Beach House Creations

I won’t lie. Occasionally, I get to thinking that I’m meant to be here for some greater purpose. Once the alcohol wears off I’m back to my normal self and realize that we are all on this giant freak show of a sphere together.

While I intended for this entry to be entirely about the pieces of art I found around our beach house rental this past week, I can’t help but mention the film I just finished watching – Creation.



As a book collector I’ve been told about the magical issue of On the Origin of Species with the misprint of the word speceies (sic) on page 20 or something to that affect. As a human however, I was totally ignorant about Darwin’s family life. This mortal coil, I tell ya. I won’t spoil the film for those who have not seen it. The opening titles were awesome. Plus Paul Bettany and Jennifer Connelly are such pretty people.

Anyway, I did have the chance to investigate some sea life in the lovely coastal town of Yachats. Most of it resided within our circa 1960s vacation abode.

When you first walk into the house (through the weird garage) this piece is on the left wall. It kind of exudes some sort of religious symbolism. Or what was that poem with the Albatross? Regardless, it's an uncomfortable image. That yellow frame is painful.

Right next to the fuse box – this electrifying sunset.

This next one hangs in the stairwell. It looks a bit like a 1970’s river to heaven, am I right?

Okay, maybe not. These trees were just to the right of it. The real trees outside seem to be taunting the carved ones. In fact, this sculpture almost makes me sad.

This little gem hangs in the bathroom. Notice how it combines the fine art of oil painting with the "look but don't touch" aspect of sculpture.

Here's a nice detail of the 3-D "rocks".

Macrame anyone? A huge work, I'd say over four feet high. Truly a marvel.

An artistic rendering of a gull prepping to venture off for lunch or perhaps just landing...

I don't know, this next one's a bit California to me, especially with the blue sky killing the moodiness.

And at last, my personal favorite. If I patched up the roof I could make it my summer home.

If you can get to the Oregon coast, I promise you won’t be disappointed. Maybe you were expecting sunny skies, but trust me; you will just as easily fall in love with the carved out rocky cliffs framed by frothy cold water and misty, gray clouds. I feel certain Charles would have loved it here.

My Field of Dreams

I suppose it might be difficult to explain to someone why an enormous canvas covered in fields of color and line appeals to me. Say you go on a hike through a field of wildflowers...



...maybe detour a bit along a straight trail of gravel, and then end up looking out at a sea of bright sky....
It’s beautiful right? Breathtaking. Indescribable even. Or maybe you see a building made up of sharp edges and diagonals, it’s physicality overwhelmed by its abstractness.

That’s why I have such an affinity for “field painting” works by the likes of Mark Rothko and Richard Diebenkorn. You come across one of their massive paintings in a stale art museum with industrial white walls and instantly connect with that heavenly feeling of endless space and time. Okay, maybe it’s just me but that’s why I love these artists.

I once wrote about a visit to the Rothko Chapel with my grandparents.

Those emotions have all found their way to the surface again due to a story I’m working on dealing with the relationships we have with our elders and the world of the Bay Area Figurative Movement. Like all the stories that came before this one, I can only hope to share it with you on the big screen one day. One day.

When I lived in Denton, Texas, I had the opportunity to view dozens of paintings from Richard Diebenkorn’s Ocean Park Series at the Fort Worth Modern. But before that, way back in 1996, I wrote a paper for my 20^th Century Art class comparing Diebenkorn’s 1970 painting

Ocean Park No. 29

to Amedeo Modigliani’s 1918 portrait

Boy in Short Pants (Le Garcon au Culottes’).

Both were, at the time, available for our viewing pleasure on the walls of the Dallas Museum of Art. Hey Dallas, are they still there? I’d visit but it’s 93 degrees in your city right now.

Where is that paper? Here it is. My grade: A-. Comments: “Well written and sensitive formally”.

Was I crazy in my quest? Possibly. While I’m sure I wanted to write a decent analysis, I’m fairly certain my main goal was making a lasting impression on my young and attractive Art History professor. I’ll keep whether this goal worked out or not to myself.

What I hope to have shared with you is that it's okay to fall in love with blurbs of color, a view outside an obscure window, a strip of rust on a utility pole, or anything else that makes your heart flutter. I fall in love on a daily basis and I hope the same for you.

p.s. - the first two images are from the Tualatin Wildlife Refuge. If you live in the area try and take a walk there some time.

Musical Memories

What was the first song you remember as a kid? Rock-A-Bye-Baby? Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star? "Video Killed the Radio Star" by The Buggles?

I wish I could answer that question for myself but I haven’t the foggiest idea. Maybe I heard the Bee Gees or Barbara Streisand in utero. I plan on playing Beethoven for my baby. I also intend to play the records on this sweet little find from a few weeks ago.

