Blind Date with Poetry

Tonight Blind Date with Poetry, hosted by Matt Moon featured poets published by Rapid River magazine. Featured poets included: Jillian Foster Knight, Corrie Woods, Britt Kaufmann, Joanna Knowles, Dahn Shaulis, Cheri L. Jones Wendy Kochenthal and myself.

Without exception, the poets presented over an hour of well crafted material from diverse perspectives. The open mic that followed was equally inspiring though a few of the regular open mic poets seemed absent.

My wife accompanied me tonight which is a special occasion for both of us. She enjoyed the night’s poetry and we were able to meet new friends, kindred spirits after the event.

The only regret I recall is that one open mic poet seemed to hang back from the congregation of poets. I caught her figure out of the corner of my eye as she stared at a book shelf. I’ve experienced that glazed look myself. Not sure how to introduce myself to other poets and equally intimidated by them. I think she said she was a student from ABTech. She wore a pink camisole and read a couple poems during the open mic portion of the event. I wanted to thank her for bravely sharing her work, but I got caught up in a discussion about Ezra Pound’s poetry and essays that I neglected such an important opportunity to include and encourage a young poet. My wife noticed her as well and advised me to encourage her if I see her again at another open mic. It is such a small gesture, but also so important.

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Overheard at Everyday Gourmet

As I prepared for tonight’s poetry reading, I thought I’d try to organize my thoughts at a downtown cafe.

One woman tells a guy: “Yeah, when I used to do illegal drugs I used to really look down on people who didn’t. That was so immature–don’t you know. Now I’m into herbal teas.”

One woman says to second woman: “I am like so not into teaching any more. I used to be like into the teaching thing but I’ve beyond that now. You know what I’m saying?”

A man at a table behind me throws a newspaper on a table and says: “I wish someone would just kill [name withheld].”

I withheld the name from the last quote because the person is an elected government official and I’m not sure if the man in the cafe was simply expressing an opinion or an intent. After hearing the man’s comment I was shaken by the violence of it and could not concentrate on my goal of preparing for tonight’s reading. So I left.

Strider

This week’s Write Stuff column is Stride.

The First Annual BlogAsheville Awards–plus nominations

The First Annual BlogAsheville Awards

Nominate up to three BlogAsheville blogs in each category … Anyone may nominate blogs in this competition, so please post about it at your blogs and email me the results. Only bloggers on the BlogAsheville blogroll are eligible for nominations. Nominations will close Friday, June 15 at 11:59 pm.

1000 Black Lines has been nominated for:
– Best Writing (twice)
– Best Design (twice)
– Best Local Happenings

1000 Black Lines has NOT been nominated for:
– Blogger you’d most like to see naked
– Blogger I’d Most Like to Have a Beer With

So, take a look at the categories and email your NOMINATIONS to: scrutinyhooligans[AT]yahoo[DOT]com

Nominate 1000 Black Lines before midnight tonight!

Update: 2006 BlogAsheville Award Winners list.

Overheard on the ATS

If you haven’t used the Asheville Transit System (i.e. the bus), you don’t know what you’re missing. Here’s what I overheard today on the bus.

First man: “There’s a Chevrolet truck for sale for five hundred dollars. I told the man I’d give him two hundred dollars cash right there on the spot. He wouldn’t have it.”
Second man: “Damn motherf___er.”

One guy tells another guy: “I left California because there’s too many damn Mexicans.”
(At least a half dozen people of Hispanic descent sit near him.)

One African-American woman trying to get the attention of second African-American woman who is on a cell phone and moves away from the first woman: “I hate blacks trying to act white.”
(This is said in front of me, a person of Dutch/Irish descent, to a third African-American woman.)

One woman says to second woman: “I’m so stressed I smoked two packs today.”

A young woman says into her cell phone: “No, he’s Irish and speaks English.”
(She speaks with a distinct Romanian accent.)
Two African-American women seated next to me on the bus overhear this and speak.
First woman: “Am I like that?”
Second woman: “Nah. You ain’t that loud.”

Imagine what I’ll overhear on the way home tonight.

