The Tempest: Ariel Mug Ariel Eric Talerico Art and Design

The Tempest: Ariel Mug Ariel Eric Talerico Art and Design

More thoughts on bridge art

Bridge arts- there is a need for curriculae that cross the boundaries between traditional art and digital art. As I have already stated earlier, for a traditional artist, an iPad should be considered as a front end device. But the power and availability of other applications on a desk or laptop computer should not be dismissed either.  Programs like the Adobe Creative Suite, Corel Paint, Poser, and many others offer us the possibility not only of extending traditional art forms, but also

 of creating new forms native to their respective applications. There are new forms of art as yet undiscovered which will grow out of these new tools, forms that  can only exist because of digital tools. We have already seen a profound revolution as a result of desktop publishing. It's rare to find a publishing house that still uses hand set metal type.  Many forms of printmaking, once considered fine art, have been retired to niches, or folk art status. 

In the process, we are losing many of the qualities that made the old forms so beautiful and enduring.  

At the same time,when drawing and painting programs struggle to replicate hand processes, in many ways they are missing the boat. The undiscovered methods that I mentioned earlier are ones which, rather than trying to replicate existing methods, should actually be exploring as well methods that fully exploit the new techniques available in the digital realm.  

When we set digital art free of the per conceived forms of pictures, stories, songs, movies, and start to move into a synthesis that contains all of those into something new, that's where the real excitement is. 

The Thunder, Perfect Mind

This image was inspired by some ideas expressed in the Nag Hammadi Library, including the following.

The Thunder, Perfect Mind

---

Translated by George W. MacRae

I was sent forth from the power,

and I have come to those who reflect upon me,

and I have been found among those who seek after me.

Look upon me, you who reflect upon me,

and you hearers, hear me.

You who are waiting for me, take me to yourselves.

And do not banish me from your sight.

And do not make your voice hate me, nor your hearing.

Do not be ignorant of me anywhere or any time. Be on your guard!

Do not be ignorant of me.

For I am the first and the last.

I am the honored one and the scorned one.

I am the whore and the holy one.

I am the wife and the virgin.

I am and the daughter.

I am the members of my mother.

I am the barren one

and many are her sons.

I am she whose wedding is great,

and I have not taken a husband.

I am the midwife and she who does not bear.

I am the solace of my labor pains.

I am the bride and the bridegroom,

and it is my husband who begot me.

I am the mother of my father

and the sister of my husband

and he is my offspring.

I am the slave of him who prepared me.

I am the ruler of my offspring.

But he is the one who begot me before the time on a birthday.

And he is my offspring in (due) time,

and my power is from him.

I am the staff of his power in his youth,

and he is the rod of my old age.

And whatever he wills happens to me.

I am the silence that is incomprehensible

and the idea whose remembrance is frequent.

I am the voice whose sound is manifold

and the word whose appearance is multiple.

I am the utterance of my name.

Why, you who hate me, do you love me,

and hate those who love me?

You who deny me, confess me,

and you who confess me, deny me.

You who tell the truth about me, lie about me,

and you who have lied about me, tell the truth about me.

You who know me, be ignorant of me,

and those who have not known me, let them know me.

For I am knowledge and ignorance.

I am shame and boldness.

I am shameless; I am ashamed.

I am strength and I am fear.

I am war and peace.

Give heed to me.

I am the one who is disgraced and the great one.

Give heed to my poverty and my wealth.

Do not be arrogant to me when I am cast out upon the earth,

and you will find me in those that are to come.

And do not look upon me on the dung-heap

nor go and leave me cast out,

and you will find me in the kingdoms.

And do not look upon me when I am cast out among those who

are disgraced and in the least places,

nor laugh at me.

And do not cast me out among those who are slain in violence.

But I, I am compassionate and I am cruel.

Be on your guard!

Do not hate my obedience

and do not love my self-control.

In my weakness, do not forsake me,

and do not be afraid of my power.

