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Archive for the ‘Favorite Things’ Category

Hoagy CarmichaelIt’s Saturday morning and I just had a thought about Hoagy Carmichael, the great composer of some of the most recorded songs of the last century.   Classics like Stardust, Georgia on My Mind, Am I Blue, Up a Lazy River and on and on.  He also appeared in a number of films in parts that allowed him to showcase his piano playing and song skills, most memorably in as the bar-owner uncle to the Harold Russell character in the great The Best Years of Our Lives .

My favorite was from the Humphrey Bogart/ Lauren Bacall classic  To Have and Have Not where he was the piano player in the island dive.  He does a version of his Hong Kong Blues which has a real funky sound, very reminiscent of something Tom Waits might do forty or fifty years later.  I couldn’t find that version but I found a later one from the Rosemary Clooney Show in the 50’s that’s still pretty good.

For  my money he was a pretty cool customer.  I may not have agreed with all of his views ( he once got into a fistfight with Bogart over Bogart’s pinko leanings) but how can you not like a gut who write songs with titles like I’m a Cranky Old Yank in a Clanky Old Tank on the Streets of Yokohama with my Honolulu Mama Doin’ Those Beat-o, Beat-o Flat-On-My-Seat-o, Hirohito Blues ?

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Peaceable Kingdom

edward_hicks_-_peaceable_kingdomI was walking back up my driveway the other day after picking up my newspaper when I rounded a corner and there, about 60 feet away, was a really good-sized bobcat between the studio and me.  I had never seen one in the wild ( or even my yard) before and had been under the impression that they were only slightly larger than a large housecat.  This was much larger than that , perhaps the size of a 7 or 8 month old golden retriever.  He saw me but didn’t panic, instead altering his course and loping  impressively in that big cat way across the yard and into the pine thicket.

Edward HicksOver the course of the day, as I reflected on all the many animals we’ve observed over our years here, I was reminded of the most famous work of the 19th century Quaker folk painter Edward Hicks, The Peaceable Kingdom.  It’s a painting that most of us are familiar with, one that has been reproduced numerous times in it’s many different incarnations, as Hicks painted 61 different versions of the piece.  In it he allegorically paints many creatures of the forest and jungle together in harmony, along with early American settlers standing side by side with Native Americans.  Children often are among the wild animals.

edward -hicksHicks’ repetitive use of his composition allowed him to examine different aspects and elements of each subsequent version, making each piece unique.  It’s something I have done often and something over which I’ve felt a kinship with Hicks for some time.  I also found similarities in the calmness we both try to portray as well in the way he fashions his landscapes, with very flowing, organic lines.  I’ve often thought that if I had painted in the time of Edward Hicks my work might very well resemble his.

But I paint in the 21st century, not the 19th.  And I have been influenced by everything, artistic, cultural and otherwise, that has occurred over those two hundred years.  I can only hope that two hundred years in the future someone takes a moment in their busy lives to consider my work, as I do now with Hicks.

For me, I’ll go back to my own little peaceable kingdom.  Who knows what I might see next?

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Jim Carroll Catholic BoyIt was announced this past Sunday that author/musician Jim Carroll had died at the age of 60 from a heart attack.  He is probably best known for the critically acclaimed memoir of his youth, The Basketball Diaries, which was later made into a film featuring Leonardo DeCaprio in a portrayal of a young Carroll.

Carroll’s life as a youth was memorable.  He was a star on the basketball courts of New York, earning national attention.  He was also recognized as a budding talent as a writer and poet.  This guy had a lot going for him.  But at the same time he was well on the road to a heroin addiction and a stint as a street hustler, prostituting himself to feed his habit.  That’s a lifetime of highs and lows by the time he hit his twenties.

I first became aware of him in 1980 or 81 when his Catholic Boy album came out.  It was real NY stuff, out of the same vein that produced Lou Reed and Patti Smith.  I liked the album a lot.  It was one of those albums that you sometimes stumble across that you know will never find a huge audience but somehow speaks to you in a very personal way.  I was never surprised that he never achieved the same type of popularity musically after that first album came out.  Just on eof those rare moments of expression.

