Logorama

This morning I stumbled across an absolutely astounding digitally animated short film titled “Logorama”. Directed by the French animation collective H5, François Alaux, Hervé de Crécy and Ludovic Houplain, it was presented at the Cannes Film Festival 2009 and opened the 2010 Sundance Film Festival. In 2010, the film won a well deserved academy award under the category of animated short. 



The work is a visually treat with top-notch animation created with state of the art technology plus loads of talent and creative genius. Some salty language may render it NSFW, but you should definitely take a 16 minute break at some point soon and enjoy this phenomenal work.

The link is here: http://vimeo.com/10149605

Enjoy!

The fascinating story of Jim Thorpe. . .

The amazing and tragic story of athletic super nova and Native American Jim Thorpe has been hitting the news as of late because of his family’s desire to have his body removed from the town that, more or less, purchased it for a PR boost, and returned to his native state of Oklahoma.



My knowledge and interest in Jim Thorpe and his fascinating story arose from the fact that a close friend of mine was raised in the lovely little mountain town that purchased his body - Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania. I have been there on a few occasions with her and I’ve actually been to the gravesite.

 
I’m interested by the fact that as this news spreads across the digital landscape, more and more bits of information concerning this amazing man’s life come to the surface. I came across a particularly compelling story on cnn.com this morning that I highly recommend because of the last two paragraphs alone.

In those two small paragraphs, Jim Thorpe’s daughter (now deceased) paints a visual with her words that is positively cinematic and steeped in synchronistic, gut wrenching, irony. It seems to me shameful that a meaningful film covering the life of this extraordinary man hasn’t been created. His true-life story is simply volumes more compelling than the majority of reed-thin, puerile, plots that actually do somehow manage to get made into film today.

The story on CNN.com may be found here: http://www.cnn.com/2010/OPINION/08/01/greene.jim.thorpe/index.html

Mad About Mangos. . .

I had a particularly enjoyable Saturday day and evening for 4 main reasons.

1: George and I came across a produce stand in the not too distant countryside where I was able to pick beautiful zinnias from a very large flower garden for only 20 cents a stem

2: We were guests at a wonderful dinner hosted by our friend Natasha in her lovely home in Bethany Beach – which led to the two other items on the list which are

3: As I was bringing the salad for dinner, I decided on a whim to make salad dressing from scratch incorporating some of the items that I had picked up from the produce stand. I came up with a Mango/Ginger Soy dressing that simply rocked. Here’s the recipe:

MICHAEL’S MAGIC MANGO/GINGER SOY SALAD DRESSING

Ingredients:
(these amounts are approximate and could/should be adjusted to personal taste)

· Flesh of one fresh mango

· 3 cloves pan roasted garlic

· juice of one fresh  lime

· kosher salt to taste

· fresh ground black pepper to taste

· 1/3 cup of soy sauce

· 1 cup of Extra Virgin Olive Oil

· 1/2 cup brown sugar

· 1/2 tablespoon Fresh ginger

Remove the fruit from a ripe, fresh, mango (If you’re not sure how to do this – check out this informative link.) and place in a food processor.

Drizzle some Extra Virgin Olive Oil into a small sauté pan and sauté until brown but not burned. Place in food processor.

Add the rest of the ingredients to the food processor and puree until desired consistency. (For extra zing, add about 1/2 cup of chopped fresh cilantro).

4: Natasha turned me onto Max Raabe Und Palast Orchester

  
His music isn’t for everyone, but I happen to love it. Of course, I’m very fond of the time period that he captures musically – and beautifully - the 20’s, 30’s and 40’s. . .

Ars longa, vita brevis…

I have long been fascinated by the fact that the majority of information that we have about ancient societies from around the world comes from the study of their art.

Fortunately for us, art somehow, and at times miraculously, manages to survive. War, pillaging, earthquakes, tsunamis, plague, famine, volcanoes all seem no more troublesome than an annoying visit from a fly at a picnic to art. A simply wave of the hand, or perhaps in the case, the brush, is all that is needed to swat away the pesky intruder.

While humanity may vanish, fall, or be displaced, art seems to remain steadfast and true quietly and patiently waiting in airless tombs, beneath mountains of rubble, or on the walls of an undiscovered caves waiting to reenter the spotlight. A bit worn around the edges certainly, but, once carefully cleaned, restored and studied, it becomes a treasure trove of information sparkling with wisdom like the twinkling of a distant star.

Taking the historic dimensions of art into account, it was with great pleasure that I came across Steve Cohen’s article, "The Gross Clinic Restored" in the latest issue of the The Broad Street Review. Of course, the article references the 1875 masterpiece painted by the fascinating, and at the time controversial, Thomas Eakins.

(Thomas Eakins Carrying a Woman, 1885. Photograph, circle of Eakins.)

The amazing work which has been restored and is now on display through January 9, 2011 at the Pearlman Building, Philadelphia Museum of Art (Ben Franklin Parkway and 26th St. (215) 763-8100 or www.philamuseum.org) and  after January 9, 2011 at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts (Broad and Cherry Sts. www.pafa.org) is described in Wikipedia’s entry as having “an important place documenting the history of medicine—both because it honors the emergence of surgery as a healing profession (previously, surgery was associated primarily with amputation), and because it shows us what the surgical theater looked like in the nineteenth century.”

Beyond the painting’s undeniable historic significance, the work itself is masterfully executed (a detailed version maybe found online here). The composition, the muted sunlight filtered through an overhead skylight (at that time, surgery was only scheduled between 11 A.M. and 2 P.M., when the sun was high), the flowing blood and open cut, the expressions of those involved in the surgery and those watching and taking notes, the shadowed figures (including one woman anxiously hanging onto a wall for support) in the background – all work in unison to create a truly astounding work of art.

In case the historic significance of the work is lost on you initially, Cohen also wisely mentions in his article that a “fascinating contrast is seen in The Agnew Clinic, which Eakins created 14 years later. That painting chronicles the use of electric lights, the presence of a female assisting the surgeon, and white gowns and sterilized instruments in a covered case”. What a difference 14 years make, eh?

