Posts Tagged ‘art’

Conservative Art

February 21, 2016

Poetry with a Conservative Slant

 

Artwork by practitioners of a Conservative viewpoint can be hard to come by.  If you’re a Conservative you’re accustomed to this.  If you’re not, you might be afraid of reaching down into the rabbit ‘hole’.

Well, fear not.  Here are a few sample snippets of some poems:

 

Big Government

 

 Sometimes I lie in bed at night

trying to imagine how big the government is

until I pass out.

 

And summer times I some times,

lie on the grass

and name each constellation

as a separate bureau.

 

That constellation there.

The big one.

That’s the Department of Health, Education and Welfare

with a total budget this fiscal year 2015

of one trillion twenty billion dollars.

 

Anarchist at the Political Fair

 

If we are our own worst enemy,

as we are so often,

what folly to cast aspersions!

I am not here to rile you up;

I am here to calm you down…

Continue to disagree as you will and as you must.

I am not here to change your minds – but to disperse them!

Altogether we constitute a pox!  There’s the truth of it.

Too much power is granted to too few.

…..

 

If you enjoyed these starter hors d’oeuvres, you might enjoy this book:

http://www.amazon.com/Shoving-My-Way-Into-Conversation/dp/0692617906/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1456076083&sr=1-1&keywords=Shoving+my+Way+into+the+Conversation+by+Carl+Nelson

 

Work, work, work… with Rita Andreeva

October 29, 2013

Editor’s note:  Our forever struggling artist has surfaced again, after putting to rest several business models and quite a little beer.  This is the party-half of the story.

Rita Andreeva

Rita Andreeva

Did You Miss Me?

 

“went to Eva’s show, and it was a WILD place, with
artists doing crazy shit and painting a live naked woman and
fat russian woman talked to me, and her son with red and
green WILD paintings, and NOBODY got carded, so teenagers
were buying drinks at the bar.

Eva did her show and announced, “I hear people live
upstairs, well, lets be loud enough so they’ll not
forget this night!” And then they did a mix of, hell,
everything – their repertoir was a mix of hard rock, punk,
and god knows what Eva came up with, but it was loud, and
she was banging the round thing with bells on her butt and
on the drums, and she looked good, with very long earrings,
as long as her hair… The thing is, their fun was so
contageous, (and I told them that too), so everyone loved
their playing despite the fact that they fucked up all over
the place, and some skinny, classy, old dude said his friend
wanted to book them and everyone loved them. And everyone
laughed, and fat Russian woman with her beautiful
gay-artist-son-who-married-an-american-with-tank-demeanor
smiled and took my card. Two beautiful gay guys came and
eclipsed the russian artist with his possibly talented
green-and-red paintings by their sheer beauty and elegance

completely devoid of talent but so very elegant….

When they were done playing, I left intending to go to the
bus, but my feet took me by the Pantageous Theater where Ian
Anderson (Jethro Tull) was doing a show! Actually, I knew
about it, but it was all sold out for a while, so I gave up.
But as my feet took me by there I saw a guy standing by the
door with a ticket in his hand, ready to go in, so I ran up
to him and said, “Can I have this ticket?” And he
sighed and said, “She didn’t come…” I said,
“Where is cash machine!!!???” he shrugged. I said,
“Wait 5 minuties,” and I took off at a gallop up
and down some hills, and I found a cash machine and got $#$
and ran back and bought the ticket. And it all happened in a
split second before they locked the doors.

So I basically did what I was telling you to do – I went to
the concert without a single thought about how I’d get
home.

Afterwards Eva got her friend to drive me back here, they
all came, the whole band, so I gave them money for gas and
beer.

Eva couldn’t drive, she had a couple of drinks at the
show. She wasn’t drunk, she was just being sensible
(someone should learn from her, hint, hint)

I told them to stop at 7-11 so I could get beer and they did
too, so I walked home with 4 beers and them too. Everyone
was having sooooooo much fun!!!!

