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Can the sky truly be the limit? Or are there limits, these intangible restraints, only set by ourselves, for ourselves? I look at my life with my friends and family. If I asked my nephews, if they could articulate an answer, I doubt if they'd find a limit on my potential to them. Unconditional love has no limits, does it? At times, with everything going on with Dad right now, with such an emotional exhaustion I can't seem to escape from, I wonder what my limits are? Am I capable of stretching it out for the long hall, being there when they need me the most? I see the struggles going on with my family right now, with all of us, just trying to keep it together. I see how my role as the oldest son has drastically changed, how their dependency on me has increased. Sorry, son, you've reached your limit; you're no more use to us. No more love to give or take. That's all you are, to us and yourself. Of course not. I see my art, the person I'm becoming because of it. What's my potential there? Is there a kharmic credit limit on inspiration and personal artistic success? Am I dangerously close at wearing out my muse, using it all up? Will I? Can I? God, I hope not. Can art, an abstract concept, really be measured? Or am I just banging my head against the wall, searching for some type of egotiscal acceptance and adoration? I see the direction my drawings are going, where my art is taking me, and I have a hard time wrapping my mind around the concept of applying a finite limit to my skills, to my worth, to my value. I see the drawing I did last Thursday night in art class, and the endless possibilities that using color has only begun to take me. If the sky's the limit, what am I letting hold me back? Why do I care so much what other people think? That's all for now. |
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There's been stuff going on at work too. I don't feel comfortable writing about these things in these pages anymore though. There's a vivid uncertainty present right now that I'm dying to but can't escape. Suddenly, I'm taking mental baggage from work home with me. It's found a place beside me in my bed at night as well. I don't look forward to going to sleep these days. That's when my mind really starts to churn up the cobwebs of the "what if"s, "why me"s, and "what will happen next"s. Much like sleep, this blog, which was once used as an escape from my problems, now only seems to point them out. With things with Dad only getting worse, and all the shit going on at work, all I want to do is drift away for a few hours and ignore everything that's going on. My writing in these pages has become infrequent these days. It's getting harder for me to compose my thoughts...to want to compose my thoughts. That's why it's been a week since my last post. Perhaps it would be easier to turn to these pages if I was sure certain eyes weren't watching. That's the danger of having certain people know this thing exists. There's nothing I can do about it now. I've been in a bad funk and need to break free. Today was one of those nasty fall days. Shitty, cold, and rainy. It's dark now when I leave for work in the morning and often dark by the time I get home. The peak of the beautiful colors of the fall leaves has passed. The dark, wet, dreary part of autumn has now arrived. The shorter days and harsher weather is beginning to affect my mood. I've always had an odd relationship with autumn. I find it amazingly brilliant at first and then incredibly dark and stormy to get through... Gosh, just by writing this, I feel a little better already. I guess that's all for now. P.S. I originally named the drawing in this post "Coming Out Of The Shadows," purely based on the technique I used when drawing it. The content of it has nothing to do with that of this post, other than the general darkness they both convey. It still somehow feels fitting to me though. Okay... now that's all. |
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That particular Thursday a little over a month ago, started with me stressing over a presentation that I had to give later that afternoon. I was comfortable enough with the content of the presentation. As a matter of fact, I knew it like the back of my hand. Basically, all I had to do was describe my current and previous job responsibilities to a committee at one of a local technical colleges in the Appleton area. The committee is creating a technical communications program for their school. Much of what I do in my career is in line with this program. I was there for the "reality check" part of the meeting, to give them a real world perspective on careers in my field. Even though I was fully prepared for the presentation, and knew it would be informal and in front of a small group of people, I was still nervous about it and stressing out. I'm getting better at speaking in front of groups of people, but still not a fan of it. The real problem for me is that the second I'm in the spotlight where I have to be "on," I start to blush. And I mean blush. My face turns a mean shade of red. The hotter my face gets, the more self-conscious I become, and the blushing continues. A few hours before the presentation, my friend John sat in my cube, noticeably upset. His father had just passed away. I sat there, stunned. Just like that, I was snapped back to reality. Concerned for my friend, I realized how insignificant a small presentation is in the grand scheme of things. Suddenly, the presentation didn't matter at all. Those strangers that would be watching me didn't matter. The blushing didn't matter. The harshness of life, the unfortunate realities of life...that's what mattered. The reality of life reset my priorities that day. I still went to my art class later that night. It felt odd for me to draw knowing the pain my friend had to be going through. When I drew that night, I did it in a very feverish way, not stopping much or thinking about it. My mind dissipated to a weird place composed of a combination of the history of my friendship with my friend John and to my own father issues, the emotional ones of the past and the physical ones of the present. The drawing became