CONTEMPORARY EXPLORER

Main stream Social Media can be fun. You showcase your life happenings and sit back waiting for the likes. However, after you have shared your family, trips, parties, special tricks, best dog, and even your second best dog, you begin to yearn for more. The Social Media Blues start to slip in. You long to share the real you. Your thinking, views, talents, and creativity. Not just short life blurbs. So you search the other 35 social media websites, only to find that all but a few are like the site you already use.  So where do you turn? One of the best places is to start a Blog. One that you control instead of it controlling you. They represents a great platform for expression. Blogs can have images, videos, and text. It is the text that tends to tie Blogs posts together. Blogs date back to the early 1990’s, first used by reporters, researchers and creators to share information with colleagues. In a sense, they were the forerunners of websites. Today, there are 600 million blogs. The...

  Combines originated from the art work of Robert Rauschenberg in the 1950’s and 60’s. He  also coined the term. The classic feature of this art is it incorporates elements of found objects, newspaper clippings, photographs, paintings and other unrelated elements. These are brought together to form a paradox of viewing and new meaning beyond their origin. These works of art are also called assemblages or mixed art. Nothing about Rauschenberg is usual. Despite his European sounding name, he was born in Port Arther, Texas. Living in the South he learned much for watching Afroamerican black artists who often used found art to inspire them. He got further inspiration by doing window displays to pay for college. These displays combined varied objects to attract attention. Rauschenberg studied under traditional artist Joseph Albers at small colleges. He managed to escape these traditional bounds to pursue perfecting combines. At first they were called everything by critics including...

Darkness of late night filled the studio casting shadows on finished paintings leaned against the wall and empty paint tubes scattered on the floor. Eric sat up in bed, watching Jane dress, “you don’t have to leave you know.” Jane turned, “New York tomorrow my dear, I have to get ready.”  Eric continued to watch her dress, he never tired of the view. They first met three years ago. She a writer and him a painter. They lived in apartment buildings next to each other, would sometimes dine together, talk art, share a drink and always it seemed ending in embraces of lust. Still, neither seemed to have found the steps to the next level of relationship. Even the lust had faded, buffed by the years. He didn’t know the why of this place they were at. Sometimes he admitted to himself envy over the degree of her success. How she wrote from her soul and being always grasping the latest in cultural ways. The magazines couldn’t get enough of her words. It wasn’t that he had not found success of...

  I worked for a time in Tacoma. The city had promise but seemed never able to overcome its rough edges. Ones made even sharper by its being wedged between a port and lofty foothills. A great place for long walks, but not commerce. Still there were unique finds in the nooks and crannies, one here and then in several blocks another. Oddities like the manuscript museum, the toy train maker and the fashion designer. It made up for the overcast bleakness of the place. If you looked hard enough you could find art there.  So it was that I discovered The Nook, a small house next to Discovery Park, its long winding paths always beckoning. The Nook piled deep in collectibles and no organization. A natural magnet for types like me. Gus, the owner specialized in all sorts of things, but the boxes of old envelope covers, correspondence and stamps drew me the most. Especially the foreign ones. You could always find Gus working on something, sorting stamps, repairing old frames holding ...

 You find them now and then, elegant ones lurking on a side street behind a picket fence. Ones with lots of stories to tell, lived in with love...

  Week 1 My doctor assigned a great physical therapist, Rachel. She worked with me, outlining a three week regiment of exercises with notes on technique included. I enthusiastic about the results. The first week went well, following her guide carefully. The second week, though, saw some backsliding on my part. This was going to be harder than I thought. By the third week, I found her carefully outlined plan matched with my efforts in a shamble. I tried again the second three weeks with similar results. I laid out her three pages of notes before me, hoping to find a path back on track. In the end, I decided to do the on ly l ogical thing. Take out my brush and paint the guide pages. I sat back looking at the now artful pages, thinking finally some results… Week 2 Week 3

  Sometimes a place just draws you back, the reason unsure. A parking lot on East Main in Rock Hill such a place. I parked there before taking in the quiet, hoping my camera would find a shot. Nothing special stood out, the lot gravel and broken payment, a few old cars oddly parked and unattached power poles. Still the place spoke of story. It sat there like an unclaimed body just waiting to be tended to and remembered. Next to it the eight story Cobb Apartments stood iconically, away from the city center by itself, still somehow playing a part. It’s orderly bricks standing strongly against the randomness of the lot. It the only hint to the history of the place. Curiosity tugs at you in these places and you begin to search for facts. At the turn of the century a 12 year old boy named Charles Cobb folded newspapers here. His father had died and he needed to turn efforts into cash. He soon had 20 other boys helping him deliver papers. The routes taught him about what the communit...

  The Carolinas are rich with a legacy of old factory buildings. Elegant and powerful icons in their time when textiles and tobacco were kings. Most faded in empty shells after the internationalism of factories, their manufacturing equipment shipped abroad. They have stood for years on the fringes of small and large towns still a part of the landscape, but seemingly far from resurrection. Change has come with the speed of prosperity.The value of the sheer size and majesty of these structures finally recognized for their potential. Many are now in a “adaptive reuse” redevelopment into multifaceted facilities including restaurants, offices and light manufacturing. An example of one is The Thread in Rock Hill SC which found this 400,000 sq foot once vacant plant a natural extension of its vibrant downtown arts and living venue. If you wander these giant places you can still find glimpses and remainders of the past. Found art if you will on the wall and floors. They cry out for special...

