD release party for Clear Blue Betty's
Never Been A Rebel, the one that I designed the artwork
for. If anybody's interested in purchasing the CD, it can be
done so through their website 
There
weren't a lot of people at the release party, probably just the
local regulars, mainly friends and family. But I really enjoyed
myself. It's cool hearing a band when you know their original
music. I've been listening to the new CD non-stop. My friends
Dirk and Splash went to the party with me. I could tell that
they were wiped from a weekend of Summerfest and drinking, but
it really meant a lot to me that they were there for me. Beth,
the lead singer, gave me a shout-out, the crowd gave me a round
of applause for my artwork, and I felt good.
This all explains explains how a nap after
supper last night turned into five sold hours of heavy sleep!
That's
What It's All About
The
Gold Experience
I've
seen Prince in concert once before, about two years ago. That
concert was cool too, but Thursday night, Prince seemed at his
professional peak. He seemed inspired with his current crop of
music, but also at peace and reinvigorated with the music from
his past. I was surprise at just how many hits he actually played.
He
heavily focused on his two most popular works (and actually two
of my favorites), Purple Rain and Sign "O"
The Times. He seemed quite excited about that old music,
as if he fell in love with those songs all over again. I was
ecstatic that he played some of my favorites, like 7,
Alphabet St., Cream, Sign "O" The
Times, Take Me With U, and I Could Never Take The
Place of Your Man. These were songs I never thought I'd hear
again live. The feeling I got was that he just wasn't going through
the motions with these songs, like a lot of big-name acts do.
His treatment of the older music reminded me of a proud father,
comfortable with the past.
His
musicianship is amazing. To really appreciate what a musical
genius this guy is, you have to hear him play live. He's an absolutely
phenomenal guitar player. In my mind, he's one of the best guitar
players out there; completely under-rated. My friends Splash,
Julie, and Jodi, who saw the concert with me, and are casual
Prince fans at most. They were blown away by Prince's talent.
I felt an odd sense of vindication, as if, finally, after all
of these years, my friends finally got it!
He
ended the concert with Purple Rain. That's just one of
those songs you have to hear when going to a Prince concert.
From the beginning chords, I had chills running up and down my
spine. I was ready to break into tears it was so powerful. That
song is so meaningful to me. The entire crowd joined in on the
ending part. It was a purely magical moment. He played his purple
guitar shaped like the symbol he was going by for a while. That
very concert moment should be kept in some type of rock and roll
time capsule. Moments like that are why he can get by being called
Prince. You actually believe it.
Old Man Winter /
Father Time
Doubt
And Inspiration Part 2
By the time I started high school, there
was never any question in my mind that if I went on to school,
it would be for art. Despite my A pluses in math, computer programming,
and accounting, I knew that art was the only real choice for
me. It just felt right. Once I got to college, I never had any
regrets and never looked back.
The
Green Green Grass Of Home
Doubt
And Inspiration Part 1
Nature
Boy
A Dance
With Michael
June 14, 2004 Monday 11:16 PM
Hope pt II
Hope
The
specialist commented to Dad two or three times that the neuropathy
that he has is quite excruciating. He acknowledged that it's
not just the kind of pain that makes it hard to sleep, but the
kind that makes it hard to live. He gave Dad a patch to wear
which is purely for pain relief. His main goal, in the doctor's
words, was to make dad a functioning citizen again. I could tell
my parents were happy that somebody actually understood their
grief. We left the doctor's office yesterday with a glimmer of
hope in our hearts. But at this point, I'm not holding my breath.
I'm getting jaded when it comes to hope. I've had hope before.
I don't want to be let down.
American Pie
Train Of Thought
The
Difference
I
like working in color, but pencil sketching and the comic book-type
of drawing I do is where my heart is. A gallery really has no
space for that. It's not what these galleries show. My stuff
is too literal sometimes, not universal enough. I've been told
that because I throw so much of my personal experiences in my
drawings, they'd be that much more difficult to sell.
Foundations
Of Stone
For
Christmas this past year, my nephew's gave Dad a brick to be
laid outside of Lambeau Field's atrium. The brick says: "To
Papa Meulemans, From Derick and Brett." Just this week,
the brick was laid.
Spending
all day with Dad today and yesterday, I'm really getting a sense
of the pain that he's been going through. I see him walking slower
and not having lots of energy. But then I see how his face lights
up when Derick and Brett show up. Mom tells me about things he
says, about us helping him out and really taking time to show
him we care. I can sense that he's getting his strength from
his wife and offspring right now. I can see him changing. I can
see years of brick walls that his father and a war in Vietnam
built up slowly being torn down.
I've
written lots about my father the past few months. I've been thinking
about him thousands of times more. I've always been close to
my family, but with all that we've been going through, it just
makes me appreciate that closeness even more. It's an amazing
thing, watching the family dynamic at work. I see each of us
and the roles that we have or are falling into.
Mother
Nature's Son (Lennon/McCartney)
Carry
That Weight
I
know this type of behavior has been going on. I wrote about it
Tuesday night. Sometimes I do a better job than others ignoring
it, simply trying to live my life. Yesterday, until I got that
email, I was doing just fine. But once I read about Dad's pain,
again, it just set me off for the rest of the night.
June 2, 2004 Wednesday 10:40 PM
Run,
Run Away