I was just thinking about him last week as I had been listening to his best known song,  People Who Died, a song that has an infective driving sound and vivid imagery. I guess he could’ve added a verse for himself.  Here it is.  RIP Jim Carroll…

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rockwell kentI’ve always had a special affinity for the work of Rockwell Kent, the American illustrator of the last century.  Maybe it’s because my local art museum, the Arnot Art Museum in Elmira, had a couple of his paintings that had seen over the years.  Maybe it’s the fact that he headlined a show featuring the art of American illustration that hung at Schweinfurth Memorial Art Center in Auburn, NY back in the mid 90’s.

It was the first real museum show in which I ever participated and while I never considered my work illustration, gallery director David Kwasigroh saw something in my work and really wanted it to be part of the show.  I was really honored to have my early work hang among some of the giants of illustration such as Kent and Lynd Ward, and felt as though I had taken a big step, even though it was really more symbolic than actual.  I was far from ready at that time to move on but it gave me the impetus to do so.

rockwell kent cover fieldsI also felt a bond with Kent in that he lived part of his life in the Adirondacks, an area that has always hit a chord with me.  A lot of his landscapes are immediately recognizable as being from the center of the Adirondack Mountains.  When I look at his work I get the feeling that he was coming from the same place inside when he created his works that I do when I paint mine.  There’s a sense of familiarity that I can’t explain.

rockwell kent moby dickI’ve also always loved his graphic work, for instance the prints he did for his work illustrating Moby Dick.  I seem to take a lot from black and white work such as engravings and woodcuts.  It’s all about composition and subtlety of tone within the print and I think that is the real bones of painting.  I figure that if I can absorb some of the way a striking picture is put together it will find its way eventually into my own vocabulary of imagery.

There is a lot to absorb and like for me in the work of Rockwell Kent such as his use of mystic imagery in natural settings, trying to add that unseen element in a visual manner.  For me, he has always succeeded.

rockwell kent 2

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Thunder Road

thunder roadThis will be the only time I mention September 11  but I was listening to some music and Thunder Road from Bruce Springsteen came on.  While it’s always been a favorite song of mine, whenever I hear it now I flash back to the weeks and months after 9/11, to a news report covering the life and funeral of one of the victims.  At this particular one they played Thunder Road, the victim’s favorite song.  Since then whenever I hear it, I can’t help but think of that person and his funeral.

While it is basically as anthem of liberation, this acoustic version takes on an elegiac feel.  Just a different sort of liberation…

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Robert Service Cabin Dawson CitySo today is September 11 and I could mention the event that will forever be linked to that date but I’m going to write instead about poet  Robert Service, who died on this date back in 1958.  Service was called the Bard of the Yukon as he came from the Great White North and much of his work focused on tales of the life of that area, the miners of the Gold Rush and the trappers for instance in a way that reminds one of Rudyard Kipling.  In his life Service achieved a huge degree of success and wealth from his poetry, something that would be remarkable in this day and age when the idea of a best -selling poet and popular culture icon seems ludicrous.  I am always intrigued by artists in any field who are tremendously popular in one era but whose name is, for the most part, lost in the eras that follow.

Much of his verse was more  about story than stringing  words together for rhythm and sound, telling  tales that dealt with the lives and deaths of the hard men of the north.  There was The Shooting of Dan McGrew , The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill and many more with equally colorful titles but perhaps his most famous was The Creamtion of Sam McGee.

I had never really heard of Service or his poem about the end of Sam McGee until this past Christmas Eve when my nephew Jeremy’s good friend and partner, Eliza, gave our family a wonderful recitation of the poem.  She had memorized it for a class recital as a young girl and has carried it with her since.  Now, that’s good baggage.

Anyway, thanks for the gift of Service, Eliza.  On this the day Robert Service died, enjoy an interesting reading by one of my favorites and another Canadian, Hank Snow.

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gorey gashlycrumb tiniesOne of my favorite children’s books ( well, kind of children’s book) is from the slightly skewed mind of Edward Gorey, the late, American born ( although he is widely thought to be British) artist-illustrator/nonsense writer.  The book is The Gashlycrumb Tinies which is set up as a primer for the ABC’s, a veritable alphabet of the Gashlycrumb children’s demises.