as much of a baptism of sadness as it was anger. The model has fiery red hair and wore an bright blue shirt. Although I tried to capture the colors that I saw in front of me, I also let the harsh extremes of my feelings carry me and create the drawing. When I got home, I looked at the piece. For the first time in my life, I named one of my portrait drawings. It came to me in a flash, "Fire And Rain." I called it that partially because of the colors I used, partially because the lyrics to that James Taylor song came to mind, and partially because of the extreme emotions I'd been feeling that day and have been feeling because of my dad. There's a a part of me so angry right now at this disease that won't leave our lives. But there's another part of me feeling extremely sad, knowing our lives will never be the same. Fire and rain. One day last week, some things came up at work. I left the office for the day completely pissed off, frustrated, and upset. I had plans to have dinner with my parents that night. By the time I got over there, I had some time to cool off, but was still feeling completely lousy. I told them about my day, the current issues at hand, and the current struggle I'm dealing with. Then they told me about their day. The big news was that Dad drove into town to get his hair cut. By himself. This is the first time he's driven since early June. He then spent a few hours over at my Grandpa's house visiting, instead of at home on the couch. He was noticeably tired from his adventures of the day, but in good spirits. Just like that, my "Fire And Rain" drawing flashed into my head. Once again, I realized that my priorities had been getting out of whack. This things with my dad right now, this is my life. This is what matters. Not some corporate drama going on. Not the politics of work. Right now, that has to be, at most, second on the priority list right now. That's how it always should be. And with that, I felt calm and a subtle sense of happiness for my dad's small accomplishments that day, which feel so huge to all of us. I took some joy in the fact that he had one good day. That's all we can ask for right now. When I got home after supper that night, work was the farthest things from my mind, as were the negative aspects of what Dad's been going through. I slept sound that night. Life can be weird. Fire one moment, rain the next. Can sunshine be far behind? That's all for now. Tuesday's Playlist (I'm slipping dangerously close into the realm of adult contemporary these days!!! I need the new U2 album now!): 1. Celine Dion - Miracle 2. Josh Groban - Josh Groban |
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Yesterday kicked off a month's worth of events that will be held at the Barnsite because of this exhibition. I started my day with four hours of life drawing. It was exhilarating working in such an amazing facility, and so quickly in color again. The model, Jeanie, is incredibly talented and sensuous, almost feline-like. There were many people in the studio drawing and painting, all fluttering around at first. The initial buzz of the room was actually quite annoying. People were all over the place, going in all different directions. But when the nervous energy of the room dissipated, it was replaced with a vibrant sense of creativity. There was no denying the artistic buzz that was going on; you could really feel it. Inspiration was in the air yesterday morning in Kewaunee, WI at the Barnsite Art Studio, that's for sure.
After the demo, I found myself and my friends at a gathering in the vacation condo of a guy who runs a successful gallery in Chicago. His condo had a breath-taking view of Lake Michigan, and was the home of probably over a million dollars worth of private art. It felt so weird, being in the presence of all of these artists. As I sipped my wine and took part in polite conversation, I felt like a country mouse in the big city. It was odd rolling with these artists types, finding a real connection with them, but yet feeling uncomfortable in a lifestyle far classier than my own.
The exhibition was great. I spent much time with my friends Mara, Aaron, Don, Pam, Mark, and Francene. We are all by far much younger than a majority of the people at or in the exhibit. I couldn't help but feel overtly optimistic, like we're the next generation of artists, a new generation of artists, all on our way to much artistic success in our futures. The one thing many of the artists said to me through the course of the night is that, as an artist, I'm lucky that I have my youth on my side. I have many years ahead of me to hone my skills and enhance my talent. It's an exciting thought, all of the endless possibilities that the future has to offer. After an exhilarating day with the art crowd yesterday, my day today felt simple and down-to-earth in comparison, but rich, pure, and full. I feel a deep profoundness and a sense of completeness being part of a growing group of artists. But it's the love and time I have for my nephews that still feels genuine, real, and all-encompassing. Today I spent much time playing with the nephews. We watched Aladdin, I gave them rides up in the air as only uncles can, and I gave them lawn mower rides out in the cool sun of a beautiful autumn day. As I mentioned last weekend, I'm amazed at all of the different places and scenarios my weekends always seem to take me. Within a twelve hour span, I went from pouring wine to giving lawn mower rides. I went from rubbing elbows with some artistic big-wigs to throwing two awesome little boys up in the air, letting their giggles and squeals warm my heart. I've been spending much time talking about adding color to my artwork these days. Oddly enough, though, it's my life that's extremely colorful these days. And that's before an ounce of paint or smudge of pastel ever hits the canvas. That's all for now. Blogging to: Celine Dion - Miracle |