For why do you despise my fear

and curse my pride?

But I am she who exists in all fears

and strength in trembling.

I am she who is weak,

and I am well in a pleasant place.

I am senseless and I am wise.

Why have you hated me in your counsels?

For I shall be silent among those who are silent,

and I shall appear and speak,

Why then have you hated me, you Greeks?

Because I am a barbarian among the barbarians?

For I am the wisdom of the Greeks

and the knowledge of the barbarians.

I am the judgement of the Greeks and of the barbarians.

I am the one whose image is great in Egypt

and the one who has no image among the barbarians.

I am the one who has been hated everywhere

and who has been loved everywhere.

I am the one whom they call Life,

and you have called Death.

I am the one whom they call Law,

and you have called Lawlessness.

I am the one whom you have pursued,

and I am the one whom you have seized.

I am the one whom you have scattered,

and you have gathered me together.

I am the one before whom you have been ashamed,

and you have been shameless to me.

I am she who does not keep festival,

and I am she whose festivals are many.

I, I am godless,

and I am the one whose God is great.

I am the one whom you have reflected upon,

and you have scorned me.

I am unlearned,

and they learn from me.

I am the one that you have despised,

and you reflect upon me.

I am the one whom you have hidden from,

and you appear to me.

But whenever you hide yourselves,

I myself will appear.

For whenever you appear,

I myself will hide from you.

Those who have [...] to it [...] senselessly [...].

Take me [... understanding] from grief.

and take me to yourselves from understanding and grief.

And take me to yourselves from places that are ugly and in ruin,

and rob from those which are good even though in ugliness.

Out of shame, take me to yourselves shamelessly;

and out of shamelessness and shame,

upbraid my members in yourselves.

And come forward to me, you who know me

and you who know my members,

and establish the great ones among the small first creatures.

Come forward to childhood,

and do not despise it because it is small and it is little.

And do not turn away greatnesses in some parts from the smallnesses,

for the smallnesses are known from the greatnesses.

Why do you curse me and honor me?

You have wounded and you have had mercy.

Do not separate me from the first ones whom you have known.

And do not cast anyone out nor turn anyone away

[...] turn you away and [... know] him not.

[...].

What is mine [...].

I know the first ones and those after them know me.

But I am the mind of [...] and the rest of [...].

I am the knowledge of my inquiry,

and the finding of those who seek after me,

and the command of those who ask of me,

and the power of the powers in my knowledge

of the angels, who have been sent at my word,

and of gods in their seasons by my counsel,

and of spirits of every man who exists with me,

and of women who dwell within me.

I am the one who is honored, and who is praised,

and who is despised scornfully.

I am peace,

and war has come because of me.

And I am an alien and a citizen.

I am the substance and the one who has no substance.

Those who are without association with me are ignorant of me,

and those who are in my substance are the ones who know me.

Those who are close to me have been ignorant of me,

and those who are far away from me are the ones who have known me.

On the day when I am close to you, you are far away from me,

and on the day when I am far away from you, I am close to you.

[I am ...] within.

[I am ...] of the natures.

I am [...] of the creation of the spirits.

[...] request of the souls.

I am control and the uncontrollable.

I am the union and the dissolution.

I am the abiding and I am the dissolution.

I am the one below,

and they come up to me.

I am the judgment and the acquittal.

I, I am sinless,

and the root of sin derives from me.

I am lust in (outward) appearance,

and interior self-control exists within me.

I am the hearing which is attainable to everyone

and the speech which cannot be grasped.

I am a mute who does not speak,

and great is my multitude of words.

Hear me in gentleness, and learn of me in roughness.

I am she who cries out,

and I am cast forth upon the face of the earth.

I prepare the bread and my mind within.

I am the knowledge of my name.

I am the one who cries out,

and I listen.

I appear and [...] walk in [...] seal of my [...].

I am [...] the defense [...].

I am the one who is called Truth

and iniquity [...].