It is macabre and perhaps not really for children but it is full of humor and imagination that Gorey brought to much of his work, up until his death in 2000.  You can easily see the influence of Gorey on the work of Tim Burton and others.

gorey a is for amy

It starts with A is for Amy who fell down the stairs and finishes with Z is for Zillian who drank too much gin.  In between are 24 other little scenarios that play (or haunt) on the imagination.  My favorite might be N is for Neville who died of ennui although I do like B is for Basil assaulted by bears.  If you would like to see the whole alphabet simply click on the image of Amy or Basil and you’ll be whisked to it so you might enjoy it in it’s entirety.

gorey b is for basil

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djangoWalking down to grab the paper this morning and everything was shrouded in fog.  It was very early, before 6, and the morning light was still trying to gather,  giving the scene a haunting, ghostly appearance.  Chill in the air.

September.

It really made me think of one of my favorite songs, September Song, the beautiful old Kurt Weill song that has been performed by hundreds of artists over the last seventy years, from Sinatra to Willie Nelson, who does a lovely, delicate version.  On this cool, misty morning I am reminded of one of my favorite versions, that being the one from Django Reinhardt, the jazz guitarist from the middle of the last century whose distinctive gypsy-tinged plucking, the result of basically playing with only two fingers on his left hand as a result of an injury received in a fire in his youth, has influenced artists long after he passed away.

Here’s Django’s September Song.  Hope you’ll enjoy…

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ali in  irelandSaw this in the paper yesterday, about Muhammad Ali making a trip to visit the home of one of his great-grandfathers in Ireland.  It turns out that Ali’s ancestor emigrated from Ennis in County Clare to the States around 1860 and settled in Kentucky, where he married a freed slave, Ali’s great-grandmother.

muhammad_ali_versus_sonny_listonI only mention this because Ali has been one of my idols since I was a very small child.  I grew up watching his fights, seeing his wonderful combination of speed, grace and power that made him seem different than the other fighters who entered the ring against him.  There  was something very beautiful in the way he glided around the ring, feet barely touching the ring as he circled.  It belied the brutish, ugly aspect of the sport, gave him an almost ethereal quality, especially in the early part of his career.

Then there was his personality that absolutely glowed from the TV screens in those years.  His float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, rat-at-tat poetry and his over the top mugging before and after his bouts were candy to the kid I was at that time.    There was a level of intelligence at play with Ali that seemed so unusual for a boxer.  I remember reading Wilfrid Sheed’s early biography of Ali (a beautifully photographed book I bought when I was a kid and still get shivers when I open it today) where he wrote that Ali had been tested and found to have a very low IQ in standardized tests of the time.  Knowing Ali, the author deduced that the tests were deeply flawed and couldn’t measure the natural brilliance and innate  intelligence that Ali possessed.

There is so much to say about Ali, who may possibly be the most recognizable man on the planet, his photos hanging in mud huts in Africa and thousands filling the streets in Ireland to see the aging king.  The controversies over the name change from Cassius Clay to Muhammad Ali upon his conversion to Islam and his subsequent refusal to enter the armed services made him a polarizing figure but never quieted his voice.  And that trueness to his beliefs, agree with or not, made him even larger than life.

Even his last fight, his tragic struggle with Parkinson’s, has grown his myth as this man who was truly a beautiful creature in his youth has somehow gracefully made his fight public, raising awareness for the disease.

And now, he adds the luck of the Irish to the myth.  Good for you, Ali O;Grady.

ali with crowd in ennis

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 Led By GraceBAZONKA

Say Bazonka every day
That’s what my grandma used to say
It keeps at bay the Asian Flu’
And both your elbows free from glue.
So say Bazonka every day
(That’s what my grandma used to say)
Don’t say it if your socks are dry!
Or when the sun is in your eye!
Never say it in the dark
(The word you see emits a spark)
Only say it in the day
(That’s what my grandma used to say)
Young Tiny Tim took her advice
He said it once, he said it twice
he said it till the day he died
And even after that he tried
To say Bazonka! every day
Just like my grandma used to say.
Now folks around declare it’s true
That every night at half past two
If you’ll stand upon your head
And shout Bazonka! from your bed
You’ll hear the word as clear as day
Just like my grandma used to say!

—–Spike Milligan


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