  This is the time of year when you formulate business plans. Road maps for career success in 2026. What about the Other You though? Your special advocation or inner artist. It’s reaffirming to plan for these endeavors. Things you might consider include evaluating what you did for the Other You in 2025. What you want to do in 2026. Resources you have, equipment or material needed. Education for improvement. How you plan to share your interest and art. Networking to help enhance your experience. Special trips or time off to pursue these interests. Future plans be it art sales, teaching or just life enhancement. Having a plan for the Other You gives you something to fall back on if your business world starts to get off track. It can also open up new avenues for success. It’s not too late to become a lounge singer, stand up comic, great photographer or expert crafter. You just need to do a little planning.

  People have wanted to record their thoughts, art and records all the way back to the times of clay tablets. Even in the electronic age with all its blogs, applications and social media, the urge to record on paper is unmatched. The feel and senses of moving pen on paper connecting mind, body and thought is wonderful. The journal by nature speaks of perfection. You want your journal to reflect the best of your writing, poetry, occasional sketch or photo, and life thoughts. Problem is life is not perfect. It gets interrupted by random thoughts, notes from calls, travel expense records and even to do lists. The journal is all too handy to reach for when this randomness occurs. So you start finding odd entries into what was once a perfect set of blank pages. There is also the issue of number of pages. It’s hard to fill out all 100 or 150 pages with perfect work and thoughts. As you look over what now has become a not so perfect journal, your mind drifts to artists like Picasso, Joan ...

Sometimes you're lucky enough to find things that speak of art in every way. Some even have a history and legacy to them. Such was the case when I stumbled on a packet of Taisho Era letters, stamps and envelopes. They looked beautiful on their own, but I knew they could be made into even more artful items. The surprise though was learning the legacy they also carried with them. The Taisho Era was named for Emperor Taisho lasting only from 1912 to his death in 1926.  Despite being in ill health during his reign, he recognized that Japan must modernize and move beyond traditional ways. He had learned much from being exposed the West during World War One when Japan fought on the allied side. The Taisho Era was marked by significant modernization, cultural change, and the burgeoning of arts. However, it put too much wind in the sails of Japan, leading it toward expansion and conquest.  You ponder all this as you work with the items, thinking of the art. Realizing you can’t change ...

  It's human nature to want to match things up, weave them together, even write a story about them. When you wander with your camera, magic doesn't always happen. What you see and experience lives only in isolation. Residing in your photos as unfinished business. Yet, these things call them abstract or not still have an art about them. While not encompassing a string of thoughts, they are part of what you find important in the world. Some you play with attempting to extract meaning and being. Most though just are.... Lancaster Tractor Trailer Reflection  Portland Mail Boxes and Poster Charlotte Hospital Awning Cotswold Village MarK - Charlotte Atlanta Wall

  I have a camp chair in the trunk of my car. Sometimes, I carry a kit of watercolor pencils and always a camera. All to remind me to put the busy world on hold. To pull off the road and just sit, contemplating a found scene in life. You're never sure what that is, but you are always searching. It’s tough to block out the traffic, the phone calls, the blare of the radio news. Once in a while though, you find a place to pull over. You unfold the chair and just sit. What you are hoping for is the question. Maybe, something or someone entering the scene that would foster a story. Colors that would grasp you enough to sketch, applying a bit of water to make the hues sing. Maybe just a person stopping to talk about what you are doing or thinking. Most of the time, none of these things happen. You still take a photo though. When you get home, you look at it reminded that you were there and wise enough to stop...

  The sunny day found me out wandering with my plastic $53 HOLGA Camera. My other cameras were far more sophisticated, producing perfect pictures. But, here I was on this beautiful day with the HOLGA, a camera many regarded as a toy. Still, I would meet new people attracted by the look of the camera. None of which would stay around long enough to learn the mystery, history and fame of it. I also knew great photos would be only once in a while. The camera just had too many faults to produce anything consistent. That was in fact the great appeal to it, the blurs, light leaks, and film quality of the results. It had a cult following among Retro fans. Ones led by generation Z who had never known anything without the immediate feedback of a display screen. There was none of that with the HOLGA. A film camera the required processing and time to see the results. They were all different than anticipated. Sometimes you forgot to take off the lens cap or advance the film producing double exp...

  It’s so rare these days to find the artful special item. One that is real, has traveled the world, and bares the marks of life to prove it. Too often you find yourself in a gift shop atracted to things, only to turn them over and find “Made in China.” So when you do find something of beauty that is special to your eye, you want it. A question lingers though, do you have a place on the wall for it?  As a collector of found objects, you often find yourself at this juncture. Should you take this wornderful thing from the world or leave it there for others. The travel author Paul Theroux once advised at each place, choose only one item to buy. That way you will remember the rest even more….

  Bringing back interest to our cities is a hot topic. Too often overlooked are the value of small unique places. Ones that set the place apart from others. Katarina Mall in her article “Capitalism in the Cracks” for Reason Magazine addresses this challenge well. She describes how Japan works with districts to promote all types of enterprise, especially in the small places including alleys often not possible with city planning in this country. Think back on a recent visit to another city, what do you remember about it. Was it the giant development that squashed a neighborhood just for another strip mall or ditto market. Maybe, but more likely it is for a unique place you found. Often, these are small places.  It mighr be Sun May Co. a tiny asian gift shop at 5 Canton Alley S in Seattle, or Commonwealth Used Books at 9 Spring Lane in Boston, or Daiso a Japanese variety store in the basement under an escalator of the old Woolworth building in Vancouver, or Collectors Nook a stam...