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The drawing on the right was done with an intense fever. Once I got going, once I found my stride, there was no turning back. It's an odd, but a very uplifting thing, seeing a new range of possibilities and potential come out of these hands, this body, this collection of experiences and influences. When I was in college, I never did any real work with color. My painting classes were always more about experimenting with paint more than anything. All of my drawing classes were about finding values and searching for volume through varying shades of gray. In my personal life, I found a genuine comfort and great sense of enjoyment with a very comic book type of illustration. I've honed and developed that style over my lifetime, but never really took it to the next level. But last night, I tapped into parts of my brain, parts of my talent, parts of my potential, that, deep down inside I knew existed, but never let see the light of day. I'm amazed at the difference just one week can make. But sometimes, that's what it takes to open the floodgates. Last week (see my 10/9/04 post), was the awkward introduction to the medium. This week was about not letting that medium get in my way and finding a new stride and rhythm. What will the following weeks bring? In talking about this drawing, I'm noticeably proud. My classmates seemed the most supportive of me that I've ever seen them. I get the impression that they knew I could do it, and were glad that I finally pushed myself and started to figure it out. I always knew that I had it inside of me; I just wasn't sure how it would manifest. Seeing the physicallity of how my brain actually perceives colors makes sense. My lifetime of experiences and influences came together, in this newer, higher sense of things. I still see the cartoon and comic book influences filtered through my brain, eyes, hand, and heart. But I also see a deeper connection, a deeper understanding, of color, shape, volume, and dimension. As I studied our model last night, I forced my eyes to see all of the colors that were really there. It was actually quite intimidating, but also very trippy, in just how many colors I saw once I really started looking. The deeper I looked, the more I saw. I almost had to pull back from what I saw there were so many colors present. I'm still blown away by how really looking at the model, really seeing the model, who initially seemed so bland and colorless, I saw a full, rich, spectrum of colors. There's a great life lesson to learned from that, I suppose. My experience reminded me of a scenario from one of my comic books from many years ago. A young hero is granted the ability to read minds. When his powers initially manifest, he hears what's going on in everybody's mind around him, not able to turn them off or be selective. Suddenly, walking down the street is an excruciating experience as he hears thousands of voices, thousands of minds, all rambling away at once. It was like that for me last night; all at once, all of the colors came out. It took awhile to harness them in, pull them back, get over my intimidation, and start making sense of things. Once I conquered that, I was able to run with it, connect with my intuition, and soar. I'm quite excited about where this will take me. I feel like I've begun a great new phase in my art, myself, and my life. Artistically, these are good times, great times. I feel like I'm on the cusp of something great. Who's to say where wind will take me? I guess I just have to follow my nose, listen to my heart, and keep tapping into that place deep inside that I now know exists. I have to keep mining it for all it's worth. I'm optimistically nervous about my next creation. That's all for now. What's your potential? Friday's Playlist: 1. Celine Dion - Miracle 2. Coldplay - Parachutes 3. Bob Marley & The Wailers - Legend 4. Alanis Morisette - So-Called Chaos |
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I've always liked computers, and have always been good on them. I took many computer programming classes in high school and college, and became real comfortable with them at work quite quickly when I first started my job back in 1994. But in early 2000, when I got my first computer, my first "grape" iMac, which I so lovingly called "Cartman II," it's as if the purpose of computers really changed for me. Cartman II unleashed a whole world of fun, art, music, creativity, and possibilities for me, in ways that I never though possible with computers. My Macs have always allowed me to do things creatively without the computer "getting in the way." I still remember the week I got my new iMac. My friend Mark set my computer up, and introduced me to a little program that was then called "Macster." I had never heard of an mp3 before. Why would I want to listen to music on my computer? A few months later, though, Macster became Napster, the infamous file-sharing program that opened up a can of worms for the music industry which is still licking their wounds. With the inclusion of Napster on my computer, it quickly became a tool for music. Initially, all I thought I'd be using it for was graphic design. But after downloading my first illegal mp3, "Say, Say, Say" by Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson, Cartman II became a music machine. CD burning software and eventually speakers were purchased. My stereo in the living room eventually became used only for movies, rarely CDs anymore. Apple eventually release iTunes, which allowed me to create music playlists, and organize and listen to my mp3s and CDs. There was a time when I had over a 800 illegal mp3s on this thing. During that time, I might add, I was using a free dial-up internet service provider (which eventually went belly-up, as they all did), which took about 20 minutes to download a song. Imagine how my phone line must have been tied up (This, of course, is also in the days before the no-call lists were introduced; I'm sure I blocked more telemarketers than anything)! Slowly, though, I started integrating my own music onto this computer, quickly filling up the 10 GB hard drive, and almost an entire external hard drive. The 800 illegal files became pale in comparison to the 60 GB (that's over 15,000 songs!) worth of my own music now stored on "Yoda," my external hard drive. In the summer of 2003, I broke down and purchased what was the top-of-the-line 30 GB iPod. "G-Man Music" holds a little over 7,500 songs. I had it full the