You honor me [...] and you whisper against me.

You who are vanquished, judge them (who vanquish you)

before they give judgment against you,

because the judge and partiality exist in you.

If you are condemned by this one, who will acquit you?

Or, if you are acquitted by him, who will be able to detain you?

For what is inside of you is what is outside of you,

and the one who fashions you on the outside

is the one who shaped the inside of you.

And what you see outside of you, you see inside of you;

it is visible and it is your garment.

Hear me, you hearers

and learn of my words, you who know me.

I am the hearing that is attainable to everything;

I am the speech that cannot be grasped.

I am the name of the sound

and the sound of the name.

I am the sign of the letter

and the designation of the division.

And I [...].

(3 lines missing)

[...] light [...].

[...] hearers [...] to you

[...] the great power.

And [...] will not move the name.

[...] to the one who created me.

And I will speak his name.

Look then at his words

and all the writings which have been completed.

Give heed then, you hearers

and you also, the angels and those who have been sent,

and you spirits who have arisen from the dead.

For I am the one who alone exists,

and I have no one who will judge me.

For many are the pleasant forms which exist in numerous sins,

and incontinencies,

and disgraceful passions,

and fleeting pleasures,

which (men) embrace until they become sober

and go up to their resting place.

And they will find me there,

and they will live,

and they will not die again.

More thoughts on bridge art

Bridge arts- there is a need for curriculae that cross the boundaries between traditional art and digital art. As I have already stated earlier, for a traditional artist, an iPad should be considered as a front end device. But the power and availability of other applications on a desk or laptop computer should not be dismissed either.  Programs like the Adobe Creative Suite, Corel Paint, Poser, and many others offer us the possibility not only of extending traditional art forms, but also

 of creating new forms native to their respective applications. There are new forms of art as yet undiscovered which will grow out of these new tools, forms that  can only exist because of digital tools. We have already seen a profound revolution as a result of desktop publishing. It's rare to find a publishing house that still uses hand set metal type.  Many forms of printmaking, once considered fine art, have been retired to niches, or folk art status. 

In the process, we are losing many of the qualities that made the old forms so beautiful and enduring.  

At the same time,when drawing and painting programs struggle to replicate hand processes, in many ways they are missing the boat. The undiscovered methods that I mentioned earlier are ones which, rather than trying to replicate existing methods, should actually be exploring as well methods that fully exploit the new techniques available in the digital realm.  

When we set digital art free of the per conceived forms of pictures, stories, songs, movies, and start to move into a synthesis that contains all of those into something new, that's where the real excitement is. 

Artists, if you haven't bought yourself an iPad yet, here are some reasons that you should.

1. You will have a resource for drawing and painting that is more versatile and more portable than any other existing media.

2. There are hundreds of terrific drawing and painting applications which take advantage of the the direct interface.  That means that you can create images the way you always have, using your hands on a surface.

3. When you work on an iPad, you are using the same gestures you would for working on paper or canvas, so sketching and drawing on an iPad helps to hone your skills just as drawing on traditional media does - what you do on your iPad will improve your work on paper!

4. Unlike painting with traditional means, an iPad allows you to carry hundreds of brushes, colors, pens, pencils etcetera, and switch between them with a simple touch.

5. Images made on the iPad with apps such as Autodesk Sketchbook Pro, or Paper can be printed - giving you a way to quickly create cards and posters, and also a method for perfecting a master drawing and then transferring it perfectly to the media of your choice.  Consider this:  if you print your drawings on paper or canvas, you can paint over them just as you would any other master drawing!

6. You no longer have to waste precious resources when you want to sketch or doodle - do it on your iPad, save it on your hard drive.  Its so easy to organize the work that you can easily catalogue everything, and have it accessible via browser, either at home, or online.  No need to carry a massive portfolio with you either - your iPad can give your clients and potential employers the chance to see large selections of your work without muss or fuss.