Measurable, meaningful, attainable

For this week’s Write Stuff column I cannibalized this post in order to offer Go Deep. It is something I have been considering all week.

If you are not familiar with Write Stuff, Karen offers a great column on the importance of establishing writing goals. For accountability, she lists Write Stuff contributors’ goals here.

I scanned the goals of the other writers and I am amazed with their organization. I’m a little jealous too. I submitted one item in my own ambiguous fashion but also to provide a “measurable, meaningful, and attainable” goal. I wish I could offer more goals, but simply have limited time and resources.

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Epsicle episode

All weekly contributors to Write Stuff present a piece based on a photo prompt. My contribution is a poem titled: Red Dye #40 Epsicle ice pop. Comments include:

“tasting heatwaves. great description.”
—Divine

“There is something eerie about the little note of trivia at the end that I can’t put my finger on but I like it. I also like the clean, concise language as well.”
—Tammi

“Normally I’m not a fan of Haiku, but I like this a great deal.”
—d.challener

Thanks Divine.

Thanks Tammi. I love studying the origin of words and their meaning. Recently inspired by Ezra Pound’s poetry, specifically In a Station of the Metro, I attempted to do likewise but in my own voice.

Thanks D. Challener. I was more influenced by Pound than by haiku. However, knowing that haiku is often used, abused from its honorable beginning; I picked it up, dusted it off and attempted to “make it new.”

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Bobo does four writers and spits out an evening

Readers from last night’s event were, in order of appearance: Devin Walsh, Shad Marsh, Jaye Bartell and Selah Saterstrom. I wanted to write a lengthy post about it but I have a very busy morning and many creative projects to involve myself.

In brief, the readers read in “three rounds.” The place was packed with a few people standing along the side and back of the gallery–at least for the first round of readings. The second round of readings the crowd thinned a bit for smokes and drinks. By the end of the second round there was a new crowd filling the gallery.

Because I had to be up before 6 AM I was not able to stay for the third round. The event was a good showing and the artwork on the walls seemed to add to the atmosphere of public expression of art and culture.

I’m inspired to write a fictional account of last night’s reading for the sake of being entirely postmodern.

4 Asheville poets & writers reader tonight

BoBo Gallery
[photo : bobogallery.com]

May 30, 9 PM.
free to the public.

Of Being Numerous:
A Reading of Numerous Writings

Edgy Mama beat me to it by posting all the details about tonight’s event on BlogAsheville. She plans to attend with her “house bottle of wine.” I’ll bring cheap paper cups.

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Pineda, poetry and thoughts about small press publishing

Really enjoyed the reading by Jon Pineda last week. (I would have written about it earlier, but I had a cantankerous iBook that refused to operate to my satisfaction. Thus delaying this post until today.) Being half Pinoy (or Filipino), Pineda explores themes common to those who have been removed from their heritage. He is now discovering it through poetry. The book’s epigraph sums up his theme: “It’s what always begins/In half dark, in half light” — José Gracia Villa.

He read exclusively from his award-winning book, Birthmark. Poems read included, “Matamis,” “Wrestling,” “Arboretum,” “Night Feeding,” “Birthmark,” and others.

The poem “Wrestling” still haunts me:
“At our first match, I wrestled a guy/I had met summers ago at a Filipino gathering, … a few of the boys pinned my shoulders against a tree//while one punched me.”

“I watched the clock as I locked a breath inside his throat.”

I wanted to buy a copy of Birthmark that night but I only had $6 in my pocket and the cover price was $14.95. This displeased me greatly for I wanted a signed copy of Jon Pineda’s book. Why is it that poets cannot afford poetry books? After working on a book project for the last six months, I know that the book (most likely) costs less than $4 to manufacture. This is not the poet’s fault. I recently bought two books at another reading (which is probably why I only had $6 left). One book was a 275-page hard cover book for $18.50 while the other book was a 57-page soft cover book for $16.95. The poetry book was the skinny, expensive book.

Maybe that’s why readers don’t read as much poetry–there’s not much to read for 17 bucks. Forgive me again. This is not the poet’s decision. I understand why this happens. Poetry publishers supposedly schedule small press runs–maybe 500 to 3000 copies per printing. With those quantities, the book production costs range from $3 to $6 per copy–possibly higher. Add mark-up for retail distribution and the cover price is logically $16.95 per copy.