What I personally take from the work is my own bit of history. As a young child, this painting absolutely fascinated me when I came across it in the yellowed pages of an ancient set of encyclopedias that had been passed down from my grandfather. It wasn’t the story that was being documented that fascinated me, it was the work of art itself. I can honestly say that this was among a handful of works that inspired me to live my life making art.  As a child, I somehow knew instinctively that this was a monumental work of art at the the person who created it must have been very gifted indeed. Eakins managed to become the equivalent of an artistic superman to me - one of many over the years, but certainly of of the first.

Childhood art fantasies aside, one of the most beautiful aspects of art is that fact that an artist never knows initially whom may be inspired by it, or , in context of this blog entry, what its historic impact may be years down the road.

As Hippocrates once said - “Ars longa, vita brevis”. Art is long, life is short. . .

New work. . .

Here’s a sneak peek at some of the work I’ll be featuring tonight in the Spectacle Art Event at the Echelon Design Center in Rehoboth Beach.

For more information – visit http://echeloncustomhomes.com/spectacle/.

 The Trio
8” x 8”
2010
acrylic and mixed media on canvas

 Convenient
12” x 12”
2010
acrylic and mixed media on canvas

 182
16” x 20”
2010
acrylic and mixed media on canvas

 Flow
11” x 13”
2010
acrylic and mixed media on canvas

The Letter. . .

(I’ve decided to start posting short stories that I write inspired by vintage photographs from flickr.com on Fridays. Over the last 5 years, I have done so on this blog on occasion under the title “Flickr Fiction Fridays”. I think it’s high time I bring the notion back. Though today is Thursday, I have a wildly busy day tomorrow and decided to jump the gun so to speak. I get permission from the flickr.com members who own the images to use the photographs in the stories, and I ask that if you repost this story, that you give credit where credit is due as I have done with the photo).

Photo courtesy and copyright of www.flickr.com user Tastevick. Used by permission.

The Letter. . .
© Michael Sprouse, 2010

Jenny knew it would come to this eventually - an awkward silence between two adult women peppered only by sounds of the rustling leaves set aquiver by the heated August breeze, the muffled warbling from a few lethargic birds, and the softened laughter from the children grasping with lemonade sticky fingertips at the downy dandelion tops that seemed to flow like a misty river in every direction from around the picnic area.

For a moment, she envied their innocence, their naiveté. She wanted to join them, wide-eyed and giggling. She wanted to be one of them, be with them, be anywhere but here at this moment. As quickly as the children's voices had appeared, they faded.

As the fog of her useless wishes cleared, she found herself exactly what she had been but a tiny moment earlier - a silent, pensive woman waiting for something, anything, to happen.

Jenny felt ill. Quietly and quickly, she raised her hand to her mouth in an unconscious movement that could have passed as a moment of deep thought to others, but it her it had been instinctive, doing so to delay any possible physical effect from her churning ocean of a stomach. Though her body seemed as steadfastly frozen as an ancient statue, she felt as if she could actually feel her teeth trembling in her closed mouth behind her hand and it unnerved her even more.

It was impossible. How could have Lorraine discovered the information on her own? The thought pierced her mind like the sudden falling of an icicle freed from the darkness of a hidden eave. Someone must have told her, but who? And how? How could anyone have known? Who had betrayed her betrayal of Lorraine?

There was that word again - betrayal. Suddenly, it didn't seem to matter what had been said and to whom. It changed nothing. 25 years of silent acceptance had aged into 25 years of a fading memory that had now burst open like a spoiled egg bravely poked with a gnarled twig. Jenny realized that how Lorraine had discovered the event didn't matter as much as what she had discovered did.

Or did it? It was 25 years ago for Christ sake! Gary has been dead for five years. Five years! None of this matters. None of it. It was just a stupid, stupid youthful mistake.

That Jenny knew for certain. It was a mistake. A massive mistake. A mistake that she had quietly and neatly placed on the most dusty, unvisited, and forgotten shelf of her mind.

That sweet vanilla scented summer night, the moon, the peppery taste of homemade wine. Gary's eyes. Oh God his eyes. Swirls of icy blue and sweet cream. And the kiss. His kiss to me. The kiss of a lifetime. Never before had she been kissed like that and never since…

For a nanosecond, beneath the hand she still held against her trembling mouth, she felt as if she could sense his lips pressed upon on hers once again. She had been infatuated with Gary from the day she first met he and Lorraine so long ago in the summer of '20.

We were all so young, so very young. Though she and Lorraine had become quick friends, she could never understand why Gary had married her. Lorraine she seemed wise beyond her years but she was as plain as a crust of bread. And, of course, as Jenny later learned, unable to bear children.

Maybe it was her wisdom. Her uncanny sense of knowing. "I'll ask Lorraine," he'd say. "She'll know what to do. She always does, God love her." How many times did I hear him say that? Unusual for a man, but, then again, she always did know what to do, didn't she?

Then came the rest of the memory - that hot summer weekend that Lorraine was called away to tend to her ailing sister, Gary's unexpected arrival at her front door at 10:15 in the evening. His beautiful eyes misted and wild from too much homemade blackberry wine. His full, flushed lips sparkled with the yellow light of the full moon like hopeful fireflies dancing upon every word he spoke.

He was drunk. I was a fool not to notice - or to care. The next thing I remember, well, I was tipsy too. His lips. Sparkle, sparkle. Please, Gary, don't. No, you may not kiss me, I can't. Oh, Gary, please. I, but Lorraine. I just.

I. Just…

Sparkle. Sparkle.

She recalled more. The sun rise. The shame. Diverted eyes. Hushed tones. The talking around it. And worse later. The sense of something not quite right. The sickness. The confirmation. The decision. The soul wrenching, inevitable decision.

The blood. The blood. The blood...

"Jenny." Lorraine's voice broke the silence like a hard slap across the face.

But there was no slap. There was only Lorraine slowly reaching for Jenny's hand. As Lorraine moved Betty's hand from her face, she was taken at the gentleness of Lorraine's touch. Like Gary's kiss.

Jenny, still frozen in silence, watched as Lorraine then led the hand between them both and quietly pried it open with the softness of a newly hatched chick.

Jenny, motionless but with her hand now open and palm up, followed Lorraine's movements with her eyes as Lorraine placed her own open hand atop of Jenny's covering her palm. She felt something papery between them that seemed to have the size and feel of an envelope.