7. With the integration of text, you can keep extravagantly illustrated journals, and post them online instantly.

8. With the photo and video features on your iPad, you can keep your customers up to date on the state of their commissions.  Work on a painting, and use your iPad to upload progress updates!

9. When you draw on an iPad, the work is done directly on the surface, in real time.  Unlike working with a desktop, or laptop and a Wacom Tablet, there is no divide between the drawing and the viewing surface - so its just like drawing!

10.  Although drawing with your finger can be very rewarding, there are also hundreds of styluses available, with different shapes, feel, and sensitivity, so you can pick the ones that feel the best, or that give you the most comfortable control.

For many more examples of what you can do with and iPad and the Paper app from 53, visit this link:
http://www.tumblr.com/blog/greenmanwest

A Page in Progress

So- the work continues.  These leaves have a long way to go.  The figure on the right is nearly done – the original sketch had the man in a ballcap, but as you can see, that grew in the telling.  The apron is back from the image of the man with the mallet, working on a monster’s dental problems from a few months ago.  Of course, in his hand, he holds the Ubiquitous iPad.  For scale, I left my glasses on the left leaf. 

The hands definitely need work, especially the right one – unless I decide that the story demands he have a broken wrist.  I can improve the contours when I start to block in the background.  You can’t really see it in the image, but the surface of the gouache is very glossy – I’ve been using a lot of gum arabic in my mix lately, and the surfaces are very flat and very shiny, almost like delicate oil glazes.  This is in stark contrast to many of the earlier gouache images in the book, which used much thicker paint, show more dimension in the paint buildup, and dry with a matte finish. 
One of the advantages to using gum arabic so profusely is that the colors are stronger with it, so they can be applied in much thinner layers, which also means allowing for much more precise detail, and the marks dry almost instantly, so its easier to overpaint. 

I'm a maker, and so are you.

My New Motto is Make Something New Every Day.  Hear that Mitt? I'm a maker.

A favorite Substance for Making Things.

