Fine arts

 The “fine arts” are not fine because they are elite. On the contrary, the task of the fine arts is to search out beauty and to come to a deeper understanding of what it means to be human. This is an effort aimed at everyone, and access to the fine arts is often free or less in cost than access to entertainment or sports venues.

But in my estimation, there are two hitches. First, the fine arts require some work in response to the work of the artist. Second, the fine arts are not given the level of attention and support they deserve in K-12 education.

Local TV news

 No. I won’t let go of this.

The major college sports locally bring in a great deal of revenue. These teams are sometimes only mediocre. The major local professional teams are billion dollar businesses, and they are sometimes mediocre. Yet local TV coverage of these teams amounts to a great deal of free advertising.
The fine arts institutions in Cincinnati are rarely less than excellent and bring international attention to the city. They are non-profit and must constantly fundraise. Yet, they are almost never given TV coverage.
What’s wrong with this picture?

Apocalypse

 Not so long ago we thought the Apocalypse was God’s wrath punishing us for our brutality, avarice and abuse of power. But now we see God wasn’t needed at all. We’ve done it by ourselves to one another—fire, floods, earthquakes, cyclones, hurricanes and plagues.

Personal art history

My personal art history:
Art is scribbles.
Art is Mother’s Day cards.
Art is drawing on the walls.
Art is lettering and perspective.
Art is craft.
Art is put on the back burner for mathematics.
Art is design work for friends.
Art is printmaking.
Art is drawing.
Art is drawing on the walls.
Art is serious business.
Art is teaching art.
Art is curating art.
Art is collage, mixed media, photography, sculpture, intervention, performance and public art.
Art is working with kids and disabled folks.

Art is writing about art. 

Haikus

Thoughts in Haikus

Thousands for Taylor
And what about their student debt
Priorities count

Politicians yap
Promises to dupe voters
Why not educate

Trump boxes them in
With fear, lies and victimhood
Stubborn, hapless sheep

Limit who can love?
We need every bit of love

To keep us human 

Rafe

 As a youngster, Ralph (“Rafe”) picked up tunes from the streets

And played them on his penny whistle
Often he would skip school
To sit on a rock by the sea and listen for new tunes
Whistled and sung by the fishermen
As a young man he frequented pubs and churches
Listening and replaying the melodies he heard
Occasionally, a bit drunk, he would dance
On the pub tables playing his flute
When he matured as a composer Vaughn-Williams
Deftly wove these tunes into his compositions
Of course Greensleeves was one

Copland

 All little Aaron wanted was a pony

But, of course, that was impossible
In his family’s small Brooklyn apartment
So for birthdays, he settled for
Chaps, a cowboy hat, boots and spurs
He grew out of the chaps
And the spurs shredded the sheets
While he slept
Mr. Copland never grew out of
His fascination with the West
And he embedded it in “Rodeo” and “Billy the Kid”
An East Coast cowboy all the way

Bitch

 Yesterday at Kroger I saw a man with a T-shirt that said:

BITCH I’M A BENGAL.
I thought to myself, what the hell, why don’t I get a T-shirt that says:
BITCH I’M AN ARTIST.

Weight loss

 New weight loss plans:

getoffyourass.com
bellybusters.com
psychoblubber.com
nabtheflab.com
onlygreensmoothies.com
buttburners.com
fatzappers.com

Bach

 

Brahms

 The young Johannes was a portly child

He sat on the balcony, sat in the garden, sat in his room
His mother said: Johannes, take up tennis or racquetball
Or even tae kwon do
But he sat unproductive
Unless he was at the piano where he was brilliant
Brahms went on to create many musical pieces
But none had a tempo faster than he could walk

Shostakovitch

 Shostakovitch sat at the family table about to eat

A bowl of his mother’s homemade borsht
He had not yet reached puberty
But he had many manly characteristics
A knock on the door
Always chilling for this family
Of at most lukewarm Communists
This time it was a neighbor
But it wouldn’t always be that way
Later in life, Dmitri would knock on their door
With the drum beats that
Open his Fifth Symphony
Drum beats that are fear, heartbeats and defiance

Ravel

 The young Ravel, barely 18

Frequented a small cabaret in Paris
Shy, but a good dancer
One night he spied a comely young lady
And asked her to dance
They danced all night
She called him Maury
He never saw her again
And only much later after composing
La Valse and Bolero
Did he realize that she had planted
The seeds of melodies in his head
He did keep the shoes he danced in that night
And polished them regularly to a shine

Mozart

 Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was strolling

In a Salzburg cemetery
A forest of delicate wrought iron memorials
He was whistling the overture to the Marriage of Figaro
The cemetery caretaker heard him
And copied Mozart in exact detail
That’s how music was passed along in those days
Later in life, after Mozart’s passing
The caretaker made a modest living
Whistling Mozart tunes in Salzburg pubs
He retired though when humming replaced whistling
Mozart would not be known to us today
If not for the whistlers and hummers of Salzburg

Prokovief

 

The DT's

 I’ve watched and listened to segments of Donald Trump speaking to crowds. His entrances are ego on parade. When he speaks, he never stays focused on his audience. He looks upward and away from the audience. He is speaking to himself. He is not particularly articulate, and he uses and reuses his playbook of hate-inducing phrases. His time on TV and his sleazy business dealings have made him very skilled at the role of victim, martyr, crowd manipulator and media influencer. His character is built on lies, half-truths, deceits and greed. He is always coming down the escalator.

The fact that he continues to have such a large following is a sign of the decay in democrcy in America.

Dementia

 You stole intimacy.

You stole memory.
You stole intelligence.
You stole the ability to see a big picture.
You stole skilled language.
You stole rational thinking.
You stole joy.
You stole self-reliance.
You stole friendships.
You stole the pleasure of family.
You stole the chance to be a full part of the world.
You stole my wife.
God damn you, dementia.

Choir

 Here’s a suggestion.

All moderate-sized groups—charitable, governmental, educational, administrative or otherwise—should form a mandatory choir. This would require working together to produce something of beauty, taking direction and appreciating the talents of others.
How could this be a bad thing?

Essential workers

 I think of artists as essential workers. If not for them, the world would be visually dull and uninspiring. If not for them, beauty and truth would be greatly diminished. If not for them, culture would be pedestrian. If not for them, we would too easily stay in our boxes. If not for them, we would be at a loss for the risk-takers who call us to be more human.

Yes, artists are essential workers.

DJT

 The key thing to recognize about Donald Trump is that he is a smart man with absolutely no moral compass. That is the real danger. He can steal, lie, cheat and even break his oath to defend the Constitution with no remorse. He is masterful in both the role of manipulator and the role of victim. His ego leads him to listen only to his own voice, to surround himself with yes men.

History is already clear on the damage he has done to this country and its democratic processes. It defies reason that he still has any followers.

Practicing

 

Dear Ron

 Dear Ron De Santis,

I am writing you from the well-documented and researched past. I was a white-fearing slave, bought and exploited by a white God-fearing Christian. His wealth came off my back, my labor. I was not free to choose my own work. I did the work he forced me to do. I did what he needed done or I suffered mightily for it. He did not prepare me for the end of slavery. I did not think that would ever come, and he hoped it would never come. I made my life as I could, out of my own resourcefulness.
So Ron, get your head out of your ass. Look honestly at the world as it was and is and come to your senses.
Signed,
A slave no more