For what seemed like a millennia, Jenny slowly raised her eyes from their crossed hands and looked directly into the eyes of her best friend for the last 20 something years.

"Jenny," slowly spoke Lorraine, as if to ensure Jenny realized each word.

"I understand this. I understand all of this. I just want you to know that. Thank you. I love you. I'll be in touch."

And with that, Jenny watched as Gary's widow turned and quietly, stoically walked into the dusk toward the direction of her farm.

Jenny looked into her hand and recognized the handwriting on the envelope immediately. It was Gary's.

To be opened on the fifth anniversary of my death. . .

Be creative every day. . .

While it’s possible that over the last 5 years of this blog’s history, that I’ve touched upon this topic before, I recently had another opportunity to understand it’s relevance. Whether you work in the arts or not, I think it is important to do something creative every single day.

It can run from something as simple as swirling your initials into the butter on your toast to as complex as composing your next piano concerto – it doesn't matter. Strive to do something, anything, creatively every day.

Humans have a wonderfully unique ability to be creative, we have imaginations. According to Wikipedia, imagination is the ability of forming mental images, sensations and concepts, in a moment when they are not perceived through sight, hearing or other senses. Imagination is the work of the mind that helps create fantasy. Imagination helps provide meaning to experience and understanding to knowledge; it is a fundamental facility through which people make sense of the world.  It sounds close to magical doesn’t it?

Without our imaginations, we would live in a very drab and dull world indeed. If you don’t take even just a few moments a day to use this gift, it will fade like a rainbow leaving you but clinging to the the output of others’ imaginations like the victim of a sunken ship clutching onto flotsam adrift in an cold, gray, ocean of mediocrity.

So read, or better yet, write a poem during lunch, or put a funky ribbon in your hair, or make a sketch of your cat, or take a walk and bring your camera, make something exotic for dinner or wear something exotic to bed. It doesn't matter what it is – just do it creatively. Every day. And you’ll see your world transform. . .

Artists - focus on what you want!

I’ve been reading quite a bit lately about manifestation and the “Law of Attraction” (from Wikipedia - used widely by New Thought writers, refers to the idea that thoughts influence chance. The Law of Attraction argues that thoughts (both conscious and unconscious) can affect things outside the head, not just through motivation, but by other means. The Law of Attraction says that which is like unto itself is drawn).

While I still am considering the pros and cons of the information, I did run across a phrase the other day that rang true to me. Focus on what you want, and not on what you don’t want.

I started thinking about this phrase in connection to making art, and I realized that, for the most part, I, like every other artist that I have ever known or am aware of, follows this law during the creation process whether they are aware of it or not, and, whether they want to or not.

While there may be some who disagree with me, I don’t think it’s possible to make art while not, at least for a large percentage of the process, be thinking about what you want in connection to the work. Whether it is a nanosecond before the brush touches the canvas, the pen meets the paper, the foot finds the mark, the bow crosses the strings, or the chisel hits the slab or a month – part of the creation process is seeing in your mind what you are creating. An artist knows what he or she wants to create. I believe this is true even in the micro moments of creation that formulate improvisation whether it be in music, stand up comedy, theatre, painting (think Jackson Pollack), writing, or any artistic outlet. 

There are times when all artists will find themselves wonderfully caught “in the flow” when creating their work. It’s happened to myself and my contemporaries on countless occasions. It’s an incredible sensation of surrendering completely to the creative process in which it seems your body becomes more of a tool within that process and less of a separate and individual being. These are the moments that often standout in the psyche of the artist of times of great achievement.

But, when this sensation is pondered, where is the center of this flow? Where is the source of the artistic well spring? I believe it is from the psyche of the artist, deep within the creative resource of our minds. If this is true, then it must be that the desire to create the work is present first inevitably leading to that same desire being manifested into art, regardless of the process. I can’t think of any artist that creates work without thinking about the work they are creating. Mind you, these are often deep, multilayered, thoughts awash in artistic sensibilities, but, they are thoughts about creating/manifesting nevertheless. I can’t imagine that while Michelangelo was working on his masterpiece the Pietà that he was adrift in thoughts about his dinner plans or what his weekend held in store. But, more importantly, he couldn’t have been thinking about not creating his work. It isn’t possible, in my opinion.

What’s my point here? Simply, if at some point you feel disillusioned with your art or uninspired, start thinking about what you want to see in your work and stop thinking about what you don’t want to see! You’ve already been doing that all along every time you have created work that left you feeling accomplished. You wouldn’t have been able to do so otherwise.

Thusly, if all of us artists out there have been using this “Manifestation/Law Of Attraction” process all along for eons, and we know, at least in that aspect, that it works as we all have the work to prove it, why couldn’t it work in the other aspects of our lives?

Now, go make some art!

New Glasses!

Once again, I’m very pleased with my latest frames that I purchased online from goggles4u.com for a fraction of the costs of what you would pay at the local Vision store. I’m can’t remember the names of these, but they have a certain nouveau-retro Mad Men feel about them that I find hip.

Twitter 101 for Artists

A great friend for many years, brilliant attorney, and twitter whiz, Fred Abramson (http://twitter.com/fredabramson) sent me a well worded list of advice to a recent question that I had regarding twitter. I’ve had a twitter account for about a year now, (http://twitter.com/sprouseart) but it gas only been within the past few months that I’ve started to explore its essence and discover what a great tool it is on many levels. Especially for those in the arts where communication is key. I think his advice is spot on and I’m happy to share it here for those with an interest. . .

1. Don't waste you time focusing on your numbers with Twitter. You have to think of Twitter like any other form of networking. Figure out who your target buyer is and follow them on Twitter. 90% of the time, they will follow you back. If they fail to follow you within a week stop following them. Go to friend or follow (google it) to un-follow.
2. On Twitter, you should spend 50 percent of the time sending art links not related to you (like the Matisse review in today's NYT), 10 percent of your time on personal links (like your status updates on Facebook), another 10 percent promoting others (especially buyers) and the remainder of the time engaging other users (using @ and direct messages).
3. It is vital to meet your twitter followers in real life. Invite your target to your art openings or other activities of interest.
4. If you don't know who to target, I would suggest you should follow the followers of local art galleries, artists and museums. If you want national, the Met, Brooklyn Museum, Moma, etc are great places to begin. Look at the followers of art industry publications on Twitter. In New York, we also have TONY, New York Mag and the like.
5. And finally, I would suggest that you don't follow more than 50 people a day. You don't want to look like a spammer.