I’d like to challenge that system. If poetry publishers offered a subscription based books program (i.e. an annual subscription offering three to four books), then they could print with more efficiency and pass the savings to readers. As it is currently, poetry publishers risk a lot and have to build that risk into the cover price. For example, if an independant small press offers a poetry book subscription of $39.95 for their annual series of four books, then they could operate with less risk due to the fact that they have a defined audience (i.e. subscribers) rather than a hopeful audience (i.e. retail outlets).

What through yonder window do you spy?

I forgot to mention my weekly contribution to Write Stuff yesterday: Through Yonder Window.

I’m overwhelmed by the kind, warm reception to my contributions. Comments made include:

“That’s a beautiful analogy. The way you write hooks me and I can vividly see what you’re describing.” —Benjamin

“I loved this post. And it sure is a beautiful analogy, as already mentioned above. It’s heart warming! I really loved it! Hugs!” —Anele

“This a truly beautiful and insightful post. Do you think that we can often be “too” educated?

Nothing is more endearing than those innocent little babbles;) I guess balance is the key.” —Tammi

Thanks Benjamin.

Thanks Anele (and hugs).

Thanks Tammi and good question. I like how Kent Nerburn put it: “Education will not inform your spirit and make you full. So, along with knowledge, you must seek wisdom.” Education with out wisdom is simple mathematics. The more one learns the more one realizes there is much more to learm. Soon the pursuit of knowledge for the sake of itself becomes empty. Wisdom provides a balance and purpose by offering an individual how to apply knowledge to those “young unsteady” ones spoken of in the post.

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Notes from last night’s poetry reading

Black Mountain College Museum + Arts Center

Instead of writing an eloquent report of last night’s reading, I will just post the notes I scribbled into my notebook. Yeah, if you were there, I was the one with my head buried in a notebook frantically writing. Blame it on my ADD tendencies. Apart from running spell check these notes are as they generally appear in my notebook–complete with poor punctuation, abbreviated thoughts and for some odd reason attention poets’ fashion. Right on … here I go …

Chall Gray

Chall Gray
Breaks the ice nicely with a humorous poem about furniture and contrasts it with a poem about a brother and a sister who observe but do not talk about things. He wears a black long-sleeved button down shirt rolled up to the elbow–blue jeans–hair dark, pulled back into tight short ponytail. He ends with a moving homage to his departed father by asking “why.”

Ingrid Carson

Ingrid Carson
Begins with a poem asking what color is the American dream. “What Now” is read second. She wears a black top, wavy brown hair pulled back, framing her face. “What am I going to do now?” she asks and ends; “What am I going to do now?” Her last poem is in two parts; “Still Life” and “My Hands.” She reads, “a violence of flowers…” She reads with purpose and poise and through delicate lips and intense blue eyes as if to say, I know something you don’t know and I have the floor for a few more lines. “You have pushed the mind to the limits…” She concludes that beauty is found in the ugliest of things.

Thomas Rain Crowe

Thomas Rain Crowe
Wearing all black–he tunes up a wooden flute–poet is participant–reads a letter to the editor of a local newspaper in Jackson county–admits he spent a lot of time writing editors. He reads of beauty and uses metaphor–King Kong movie cements his argument to turn corporate development back to nature’s beauty. He next reads an extended haiku written for Steve Earl for some event last year. “What profit? What Price?” he asks. “We can do better than this,” he concludes the poem powerfully. His poem “Peace Will Come” is accompanied by the evening’s featured keyboardist, Steve Davidowski. “Peace will come one day” is lifted over the ambient keyboard harmonics–his reading intensifies. “When peace comes to stay” ends his poem. He steps back, places the flute to his lips and plays–the keyboardist joins the melody which concludes that session.