very first day I brought it home. Now I take my iPod with me everywhere, like some weird little digital companion. It plays through my car radio. I listen to it all day at work and in art class. I take it running and exercising. I even swap iPods with friends for the you-gotta-hear-this song of the moment. I love my iPod. Since then, Apple has come out with the iTunes music store, where songs can be legally downloaded for 99 cents a piece. My "Purchased Music" playist is now 135 songs long. Do the math! Everybody I know who uses their iPod and/or the online music store continually talks about just how fun it is. A couple weeks ago, U2, my favorite band, debuted their new song exclusively on iTunes. My music and my technology have definitely collided. The iPod has changed how I listen to music. I love my iPod. Yeah, I know I already said that. The digital revolution that I feel luckily to be part of has allowed me to be expressive in ways that I could never have imaged. My computer now houses thousands of digital photograph, scans of all my art work, and of course these web pages which store all of my thoughts and words. With the purchase of my digital video camera last summer, I am now also capable of making my own videos, and have been recording some type of footage from my life every day since July 1st of this summer. This computer thing keeps opening new doors for me while it still allows me to express myself the classic ways as well. It's allowed me to merge the old with the new, and find my place as an artist in this digital age. I can't help but feel a bit nostalgic when I look at this old (by computer standards) grape iMac, revolutionary in its time, which is going to be replaced within weeks. We've been though so much together. Hopefully, if things go as planned, I should be making an order for my new computer within a week or two. I have a few more bucks to save up, and then it's time to make a new G5 iMac my own. The new design, which is incredible, is a bit back-ordered, though. I'm thinking that my new 20" G5 iMac flat panel (with DVD burner and a 250 GB hard drive (that's 25 times bigger than what I have right now!!!)) should enter my life some time before Thanksgiving. I couldn't be more excited. And with a new computer with gobs more of horse power under the hood, I can only imagine where the technology will allow my imagination to go. I already know I'll be getting some high-end video editing software, and have a few of those projects looming in the back of my head. The computer also comes with software that allows me to make music consisting of loops and samples. I CAN'T wait for that!!!! If only I had a few more hours in my day! Yeah, I am becoming quite the geek! Oh well. Wednesday's Playlist: 1. Celine Dion - Miracle 2. Josh Groban - Josh Groban 3. Coldplay - Brothers And Sisters EP 4. Cyndi Lauper - At Last Movie Time: Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back Special Edition P.S. I just noticed that all of the music in today's playlist was purchased via Apple's iTunes music store. Gone are the days of the illegal downloads. Apple has made an honest man out of me! |
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Well, today my friend Todd announced that he and his girlfriend, Tanya, got engaged over the weekend. I saw this coming for quite some time. And guess what? My run as a groomsman isn't over, either. Todd ask me to stand up in his wedding next year. With a trifecta of weddings behind me, and one more on the horizon, it got me to thinking today about my role as a groomsman. Counting Todd's wedding next year, I will have been a groomsman eight times since I've been out of college. What makes me fit the role so well? What makes me such a good candidate to rent another monkey suit? At my friend Jim's wedding last month, as we were all getting ready before church, I was helping the groomsmen with their cufflinks, buttons, and bow ties, even calming the nerves of a few them (Nobody's actually looking at us, I always reason). I'm turning into an old pro at this!
I've stood up in a few weddings in my day, where, to be perfectly honest, I actually felt like I was just a guy there to fill in a suit. At one wedding, I felt like I was nothing more than a stand-in friend for a groom who didn't have a lot of male friends or family. In another, which had 21 or 22 people in the wedding party, I swear that I was just there to keep the pictures balanced and give them their token redhead. For the most part, though, whether it was my sister's wedding all those years ago, or this summer's crop, I really felt like I was special, like the bride and groom greatly appreciated me being part of their special day. When I see the group of people, all of the close friends and family, that attended the weddings and usually some wild bachelor party that preceded it, I can't help but wonder why they chose me. What makes me so special? My sister told me today that it's just a sign that I have lots of friends. As I get older, I'm beginning to realize that I'm becoming a pretty social guy. This is an odd thing for me, when I think back to the freckled-faced introvert I was in high school, who had only four friends I could count on. In grade school, I was always chosen last at recess. Now I'm being chosen to sit at head tables. Life has a nice way of reconciling the past. Gosh, maturity is a great thing. As I journey through my life as an adult, I'm learning what friendship is all about. Being a groomsman to me, is about being at my friends' side. Sometimes, it's about being there emotionally through the serious shit life throws at us, while other times it's simply about the crazy, funny, off-the-wall, good times experienced together. So with Todd's wedding coming up next year, it's another good time to look forward to. Being in a wedding party always involves a certain sense of camaraderie with the group, and a sense of feeling good about myself and the relationships I have in my life. But that's all for now...I'm just kind of letting my mind wander tonight where weddings are concerned. I still think it's funny that our model wore a tux a few weeks back! Anyway, congratulations Todd and Tanya!! I'm already planning the bachelor party!! Tanya, what are your feelings on Tijuana? :)
