I was heartened by the latest reports of sightings of the ivory-billed woodpecker, a bird thought to be extinct until a couple of years ago. There’s some controversy around whether or not the bird still exists, but it could, and people are looking. That’s a good thing.
If the ivory-bill could be confirmed among the living, alongside the Hoan Kiem Lake turtle and a few other ancients, I would sleep a little better at night. There’s so much about the natural world that we don’t understand, and much of it is slipping away.
I was talking to a guy I know today about what I might be doing five or ten years from now. He said that he could see me living in a small town somewhere, making strange art out of everyday things, maybe out of metal. I don’t know about that, but it did get me to thinking about the art I used to do.
Although I didn’t know it at the time, I think the most successful of my efforts focused on the ephemeral in some way. The Yukon Jack series, which was rendered in chalk and erased every few days; the landscape projection series, which visually reproduced abstracted memories wrapped up with emotions, etc. Some of those still exist, but they had a look of ephemerality, anyway. 
Even the people-centered stuff I did later focused on singling out one thought (imaginary though it was) out of my subject’s mind.
That focus on the ephemeral could be traced into other aspects of my life, too. For instance, my current work is centered around web content, a kind which lacks physicality and usually has a short shelf life. This blog. I bet I could go on recognizing these patterns forever if I wanted…but that wouldn’t be very much in keeping with the program, would it?
I’ve been watching the mail to see what might show up from my friend Robert, and yesterday a postcard arrived, all the way from Alaska! (Robert, you beat me there.) Robert said once that he had noticed that I always sent him a postcard and he always called me. I guess this time he decided to turn the tables.The note on the back is a little ambiguous, it almost sounds as if he’s MOVED to Alaska:
“Riding up the Alaskan Railroad from Hurricane Gulch, we stop to pick up a traveler. I noticed salmon in a creek with bear tracks on the ground and knew this was his world…then I thought, “This is my world, too.”
Yukon Jack
Yukon Jack was a character that a roommate of mine came up with in college; I took him to new lows by drawing fresh episodes on a 4 x 4 chalkboard every few days in the mens room of the Art building. A few people noticed; Robert was one.
I’m thinking Robert’s writing with the eyes of Yukon Jack, but one never knows about Robert; he may be holed up in some shack up there, getting ready to wait out the winter and see what spring has to offer.
Earlier this month I heard an NPR interview with William Christenberry. I’ve always loved his work, both the photographs and the sculpture. His stuff has always struck the same note in me that Russ’ work does, or my own efforts did, on a good day. By that I mean we were all reaching for the same place.
He had an exhibit here in Galveston in the early nineties, and came down and gave a lecture. He was one of the most accessible, plain-spoken artists I’ve ever listened to. I hung around to shake his hand afterwards, and he looked me in the eye and seemed to really appreciate my presence.
There’s a new book out that surveys his work; if anyone’s looking for me a Christmas present already, this might be a good place to start. This post didn’t start out as a shameless plea, but it may as well end that way.
My friend Robert called out of the blue yesterday; he is full of laughter and honesty. Robert and I met in college, but really got close afterwards. I moved to Galveston, and he was in Houston, ostensibly trying to break into acting or the burgeoning local film industry, but mostly having a good time. He would drive down and hang out with me every couple on months. I have this great headshot of him from that period, around 1991, if I can find it I’ll post it here. In it, he looks like an early version of Jack Black in Tenacious D.
Continue reading ‘Robert–out of the blue’
I’m up early today; I woke up at about 5 a.m. again, somehow. That’s happening more and more lately, no matter how tired I am the night before. I came downstairs and tried to meditate, but my session didn’t go so well. That’s the way it goes, sometimes.
The whole family is rising a little earlier these days; Zeke has to be at school earlier this year and we are making a concerted effort to get out the door before 7:30 a.m. That would have been unheard of last year, but we’ve managed it almost every day so far this school year.
The television has not been turned on, and neither of the kids has asked for it. I have been surprised about that, as it was a regular feature of our mornings last year, much to my chagrin.
I’m hoping we can keep this momentum going; it feels pretty good.
Published by matt on September 6, 2006
in Tunes.
Anyone who knows me well knows I’m a big fan of Bob. His latest release, Modern Times, is an ear-pleaser. The more I listen, the better it gets; that’s usually a sign of a strong album. The first song, “Thunder On The Mountain,” is one of the album’s strongest, and contains my favorite of the album’s many oddly-turned lyrics:
“Gonna raise me an army, some tough sons-of-bitches
I’ll recruit my army from the orphanages…”
That’s gotta make you smile.
Lots of folks are calling Modern Times the third in a trilogy of albums, along with Time Out of Mind and Love and Theft, that signify Dylan’s music has entered a new era. The implication is that this music is as important as any he has ever made. I don’t have a real problem with that sentiment, but Time Out of Mind just doesn’t fit with the last two albums, at least not to my ear. In an interview in the current issue of Rolling Stone (not yet online, it seems) Bob seems to hold the same view. Makes you wonder what might be coming down the pike.
I surprised my family by announcing that I was going to go to church this Sunday, and that anyone who wanted to join me was welcome to come along. I don’t belong to any particular church, and rarely attend services of any kind. Lately, I’ve been feeling the need to change that, but I’m not necessarily drawn to return to my Southern Baptist roots.
Anyway, Zeke surprised me by announcing his intention to join me, and together we attended services with our local Unitarian Universalist congregation. I have a vague memory from years ago of someone characterizing UU services as “weird” and “anything goes,” with people in one corner speaking in tongues and folks in another corner worshipping a different way altogether, but it wasn’t like that at all.
Continue reading ‘We go to church–sort of’