Meet my 1971 Fisher Price Music Box Record Player. It is a wind-up record player that plays plastic records like a real record player but doesn’t need batteries. It comes with five double-sided records featuring the following songs:

Edelweiss

Children’s Marching Song

Camptown Races

Jack and Jill

Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star

Au Clair de la Lune

Humpty Dumpty

London Bridge

Oh Where Has My Little Dog Gone?

Hickory Dickory Dock

I was going to list it on eBay but a recent afternoon spent with my mom, out on the back patio listening to the songs and reminiscing, made me change my mind. For now the record player has a home on our piano bench. I'm curious to see the reactions of different houseguests when they request to play a tune or two.

*Illustrations are from Mother Goose published by Stoll & Edwards Co. Inc. New York circa 1929. If you have an idea of who the artist is please let me know!

A Little Somethin' Somethin' about Amber Skowronski

I meant to post this awhile ago but sometimes our pets do some really naughty things. The whole “my dog ate my homework” excuse seems completely plausible this week. You see, my cat Baxter (aka Little Bastard) ate the cord that powers up my laptop.

He’s lucky he’s cute and that there’s a plethora of these cords on eBay

Back to my original post:

Do people send gifts anymore? Are there really just a few of us out there? Surprises people! Have we given up on the extra delight that comes with a little extra something placed inside an envelope before it hits the post? Do we really give a rat’s ass about the extra postage? No. We get the satisfaction of knowing the recipient will be beaming when they open our package.

They could have had the worst day at work, maybe they can’t find a place to work, or worse just lost a job. But forget all of that. Here comes your package delivered by a nice man or woman, or in the case of my local postman, an old curmudgeon that gives lectures on how to properly park ones car when facing uphill: Wheels away from the curb, pointing to the left.

So, not so long ago my friend BB told me about an incredible artist, Amber Skowronski. The amazing thing about all of this internet weirdness is that I was able to befriend her and look through the killer selection of illustrations and portraits that make up her portfolio. And if you have a fine appreciation for some Kung Fu follow her awesome blog.

You’ve had a peek at her work now. Pretty amazing collection, right? I found one item in particular that I liked. Yeah, so I’ve got a Lee Pace thing. The lovely guy went to my high school and turns out I’m a big gushing fan. Do the rest of us Bearkats stand a chance? What exactly is a bearkat, or bearcat for that matter?

Amber sent me a wonderful illustration of Mr. Pace as the Masked Bandit (aka Roy) from The Fall. If you haven’t seen it yet stop reading my silly blog and fill your mind with some beautiful and epic scenery.

Here is the print Amber sent me:

(sorry about my added watermark but I have to protect Ms. Skowronski’s work)

In addition to this print Amber included a T-shirt...

and some wonderful postcards...

Don’t you people miss getting letters in the mail? Don’t you miss surprises and crazy stamps? How about your friends writing your name on an envelope in experimental calligraphy and dotting the “I” in your name with something sweet or vulgar.

Sure the internet keeps us together but the tangible proof that we exist keeps us truly connected. Keep making art. Keep in touch with something other than a text message.

Thank you, Amber!

Find a penny, pick it up...

This morning I found a lucky penny from 1997. It was face up in space number 50 in our parking garage. My spot, 51, is squeezed in between number 50 and an enormous cement pole. I only found the penny because I was staring down at the glistening broken glass spread all over the ground.

Instantly I checked my ride. My Honda was fine aside from the remnants of a massive bird that had flown over it the day before. Maybe getting dowsed with bird poop really is a blessing.

Apparently three cars were broken into last night. My neighbor, at least my parking garage neighbor, has a car seat for their baby in the back row. What kind of jerk breaks into a car with a baby seat?

While at work today I was concerned that the thieves were after said baby seat. Maybe they had taken it along with some diapers and the stereo. I imagined befriending my parking garage neighbors and having a fundraiser to get them a replacement. We’d become pals. Maybe I’d occasionally baby-sit for some extra cash.

Thankfully the baby's car seat was still there when I returned from work this afternoon. Unfortunately their front passenger window was not.

But back to my lucky penny from 1997. Thank goodness for 1997. That year I could finally buy my own booze, we got President Clinton for a second term, and the first Harry Potter was published. Of course, that same year Dolly the sheep was cloned, Bill Berry left R.E.M. after suffering a brain aneurysm, and Willem de Kooning died.

Here’s one of my favorite de Kooning paintings.

Seated Woman, c. 1940.

I’ll put my lucky penny with my two other favorite Indian Head Pennies from 1893 and 1904. I’ve had them in my coin collection since I worked at Drug Emporium during my high school days. I am amazed by what some people let slip out of their wallets. These are worth at least a dollar each by now!