I wonder if anyone took a photo of that poor naked woman who
was being body-painted for like hours….”    – Rita Andreeva

Photo by Carl Nelson

 

Murders in Progress by Eldon Cene

July 3, 2013

Dear Readers!

2010-5-16 Lizzie-1-3

NOTICE:  Murders in Progress by Eldon Cene is continuing in Part Two as The Cognitive Web, and has been transferred to authonomy, a serial fiction website.  To find the next episode, go to:   http://authonomy.com/books/53824/the-cognitive-web/read-book/#chapter

See you there!

Best regards, ur Editor

Photo by Carl Nelson

Murders in Progress by Eldon Cene

May 8, 2013
Chipmunk on Windowsill

Chipmunk on Windowsill

Ralph Bunch Paints 6×10 Foot Chipmunk Portrait

(Episode 46)

  Ralph Bunch has never killed anyone.  And he probably never will.  And it’s doubtful anyone would ever want to kill Ralph.  So what’s his play?  Why shine our spot on him?

Well, life is fleeting (especially around Kimmel County of late) and art is forever.  So while life in Kimmel County wound on, Ralph Bunch kept painting his paintings, writing his poems and drinking his alcohol – all in a small hillside studio where he lived, just outside of town, looking down on the twinkling lights of Kimmel.  Ralph was fairly satisfied.

Ralph wouldn’t say things were going especially well.  But things rarely go especially well for painters and poets, and Ralph was “totally prepared for that” – bragging to his wife, who was pregnant with child, as much – just before she left him.

But that was water under the bridge.  The years passed.  And his paintings sold enough now to just about keep him fed.  (He was on the fighting side of 120 pounds.)

At his monthly art showing/poetry readings held in the bar in the back of the Campaign Café, his paintings often sold from three to four hundred a pop.  Then, he usually took in around sixty dollars in tips.  He wasn’t entirely without an entertainer’s wiles, and often pitched one of the exhibited paintings, by reading a poem in a voice somewhat reminiscent of John Gielgud.

The paintings and poems often were of someone – or something dear to someone – living there in the valley.   Which meant their wives and friends and relations would attend the fete.  And then the person’s mother or father or closest would purchase the painting.  On other occasions Ralph unveiled a commissioned piece.

The criticism of those who did not like the painting, often fell on the ‘painted while drunk’ side, with the comments those who did like the painting falling otherwise, and all of them drinking and getting a little more vocal as the evening progressed.  And this was how cultural life was conducted in Kimmel.

This cultural get-together was considered one of Kimmel’s more serious and proper occasions, often covered in the County Journal.  And it ranked just slightly below the Church Social as a place where a person could bring a ‘serious’ romantic interest.  Currently, Sheriff Leland was figuring just how he might invite Agent Hailey to attend with him, without it appearing too much to be what it was or would be, which was a date.

Anyway, recently Ralph was working on a large painting of George Everlee’s prize Guernsey.  He was squinting at the thing, while stepping back, trying his best to recover his original inspiration, and under a little time pressure to do so as the ‘opening’ was only 2 days away, when he caught movement in the blurry background where there, set on the mossy rock of the windowsill, was a chipmunk looking back at Ralph with an intensity Ralph had never felt in the face of any animal before.  Ralph blinked.  Then he blinked again, and kept blinking.

Ralph stepped further backwards, squinting at his work.  Then he found himself going through his cupboards looking for crackers and nuts and knocking things aside and chewing tops off.  Even later, he couldn’t recall quite what had come over him.

To be honest, the rest of the afternoon was a blur, with Ralph finding himself that evening surrounded by empty cracker cartons, paint tubes, broken brushes, snack bags and emptied cans of nuts, while on the easel in place of his nearly finished portrait of George Everlee’s prize Guernsey was a still wet 6 x 10 foot portrait of  the chipmunk – more or less.  It was probably the most intense thing Ralph had ever painted and probably supported the most paint Ralph had ever committed to one painting.  Paint covered Ralphs hands and elbows.  In the mirror, his face, looked as though someone had smeared war paint on him and then rubbed, and rubbed…  Ralph Bunch gazed around, still disoriented, as if recovering from a very vivid dream, under the bare bathroom light bulb and wiped a dribble of sweat from his nose.