Emoke B'Racz

Emoke B’Racz
First poem is recited in Hungarian. “Fragmented Life” is about her father who she says is bigger than life–sometimes everyday. “Try not to talk about the time,” she reads. She reads about her father’s internment camp experience: “Now take that.” She shares of the hard life of the punished young men in those camps. “Silently he left.. to give your youth for democracy…taken…” She wears a white blouse, gold necklace with pendant, black suit jacket–1965–“Poets Among Each Other” translated and published in 1970-something (’76?). “This is how we stand my brothers,” she reads her translation. It’s a short work. She rolls her tongue across her lower lip from right to left frequently before saying “I could use some water” then reads her last poem of the evening.

15-minute intermission

Will Hubbard
Reads several poems–long brown hair wrapped behind his ears–as he gazes down upon his papers it rests on his shoulders like a hood–he reads a poem called “Porn” with cynical tones of humor and wry sensibility. “5 for 5 for 3 Straight” is his last poem “and one learns where to leave off” he reads. His left hand casually in his pants pocket, his right hand holds his loose-leaf manuscript. “Saying it how it was originally said…” He reads as one might read a tele marketer’s script.

Rose McLarney

Rose McLarney
She reads a collection of poems concerning the over development of Madison county–lose of land to corporate contractors–overgrowth of urban/suburban sprawl. “Shouldn’t fight … farms let them go,” she reads. Her thin lips clip her words nervously as if she is unaccustomed to public reading. She wears a black sleeveless top with flowing flowery patterned skirt–hair pulled back, leaving dark curls to cascade down the back of her neck. Her last poem: “… the peace of the American South.”

Laura Hope Gill

Laura Hope Gill
She tells of her BMC connections–reads “Ponco” with an eruption of words and demands social justice “when she was the question” referring to the dead old woman under a poncho many Americans saw after Hurricane Katrina–The image of a woman who died waiting for medical assistance in the aftermath of the hurricane that destroyed New Orleans. She wears hoop earrings, thin gold necklace upon her chest, low-cut white blouse and black sweater. She reads several poems of childhood witness “we slept in our bunk beds … spelled out in silk.” She reads about a stallion. She reads with proficiency and like Ingrid has a smile and sparkle in her eyes suggesting a joke that only she knows the punch line. Her speech skills draw several people forward in their seats. Or maybe its the hard wooden seats we all endure. “The wind of their grandfather’s song… ” she reads.

Glenis Redmond

Glenis Redmond
“Enter through the door of war…” she begins after adjusting the microphone. “Grief is an uttering tongue.” She begins with a powerful recitation. She is a performer–practiced in public settings. Her second poem is “Lifting” about the Kenilworth slave cemetery near her neighborhood. “Bid us ride,” she reads. By far she is the most charismatic poet of the evening. “Looking back to the land where courage was born.” Due to the lateness of the evening she says she’ll only read three poems. Her next poem is about Nina Simone: “bitter aint born black.” Her final poem is a recitation: “Every time I hear King speak I feel a rumble…” she starts and concludes, “We shall.”

Reflections of paint from a poetry reading

I’m not sure what to say about tonight’s event. Seven and a half pages in my notebook filled with observations and thoughts of the reading. Though I haven’t the energy to type it all tonight, I’ll post details of the event later.

One thing, of many, did strike me this cool, blue Spring evening. I sat in an old wooden folding chair next to a wall lined with photos by Hazel Larsen Archer. Portraits of Josef and Anni Albers looked over my shoulder. A photo of Josef Albers teaching class displays students’ compositions scattered in the foreground. I know exactly what they are doing because my university art professor, a student of Albers, had his students apply gouche to panel and board in order to create swatches of tint and shade in the same manner. I spent hours painting a dozen variations of blue evenly representing shade to tint (i.e. dark blue to light blue). A whole semester was spent on Albers color theory and related understanding of color.


Josef Albers
photo source

I examined the students in the photo carefully trying to identify my university art professor Emery Bopp. But I forgot, at the time, that he studied under Albers at Yale not Black Mountain College. Still, I see Josef Albers in that portrait and there is a representative of Bauhaus style. His intensity of gaze from a vintage gelatin silver print hauntingly reminds me of a loose connection to him through my art professor and the hours spent mixing, applying and peeling paint from my fingers. In a physical way, the smell of gouche and the feel of mixing it in trays is that connection to a soft spoken professor, Emery Bopp. And I wonder if he learned his teaching approach from Josef Albers.