I haven't created any jobs yet, except, that is, to create my own.  As an artist, I put myself to work every day.  I generally work between eight and twelve hours daily at this.
My day always includes drawing, painting, writing, and sometimes printing. My rule of thumb is that, no matter what, I will finish at least one project every day.
The drawing and painting is sometimes traditional, sometimes digital, sometimes crosses over between the two.
Todays work, which is not pictured here, although I may add it later, depending on whether I make enough progress, is to complete the illustration on two pages of my illuminated manuscript, a project I've been at for about 2.5 years, and which I hope to have completed by early 2013, in the event that the world doesn't end on December 21, 2012.
Its a very strange, very personal project, which I hope to be able to put in front of an audience in a merchandise form.  Once I do that, I may actually have the need to create a studio, an office, a gallery and to hire some people on to work for me.  I'd like that. I've paid people for services before, so I've actually, as has every human being who's ever made a business transaction.
So I was woolgathering about jobs and job creation.
Here are some of those thoughts on Job Creation.
When I buy something at a store, for the short duration of the business transaction, the person selling to me is, in effect, my employee.  When I visit a doctor for care, when I pay someone to change the oil in my car, when I buy books at nearby Hastings, when I order an espresso machine from Amazon, regardless of how small a contribution I make in the process, my action has given somebody else work.  I may pay them indirectly if they are under hire by someone else.  Mitt Romney says that jobs come from the top - from the big investors, who come in and build massive fortunes, and build cubicles full of computer savvy folk trading futures and stocks and money and baseball scores, and that is it.  But what about my father, when he hires a local contractor to build a wall?  He was a job creator then too.  How about my brother when he buys a new bicycle from the shop near his house in Phoenix?  He created a job for that saleswoman.
And what would all of Mr. Romney's friends do if suddenly, we all decided to stop buying their Etch a Sketches?  Would that not have a serious impact on the many, many jobs in the Chinese Etch a Sketch Factory?
Of the many people that Mr. Romney cites as being freeloaders or moochers, how many of them work at companies, perhaps even ones owned by him, earning a few dollars an hour, and so working 12 hours a day, or working more than one job to make ends meet, who struggle to keep up, but still file their tax returns on time every year without fail, who still donate money to their favorite Presidential Candidate, who continue, though cash poor, to give their business to the local greengrocer as well as to the multinational corporate bank, which continues to assess higher and higher charges for less and less service?  I think its very, very funny that Mr. Romney thinks its important that rich folks should pay only a very, very small percentage of their wage in taxes.  These are people who exploit the tax-driven government subsidies that allow their companies and corporations to hire people for ten dollars an hour.  In most towns in the US today, that is not enough, given our taxes and our forty hour workweek, to pay rent, utilities, food costs, etc.
Commerce requires both a buyer and a seller.
Its no good manufacturing cars, if there are no roads to drive them on.
Consider this: the widespread and largely excellent system of roads that our government built with tax dollars is the reason so many millions of people are employed by the automotive industry. I wonder what would happen if the federal and state Governments suddenly voted to cut all funding for roads.
That would be interesting.  The roads would then deteriorate, except in the areas where wealthy communities could pool their resources to hire a private contractor to maintain their roads for them.
In the long run, how would that effect those giant corporations making cars?  If the roads aren't there to let us drive fast, why own a car?  Perhaps it would create a new and better business climate where horses and other draft animals drive the market.  Ranchers then would be the new tycoons.
It would be a bit quieter, for certain.  It would put a quick stop to Global Warming.
Not having the luxury of fast long distance travel, people would start spending more time at home.  The hometown would get back on the map!  People content to go to a neighboring big city for their entertainment, or their provisions, would have no choice but to shop more locally.
That might be a good thing.
I kind of like the idea of returning our currency to a Gold Standard.
Especially if the government then turned around and reimbursed all citizens with precious metals to replace the rather shabbily designed and printed paper we get now for our work.
Better still, how about going back to bartering, plain and simple?
Allow no money into the process, and only use Gold as a backup.
Most purchases then will be made between people - good for good, service for service.
That might be a good thing.
If I don't earn any money, if I don't need any money for my sustenance, think of how much money the government could save.
What if we outlawed Insurance altogether, or made it so that Insurance can be used only in cases where catastrophic expense is accrued for serious illness, or for surgery.
What if we all had to pay for everything out of pocket?  Would that cause the cost of health care to drop?  I don't know. It might, it might not.
But if a doctor or druggist knows that there is not an insurance company guaranteeing the high charges for service, wouldn't they then need to lower their prices, in order to remain in the market?
What's wrong with an economy which doesn't measure the worth of an individual by how much money he or she has earned, but instead by how good they are at the services they perform? And what would it be like if, when we have paid off the costs of our homes, we no longer had to pay property taxes on them?  There would, of course, be more incentive to buy a home then, wouldn't there?  And what if we eliminated the possibility of a company or government agency from exercising eminent domain on any property so that, when you pay for something its really, completely, untouchably yours?  What if we simplified our property laws to the point where we no longer had to pay lawyers and legislators to mitigate for us?
How many elderly people have been forced out of homes they paid off forty years ago, because they could no longer afford the property taxes?
When the cost of property taxes costs a person more than the cost of renting an apartment on a monthly basis would it should tell us that there is something wrong.

RIP Cochise County Sheriff Larry Dever; College Transcripts

RIP Cochise County Sheriff Larry Dever

Last night, Cochise County Sheriff Larry Dever passed away after an automobile accident. He will be missed.  For more details, check out this link: http://www.foxnews.com/us/2012/09/19/arizona-sheriff-larry-dever-60-dies-in-one-car-wreck/

College Records
and Other Thoughts
on the Upcoming
Presidential Debates

Just for the record, here's what I think about college transcripts and their import to a presidential election. 

For both of our Presidential Candidates, college was a long time ago. We are talking 30 years or more. 