Fred, thanks for the great starter tips. P.S. - I also discovered that placing a hash mark # in front key words in your tweets, which also help build your base – you can read more about that here - http://kristinewirth.com/that-mysterious-sign-in-twitterwhat-does-it-mean

Really, there won't be. . .

BTW - TY Syd for pointing out my typo yesterday. There really won't be free hors at our Sept. Fall Into Jazz Event. Really there won't. 
http://www.demusic.org/schedule.html

“Do not draw your sword to kill a fly.” Korean Proverb

While I understand the immensely important position they hold on the food chain, I am here to proclaim quite simply, “I hate flies.”

I find them disgusting and intolerable, particularly when they are in my own home. I have had this hypersensitive revulsion to the flying filth freaks since I was a small child. I’m not sure why or when it started, but I do remember a school friend in 2nd grade informing me that she once ate dead flies from a window sill after mistaking them for raisons. I could never look at Raison Bran the same way after that. Two scoops? No thank you, please…

So, with my abhorrence of Musca domestica out of the bag so to speak, it has been to my great displeasure that the recent heat wave (and its still present after-waves) in combination with the high humidity, and just plain life at the beach in the summer, has produced an unusually high population of flies.

Ick. They are everywhere. Unfortunately for me, one particularly fond gathering spot for the loathsome wretches has been on the front porch area of my condo. So each time the front door opens, at least three or four enter with nano-second speed keeping me ever diligently on alert for their repulsive presence remaining never more than an arms reach from the fly swatter or tightly curled magazine.

But all of this changed three days ago. . .

Early Saturday afternoon as I was busy setting the stage for Christopher Peterson’s Eyecons - “Hooray For Hollywood” production that I stage manage at the Rehoboth Beach Theatre of the Arts, I stepped outside for a bit via the stage door which opens to a walkway that runs parallel to the theatre. Often, boxes of empty wine and beer bottles are temporarily kept there from the downstairs bar until they can be moved to the larger dumpster throughout the day. This collection had been a welcome buffet for the miscreants, and, being only a block from the boardwalk, there was no shortage of the creatures buzzing about in their quest for something vile to land upon.

But two things were different. One, there were no flies in the walkway that afternoon – which I found extraordinary and two, there were several, little, clear plastic bags filled with water and a few shiny, new pennies hanging from a handful of locations. At first, I thought that they were part of some ancient curse placed in the middle of the night by some embittered Eastern European recently fired waitress of which there are many in Rehoboth Beach during the summer. But, on closer inspection, they seemed too dainty and shiny to be part of a curse causing me to then think them some object of merriment or perhaps some visual clue for someone to follow like those silly games that drunken bridesmaids sometimes create for the bride to be during Bachelorette parties.

I asked one of the dancers from the show if he knew what they were, and he responded rather nonchalantly that they were to keep away the flies. . .

Wha? “Could this be true?” I asked myself. It seemed too bizarre to be. But, were there had been armies of flies were now only these water bags filled with shiny pennies. Amazed and on the verge of disbelief of my own senses, I made a quick mental note to investigate the act online when I returned home that evening.

There were countless mentions of the coins in the bag vs. flies online, but it seemed to be one of those you either believe it or you don’t situations. People either swore by it or totally disclaimed it with no in-between. But as I sat there reading the yeas and nays and swatting the latest flying raison away from my face, I decided in a “what the hell” moment to try it out. After all, I had a ziploc bags, water, twine, and a few shiny pennies – and, most importantly of all – a fly problem to address.

Early the next morning, I created my own fly-be-gone bag and, while whisking away an army of early morning flying shit-seekers, I tied it just beneath a wrought iron planter of ours filled with petunias.



I went inside and went about my day. About two hours later, I decided to investigate. To my amazement, where previously there had been anywhere from 10 to 20 flies, there were now none. Not one single fly.

That was Sunday morning and I am pleased to report, now that it is Tuesday at 10:30 AM, there are still no flies about my door and I have not had to use my fly swatter once since placing my bag of pennies.

Do I know how this works? Absolutely not. I have no idea at all. Online, there are many different explanations, with most centering around flies complex eyes and a disruption to their sun driven navigation system, but they were still a bit vague in the wording.

My partner finds it all a bit creepy and I guess it doesn’t help when I jokingly refer to it as Fly VooDoo, but, for what ever the reason, at least for the last few days, it does seem to work indeed. Will it last? Who knows. If not, Que Sera Sera, at least I’ve enjoyed my last few days of fly freedom.

I did find one link about it that seemed a bit more comprehensive than the others which you can read here:
http://www.waycooldogs.com/a-ziplock-bag-of-water-and-4-pennies-no-flies/

Artistic Pessimism. . .

Over the last few weeks, I’ve noticed that many of the arts professionals that I end up having conversations with inevitably seem to go dark when it comes to the actual discussion of their work or the current state of their career. It didn’t seem to matter whether what branch of the arts they worked within. Painters, musicians, actors, dancers, producers – they all seemed to share a rather bleak outlook about, not necessarily  their work mind you, but the environment of the arts in general and how it seemed to be effecting them personally. Or, more true to the point, they just seemed to be focused on being unhappy. They were either unhappy with fellow artists, or galleries, or theatres, or management, or the public, ad infinitum.

I could feel the energy drain begin the moment the person with whom I was speaking took the conversation down that path. It was if my balloon of artistic verve had been pin- pricked throwing my mental warning siren switch to on like an unexpected fire alarm that jolts your being. 

Fortunately, as the unhappy artisan would drone on, I was able to create a mental wall so to speak that, while not literally blocking the words, did seem to filter out the dark vibe, patch the spot in the balloon, and most importantly, did fill my mind with steadfast knowledge that I was most decidedly not going to travel down that path with them. While they continued, rather than engage, encourage, and join rank with them, I just allowed them to speak. Quite frankly, I wasn’t really even registering their words most of the time. They seemed so cloaked with this pessimism that it must have seemed like the norm to them. Perhaps they had become so blinded by it, that they now felt that it was normal for artists to relate to each other through this heavy cloud of darkness.

