Hello Sun-Goodbye Icarus

I'm on a deadline, and have no business blogging. I'll make it fast. Have you ever fallen off a bicycle? Then you know what it feels like to be at the tail end of a deadline. Lack of sleep and hyper focus make for nice hallucinations, but make it hard to stay grounded.

For instance I once pulled a series of all-nighters on an illustration deadline. I went to the client the next morning and with a wave of his annoying hand, he asked for changes. I was too tired to trash his office, so I smiled, left, walked past a bank of windows and started down the concrete stairs. I caught my shoe on the top stair and fell head over heels all the way down the long, stairway. In full view of his office and all his minions. Concrete stairs.

I might have broken my neck, but I was so tired that I shrugged mid air, relaxed, and thought, "Well now isn't this poetic justice and really quite pleasant soaring through the air, as it were...".

The foolishness of Icarus was not that he flew too close to the sun. I would if I could, wouldn't you? I mean, "Ladies and gentlemen, kids, if you look out the starboard window you will notice the sun..."

But his big problem was not ego, wobbly wings, falling, or proximity to heat. His problem was he used lousy glue (made out of goat hooves probably). If he had had Elmer's, or Gorilla Glue, then he would have been fine. Super Glue, maybe.

I am almost finished with a book project that has taken me way too long, and perilously close to the sun. Above is a peek at a design element from the book where I use the sun as motif and metaphor.

One of the ways to survive the blithering economics which attend a difficult deadline is to have a fire sale. I just sold this painting, "Our Town", to pay 1/4 of a boring bill. Goodbye art, enjoy your new home in Texas. Make me an offer, I'm in the mood. I once sold a painting for twelve dozen tamales. They were really good tamales.

HI HO! HI HO! It's back to work I go, da dum, de dum, da dum de dum...

A Bed Fit For a Small God

Beatrix Potter would, I'm sure, have knit them leggings. Now I am willing to look the other way so a hungry mouse can steal a few crumbs to feed her little waifs. But when they start wearing my slippers and smoking my cigars, I get nervous. Didn't somebody say, "Mice are to be seen and not heard"--no, wait, that's kids. Not my kids, mind you, but somebody's kids. Turns out mice have a penchant for taking over the world. So it's either nip 'em in the bud (i.e. go to the mattresses) or scoot over and hand them the remote.

OK, I have to admit I whacked a couple of them. But as penance I offer the following tribute to their perspicacity, and inventiveness--based on a discovery we made in a kitchen drawer.

Boing Bed

A mouse needs a cosy place
To rest his mousey head,
A comfy nest to curl up in
And make his mousey bed.

Not too big or spacious,
Not too cramped and tight,
But made with bits of stuff
And fluff, and formed just right.

Some mice will sleep on cotton,
Some will sleep on wool,
And they make their perfect beds
Without the help of human tools.

They steal your crumbs and cast-offs,
And snatch bright colored threads,
Tuck buttons, beads, and beans
To shape their waiting beds,

You may even one day find,
And cock your head with fascination,
That they've woven in some tufts
Of housing insulation,

Though most mice find it itchy,
Since it makes their dreams
SurREal, and twitchy,

The favorite stuff to stuff a nest,
Is all the stuff they like the best,
Like shreds of toilet tissue,
Or a torn up lovey-letter,

(If it's pink and perfumy,
That then makes it all the better)

But a mouse might re-decorate her bed,
If there's a need,
By sprinkling sawdust, coffee grounds,
Or just-so sesame seeds,

Now far and away the finest bed
In the world of mice and men,
That quite compares to any nest
Of feathered bird or fluffered hen,

Is a perfect bed I spied
In the corner of a kitchen drawer,
Close to the sink, not far for a drink,
But not too close to the floor,

'Twas a small square box of rubber bands,
No more than one small ounce,
A bed of boing, a cushiony spring,
A mattress full of bounce,

The mouse who slept here, was a well slept mouse,
Completely refreshed and well rested,
And never a mouse found a mousier bed,
Or a better soft place to be nested.

The Power of Book

Lucy reading a book on our Mac.

René Descartes secured himself a place on MapQuest with his, "Cogito ergo sum" ("I think therefore I am"). If I'm not mistaken, they've updated it to, "Ab asino lanam". Um, that might not be right--no, sure enough that's, "wool from an ass". Wait, wait, this is as close as I can get, "a caelo usque ad centrum", which means, "from the sky to the center of the earth".

What the heck am I talking about? This: "I have wireless, therefore I am". "Ahhh," you all say, "He's so right". Yes.

The Watson clan had a super-charged visit from The Talking Potatoes and their folks, the lovely and multi-talented, Martha Brockenbrough and the remarkably cool Adam Berliant. Well, Adam is more of a hot, slow cooked brisket (check out his blog if you like to play with cleavers, skewers and fire: Blue State BBQ).

Many of you are oh-so-already-up-to-speed with all things digital. I have a long way to go. But my question for you is this: What are your thoughts on digitized books? They are a growing phenomenon. Accessible. Diverse. The world is your digital oyster. But what about our quiet friends,who wait patiently on shelves? You know, books. Old school brain food? Come on, you remember...made out of paper? From trees? Or papyrus? What are we, relics of Middle Earth? Will they survive this current hyper jump to light speed?

Witness Jaime Temarik. It was her book that we were all reading with laser-locked attention. It has not been published yet, but look out world! Think, Shakespeare meets Amy Tan meets Erik Carle. It is a good read about the adventures of Alice and Lucy. Stay tuned.