Monday's Playlist: 1. The Beatles - Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band 2. R.E.M. - Around The Sun |
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Friday night I ended up in Algoma and then Kewaunee, which are both almost an hour away. I hung out with some very interesting artists and waxed poetically about life, spirituality, and of course, how art fits into all of those things. It was one of those great nights that happened without any type of pre-planning; it simply happened. Whenever I'm with artists, the time is always a bizarre, but quite fulfilling, journey. I compared it to something like the Wizard of Oz, or Lord of the Rings. All my Friday night needed was for me to throw a ring into a pit of fire. Saturday afternoon I found myself in church for, and eventually shot photographs of, my aunt's parents' 50th wedding anniversary celebration. I felt so appreciated and respected by my aunt and uncle for taking the time out of my day to take the photographs. They truly made me feel like a talented photographer. Somehow or another, that led me to my grandfather's grave site, which I haven't been to in over five years. I didn't plan on going there. It just happened. It felt right. It felt necessary at this time in my life with everything that's been going on with Dad. Moments later, my afternoon took on another sharp contrast. I found myself on my way to a Green Bay Gamblers hockey game for the first (of many) Buck Nights ($1 LaBats Blue!). Buck Night is always a great time with friends; last night was no different. I ended up partying until 4:00 this morning with a great group of friends. Lots of fun, crazy shit went on, like usual! Saturday was quite an odd mixture of friends and family coupled with partying and spirituality. What an odd day. Today, I spent about 5 minutes at my parents' house. When I got there, Dad was upstairs, sobbing and shaking, going through another one of his bad days, not wanting to see anybody. Lately, he's been going through some serious depression and withdrawal issues because of the medication he's on. This has been happening every few days. The doctor at the pain clinic is working with us on this, but it could take some time to get the combination of medication right (if ever). This is so damn frustrating. Mom was noticeably upset and felt bad sending me and my brother on our way. When Dad gets like this, he just needs to work through it himself, with Mom by his side. He just doesn't want anybody to see him this way, which I guess I can understand. It's a hard thing to handle, but I have to respect his wishes. I left there feeling helpless, defeated, and did my best to not feel rejected. Being sent on my way, I decided to make the most of the afternoon. I couldn't allow myself to be consumed by shadows, again. Not today. I caught up on a few movies that I've been wanting to watch, and then decided to go for a long walk in the park and around town. For as upset as I was feeling inside, the brilliant colors and warm sun of this golden day helped to lift my spirits. Instead of laying on the couch, sulking in the shadows of this hard time with my family, I felt pretty amazing being outside on a day as golden as today. Beautiful days like these are numbered; the harsh Wisconsin winter will take over soon enough. The absolute perfection that Mother Nature presented to me today was such an odd, but welcomed, dichotomy compared to the situation that's going on at home. When I look at this weekend, I'm amazed at all of the ups and downs, crazy times and spiritual moments. It's such an odd, extreme balance of light and dark right now. At times, my life seems so surreal and bizarre with all the different places it takes me. My weekend was perhaps one of the most colorful and textured weekends I've had in a while, but peppered with some pretty dark shadows. Wild times. Sunday's Playlist: 1. R.E.M. - Around The Sun 2. R.E.M. - Automatic For The People Movie Time: 1. Aladdin Special Edition 2. Star Wars: Episode IV A New Hope Special Edition |
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But as I get older, I'm feeling a disconnect from that world of super heroes and evil villains. I've become cynical about the money-making motives of the comic book industry and no longer feel the same tug from that world of fantasy. These days, I want something more from my art. I want something deeper; something more profound than the big-bosomed or muscle-bound, spandex-clad adventures of the characters of my youth. But yet, my style, because of those influences, still remain. Therein lies the struggle. Therein lies the challenge. Since the beginning of the year, I've been telling myself it's time to start working in color. It's time to take a more painterly approach to my work. I know I can do it. But I know that there's no denying a lifetime of influences either. If I'm serious about pushing myself, pushing for his change, it will require a starting over point for me, a different approach to things, a different philosophy in my creative process. Although that sounds grand in theory, it's scary as hell to make the break and just start doing it. This past Thursday, though, a few occurrences happened to finally make me make that jump and finally take the plunge. The main thing that happened has to do with going to my great-uncle's wake earlier this week. At the wake, all of my second-cousins mentioned a drawing I did for him of his team of horses. When I got home that night, I looked through one of my photo albums and found the photo that I'd shot of the drawing before I gave it to him for $30. Even back then, sometime in the late 80s, I was already concerned about documenting my art. When I found that photo of the drawing (see the post below), I was surprised by how good it was. I'm not trying to sound egotistical here; but I was pleasantly surprised at my style back then in regards to color. Granted, I see many flaws in the execution of the drawing, but I look at this piece with the understanding that it was done as a 16 or 17 year old kid who still hadn't gone to college for art. Looking at that drawing, I