Meet Mary. Good friend and exquisite belly dancer. That's all. The photo should tell you everything you need to know about Mary. Except…that she is one of the funniest people that you will ever have the pleasure of meeting. OK…now that's all you need to know about Mary.
She pierced me with her gaze. Imperious. Deep. I could feel her staring through me. Into me. Neither pleased nor disapproving. Simply aware that I was present. Not quite ready to dismiss me. Though that would come soon.
No, you don't dip the hens in the paint. What kind of person thinks of something like that?
If you decide you want to paint outdoors at the farm, you had better be prepared for some company. In this case chickens. The rooster was nearby, but apparently he is not a fan of The Arts.
Have a great holiday weekend folks. Get outside and enjoy some sunshine. You've earned it.
Saturday, my friend Jim and I visited the Indianapolis Museum of Art to see an exhibit of concept cars from the 1930s on up. While there, we wandered through many of the galleries, including this gallery that contained a wonderful sound installation.
Each of the speakers hanging from the ceiling had a different voice. Each voice whispered in what turned out not to be English. The impression that you were given was that of hearing hundreds of voices whispering at one time. To enjoy the experience, I began by sitting on one of the benches in the center of the room and then stood and wandered between speakers to hear the individual voices.
This is the second memorable sound installation that we've had the pleasure to visit in the last couple of months. I am beginning to find, that sound installations can be every bit as enjoyable as more traditional forms of art. I have always been a fan of music, but these installations are an entirely different kind of audio wonder.
Two months ago, I was visiting the Dayton Art Institute where I was walking through an American impressionist exhibit. Following the excellent impressionist exhibit, I stumbled upon an exhibit by Julie Green entitled The Last Supper.
What immediately caught my eyes was the massive number of hand painted plates covering three walls. Most of the plates looked like second hand imitations of flow blue or dutch delft china. All of the plates were painted with images of meals. Not just any meals, the dishes showed the last meal of an executed prisoner.
Numbering more than 540 plates, the impact of the exhibit staggered me. I don’t care which side of the controversial issue you fall on, seeing the sheer numbers of the plates combined with the humanity of the meals was thought provoking. The artwork was sure to make you think through the issue, rethinking your position, and perhaps even changing your mind.
Each plate was different. The prisoner’s last meal was depicted along with the date and state where the execution took place. As I looked at each plate, the fact that a real human being was killed soon after eating two pork chops, mashed potatoes with gravy, green beans, two diet cokes and a piece of pie, served to drive the issue home.
I wondered how many of the people represented by the plates were in fact innocent of the crimes for which they were executed?
It’s taken me more than two months to get to the point where I could share the images and write about them. The display was that powerful.
You can find out more about the exhibit at Julie Green’s website: Julie Green: The Last Supper
Pa called him Jean in the French way and he did indeed speak with a strange French accent. The man came to visit us every year to hunt and wander the woods looking for birds. We all liked it when Pa announced that Mr. Jean was coming for a visit, even though that meant he would take the big bed and we would be relegated to the trundle or even worse, the floor.
Mr. Jean would bring birds home for us to eat, but some of the birds, he would prop up next to a tree or in some grass and then get out his big book and get to work making likenesses of the birds in charcoal and paint. When Mr. Jean was working in this way, we could watch, but we could not speak or otherwise disturb the man. Pa saw to that with the threat of a switch.
When we were supping, Mr. Jean and Papa would tell stories of their old times, traveling in far off places up and down the Mississippi river way south of here. Mr. Jean would speak of Haiti, Paris, and London as though he were intimate with the places and people that lived there. My imagination always got the best of me and I would dream of seeing those places.
Mr. Jean would tease me with stories of made up animals like the éléphant which he said was as big as a barn, had trees for legs, sails for ears, and a nose like a snake.
Imagine my surprise when, years later, I travelled far and wide as well and saw an elephant in true flesh and blood in Mr. Barnum's circus. The animal was just as Mr. Jean had said it was, only he had forgotten to tell that it also had the tail of an ass and the rumble of distant thunder.
Also, Imagine my surprise to find that my father’s friend, our Mr. Jean was famous and those silly portraits of birds were known to the King of England himself.
Friday night, my sister-in-law got a tattoo. This is her second and the occasion was my first trip to a tattoo parlor.
To her, it was no big deal. She just sat back and relaxed while the artist buzzed away with her needles and ink. What better than to kick back in your favorite kicks? T's biggest worry? "Don't take a picture that shows my bra strap!"
What you can't see, because of the skin irritation is that the tatoo is a gradient of 5 colors from red at the bottom to yellow at the top.
If you recognize the tattoo, tell me what it is in the comments.
Happy Saturday.
Tim
Damn you.
I hate you.
Married for twenty two years and I can’t stand the sight of you. All you do is sit there day in and day out. You just sit there and look at that god damned painting. I hate you and I hate that painting just as much.
When was the last time you looked at me? When have you ever touched me like that damned painting touches you? You caress it with your eyes. I see you longing for it when you’re not home.
I swear Artie, you can go to hell. I’m leaving you. Screw you Artie and screw your painting. I hope you two are happy together.
tim mcmurdo 