The actual chipmunk, meanwhile, had disappeared.

Photo by Carl Nelson

From the Editor’s Perch

February 26, 2013
At a Live Reading, the Playwright is Often a Ball of Worries.

At a Live Reading, the Playwright is Often a Ball of Worries.

The Fun of Live Theater

 

We had a reading of several small plays last night.  A piece was read which a friend and I had collaborated on.  Then a piece of each of ours was read.  The evening went well.   It’s fun to write.  It’s fun to imagine.  But the payoff of sitting in an audience who are clearly enjoying your theater work is hard to acquire any other way that by just putting it up there.  The warmth and the fun of it are something to bathe in quietly for at least several days.  And the memory can well be enjoyed for years.

Usually, it’s just a few select scenes which are so cherished; scenes where the acting and script seemed to speak and live so naturally, that you treasure the memory as if it were a relation, or a wife.   The play, as a whole entity, is usually cumbersomely remembered as part of the whole package of production materials: a concretion of crisis’s, breakdowns, adjustments, grit and slog, insights, fear and loathing, people who fail you, people who save you, etc. – rather like a life, out of which these special scenes surface like a State of Grace.  These are what we work for.

There’s nothing like having it breathing in front of you.  Statistical hits on the website don’t do it.  Comments are fine.  But after falling on your ass in front of people so many times, (which all playwrights do) a live success is something cherished. The whole room is happy.  The actors are happy.  The audience is happy.  You’re happy.  It’s the best sort of party.

Photo by Carl Nelson of model/playwright John Ruoff

From the Editor’s Perch

November 22, 2012

Follow the Money

(Our Adolescent Culture and How Discretionary Spending Determines It)

As I stood at the breakfast counter this morning – in between the lubbity-dub sounds of my inner contentment and love – it occurred to me that the majority of our discretionary spending was done by my cereal slurping son.  My wife and I bring in a good income.  But our expenditures are quite practical.  House payments, car payments, every day repairs, utilities, foodstuffs and medical bills consume most of our income.  That’s my wife and I.  Our son, on the other hand, has little income.  But the income he has is spent almost entirely on ‘new’ products.

My son hasn’t a lot of money to spend (though he does pretty well at leveraging mine).  But what money he does spend is spent almost entirely on new culture: music, movies, snacks, designer drinks,concerts, trending clothes and sports.  And while I spend much of my money buying time in order to produce the plays, writings, stories, poems, and pictures through which I hope to beautify our culture, …what I do isn’t wagging much dog.  My son, on the other hand, devotes almost all his money to purchasing what is new.  And his money seems to be wagging quite a bit of dog! and wallpapering our culture stem to stern.

The years have shown me that culture and politics tend to go wherever there is new money to be made.  So after realizing that my son does the cultural ‘voting’ for our family, I suffered a buffeting series of revelations.

You want to change the world?  Don’t go to school, study hard, work, and learn the difficult lessons of the life and all that – because all that stuff is in the public domain.  You want to change the culture?  You’ll be much more effective if you simply go buy something from WalMart.  It’s that ‘Golden Rule’:  ‘Those that have the gold, make the rules.’  My son’s viewpoint is winning, hands down.

Finally, I’ve connected the dots and realized that the reason our culture strikes me as terribly adolescent is because it is mostly financed by adolescents; the businesspeople who make their livings by catering to adolescents; and the cultural media who pander to the adolescents ideas of the ‘new’.  As opposed to the Ten Commandments, which God knows, are in the public domain and we’ve all heard a thousand times.  (Don’t even bring them up!  you want to sell anything.)