What was also of interest, is that when I would attempt to pepper the conversation with bits of light that pointed out brighter aspects or alternatives – it would fall upon deaf ears. In fact, sometimes, the drone would continue as if I had said nothing at all and I could have been easily replaced with a cardboard cutout of myself.

My point to all of this is that I want the world to know that I quite simply don’t want to be engaged in this kind of conversation any longer. I’m not interested in artistic failures and bad experiences. I simply don’t want to hear about it and it is now my goal to take a firmer stand on this so don’t be surprised, art pessimists,  if you engage me in a dark and dour conversation when, not if mind you, I put a stop to it. Hopefully, you won’t be offended, and I’ll do my best to be kind. But, I want you to ask yourself before trying to pull me into your fog, is there really something that he can do to help this situation. If the answer is no, then find a new topic. If the answer is yes, then preface by saying so upfront. “I have this situation and I’m hoping that you may be able to help me.”

I think it is important for me to mention that one of the reasons that I feel so strongly about this is that I was once an art pessimist myself. Without going into details, I spent a year and a half working with an arts organization that created a dark monster within my artistic soul. Or, better yet, I should say that I allowed it to be created. Though I went in bright eyed, I unknowingly walked right into the middle of a thick fog of deceit, backstabbing, pessimism, doubt, lies, gossip, distrust and more. I made two major mistakes then. One was allowing myself to get caught up in the mire and the other was not walking away from it as soon as possible. I choose to ignore my warning signs with some misbegotten, and probably ego driven, idea that I could make everything right. Ultimately, that decision only led me deeper into the darkness.

When, thankfully, the time came that I was finally able to get my bearings straight and hack my way out of the muck, I felt as if it had been the worst professional artistic experience of my life, and, on a surface level it had been – hands down. But, now that my air has cleared and I am able to look at the fog from a distance, I know that it was actually one of the most profound artistic learning experiences of my life. I learned what not to do and what to avoid. I also learned that every day that I celebrate my own special and unique artistic gifts is in and of itself a wonderful treasure and that it is I alone who can control how much of it I wish to share. I don’t intend to cast my “pearls before swine” so to speak.

In closing, I want to state that I’m not saying that the art pessimist don’t have valid complaints. Perhaps they do and perhaps they do not. I just believe that there is a better way to deal with them. There is much validity to the line “If you want the things you see to change, change the way you see things”. Usually that involves taking a different course of action after your vision changes. It’s sometimes one of the most important actions an artist can take. If you find yourself being bogged down, you probably are. Rather than dwell deeper and deeper into it, you need to ask yourself why and what will you do to fix it. While the answers to those questions may not be easy, the results are wildly freeing.

Mosiac Tonight in Rehoboth Beach

Hey Rehoboth Beach, DE folks and visitors - 2nite - Mosaic, fab art, free wine & cheese = ;) http://www.mosaicrehoboth.com/events/index.htm  - then, when through, come catch the Christopher Peterson show "Hooray For Hollywood" at the Rehoboth Beach Theatre of the Arts - there's possibly still some tickets available at the door for tonight's show. Curtain at 9 PM!

If you're a working artist, be glad . . .

You turn your head, run some sunscreen in your face, throw back a Cosmo or two, and the next thing you know, an entire month has passed. Such is the joy, and the sorrow, of summer.


Truth be told, I have had a wildly busy month working as an Arts Professional. In addition to simply painting ( though, "simple" is probably the incorrect term), I have designed at least four different logos, created the look and feel for six different web sites, created course descriptions for two different college courses I will be instructing come this Autumn, began Stage Managing the Christopher Peterson show at the Rehoboth Beach Theatre of the Arts which runs through the end of the summer, written 3 different press releases, collaborated on a group exhibit that will be occurring on the 23rd, designed 4 different posters, a post card, given about 6 different Tarot card readings, attended 2 different out of town art events, and a partridge in a pear tree.


Whew. And you thought all us art folks had to do was wax poetic, look pretty, drink cheap wine, and wave brushes in the air. Au contraire. In fact, this, in my opinion, should be the average schedule of any arts professional. The goal is to always be creating/working on something. I use those two words interchangeably as the are one in the same. After 25 years as a working artists, I have learned that as long as you keep focused on your work (creative process), then usually, everything else will take care of itself. That may color me a certain shade of Pollyanna, but I happen to find it true over and over again.

I was once having dinner with Quentin Tarantino several years ago - true story - right around the time Jackie Brown was released.



Some member of the dinner party had mentioned the actress Jennifer Beals, though I can't recall why. That same person (a Washingtonian not in on the Hollywood scene) made a comment about having not seen in her in anything in a long time and implied that she was a "has been". Now - this was a long time ago, but truth be told Ms. Beals had been quite busy with film work, just nothing that this particular person was familiar with, which meant nothing mainstream.

Though the passage of time prevents me to recall his exact words, I do remember Tarantino, quite calmly, replying that not only was she a friend of his, but that he was well aware of her work at that time and over the previous years. It was then that he stated that the important thing in Hollywood was  to always be working. While leading roles in popular films are wonderful, the real essence of being an artist is to keep working. If you stay true to and focused on that - the rest will fall into place. I found the moment quite profound.


And I still do. . .

“Money can’t buy it, baby” – Annie Lennox

I usually try not to get bothered with trivial news. It’s a mindset that becomes more and more difficult with each day as “infotainment” and its trappings seem to rise further and further up the ranks of top news stories on most news related web sites. Difficult in the sense that there is more BS to filter through. While swatting away a few summer flies from an ice cream cone is easy enough, making one’s way through a swarm is quite another. . .

All that aside, one of these gossipy items did manage to catch my eye this morning. Its headline read, “Elton John sings at Limbaugh’s fourth wedding” and then in smaller text “Openly gay singer was reportedly paid $1 million to perform at event”. You may read the same story here if you wish : http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/37546705/ns/today-entertainment/.

Now, I don’t want to spend much of this glorious morning focused on this trivial news bit when I have much to do today and we all know that there are much more important news stories and situations that demand attention, but I must admit, this whole story bothers me to some small degree.

