The Anecdotal Life Part. 132

Dear, Dear Everybody,


Another Blog? So soon already? Have to, because of extenuating circumstances. Mainly, my left foot needs work and just when I intended to begin matting, framing, and hanging etc. for a show I wish
to have on November the 28th. Drat. However, boot on or not I will do it, although it will be necessary to do many things so much earlier. Namely, an invitation, now, for the day after Thanksgiving called Black Friday.

Time: 4:00 p.m. ....

Where: The former Whitmore Printing Building located just off West Street on Moreland Parkway, no. 1982 in Annapolis, Md.

Why? For a lot of reasons. 1. When I entered this building I knew I had the chance of a lifetime to work where I had always dreamed of working. Long, long ago my sister Ruth and my brother-in-law, Norm Bowen took me to a warehouse just outside of San Francisco when my family and I "trekked"
across America in a Corvair (no, not a Corvette) which was a small, unreliable car that was stolen by someone with an I.Q. two months below a rock.
 Jesse Allen and Escher owned and sold and promoted their work in this warehouse.After that eyeopener I was forever more "wandering the earth" looking for such a place...at least in my mind's eye. I tried for years here in Annapolis to enter the Maryland Hall of Arts only to be turned down...five times. Finally, the director, Sygrid Trumpy gave me some precious clues as to why and how to recoup. Basically, she said " You have excellent credentials but! you don't fit the parameters.. diversity parameters. There is a man over in the Whitmore Building that has a warm spot in his heart for artists and you need to go there." So I did; I walked in and lo and behold, I was standing in a big, empty building with posters, prints, and photos all attesting to the creativity that had flowed through and flowered there. He had me at the get-go with, "When can you start?" I sat for a few seconds because I knew it would change my whole life, and then said, I will sign a check right now. Then ran home as fast as I could, TO GET MY STUFF. Well, if you have been well acquainted with any artist you know he let a camel in the tent. All I cared about was filling the walls that stood empty and started painting to release the pent-up volcano of visions I knew were threatening my mental health. For two years I have worked. It has been my kind of heaven. Leaky roof aside (the owner has knocked himself out solving the situation), the loneliness , even spookiness when it was only me there, the rise and fall and rescue of an enterprise going on around me, somehow just spurred me onward and now I intend to..
"do some of my own promoting".

THEREFORE:  A ROGUE  RETROSPECTIVE   WILL BE UP FOR A SHORT TIME ONLY IN THE HALLS OF THE WHITMORE. ANYONE NOT ABLE TO COME THAT DATE CAN MAKE APPOINTMENTS FOR POSSIBLY ONE WEEK FOLLOWING. BROWNIES WILL BE HANDED OUT TO THE FIRST FIFTY ARRIVALS.  I will send out a reminder in late October and I truly hope to see  each and everyone of you. prices will range from $10 to $5000.
Copyright: August 30, 2014.

The Anecdotal Life Part. 131.

The rain in Maine fell mainly on our rented house ( honest) that my son-in-law got for us all in order to celebrate my birthday. My son supplied the air line tickets which got me there just in the nick of time again before we all had the  "interesting experience" of going through the torrential second act of the east coast inundation that drowned the parked cars at BWI... among other spiteful occurrences. We were in a nice, clean, old, (very old) hamlet
near Portland.
Actually, I don't know whether  I was in Portland or outside of it. It was what was left of a village savaged by Indians who tore through the place twice and snagged a few of the villagers on their way each time. Wolves provided more entertainment during the brutal winters by snagging a few more. Not to be bested in acts of violence, the British burned houses here and there, but completely destroyed nearby Falmouth without compunction. In spite of all that, there remained a small but unique collection of funny, small and very narrow structures built along the way after the town was founded in 1600. The house we were in was 200 years old, and the house next door , the Tate House was erected in 1755.

Any intrepid survivors were further beleaguered by what Maine calls winter. If you had seen the stacks of wood row by row or in clever square piles already in place in mid-August; you'd know just labeling that season winter hardly describes what they go through. Then we got a look inside the Tate House. The warmth that could be obtained from those cranky looking little fireplaces must have been minuscule. So if you didn't die by the afore mentioned violent attacks, well heck, you could go quietly by freezing to death. All the furniture was little and made it seem like a child's playhouse.

We were in a modernized ( to quite an efficient degree) 1835 house next door and as the second round of the storm hit, we were grateful for it. Nevertheless, water came down through the chimney, the basement filled up due to the useless clogged gutters of the Tate House aiming the ground water with it's overflowing drains right at us and the little river down at the bottom of the lovely lawn rose and swelled , expanding it's territory but was held in check by a truly sturdy bridge, and its containing walls, but finally by the marshes, and then the mudflats waiting to catch it all. We went down to look in the sunny peaceful morning following and the water still exploding over the almost invisible rocky dam was enough to make me not want to get too close. That sun was such a salvation in the morning. It owned that house with all its windows in a long line on each side. It was so forthrightly bright that it seemed determined to cheer us up, but more so by illuminating a wonderfully organized interior in stark contrast to the age of the house's exterior.
We had a chance due to the flooding basement to meet the house's young owner. She was a Japanese American who was relatively calm facing the work ahead of her. I love and envied her studio for pottery of all designs.
Truly a divergent thinker it looked difficult for her to repeat designs, but those she did were done perfectly nonetheless. They lined the walls of the studio and for our use in the kitchen, making it fun to choose the ones we wanted for breakfast or lunch. Soon she had three pumps going and that water fell fast.

We, however, proceeded to be tourists and headed through the house tours, through the extraordinarily well-endowed Portland museum of art. We Washingtonians often think we've got it all, but this place was huge, and the collections endless. Thanks to my son we followed it up with lobster dinner at a boat marina where I got to sit and watch boats coming at me. Next day took us to a lighthouse and it's coastline which Winslow Homer painted.

I tumbled aboard my flight with Southwest where they thoughtfully dealt with an elderly and very disturbed traveler. A truly beautiful companion dog helped keep her peaceful for the most part in between bouts of anxiety and dismay. Home to my house at last which hadn't been washed away in spite of little rivers coming down the hill into the front yard and backyard. Home to two rascally cats but home....

Copyright: August 18, 2014.