CONTEMPORARY EXPLORER

  She liked things found out of place, often feeling much the same about herself. Sitting by the window, she took out her notebook and wrote about it. Everything else in the museum seemed perfect, the art all lined up. An artist once told her, to get into a gallery or museums your work needed to be definite in pattern, like little soldiers in a row. So why the yellow book left on a long side seat near the window. Everyone passing it moving from room to room at the museum. They all glanced at it, but it was apart and did not fit. No one wanted to be the one who sat and opened it.  A feeling she knew well having moved through life that way. No one stopping her to pull back the cover to really see who she was, not that she knew that completely herself.  She looked at the last few words she had written, taking a final sip of coffee. wondering if the yellow book was still there, if anyone opened it. Closing her notebook, she started walking back to rescue it...

  The cold of a Boston winter cuts through you like a knife, making the walk from the office long. I pulled my coat tighter, the sight of South Station emboldening me on.  The station was shrouded in a frosty haze and filled with trains. The grand ones, NE Regional and Acela dominated it. Fast, they would take you to NYC in 4 hours, serve you drinks and new people to meet.  Not so the ones of the MTBA, Boston’s commuter options. The subway creaky and old, locals called the T. Next to it, the commuter train lines sat quietly waiting, with the purple and red set of cars. These were the ones I took, they each had a name, mine the Haverhill Line. I often thought about trips to NYC or DC on the grand ones, but Haverhill Line took me back to Kathy each night. I just called it “The Train”…

  I’ve been struck recently by articles about Japanese photographer Daido Moriyama and Midwest photographer Nathan Pearces. Despite being in vastly different parts of the world, they both jumped off the beaten path to explore mundane places where there was no reason for going. Paul Theroux, the writer, also traveled backroads and prized meetings with people in places forgotten. They all found brief glimpses of beauty and insights that made great art in what others considered banality.

  Gas pumps have been around since 1885, changing much through the years. Invented by Sylvanus Bowser, there were often referred to by his name, still a fixture at some airport fueling hubs. Gas pumps don’t evoke the same fascination they once did. The ring of the bell when a car arriving, the clicking of the numbers, the brightly emblazoned logo of the brand. Modern pumps are called headers and often only vary by the number of different fuels they dispense. All parts mechanically controlled by computer. Usually, you can’t wait to leave their uninspiring and expensive presence. The only saving grace, how quickly they dispense. Older pumps with their colorful character and cranks have disappeared, except in remote or nostalgic places like Route 66. When you're lucky enough to find one, it’s not only the mechanics that enthrall you, it’s their unique art garnered with time. Scrapes, rust and faded colors all pull you in. All treasured memories from times past…

  It is said that if the desert likes your dreams, it will let you stay. If not, it will sweep you away… Perhaps no place reflects this more than Tonopah AZ, a dusty truck stop along I-10 between Buckeye and LA. Over the last 3,000 years it is said that Hokokam, Papayan, Hakataya and Yavapair people have lived in the area, but little remains of there time, save the few petroglyphs in the Saddle Mountains nearby. Once US 80, one of the first cross country roads, went through here. Health seekers and travelers in the 1920’s sought out the warm water wells in the area for their special healing. The native meaning for Tonopah is water. Saguaro Health Sanitarium was built, but now just a fading roadside motel. A local air strip to the east of town anchors planes forgotten by time. Settlers who first came in 1916 found the promised riches in agriculture elusive. Even with exotic approaches, this remains the case today. The only claim to fame the area has is the Palo Verde Nuclear plant, the

  Out front the art all lined up and perfect for the viewing, but there is always the back of the gallery. Where the egos and work of the artists are all stacked up, vying for attention among the trappings of life. A place where showings are plotted, sales confirmed and numbers crunched. All done amidst the crying out of art wanting to be seen. Ode to the back of the gallery where the real art work is done…

  EXHIBIT A - you never know the truth until the end….