realized that there was a time in my life when I wasn't afraid color. I took that photo out of the album, and tucked it inside my small sketch book that I always bring with me. I looked at that photograph multiple times that day at work. Meanwhile that day, I had a depressing email exchange with my sister. It had to do with Dad and how we're both so sad and frustrated that nothing seems to working with him. The anodyne treatments that he was on, the ones that had an 88% success rate, didn't work. If anything his pain is getting worse, which then involves more medication. My sister commented how difficult it is right now, seeing Dad in one of two ways, either in pain, or half out-of-it, due to all the meds. We talked a bit about the fact that Dad will now be getting a social security benefit as currently can't work. This suddenly takes away about $20,000 a year from my parent's financial situation. They should be alright, but it's hard to watch them having money be an issue again. They were just beginning to start having some type financial freedom. Needless to say, the email exchange with my sister left me feeling defeated and hopeless. That day I wished to myself there was a way this could all start over from scratch, with neuropathy never entering our lives. As I left work, feeling quiet melancholy, I remembered that I had art class in a few hours. My main excuse for not pushing myself into the world of color has always been that I didn't have the right supplies to do the kind of color I'd like. With the feeling of so desperately wanting a fresh start with things, coupled with that picture of the horses resonating in my mind, I made time for myself to finally get to the art supply store and purchase myself some quality paper and a drawing board to mount it on. At home, I knew I had a wonderful box of pastels that my friend Mara gave me for my birthday earlier in the year, and an easel that, up until this point, I've only been using to display my art. I ventured to art class that Thursday night with an arsenal of old and new tools and supplies that finally would all be put to use. But I have to tell you, I was scared as hell. I'm not sure what I think of the outcome of the drawing I did that night. It's a bit more stylized than I had hoped it to be, but it is a start. It's a start! I won't waste my time picking it apart. There's enough things in it I like that, although I won't call it a complete success, I certainly don't feel like it's a failure either. I have to admit, I laugh at myself when I think at how desperately I try to deny my style and inspirations, and then with this new beginning, this fresh start, it still has my style imprinted all over it. That is my style. That's how I draw. And although I'm trying to improve on it, I realize that there's no reason to deny myself of a lifetime's worth of influences and inspirations. Is it ironic, for as much as I'm trying to (and realize that I can't) overcome the artist who I once was, that a drawing I did before all of my training in college became my ultimate inspiration to take the plunge? I'm anxious to see what my next class will bring. |
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The picture on the right was one that I did for Lloyd of one of his teams of horses. I did the drawing back when I was in high school. At the wake, I introduced myself to all of Lloyd's children, my second-cousins. They all mentioned this drawing that I did for Lloyd that I guess is still hanging up in his house. I remembered most of these cousins from growing up. They were always older than me, but I distinctly remember them being around. Life was so much different way back then. The extended family, Grandpa and Grandma's family, was my family too. They played a huge part in my life. Other than Lloyd, Grandpa had one other brother, Fran, who I felt very close to. In may ways, Fran was a third grandpa to me in those delicate years where are memories are formed and impressions are made. He also had a sister, Lorraine, who, frankly, I was never too fond of. That's just how families are, I suppose. (In the photo below, my great-aunt Lorraine is the little girl being held. My grandpa, Joe, is the boy holding the dog. My great-uncle Lloyd is the taller boy standing closest to the dog.)
My great-uncle Lloyd was always a bit of a bull-head, with a silly and irrational temper. In his defense, I also remember him being the most serious when it came to farming. Although I remember my grandpa and both of his brothers being extremely hard workers, I remember Lloyd being much less social than the other two. While Grandpa and his brother Fran would be off looking at exotic chickens with odd feathers and colorful eggs, giving pony-wagon rides at the local church picnics, or socializing at some horse- or tractor-pull, I always remember Lloyd busy at work on the farm (and usually pissed off at somebody!). Grandpa and Fran were always the more carefree of the Vander Heiden boys. They were always the friendlier ones of the family more willing to "sit a spell," crack open a beer, and tell simple stories of days-gone-by or share the local country gossip. Lloyd was the grumpier of clan, I suppose, but still one of the Vander Heiden boys. He was still a good man. He was still part of a huge extended family that all has a place in the story of my childhood. Time, as it is, though, moves on. Fran's been dead since 1990 after a quick battle with liver cancer. Lorraine passed away late in 1999. Grandpa's now the last of his siblings alive. The family always believed that Fran, a bachelor his entire life, lived with Lloyd and his wife Mildred, on Lloyd and Millie's farm. Fran had a room in Lloyd's basement where he tended to a vast collection of Grand Ol' Opry magazines, country music records, and pictures of his many nieces and nephews. But after Fran quickly died of cancer all those years ago, a nasty secret surfaced via his will. Fran wasn't living with Lloyd on Lloyd's farm; it was just the opposite. The house and farm actually belonged to Fran. Lloyd was the one living with Fran in Fran's house, on Fran's farm. Fran was living in the basement of his own home. Years of debt to the carefree brother, which I