The question should never be what their grades were, but did they graduate? 

Now that's an important question.
Yes, Mr. Romney and Mr. Obama graduated from their respective college programs.
Both candidates also went on to Harvard University, and, both of them excelled in their respective programs. Mr. Obama graduated Magna Cum Laude from Harvard, and Mr. Romney Summa Cum Laude. That means they were both excellent students, thirty or more years ago. If you are thirty years old, tell me what you can remember from when you were one year old.  When you do this you will get an idea of how remote the college histories of these men are to them. 

Regardless of their undergraduate records, both proved to be excellent students at the graduate level. Both also immediately went on to work in their fields, and both did well. 

Anyone in the HR field knows that as we get older, college experience is eclipsed by real life experience. The latter may be enhanced by the former, but it is not dependent on it. 

In your resume, you lead with the most recent experience. 

I hope neither one will waste any time on this issue, or any of the many other silly tit for tat mudslinging that we are all delighting in (admit it - come on. Its stupid, but its kind of fun.) during the upcoming Presidential Debates. 

Here are other things we've already asked and answered that shouldn't be mentioned in the Presidential Debates: 

Where they get their shirts. 

Whether they smoked pot, and if so, whether they inhaled.

Whether they were missionaries, or just prefer the missionary position.

Whether some of their Mentors were lefties, or fringe right. 

Whether they go to church, and which one?

Whether their college friends remember them. 

Whether their wives are pretty.

Here are some questions that should be explored in the Presidential Debates:

The US budget, the deficit, how to improve our records on both.

Foreign Policy.

Practical job experience. (not disparaging comments about what they might have done - rather real, verifiable examples of their expertise, as it applies to politics.)

Which one will spend more money on the arts? (okay - that one's just for me - better, perhaps, for a private fundraiser)

Points they agree on. I think this last one is the most important one. It would be beneficial for all concerned if both candidates were clear at the outset about what they agree on, without playing partisan politics. If neither one can find any common ground with the other, then neither is a viable candidate, and we should just elect Ron Paul by default.

 I've always thought that the adversarial aspects of Debates are counter productive. If, instead of working so hard to put each other down and "win" the debate, presenting a fixed position, these candidates were actually to put their heads together and talk frankly and clearly about the issues, using the apparent contrasts to clarify positions, not only for the audience, but for themselves, the only rules being simple civility and etiquette, that would do a much better job of teaching us who to vote for, and both candidates would come away richer for the experience.

We can all remember at least one Debate from high school where the winner was declared, not because of his or her command of the topic, but because they made a particularly funny remark about the color of their opponent's tie.

A presidential debate should be devised in a way that allows us to both compare and contrast the candidates platforms. Just contrasting is not enough.

Better still: how about a pre-debate "therapeutic discussion" where each candidate is required to outline the things that they admire the most about their opponents. Not merely flattering stuff - but real, substantive issues of character, policy, background, etc. 

Just because I'd prefer Mr. Obama to remain in office, that doesn't mean there aren't things I like, or agree with in Mr. Romney's platform. Nor does it mean that I like or agree with everything Mr. Obama does or says. 

Fun as it can be to throw stones, both men have traveled a long way to get where they are in this contest, and I have a lot of respect for that. 