Indian Head Pennies were circulated from 1859 to 1909. If you come across one from 1877 I’ll give you ten bucks for it.

Out of curiosity I looked over the events from 1893 and 1904. The highlights? On May 10, 1893, the United States Supreme Court legally declared the tomato to be a vegetable. On April 24, 1904, Willem de Kooning was born.

Grimm and Gorey

Those of us lucky enough to have been born in the late 1970s might remember a little gem of a show called Faerie Tale Theatre. It began in 1982 and featured Shelley Duvall as the host and oft required fairy tale land lady in distress. Two things have brought this show into my odd little mind as of late.

This past Saturday my sister was supposed to receive The Shining via Netflix but it seems a lot of other people in the Portland area also wanted to check out the footage of Timberline Lodge seen in the film. So we have to wait to watch Ms. Duvall in the ultimate creep show.

An even better Saturday occurrence was a random stop at Goodwill out in Tigard. While looking through the children’s book the title Rumpelstiltskin popped out from the typical smattering of stories about counting your fingers and toes.

Before I even pulled the book off the shelf my mind went directly to Shelley Duvall as the Miller’s Daughter and the title roll being played by Hervé Villechaize (in a roll showing he could do much more than point up at the sky and yell about planes).

I forgot all about that as soon as I looked at the book's cover or should I say it’s extremely fantastic – in fine condition – dust jacket. Have a look:

My readers should know by now how much I adore Edward Gorey. He illustrated this version of the Grimm Brother’s Tale retold by Edith Tarcov, published by Four Winds Press and published in 1974. The copyright is 1973 (Scholastic published a soft cover version before this one).



At Oldimprints we have a copy of Goreyography by Henry Toledano. It is an excellent resource for identifying just how awesome or not your particular Edward Gorey book is. My Rumpelstiltskin is the first edition published by Four Winds Press which is thrilling for me as a collector.

I might just have to see if I can put Faerie Tale Theatre in my Netflix queue.

Creature Comforts

This past week roused my as of late rather sedentary body and mind. I was reminded of the awesome forts I used to create out of my canopy bed, of what a crazy wreck I was during the tender age range of 18 through 33 (I am now 33 ¾), and of how fun it is to be silly every now and then.

I’ve been sick with some oddball cold all week. At first I thought this was my punishment for reckless behavior involving copious amounts of tequila.

Now I realize I have this cold because it has forced me to sit down and reminisce.

Where the Wild Things Are

My sister and I headed to the theater on Tuesday night along with about fifty other “older folk” and a few 4 to 6 year old wild things. I loved this film, especially during a scene when wild thing KW is contemplating leaving the group. One of the 4 to 6 year olds in the audience protested “No, don’t go!”

I don’t currently have a copy of Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are but I have a few children’s books about scary things from about that time period. Halloween is next week after all.

Hoot Hoot

Owl At Home written and illustrated by Arnold Lobel (Scholastic Book Services, 1975) was a favorite of mine as a kid so I was pleased as punch to find it for 99 cents at a thrift store. There are five short stories inside.

Strange Bumps, about those two odd mounds beneath the covers at the end of the bed when you’re tucked nice and tight under the covers, is by far the scariest story in this lot. But my favorite, Tear-Water Tea, has Owl thinking of sad things so he can cry and fill his teapot.

The saddest thing?

I know exactly how Owl feels. Once upon a time I was reading a Tolkien book only two find that about two hundred pages in ten pages from a completely unrelated book were bound in instead of an extremely exciting part of the story. Sad indeed.

Crows Are Always Scary Right?



The Crows of Pearblossom was written by Aldous Huxley and illustrated by Barbara Cooney (Random House, New York, 1967). This fun tale involves a crow’s nest, a hungry snake, and well...you can guess how it starts off.

Luckily Old Man Owl, a much brighter creature than Owl at Home, saves the day.

Witches, Naturally

The following find was a true score in my book: Suppose You Met a Witch by Ian Serraillier with illustrations by Ed Emberley, Little, Brown and Company, Boston, 1973, First Edition. I think my copy is signed in pencil “Ed – Ipswich Oct 1973”. Maybe by Mr. Emberley?

Check out his fascinating drawings…

And Finally, The Beasts...

The Bad Child’s Book of Beasts and More Beasts for Worse Children by Hilaire Belloc with illustrations by Harold Berson (Grosse & Dunlap, New York, 1966) is filled with the cutest illustrations that explain the pros and cons of certain pets such as Tigers, Frogs, Pythons, Welsh Muttons and Vultures.


I’ll take that advice.