  Few things are less permanent than posters in cities. They shout out advertisements in bold letters and images, but are quickly marred, torn away, papered over and impacted by the city. Street slang and graffiti change the original message creating new meaning and color. They are found most in art areas and along the Trade Streets of the world. City places in transition where small buildings linger before being replaced or remodeled for new commerce. Their sides and boarded windows forming the perfect canvas for posting. Artists have long played with the remains of posters. Jacques Villegle (considered the father of street art) took pieces of torn posters to inspire paintings. A photographer wandering urban streets soon finds posters attracting their camera eye. Making special art and language only they can see…

  There are times when various projects, the details of life, and appointments take me away from being in touch with the world. I forget about being sensitive, having empathy for others, peacefulness, and the beauty around me. These times bothers me more now, perhaps because of being older and recognizing how important being at one with the world is. There were always stressful times during my career days, but I just rolled through them. I wish I had understood more then…

 

  It’s difficult to fully describe a Southern byway, their winding nature, the sights along the way. There is a slowness here, a closeness to nature, where tasks today can be done tomorrow. All played out against the sultriness of summer. The people along the way warm, schooled by place and time to a measured politeness and kindness, telling you much, but not fully allowing you in. There is much to learn here, a newness around every curve. A blending of ways, mile traveled by mile…

 

  We forget how important it is to talk and relate to others. How much it means to our lives. The lost and found department for people is hard to find...

They say it’s impossible to stop time, to stay in place. But things do stop you, maybe just for an instant. A swarm of images or just one that sets you mind wandering. Thinking “HEY” there is something here….

  One of the great things about art is all the material and equipment. Curating it is an art form in itself, giving much pleasure in its pursuit. Yes, I have been accused of having more paint and brushes than Picasso, not to mention all the canvas untested by fledgling talent. Still there is wonderful warmth in wandering in it all and then there are rare moments. Upon a pad of art paper, you pull a pallet knife or two, a couple of tubes of paint and play. Soon you forget about the rest of the world, its troubles, and your small pains.  You move the pallet knife back and forth, adding paint here and there, then more touches of other colors. Suddenly, the canvas speaks to you. Not of monumental things, but instead in its own simple beauty. A beauty found within, you did not know of….

  Bring a shopping bag, be prepared to wade into the masses, practice your best sorting moves, and hone your instincts for the great find. Bin bargain stores are popping up everywhere. Some of the famous ones include Bin City New York, Cheap Charlies Bargain Bins on Long Island, Bargains in a Box Chicago and perhaps the most famous one Amazon Bin Store. The origin of these bargain treasure hunt centers is difficult to determine. Most agree though that they grew from the internet auctions of returned and overstock items. Those becoming so popular that they grew into brick and mortar locations. It can be addictive fun, the price of bin items goes down each day. One might start at $14 on Friday and be only $0.25 on the following Thursday. There are no returns here, what you pick is yours.  Bin pros advise, arrive early, bring cash, try to negotiate (if you need a laugh), have a plan of attack. So roll up your sleeves and roll into the fun….and always wear a badge saying “buyer beware.”

  I traveled to LA many times on business, always staying on Wiltshire Avenue at the Grand. Wiltshire cut across LA like a zipper, unlocking each district along the way. The huge Grand Hotel defined the divide between downtown and the districts stretching all the way to Hollywood. It opened in 1952 and showed it’s age. Plans were already underway for its demolition and replacement with even a grander property. Still the staff held on, from the check in people to restaurant staff, serving the property for years. Their career was here and they still performed their duties the same as before. It was a trait that I found earmarked LA. The people who lived in this megalopolis for a long time acquired a quietness about the place. They went about their business each day, keeping to them selves, respecting the city and the city in turn letting them live their lives.  I always took my camera with me as I roamed the arts district, fashion streets, Korea town, the Miracle mile, and tawdry side st

 