Cover Story: Filling My Love Basket


BLUE SKY ASHEVILLE
Spring 2006
Vol 1 Number 1

Blue Sky Asheville is a new publication that offers a wide variety of articles and essays on spirituality. Blue Sky Asheville is a local magazine in the same vein as Utne magazine.

Let me illustrate the diversity of Blue Sky Asheville. Articles range from “Fitness Rising: Gain Muscle and Shed Fat as the Moon Waxes and Wanes” to “Living the Mystery: Exploring the Physics of Consciousness.”

That being said, I am humbled and honored that my submission, “Filling My Love Basket,” attained the coveted spot of cover story on the debut issue of Blue Sky Asheville. Actually, it shares the cover with another (much more talented) writer–Gaither Stewart–who submitted an excellent article: “Not By Bread Alone.”

Allow me to offer a warning. If you are easily offended by irreverent, profane or obscene language you may want to skip this article due to a few choice words (three or four). Those of you who are regular readers know I don’t offer a lot of salty language. Profane or obscene language is something I avoid in my writings because, more often than not, it “calls attention [to itself and distracts] from the work as a whole” to quote Flannery O’Connor. However, in “Filling My Love Basket” I wanted to juxtapose religion and spirituality by “let my thoughts flow freely”. My hope is that I present an authentic and relevant struggle that is common to all people of various faith groups.

So without further delay, read “Filling My Love Basket”.

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Mini-Poem

Last night
I heard
crickets

chirp

for the
first time
this Spring.

Reading Write Stuff

Every week I write an article for Write Stuff. This Sunday I posted Under the Holly. Every Sunday I’ll contribute an article.

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Notes from last night’s Fresh Air Reading Series

Last night was my first time attending the Fresh Air Reading Series at the New French Bar

As always, I had my composition book with me and wrote the following notes during the readings:

Mara Simmons–her series of poems reflect a serious study of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. Each poem exhibits much research and passion … bringing humanity to news stories which desensitize Americans. The theme is well born out through references in Hebrew and Arabic and native plants and streets. Really inspired by her theme-based poems.

Jeff Davis–the elder poet with long gray hair and soft voice at time almost a whisper … brings a melancholy maturity to the round-robin reading. He offers love poems and poems heavy with nostalgia … he is taller than the other poets and needs to re-adjust the microphone and still he leans down into the foam covered device as if praying … his water poems are most excellent.

Kathy Godfrey–a bawdy poet with spunky, sensual, sensational poems. From what I overheard among the crowd, she teaches poetry at ABTech and many in the audience were her students … ethical question … should a teacher read a graphic poem about masturbation in front of her students … among other poetic subjects include green beans, Tough Man contests

Autumn Choi–slam poet … holds her own … confessional style presentation. Sort of romanticizes the school-of-hard-knocks subject matters … works well in this vehicle of drama.

I left immediately after the readings. I guess that was a bit impolite on my part for several people were in attendance that I knew. But I needed to get away–to think. I walked for several blocks pondering the poems and poets I heard Wednesday night. Why do I write what I write? Do I have what it takes to write poetry on the level of these local poets? Do I have the commitment to follow through with what I’ve started? Or am I merely dabbling in something, which I should leave to professional wordsmiths?

Some of this wondering is directly related to last weekend’s event. Saturday afternoon I found myself at Barley’s sitting across the from a local writer who has received well-deserved accolades for her work. Other local poets were in attendance with comparable merit and distinction. And there was me feeling very much like an outsider or poser.

After reading last night’s notes again at morning light it is apparent that I am partial to poems with academic/intellectual substance. Not to disqualify the other poets mind you. Annie Dillard writes: “The writer … is careful of what he learns, because that is what he will know.” I know what kind of poetry I want to produce. So, I favor and enjoy hearing from poets who seem to exhibit attributes of what I’d like to write in verse.

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Read the Write Stuff?

By invitation, I’ve begun contributing to Write Stuff. I’ll post new articles every Sunday. Here’s my first piece: Below an Oak Tree.