In my opinion, Rush Limbaugh represents a walking bucket of the most putrid swill imaginable.

He is the antithesis of much of what Elton John has publicly endorsed politically and socially on a myriad of levels. So WTF is Elton John doing performing at Limbaugh’s 4th wedding?!

Why, the answer must be money of course. According to the article, John received roughly 1 million dollars for the performance. Now, based on a large percent of the web sites, Elton John’s current net worth is around 500 million dollars. Does he really need to feather his nest egg that much more that he would whore himself out like this pig of a man? The whole situation reeks.

I understand thoroughly that Elton John has spent many years doing tremendously good things to help important Aids charities and human rights organizations and more. What I’m hoping is that there is some larger picture that I’m missing out on. According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, a hypocrite is “a person who acts in contradiction to his or her stated beliefs or feelings”. In my opinion, this seems to be a clear cut case of some acting in contradiction  to their stated beliefs.

Perhaps I’m just way off on my rationalization here, but I just can’t agree with the whole - maybe they just have to agree to disagree politically, socially, moralistically, but – money is money after all – mindset. Doesn’t anyone really hold true to their convictions any longer? Or, perhaps it’s not that black and white.

Or, maybe I just can’t get my head around the money connections to it.  If someone like Limbaugh offered me $1 million to create a painting – would I do so? I most certainly currently do not have a net worth of $500 million dollars and being paid that amount for just one painting would  most certainly change my career and my life for the rest of my days.

So frankly, yes, I probably would take the money and it would be my hope that I would then be more able to afford to support organizations that strengthen the efforts to combat the same ignorant mind-shit that Limbaugh professes daily.
Does that make me a hypocrite or just a savvy artist who realizes that the only way to win the game is to figure out the other sides rule book while getting paid by them as you do it?

In that scenario, who then becomes the more powerful person - the one handing over the money, or the artist that ultimately uses that same money in ways that eventually help topple the power-tower of the payer? 

It seems to be a mumbo-jumbo of green tinted right and wrong and the fog is thick. I’m going to hope that Elton John has his eye on some bigger picture that justifies his performance. If not, then he most certainly will drop several degrees on my personal respect-o-meter. Of course, not that that would or even should matter to him as he most certainly has no idea of who I am. But multiply my mind-set by hundreds of thousands, and he may have a PR problem on his hands. But then again, it’s probably nothing that money can’t fix. . .

Here comes the summer. . .

 
June 1st. Memorial day weekend has passed and that means that the “season” has officially started here on the Delaware coast.

Personally, I can’t remember the last time I was so ready to welcome in the summer. Most certainly, this rush into the arms of the sun and heated sand is an offspring from the terrible memories of the one of the worst recorded winters in the region’s (and certainly my own personal) history.

Just yesterday as I was taking a brief stroll to my mailbox and felt the baking heat of the sun on my face and neck a thought popped into my mind informing me that it was only less than 4 months ago that the same path was a wintery barren wasteland of ice and snow banks several feet high. It made me welcome the sun even more and I quickly shook the imagery from my mental etch-a-sketch into nothingness.

I never want to experience that kind of winter again. It seemed eternal and I can’t recall ever feeling so darkened by a season. I fell into a deep funk that seemed to last as long as the winter itself. It was a new and wildly unwelcome experience for me. Fortunately, I made my way out of the ice tunnel and into the beauty of Spring.

And now, the summer season is upon us and I welcome it with arms widely open. Reawakening, remerging, renewing – whatever you wish to call it – they are all wonderful experiences – sometimes even magical. With the beginning of Spring, I felt as if I had successfully emerged from some dark and forgotten hole. I spent the early parts of Spring, symbolically dusting my self off, steadying my stance, and shaking new awareness into my head.

Now, Spring is beginning her swan song and Summer is anxiously awaiting her entrance. I will graciously, and with much admiration, escort Spring to her exit stage left and eagerly lead in Summer from stage right.

Already, l’ll be teaching a class with the Wilmington University beginning June 30th and I’ll be stage managing Christopher Peterson’s phenomenal show again this summer  - and of course, I will be painting up a storm with two upcoming exhibitions.

So, ladies and gentleman, how about a big round of applause for Summer. . .

All the rest in a neat little package. . .

Something that I have realized since glancing over my last entry regarding my excursion to Gardiner, Maine for an exhibit of my work for the grand opening of Monkitree, is that it is sometimes difficult to keep a blog updated when on the road. This is especially true if one is involved with an event that naturally demands quite a bit of attention – oh say – the opening of an art gallery.

I say these things only as I realize that I last posted here on the Saturday morning of the event. Now, however, I am home and it is Thursday morning a scant over 4 days since my last post. Be prepared to read. . .

Truth be told, that while there was a steady stream of attendees for Saturday's event, the largest crowd chose Friday evening as the night to explore the gallery. In any case, I enjoyed both tremendously and actually welcomed the opportunity to have a lower-keyed event Saturday after the tremendously busy Friday night.

Even though engaging in 5 straight hours of conversation about one's art work and creation process as well as art in general is relatively exhausting (though I love doing it), Saturday's event was less of  a whirlwind which proved to be a welcomed break in the storm of activity.

I now realize that the both of the events ( the First Friday Art Walk and the Official Grand Opening on Saturday) worked together really to create one big event with a smattering of hours between the two. It was a tremendous amount of work for everyone involved, but it came about beautifully based upon what seemed to be genuine comments of praise to Clare and Peter for the space and to myself for my work.

So, now I must mention that one overall characteristic that I experienced over my week in Maine was the tremendously supportive vibe that was so palatable from the other business owners, artists, and locals in Gardiner, Maine to Clare during the last few days before the opening event. Prior to the events and during the process, there was a steady stream of well wishers offering positive words of support and encouragement.

Many of this group were other business owners up and down Water Street. For example, I met several of the artists connected with the phenomenal “Artdogs” artist studios and residency, as well as the enthusiastic and talented Mary Becker Weiss, artist and proprietor of Corniche (in one of many synchronicities that occurred during my visit, I discovered that Mary represents the work of my good friend Robert Saunders whom I met many moons ago while working as the model coordinator assistant gallery curator for the Washington Studio School of Art. I had not seen him since those years and had no idea he was in Gardiner – you can imagine our mutual and happy surprise), there was also the gregarious Roger of A1 to Go who makes a brilliant lobster roll, Michael of the famous A1Diner, Mary K. and Jeff Spencer of The Potter’s House, Carol Wiley, the awesome Rebecca and the twins from The Mad Dog Pub, and many, many more.