Anyway, perhaps if I were a genius, these words might charm our culture more to my liking; provoke a change, or even get me arrested.  For the time being however, the most culturally puissant thing I’m probably going to do, is to shop.  I’ll just drive down to a Wal-Mart or one of the Big Box stores and purchase something.  This simple action as a consumer will probably wield far more influence than I will ever have as an artist. Few will follow my art, but most can spot and make change for a fifty real well.

And that’s just the way it is… for now.  🙂

Photo by Carl Nelson

From the Editor’s Perch…

June 23, 2012

 

Does Art Make You a Better Person?

A lot of people, mostly artists I’ve noticed, say it does.   And it’s usually only artists – or people in arts related careers, who are pitching for a fuller revenue stream  – who broach this topic.  You rarely hear of a lawyer, or a garbage collector, or a plumber, or a cop, or a mayor, or any of any number of professions raise this question about themselves.  They seem to take it for granted that being paid for doing something useful is worthwhile, and hopefully, that participating in life in this capacity makes them a better person.  But it may not.  That’s the way it goes.  A person has to get the food on the table. 

However, artists have a lot of trouble even ‘getting food to the table’.  So another reason to justify doing what they are doing seems necessary.  Personally, I would keep looking for a reason, because I haven’t seen the theater turning out superior persons.  Mostly it makes them like gambling addicts who will squander their last few dollars to create a hit.  Their relationships founder; their lawns are not mown;  weeds abound in the flower beds, their homes tilt; the children either aren’t conceived or grow up a little funny, and financially the whole consortium dances right along the edge.  Actors and writers maintain that assuming the personalities of a variety of characters gives them insight into the human condition.  What I see is that it adds quite a little arrogance to their own condition.  We are always writing/acting ourselves.  Who’s kidding who?  It’s as plain as the nose on our faces – which doesn’t change.  Has art made me a better person?  I can’t say it has.  But age, and life, may have formed me a bit.

How About Beer?

But has beer made me a better person?   I can’t say it has, either.  But I enjoy it.  And so I enjoy art.  I enjoy making it.  I enjoy watching and listening and experiencing it.  I enjoy talking about it.  And like most artists, I figure out a method  of paying my way.   Isn’t that enough?  

Photo by Carl Nelson of John Ruoff/Mime

Addendum:  “There are, of course, more important things than art:  life itself, what actually happens to you.  This may sound silly, but I have to say it, given what I’ve heard art-silly people say all my life…  Art shouldn’t be overrated.”  – Clement Greenberg

From the Editor’s Perch

February 4, 2011

Art Walk Seattle

One of the reasons I put so much time and energy into creating this blog – besides the fun – is to find out why I put so much time and energy into this blog?  Last night I believe I got a little closer in my search when I stopped into the Union Gospel Mission Arts From the Streets exhibit, to have a look around.  Art is like gold; it’s where you find it.  And in that, I suppose it’s a little like God’s Grace; His thinking is not like ours.  Humans tend to demand all of the trappings of success and power before they will entertain a thought or suggestion.  Like the poor street musician in Joannie Mitchell’s song who was ignored because “they knew he had never been on their TV, and so they passed his music by”.  Art without the right look or connections, often doesn’t get the audience.  Perhaps this is why artists tend to get so political.  All of these small bits of free beauty continually say to them, that there is an entirely different way of looking at things; wake up!  It’s worth your support.

Anyway, it’s sort of a standard of this blog that as soon as it’s ‘successful’ – we don’t cover it.  The whole point is this idea of found beauty.  Once it’s available and ready for purchase – there’s all sorts of people out there pushing it.  They don’t need my energies. 

Joey Pollitt Had Some Interesting Things To Say

But.  Back to the latest nugget I found at the Union Gospel Mission: Joey Pollitt.  Here’s a photo of him, his work, plus about 3 minutes of conversation.

An Old Window Sash Makes Quite a Good Frame

    (About 3 minutes.)

Photos by Carl Nelson


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