So, as we reach the home stretch in this election, I'd like to congratulate both contenders.
Here are some quick thoughts about the debates:
Everyone makes mistakes in public speaking. George W. Bush is a case in point. He was a crappy speaker, also a crappy debater. 
Romney doesn't fare well when he's off script either. 
He does even worse when he doesn't realize that the camera is on, and stays on script for his wealthy contributors. The Mother Jones videos are fine examples of that. Nearly an hour of meandering and pandering, glad handing and showing everyone what elitism is really all about. 
Unfortunately, I suspect that a fair portion of at least the first debate will be Mr. Romney trying to explain himself. Unlike most of Mr. Obama's gaffes, this entire speech was a gaffe - he didn't stutter, and he states his points very clearly. This was not misspeaking. So: is he lying when he talks to us - the unwashed, untaxed, mooching masses, or is he lying when he tells his rich supporters that we, the un washed, untaxed, mooching masses are of no interest to him? 
I'm still wondering who he thinks of as the untaxed 47%. Anyone in the US (with the possible exception of New Hampshire - Perhaps one other state that has no sales tax) is taxed every time we by something, pay for a service, pay a fine, pay a road toll, renew a driver's license, buy a lottery ticket, pay rent, make a payment on a mortgage, and so on, and so forth. Income tax is just a small portion of how taxes are assessed from us. Of course, we can't include Social Security or Medicare in that, those aren't taxes, that is a benefits program that we pay into, one which guarantees us an income, however small, after retirement, and and a medical cost subsidy to take a bit of the sting out of late life medical fees. Bernie Madoff made off with retirement packages that people paid into - Romney and Ryan's plan to privatize is not far from that. 
Oh and "kicking the ball down the field" with respect to the Palestinian issue. That might take some explaining. Or the notion that Iran must be stopped in their pursuit of Nuclear power because they might send out "Fissile Material" to a terrorist group who might then plant it in a dirty bomb somewhere in Chicago and use it to blackmail our government. (It would be far easier for the terrorists to steal the material waste from a hospital. Why go to all the trouble of building a reactor? Not fissile, by the way, fissile material is only necessary for a nuclear explosion. Any kind of radioactive waste will do for a dirty bomb.) 
I'll think of some other fun stuff later. 
But no, I don't expect Obama to do poorly during the debates. In fact, although he has been derided by the Right for making so many unscripted appearances on talk shows, he has actually used that platform to improve his ability as an extemporaneous speaker. Look up clips of Obama from Letterman, Leno and Fallon, and you will see what I mean. He's unscripted there, and he handles himself quite nicely, thank you. 
Romney said he expects Obama to lie during the debate. Well heck, I expect him to lie too - its in the nature of debating.We learned during our high school days that alls fair in love and debate - and football. I remember studying both sides of the issue very closely, just in case I had to play the Devil's advocate. So of course I expect Romney to lie with equal vigor. 
I also know that both of these contenders are even now practicing their positions and variations. By debate time they will be so fluent, in fact, that they will appear glib, possibly even arrogant in their presentation of their positions. 
If Bush suffered from anything in such situations, the worst of it was probably in his lack of preparation. He thought God was telling him what to do, so of course he went by his "gut" in public speaking and debate venues. That hurt him - a lot. Didn't stop him from winning the presidency though, did it? 
And unfortunately, because of the nature of debates, we won't really learn anything new about either of these men, unless one of them just suddenly loses it and starts spouting snatches of Jabberwocky, or urinates on one of the podia, perhaps in an attempt to channel Jim Morrison. 
Both men will make one mistake - in that they will speak primarily to their constituents. I think that neither side fully understands just how powerful a move it would be to open up and start offering positions and options that might actually appeal to everyone, focusing not on what their party wants, but what Americans really want - you know, all the good things we can agree with, like peace on earth, fair prices for everything, an ethical business climate so we don't need to have Government Regulation,
Making sense of whats going on in the rest of the world and getting a real perspective on what it means to us and our country, and what our role there really ought to be.
Here is one thing that I know we will see in the debates:  Mitt Romney will talk about his success in the business world, and Obama will be critical of the kind of business practices were responsible for his successes, including outsourcing (and to use Mr. Romney's own terminology, offshoring jobs, liquidating businesses for quick profit, rather than investing in the long haul.  Obama could, and possibly will, and correctly so, compair Mr. Romney's business ethic to that of Gordon Gecko in "Wall Street".
Then Mr. Obama will talk about his own accomplishments, not in the business world, but in the White House.  And of course, Mr. Romney will vilify him for anything that is in opposition to the GOP's agenda, and try to deflect attention from the things that he knows Obama has gotten right - for both sides of the government.
Here's what bugs me about debate: both will be correct in doing it.  But as far as being decent human beings, they should both be ashamed to have to do it.
I hope to live to see some candidates get together, not to put each other down, but to find the middle ground, and start rebuilding our nation from there.  Thats where we need to be right now, and we are nowhere close to that ideal.
And as long as elections are driven by emotion, religion, partisan politics, alienation, voter discouragement, misinformation and personality cults, we will continue to do nothing more than tread water.