While the adults jawed on and on, the kids went to the dining room and drew the future onto paper airplanes. And yes, we do allow alligators to crawl on our furniture.

Anyhow, we were all inspired and fired up by Jaime's book-in-progress. The power of Book is that it connects us one to another, and to our world. Does it matter how the pages present themselves? From the sky to the center of the earth.

Why We Vacuum

We vacuum to keep from sliding into chaos. Or because company is coming. If I were a genius, I would invent "The Life Vacuum". You could run it around your mind, your body, or your soul, and voomp away all the things you don't like. I'm not quite there yet, but the sketch above is part of my blueprint for perfection. STEP 1: Do a doodle. STEP 2: Make a copy of doodle, then flop that copy (make a mirror image).


STEP 3: Copy that, flop it, and stick it all together. Voila! You have a "Star Doodle". You have symmetry. Remember when someone showed you how to fold a piece of paper a few times, and cut out little holes in it? When you unfolded the paper you had a snowflake!

Now, this is where it gets interesting to me. These "Star Doodles" of mine are just random la-la-la ink doodles with no thought as to what the heck I'm doing. When you make them into symmetrical images, you get lots of unexpected surprises and new shapes.

Some are happy and pleasant, and some are odd and unsettling. Maybe that's why they do the Rorschach tests. Your response can go any direction, you sort of trick your subconscious into being a "Chatty Cathy".

One finds symmetry in nature, as in crystals, zygotes, snowflakes, and the human anatomy (to a point). But in nature, there are slight imperfections which give us character, and help us realize that things don't have to be perfect.

Symmetry is fun to mess around with, but asymmetry seems more familiar. Too much symmetry looks alien. So be glad for those freckles. For that droopy eyelid. That one big toe. Forget vacuuming, throw your peanut shells on the floor. Perfection is an illusion. Let the dog do the vacuuming, it's more natural and creates a smaller carbon footprint.

Sprouts

We have been eating a lot of sprouts lately. Mung bean sprouts, dill, red clover, fenugreek, arugula, cress, radish, adzuki bean, alfalfa, etc. They are supposed to better for you than other foods, like, coffee.

Ideas are like sprouts. If they take root, they can grow into something unexpected. I love this story of The Last Supper because even though it contains tragedy, it contains bright hope. I grew up in a loving, atheist family, yet when I first heard this story, it sprouted like a mung bean. My friend Max Grover gave me this little clay sculpture. I think it is Peruvian.

I hope you have a Happy Easter.

Have You, Could You, Would You Fly?

Not very long ago, flying was not really an option for humans, unless you fell off a cliff, or found yourself in the talons of a pterodactyl, who on a whim decided at fifteen thousand feet to become a vegetarian.

In the 1920's, my dad (above) used to build his own airplanes out of Harley Davidson motorcycle engines, and chewing gum. He hand carved the propellers using a spoke shave. He flew whithersoever he wished.

And sometimes he flew right into the ground.

This is a painting my son, Jesse did a while ago depicting himself flying. He wrote:

"It was like pushing off from the bottom of a swimming pool rather than flying. I hadn't actually flown before, but every kid has his own idea of just what it would be like. I didn't have to jump. Only gliding through the air. Nothing could be heard except the boats in the water and the sun shining on the lawns.

Stillness like nobody could describe. Realness like a truck with wood in the back or a paper cut from a love letter. The good kind of real. Free and real like the kind God allows only for a twinkle on this side of eternity."

This angel was drawn by daughter, Faith. Flying is a lighthearted leap! A sigh going the other way. Do you remember any dreams of flying? I used to have them as a child, and never wanted them to end. If I found myself waking, I would try so hard to crawl back into my dream.

My granddaughter drew this picture or herself flying. See her wings? In Madeleine L'Engle's book Walking on Water, she ponders a memory of flying as a child. She is certain that she truly did fly. I think I did too, but would never mention it to anyone. Oh, look I've gone and mentioned it.

When we are motivated by love, when we live in joy, when we follow our dreams and our deeper instincts, do we not also find ourselves flying?

When astronaut, Alan Shepard was silently hurtling through space, he looked back at the Earth, and he wept.

Running Away With the Gypsies

Life's pressures get intense don't they? It helps to have an escape hatch. Mine has always been to run away with the Gypsies if things get too wonky. A dear artist friend told me yesterday, she may loose her house, but "is looking forward to the adventure of sleeping under bridges, or living with the Gypsies."

My mother told us kids that we were all dropped off on the back porch by Gypsies. I believe her. It explains an awful lot. For one, I like the idea of singing to your draft horse and wandering the back roads. What could be better than cooking an omelette on an open campfire with fresh picked sage or rosemary?

The Gypsies, or the Roma people have music that fires the soul. When I hear it, my feet literally can not sit still. You must dance or die. In their music, they have somehow captured untethered Passion. Pathos. Yearning. Joy. The Pizaaz of life in spite of the miseries.

A couple of my favorite movies along this vein: Gypsy Caravan, Latcho Drom, and The Pied Piper of Hützovina which stars the irrepressible Ukrainian punk musician, Eugene Hütz, who with some of his band, Gogol Bordello, also starred in Liev Schreiber's film Everything is Illuminated.

So what's your escape hatch? You could put on big silver loop earrings and you would be halfway there. Locate you inner Gypsy. Do it. Dance when no one is looking, or better yet dance when they are. If your folks won't level with you, ask your grandparents, "Was I brought here by Gypsies?"