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It’s national poetry month and I have a new poem published

The Rapid River just published a poem I wrote. It is featured in the April 2006 issue. I guess I’m on a roll. I think the poetry editor has published four or five of my poems in the last eight months. Furthermore, I have been invited to read some of those poems at a best of Rapid River poetry reading on June 22nd at Malaprop’s Bookstore/Café. Details are pending, but it looks like six local poets will be reading their work that evening. I’ll update the new EVENTS section (located in the left column) as information is available. Regarding the published poem, Values: II–it is part of a series of poems I’m tentatively calling Elements of Design. Surprisingly it stands well on its own, but I have a hard time reading it without knowing its sibling poems.

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Why read newspapers? Duh, for the comics.

Over the last few months I’ve been working on a comic strip which is scheduled to be published in a local ‘zine. During the course of this adventure I researched the whole comics in newspapers relationship. Here’s some interesting discoveries:

From David Astor for Editor & Publisher, November 4, 1989

“Comics are still the second-best-read features in the newspaper next to the headlines,” he declared. “[Readers and editors] love comics and need them. They’re a very important part of the paper.”

[Mort] Walker said this year’s war between the two Dallas dailies over Universal features illustrates just how important papers think comics are.

“And one of the reasons for the continued interest in comics is that comics are continually interesting,” observed Walker, citing “new blood” over the years such as Doonesbury by Garry Trudeau of Universal, The Far Side by Gary Larson of Universal, and Calvin and Hobbes.

From The City Review:

While the “comic strips” of many newspapers is always one of their best-read features, “editorial” cartoons” have focused on political and sociological topics.

This one is more about the business side of newspapers, but I thought it was interesting.

From business journalist Dana Blankenhorn:

Without classified ad revenue, most newspapers would cost subscribers $1/issue or more, dropping circulation through the floor. Newspapers don’t make a profit from their Web operations, either. Yet they’re expected to post their stories on this medium-with-no-return until, when exactly? It’s the search engines that are making the big money, after all – whether they’re true engines or just link aggregations – those are the news front pages for most Netizens.

The last bastion of a newspaper’s strength is its authority as a “thought leader” for the community. The people it picks for its editorial board, the columnists it chooses to publish – they’re all vetted through a careful, decades-long process for writing ability, reporting ability, and (most of all) fealty to the paper’s hierarchies and financial interest.

Again, this doesn’t have anything to do with comic strips, but is an interesting piece about Asheville’s “unusual” newspaper market.

“Gannett growing in weekly market, ranks No. 1 among owners”, by Chas J. Hartman, and Al Cross:

In western North Carolina, where Gannett owns the Asheville Citizen-Times and its two offshoot weeklies, the Haywood County News and Black Mountain News. The latter weekly, which predated Gannett ownership, is listed in E&P’s database. Gannett’s other Asheville non-dailies are the quarterly magazine Blue Mountain Living and the monthly magazines Mountain Maturity and WNC (Western North Carolina) Parent.

There are an unusually large number of independent niche publications in the relatively small Asheville metro area. Weeklies include the Asheville Daily Planet, Asheville Global Report, The Asheville Tribune and Mountain Xpress. The last paper is the only one in E&P’s database.

Narrative Non-Fiction Comics: part 5

A while back, I mentioned that the first installment of my creative non-fiction comic is complete and pending publication. The first installment is titled “Higgins: Inside the Box.” Last weekend I completed half of the second installment (four strips or roughly 12 panels) which is the conclusion to the story arch, “Higgins: Inside the Box.” Then I began scripting a 5-part comic strip for a third installment which features a story line about this event. There isn’t an official title to this one. However, “Higgins: Outside the Box” seems like a logical progression.

Last Tuesday was the SECNCS meeting and fellow artists encouraged me regarding my inking techniques and suggested some tips on lettering comic strips. One artist, who is regularly featured in the Rapid River magazine, recommended that dialogue text be all caps and narrative text be upper and lower case. The recommendation is already being implemented beginning with the second installment.

This endeavor of combining illustration and creative non-fiction, have inspired me to study the poet William Blake. The illuminated text is not a new media; many ancient manuscripts were illuminated. For example, The Book of Kells is famously known for its illuminated text. Years ago, I studied under a calligrapher who taught me the secret of the Celtic knot work and spirals represented in the Book of Kells. The discipline of the knot-work has served me well, though not in my recent illustrations.