guess was thought to be long forgotten, was always kept track of, and was to be reconciled through the will. My grandpa, being the power of attorney over Fran's estate, was as surprised by this as any of us. There was nothing Grandpa could do but make the wishes of Fran's will be met. Much of the debt that Lloyd owed Fran over the course of his life was taken out of an otherwise hefty inheritance and was to be paid back to the estate. Lloyd and his family were furious. To me it seemed like a very black and white issue. What could they be angry at? They owed the money, there was no denying of this. I think embarrassment turned into anger as this dirty secret saw the light of day. Once the anger surfaced, there was no compromising, no sense to be made. Since my grandpa was the one to oversee the will, he became the object of the wrath of Lloyd and his family. The two remaining Vander Heiden brother, and each of their massive families, didn't talk to each other for five or six years. It's a sad shame that so much time was wasted over something my grandpa could do nothing about. I always thought it was funny that the Vander Heiden brothers were know for their love of horses. Their tempers reminded me of horses with a wild streak that could never completely be tamed. As time marched on, eventually the wounds healed themselves. No resolution ever happened, only the calming of tempers and the fading of memories. Only much later in life, as Lloyd started to get sick, did people start talking again. By then, of course, it was never the same. I jot these memories down tonight, in the hours after Lloyd's funeral, as some type of personal closure, I suppose. In thinking about it, I guess I went to the wake last night for as much my own sake as for Grandpa's. Fran's death was one of the most difficult things I ever went through in my life. It shook me to the core and changed me in many profound ways. But, sadly enough, his death also triggered a series of events, of a family life that I was slowly losing contact with as I started my own life as an adult. That family life was never to be the same again. Seeing all of those second-cousins at that wake last night made me realize how different my life now where family is concerned. Of course, my family is the most important thing in my life. But there was a time, when I was much younger, that I saw much more of my aunts, uncles, cousins, great-aunts and uncles, and even second-cousins. There was a time in my life where the extended family played a far greater role. I'm sure much of that has to do with being a kid, following my parents around, having their priorities be mine. Their life was exclusively mine. But now I'm an adult. Now I have all I want to do to spend time with my immediate family, much less seconds- and greats-. I guess that's just the natural order of things. Looking at it with much older eyes, I'm happy that I have these memories of such a wonderful large family as I was growing up. I'm glad I had the childhood that I had. But I do realize that my grandparents won't be around forever. I have to make time for them before it's too late, before I'm filled with regret for so much wasted time. I have make time to tend to the wild horses while I still can. That's all for now. Wednesday's music: R.E.M. - Across The Sun |
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With the hectic summer behind me, last month I decided to take a short hiatus from this thing. It was time to refocus, really figure out why I was doing this, who I was doing it for. Ultimately, this should be for me, for my recollection, for my pondering, my exploring. But somehow, it kind got out of my hands and out of control, like most big ideas do, I suppose. I started doing this for an invisible audience, who I rarely saw or heard from, but still felt an odd type of strong pressure, like I owe something to somebody. I had to look back at my original intentions for this thing, and realize for as important as it is in my life, I can never let it become a chore or an obligation. It's simply my way to express myself and make sense of what life presents to me. I have to give myself a break if life gets too busy. I can't let my need for expression add to an already busy life. It should be an escape from those things, not an additive So with my short break, I come back to these pages feeling refreshed. My attitude towards this site feels different tonight, but not bad in a way. It feels new, almost like I'm starting over in a way. Nothing in these pages will change, except perhaps my outlook towards these words and maybe my sense of obligation. I don't know; it just feels different. Perhaps that's just par for the course with the strong presence of the beauty of fall. When a new season starts fresh and new, it's hard to deny the changes that life has to offer. With the beginning of autumn, I notice change all around me. Sure, the leaves are a gorgeous palette of colors this time of the year, but that always seems to be the physical manifestation of what life really sends our way. My September consisted of two weddings and a funeral, some of the biggest changes life has to offer. Tomorrow I have to go to another wake, as my grandfather's brother passed away. Life rarely gives us a moment to pause. Who has time to deny the circle of life? Also tomorrow, my parents will be going to the social security office. Dad's disability insurance will be running out soon, and there's currently still no real relief from drugs or pain. We're stuck in a frustrating infinite loop. They will see what kind of aide Dad can get since the chances of him returning to work are dwindling each week. It's almost as if everything we've been fighting for since this neuropathy came into our lives back in March has failed. All we wanted was for him to be able to go back to work. This feels like it's the end of one chapter of his illness. And at this point, at the end of this chapter, the neuropathy won, leaving my dad a shell of the man he once was. I hesitate to think where the next chapter will bring us. It saddens me too much to talk about it at any length these days. But on a more positive note, I look at my social circle, and see wonderful