  During your working years, purpose is all around you so you don’t think about it as much. When you retire though, finding purpose can haunt you like a ghost. It’s good to consider what purpose really means now, before you retire. There have been numerous articles recently on the subject of finding purpose in retirement and how important it is. Notable among them are the ones by George Jerjian.  The lack of purpose can make you lose your way and even identity. Jerjian and others talk about how you can find it again be reinterring the workforce or starting a business. Others site volunteering and teaching as other avenues.  Now a decade into retirement and having tried some of Jerjian’s suggestions, I have come to define finding purpose more simply. At the end of the day, real purpose may be just becoming a better person. A simple concept yes, but one that will make your life fuller and more rewarding. Some things you may want to add to your better person list might be: 1) staying heal

  You sense there is this other more creative you just beyond the horizon. Trying to reach it seems to only move the horizon farther away. Finally you escape beyond your inhibitions expressing your true self, your are free at last. The great ones find that place over and over again. Paintings are a good subject matter for all this. They have no real implications other than for you. They can be tossed or treasured depending on the outcome. The good ones taking on a life of their own. Painting seems to always start with the present you, a few lines on a canvas. Your inhibitions competing for attention. Then you begin adding color spreading and blending them over those simple lines. Stepping back to get a sense of what background should be there, adding the complimentary colors to make it.  Now the basics are all there. You might pause and stop here, your inhibitions applauding your effort. Yet, you might find courage to move on creating the world you truly envision. You reach for a speci

  Perhaps there are not two more notable artists that made art look easy than Cy Twombly and Joan Miro.  Twombly produced large scale work using gestural painting that bordered on scribbles and calligraphy. Miro's paintings are often regarded as surrealistic in nature. The best ones though are simple drawings directing the unconscious, even childlike thoughts. To me they are both line drawing artist. Simple lines turned into paintings, color splashes here and there to draw you in. You keep thinking, I can do that, I can turn lines into fame, but you soon discover that you can't. Twombly and Miro were gifted in turning the simple into wonderful beautiful things to contemplate. Art indeed.... Paintings - "Following Dreams" and "Blocks of Time Passing" - young '23

  I have always loved to travel. So a couple of recent articles caught my attention. “The Case Against Travel” (New Yorker) and “Don’t Want to Travel?” (CNBC). Both noted the increased number of people who are reluctant or have vowed to never travel again. In Japan, that number reached 35%, in the US it is 14%. The articles cited various reasons for this, safety, cost, the sheer number of people traveling, etc. I started thinking about the recent stories from the travel world. The turmoil aboard airlines,  the wait for entry passes at DC attractions, ones that you used to be able to just walk into. Not to mention the 3 1/2 hour wait lines to check into Las Vegas properties, the $700 a night hotel rooms in cities. Little by little it takes the glitter off the joy of traveling. So what do you do. You can just lean into it and bear the rough edges of it all, or think about alternatives. A good place to start is figuring out why you travel in the first place. Once you figure out that, the

  I turned South into the Low Country of SC, away from the City to the North. The two lane roads, quiet, and alone scenes resonated in my soul…

 

Small empty buildings linger along Tryon Street, awaiting the block by block mega developments underway. They are past their usefulness, but still have marks and images that attract the camera eye.  Tryon has always been a place of change. Originally a trading route between the Catawba Indians and the tribes to the north, then a route for settlers, and now the heart of charlotte commerce. It is sometimes in the change that good photography subjects can be found. Ones urging you to stop, take a shot and enjoy…

  Nothing pulls at the imagination like searching in a used bookstore. You can find that missing book to your collection, one you never heard of, some leading you in a new thought. All adventures in a world often of same next to same. I always look for the most worn cover edges. The turning of those pages often carry the most interest, especially the ones with margin notes and marks. You wonder about who left them and why, a student or someone moved by a passage. You ponder where they might be now, what the reading meant to their lives. For a moment the notes from the “Cages Skylark” or “Wild Swan” take you away, make you think, all while enjoying the small edges of life you found…

  I turned the corner and there it was waiting like a siren. Always within, the desire to open a small business. People would come to me, buy goods and know me by name. Then you think about what you have now, the risk, the small rewards and long hours. The desire still flickers in you, but you drive on…