But William Blake illuminated his own poems and printed his own collections with the help of his wife. It helped that he was trained as an engraver and went on to apply his trade for book and magazine publishers. Being an innovator in his own right, he applied his trade to illuminate and print his own literature. Like William Blake, I studied graphic design (the modern day digital engravers if you will) and know how to produce books and magazines for clients. I wonder what William Blake would think of creative non-fiction comics?

Previous posts on creative non-fiction comics: [1] [2] [3] [4]

Surprised & embarrassed

You can imagine how surprised I was this morning when I opened the November-December 2005 issue of Small Press Review and read “Guest Editorial” by yours truly on page three. Surprised because it’s February 1st and I just received the issue yesterday, but also because I had submitted that piece over 10 months ago (more on that here and here and here and here). I am a bit embarrassed because in my haste to get that piece published, I posted an abridged version on 1000 Black Lines and later submitted it another editor who published it. Patience is still a virtue I need to practice.

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Flasheville

Flash fiction + Asheville = Flasheville.com

Flasheville published “Another Empty Glass” over the weekend.

Making art with spills and splatters

All My Nights Turn Inside Out

Each year one of my many annual goals is to paint at least four new paintings (see right side panel for the last two years’ results). Last year my paintings took on a dramatically different direction thanks to my four-year-old son. From what his pediatrician says, his drawings are a bit advanced for his age but by no means does this mean he is a child prodigy.

Still, his drawings of people capture my imaginations. Through his eyes I see that paintings of people don’t need all the details of Rembrandt or Jan Vermeer van Delft to communicate. There’s also innocence with mixing paint directly on the canvas that he really enjoys. Since he lacks complete understanding of Joseph Alber’s interaction of colors, he doesn’t realize that all colors fade to gray if you’re not careful. And yet, gray can be a lovely background.

Retreat to the Stronghold

Happy accidents occurred and enhanced the experience of painting–a child’s approach to painting; having fun. It’s why I pursued the arts in high school and later at the university. Yet, there is a discipline to making art.

The first step to making art is designating time to produce it and committing to the task. Many of my former classmates from the university “played” and are currently busy with life and other matters of consequence. In the small book Art & Fear David Bayles and Ted Orland discuss this topic and offer a lucid observation–many art students pursue art making merely to achieve a degree and hang a senior art exhibit. In a recent essay, David Hollander states the same observation (regarding poets and writers): “The goal is not to get a degree.” The goal of art making is to share your individual vision and that takes a life of discipline.

Curly Dreams of Yesterday

Last summer I read about some recently uncovered Pollack paintings (“Is This a Real Jackson Pollock?” May 29, 2005, Sunday by Randy Kennedy). I got goose pimples with excitement. Could it be true? Are there really undiscovered Pollock paintings? I was giddy as I read the article in The New York Times.

I wanted to spill paint everywhere. My son thought it was quite an exciting idea too. However, once the paint hit the canvas he had the urge to mix the paint into a gray soup. I compromised and let him work the backgrounds as I handled the main subject; copper creatures of imagination.

Some fathers, I am sure, have other ways of engaging their children in activity like trips to the park, hikes in the mountains or visits to apple festivals. I do all those things as well, but somehow making art with my four-year-old expressionist seems for more fulfilling.

I’m Putting on My Socks

During Colonial America, it is purported that children began practicing the trade of their father around the age of five. Meaning that if the father were a merchant then the son would accompany his father to the shop and be useful for one day he would be in charge of the family business. The son would even wear similar wardrobe of his father (i.e. a blacksmith’s son dressed like his father and a farmer’s son dressed like his father).

So, if you see a father and son with black bandanas wrapped around their skulls, wearing paint splattered jeans, and spilling paint on canvases to loudly played ska tunes–that would be us making art and making memories.

I don’t know if I’ll continue the spill and splatter approach to painting. If I do it will have to be refined quite a bit. My goal is still to produce a minimum of four paintings by the end of the year.

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