So, let me say that the weekend events were everything I wanted them to be and there is much more to post here – however – the contractor has just arrived to work on the windows in the room with this computer and I am having a difficult time concentrating with the windows literally being ripped out around me.

More to come.  .  .

The morning of the Maine/Main Event. . .

It's the morning of Saturday, May 15th which also makes it the morning of the Grand Opening of Monkitree and my exhibit. Last night, there was a "soft opening" which coincided with the Gardiner First Friday Art Walk.

I was quite impressed with the amount of people that came out for the art walk which lasted between 5 and 9 Pm and I was even more surprised when I was told by more than one person that the turnout was considered "light". In a conversation with the mayor of Gardiner, I mentioned how the feeling that the support for the arts and for what was happening on Water Street where the majority of the arts related business are located was substantial. I even sold a few works which doesn't occur often on openings, especially "soft" openings. I'll post some photos soon after I have time to load them from my camera.

The gallery looks simply wonderful and it has this aura of being a place visually that just makes one want to go in. Of course, this is a very important factor no doubt when running a business - especially an arts related business. I think some people see art on a wall, and they feel as if it something unapproachable as if in a guarded museum. Fortunately, Clare's space seems to have overcome that particular hurdle.

The majority of yesterday prior to the art walk was spent finalizing last minute details through out the space. A large amount of that work began after the arrival of a stunning Victorian era wood and glass display case that was delivered around 10 AM. I will definitely post photos of this stunning piece of work as it looks like something that Sleeping Beauty would be found in gracefully braced on the somnolent threshold of eternal slumber while surrounded by a group of lamenting dwarfs awaiting a distant Prince Charming. . . 

For a while, I must admit, things seemed chaotic as the 5 PM deadline drew nigh, but this is the nature of such events as often there are so many things that need to be addressed before launching a gallery that it becomes difficult to address them until they are right before you demanding attention. Fortunately, between myself, Clare, her lovely mother Maryanne, our friend Liz (up from DC), and Peter we were able to each focus on different aspects of the ever changing list just in time to pull it all together before the opening of the doors.

And then - suddenly - it was all very lovely. What began as a small trickle of people soon grew larger and larger leading to conversations with some wonderful people - which I always enjoy at art events. It also, fortunately, lead to the awareness of a few slight other details that need to be addressed before the main event tonight. In fact, I think I need to jump in the car make a quick jaunt up the road to the Staples in Augusta to make some more copies of the price list as we ran out last night.

By the way, I just had an amazing blueberry muffin here at A1 to Go. I would stay longer, but there are things to do - and also, the chap sitting behind me has decided to sing quite loudly, and sadly quite badly with the wrong words, to Journey's "Oh Sherry" which is at this moment playing on the sound system.

Did I mention that he whistles out of tune as well?

More to come. . . .

Maine remaining bits of day one, day two, and the beginning of day 3

Truth be told, it's really the morning of my third day in Gardiner, Maine so this post will be covering day two and catching up a bit on day one. If you find that confusing, be thankful that I'm not trying to give your directions. I really did try to compose an entry for this blog early this morning while enjoying a cup of coffee on the corner at the end of the block at a place called A1 To Go, but I forgot to bring my power cord with me and this work horse of a laptop wasn’t keeping enough juice in it do keep up with my thoughts so I passed opting rather to update now.

Thursday was somewhat of a zen day in the “one hand clapping” sense as I was busy – yet not busy – at the same time. Or, perhaps, it would be more fair to say that while we were busy hanging the show, it was enjoyable, so it didn't seem like work.

The day started beautifully with a pristine azure sky and bright  sunshine. I stood quietly by the window and looked out upon the morning as the sun rose in the horizon. I could tell that even though the sun was abundant, the morning air was cold as I could see relatively heavy frost on the windshields on some of the autos in the parking lot directly behind the gallery, and sinewy clouds of steam hovering over the small river/massive stream that boundaries the same parking lot.

Much to my surprise, I saw a stout man in shorts and sandals fly fishing in the the same body of water. He seemed totally impervious to the cold - which I found amazing - and certainly something only a Maine native could be capable of. I kept watching him through the window as I brushed my teeth and I found his movements with the reel and the casting of the fly slightly mesmerizering. For a moment, I became lost in it. These thoughts were tempered though by my sheer amazement at this chap's ability to be standing by the edge of the water in 34 degrees wearing shorts, sandals, a sweatshirt and fishing vest. The trance ended just as quickly as it came about however when thoughts of locating a tumbler of morning coffee took control. . .

It wasn't long after a quick shower and a shave that I put on a few extra layers, grabbed my digital camera that I headed up the street to the coffee shop that I knew from reading the sign before opened at 7 AM. I had also read that they had free Wi-Fi. It seemed like the perfect morning retreat for this very early riser.

As I walked out the door of the building where I am staying, I was greeted with an gentle breeze that was scented by a lilac bush somewhere. The scent was delicious and sadly, it dissipated as easily as it had come upon me. As it was still rather early, the street was very quite save for the passing of a handful of locals on their way to their respective 9 to 5s. It gave me the perfect opportunity to snap some quick pics without having to deal with traffic and litter. . .

Here is the Mad Dog Pub which has in the span of only 36 hours has become one of my favorite places to hang out. It helps that it happens to be literally right next door to the gallery. It's really everything a great pub should be with a robust, red decor, friendly and witty staff (i.e. - Rebecca the bartender ) and wonderful food and drinks. I've met some great folks there as well - such as the Amy and Michele (twins), a really interesting drummer named Ginger (with whom I shared a "small world" moment via mutual connections to Nashville), and a friendly retired ranger who goes by the name of Buck.

The earlier mentioned "stream" is photographed here - though I now know from a brochure that I picked up that this is feed by the Kennebec River. On the map, it is simply listed as "stream". It runs directly behind the parking lot, behind the gallery, and it lives there as if a jewel on the street.