new changes happening. I see new relationships forming and current friendships getting stronger. I've always looked at my circle of friends as the cast of characters in some elaborate soap opera. Every few years, the cast evolves into something entirely different. Right now, my art circle is beginning to take on an even stronger role in my life. What used to be just hanging out with them one night a week is slowly creeping into my weekends as well. It's very exciting to get to know these great new colorful people. Meanwhile, a few of the existing friendships in my life feel like they are evolving into something deeper. With some of the more difficult things going on right now, I'm realizing that I can't do this alone. I can't do life alone. A handful of close friends are almost becoming family to me now, a stronger support system than I'm used to relying on. But I'm willing to take it. It's a pretty cool thing. I hope these friends know who they are. Things at work are changing quite rapidly as well. Some things are changing for the better, while I'm less than pleased with others. Time will tell with a few of these things which could directly affect me in big ways. For the moment, though, that's all I feel comfortable talking about. Without sounding too paranoid, I'm not sure whose eyes see these words anymore. This is one area where I have keep the situation to myself for my own good. It's frustrating as this weighs heavily on my mind right now. But I don't want this site to come back and bite me in the ass either. I'll just have to hold off with this for the moment. So as I sit back tonight and try to wrap my mind around all of the changes that have gone on since my last few posts, the constant with them all is change. And for as cliched as that may sound, it's so true. Maybe it's the intense physical beauty that autumn always seems to offer that punctuates these broad changes in life, I don't know. Or maybe, by taking a step back from this thing for almost two weeks, it just puts things into a much broader perspective. The broader scope of my life is much more than tiny daily updates. It's an odd perspective to say the least. That's enough for now. Monday's Playlist: 1. U2 - Pop 2. In Time: The Best of R.E.M. 3. R.E.M. - Reveal 4. R.E.M. - Out Of Time 5. U2 - All That You Can't Leave Behind Movie Time (DVDs movies watched over the weekend): 1. Super-Size Me 2. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (I highly recommend this movie!!!!) P.S. When one door opens... September archives |
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For
What It's Worth
Black
Day, Stormy Night
Fire
And Rain
All The Colors
Came Out
The
afternoon consisted of a four hour oil painting demonstration
by an wonderful artist named Zhiwei Tu. It was amazing watching
this guy do an oil painting of the same model I drew earlier
in the day, from start to finish with over 50 people watching
on in pure awe. It was truly inspiring, to say the least. I feel
like I learned so much, just silently watching the guy work.
Being in a room filled with over 50 artist, again felt full of
inspiration and creative energy. It was a wonderful day.
I
returned back to the Barnsite for the big opening of the OPA
exhibit. The owners of the gallery, Dick and Norma, asked me
if I'd serve wine for the event. They are truly good people doing
great things for the mid-western art scene; I was glad to help
them out and play a little part in the big night. It was odd,
waiting on people as I did, but yet, invigorating being plopped
in the center of the art scene. And for the record, I was a natural
at serving wine. People starting asking me questions as if I
actually knew what I was talking about where the different types
of wine were concerned. Eventually, I even started to b.s my
way with people, acting the part, really only telling them things
that were already printed on the bottles.
After The Flood...
Tools
Of The Trade
Always
A Groomsman...
When
it comes to standing up in weddings, I always think of an old
Jerry Seinfeld routine. His take on weddings is that it's necessary
for all the groomsmen to dress the same. That way, if the groom
bails out at the last minute, everybody can just take one step
over. That's why they always say "Do you take this
man...?" And in typical Jerry Seinfeld reasoning, if the
guy next to the groom was really the best man, wouldn't
the bride be marrying him? I've always like that bit.
A
lot of people gripe about standing up in weddings. I know I did
my share of it this summer, too, especially when I started feeling
it dig deep into my pocket book. But really, standing up in a
wedding is a blast. I had so much fun this summer because of
three great weddings. I love looking good in a tux. I love the
little bit of extra attention that one gets when part of the
wedding party. I love the wine. I love the champagne. I love
the dance. I even love sitting at the head table. I think if
I wasn't in a tuxedo, though, I'd feel embarrassed in front of
all of those people. It's almost like last Halloween, how, when
dressed up like Frodo Baggins, I sang karokee to the Beatles
all night long, something I'd never do in my normal clothes.
Isn't that what wearing a tuxedo really is, just one elaborate
costume? Being in a wedding party allows me to have that little
bit of extra attention that I crave every once in awhile, but
yet, a certain sense of anonymity.
And
on one final note, as a fan of comic books and super heroes in
general, I'd be remiss to not recognize the passing of the one
true, the only, Superman in my book. I always find the
last few years of Christopher Reeve's life ironic; the icon of
a hero, confined to a wheel chair. He really was something, though,
in those last years of his life. Up, up, and away! Rest in peace,
Mr. Reeve; rest in peace Superman.
Brilliant
Colors, Dark Shadows
A Lifetime's
Worth Of Influence And Inspiration
Wild
Horses
Growing
up, I lived on my grandparents' farm until I was in the third
grade. Grandpa always saw more of his siblings than Grandma did.
For that reason, my grandpa's side of the family, the Vander
Heiden side, will always have a more prevalent part in the memory
of my youth.
The
Only Real Constant