Of course, it has a history of flooding and I've seen a few of those posts about where historic high water marks have been painted and have heard tales of flooding of the past. This is one of the the unfortunate events that will inevitability occur though to towns built on the edges of stream-rivers. Occasionally, the waters rise. . .

Yesterday - the focus was for the most part - all about hanging the show and getting inventory into the computer system. I hung the show, Clare did the computer work, and Peter helped install some more lights. But one of my personal highlights of the day was when all three of us worked together to hang the sign out front of the gallery.

The sign, which was literally created over the original hanging sign from the building's previous incarnations, is rather heavy and it took all three of us plus the ladders to host it in the air, and over our heads to be bolted into place. I think it looks wonderful if I do say so myself ( I designed the logo) - but more than that, I can say that I had a helping hand in hanging that sign. There's something comforting about that - perhaps it's like smashing a bottle of champagne over the bow of a ship.

There is still much to get done today before the "soft" opening at 5 for the 1st Friday Gallery Walk here in Gardiner. I'll also be giving an artist talk to a group of Middle and High school students and I need to ponder what I want to focus on in the talk. Frankly, there are many different avenues worthy of discussion but I will only select a few and see how it develops. There's also several small items left to purchase and a few preparatory details that need to be addressed before the event.

Suddenly, I feel the clock ticking and realize that I need to step away from the keyboard and out of this bakery that charges full price for refills on coffee even though I purchased coffee at $1.90 (mediocre) and a chocolate croissant ( even more mediocre) just 35 minutes prior. By the way, it's not A-1 to Go, which I think I will frequent during the rest of my stay. . .

So - on that note - let me close with a random list of new things that I have learned so far since my arrival -

• While Maine is known for such grandiose seaside vacation spots such as Kennebunkport and  Campobello, the state overall is financially depressed and many of the locals have lifes very different from those whom can afford to visit such places ( i.e. - "Dolores Clariborne" )
• General Benidict Arnold led his regiment into battle not far from here before he decided to switch teams so to speak
• Lobster is still expensive, even in Maine
• People here really are more accustomed to the cold and seem to be able to get sunburned in the slightest bit of sun
• There is a local beer I like that begins with the letter P with a name that I couldn't pronounce properly until I had had more than one. . .
• People from the state over who drive badly and/or rudely are referred to as "Massholes".
• Portland is supposedly a very hip town. . .
• Only three types of trees grown in Maine  - though I'm not sure about the validity of that. . .
• There are no naturally occurring poisonous snakes in the state of Maine.

Well - much to do now, so on with the show. More to come.

Welcome to Maine. . .

Some of you may know that I have spent the better part of the last two months preparing for an art exhibit at the Monkitree Gallery in Gardiner, Maine. This will be the grand opening of the gallery which is co-owned by a very close friend of mine, Clare Marron and her partner Peter Maylon. 

I arrived this early in the afternoon after driving up from Delaware and am happy to say that I have found both the gallery and Gardiner to be lovely. 

Initially, the thought of driving to Maine from Delaware was a bit intimidating as I've never been particularity found of spending long stretches of time spent behind the wheel of a car navigating through lands unknown. But, I bit the bullet so to speak and set off on my journey yesterday morning beginning with a ferry trip across the Delaware Bay, a drive down the entire length of the Garden State Parkway, and then a variety of interstates which led me to choose a landing place of Bethel, Connecticut to spend the night before finishing the last leg of the journey this morning. By the way, if you ever find yourself at the Best Western Berkshire Inn  (a lovely and affordable hotel by the way) do yourself and favor and choose not to dine at the restaurant across the street as suggested by the front desk clerk. I can't remember the name of the place at the moment, which may be for the best as what I do remember is wildly overpriced mediocre food and a bartender with as much charisma as a constipated mortician.

When I awoke this morning, I glanced out the window to the surprise of steady rain, fog, and based upon the clouds of mist hovering about the exhaust pipes of passing vehicles, unseasonably cold temperatures. This created a bit of anxiety as I despise driving in such conditions - but I had 5 more hours ahead. After checking out, I picked up a huge cup of coffee at the nearest 7-11 and a sugar-free Red Bull, gassed up the tank and headed out.

The drive went better than I expected initially until I hit AM rush hour traffic around Hartford where there was also major road work occurring. After about an hour and half of white knuckle driving through terrible weather and road construction while battling well road versed locals maniacally flying through the lanes on their way to 9 to 5's, I managed to eventually get my groove on with the road and eventually found myself crossing into the state of Massachusetts. 

Now - this is where something interesting occurred. . . I was actually born in Massachusetts though I was raised in Kentucky after my family moved there in the late 1960s. There was something grounding about crossing the border into the state where I was born. Even though it really wasn't a major part of my life after the age of 5 ( though I still had - and do to this day -  family there and we did visit on a few occasions after the move), I guess part of me still felt connected to it. And here is where it gets a it uncanny - as I was pondering these thoughts, I noticed that there were suddenly very few other cars on the road, save a truck that I could see approaching in my rear view mirror. Also, at the same time, the rain had stopped and the sun had began appearing in the sky. The two events seemed to coincide. As the truck came upon and then passed - guess which state it was licensed in? - Yep. Kentucky. . .

I took that as a personal sign from someone, or somewhere, that I was indeed on the right path.

Tomorrow, I'll post a few photos of the progress of the hanging of the show at the gallery, discuss meeting some very cool locals here in Gardiner, and much more. Right now - it's been a long day and hitting the hay.

Do YOU know the way to San Jose?

I’ve been in the mood for the music of these two legends all week. I can’t seem to get enough of it and even created a special Pandora station with them just to soothe the craving. . .

Portrait of Billie

Hey folks – I spent most of my Sunday drawing which is something that goes well with a lazy, rainy Sunday afternoon. I scanned one sketch that I was pleased with into Photoshop, added some color – and ta da – a new drawing now available as a high-resolution, archival fine art print on my imagekind.com site at http://Sprouseart.imagekind.com.

Here’s the work titled “Portrait Of Bille”. Unframed, archival, high-resolution and quality prints are available at http://sprouseart.imagekind.com/store/imagedetail.aspx/26f22b96-fbd0-4f93-a259-5abf8fe9b99d/Portrait_Of_Billie starting at prices under $20!