SlowTime

  I never really think of myself as depressed, you see. It's more like being in  hibernation.  I don't dwell on negative topics.  I don't get sad, or dwell on dark thoughts. I just kind of lose steam. I'll still work on whatever I have in process, but  end not to start anything new.  I remain curious.  I read, listen to music, play games.  I go online and talk to friends and relatives, play my guitar.  But I don't do these things with the same attention or gusto,  it's more like treading water until my mojo comes back. 

The problem isn't an internal one.  The problem is how I am perceived. People  are so used to  other people who are upbeat and energetic.  They have also been taught about depression, an illness that effects a lot of people.  I am not one of them.  I don't suffer from depression, I really don't suffer at all, I just kind of slow down.  I also grow thoughtful and introspective.  I don't know why, but a lot of people seem to view such thoughtfulness as somehow dangerous.  Deep thinking isn't understood or acceptable.  

That in a nutshell is the problem i've always had. I like to think. It makes me feel whole.  When I get contemplative in the winter, I am content, whole, happy.  I only want people to accept that.  

Title 1

It was about four in morning on New Year's day. He was packing the change up,after facing and bundling the days bills, and was about to start packing up for the Long trip home.

There was a young man standing in the shadows,leaning on a tiled column. The young man cleared his throat, then walked over to stand close.  Willy had his guard up. This late, that close, it couldn't be good.  His left hand was already deep in the pocket where he,d just stashed the money, and we as already clutching the small bottle he kept there.

When the young man pulled out a small pocket knife, Willy struck, jock as a snake. The bottle came out, Willy pumped three times full in the would be assailant's eyes, and then said quickly "you'd better move fast, asshole! Your eyes will be stinging right now,but that is nothing compared to what is to come.  You can finish trying to rob me. If you do, I'll lay you out flat. Or you can go now.  I figure you've got a few minutes to get to the emergency room."

The young man was rubbing his burning eyes, still holding his knife, but he was clearly unnerved by Willy's comment.

"what the fuck are you talking about old man?"

Willy looked him full in his smarting eyes and said "That's eight molar nitric acid I sprayed into your eyes. If you don't go to the emergency room now, you will be totally, irrevocably blind within the hour."

Now the disdain on the hood's face changed to terror, as the threat sank in. 

"Time's a wasting!" said Willy, in a friendly tone.  

The young man dropped the knife, tried furiously to wipe his eyes with the back of his sleeve, which just made burn all the worse, then took off into the tunnel, the Mass general hospital was just a few blocks away. 

Willy picked up the weapon that had been abandoned and hollered "Hey, thanks! My Nephew will love this knife!

He laughed heartily as he finished packing his gear,then hustled to hop on the train that had just pulled in.  

Just before the door closed, Willy tossed out the spray bottle, and the weak mixture of lemon juice and vinegar that remained inside. 

Later that day, when Beatrice came home from work, Willy asked her if she'd gotten the present he'd sent her.  She laughed unrestrainedly, saying "that poor boy was crying like a baby when he came in."

"Did you tell him what it really was in that bottle?" he asked.

She just grinned and said "Why ruin a good thing? You may need that again some time."

And Willy said "He's lucky I didn't use the hammer instead!"

   

Making the World Safe for Streetsinger's

It was about four in morning on New Year's day. He was packing the change up,after facing and bundling the day's bills, and was about to start packing up for the long trip home. There was a young man standing in the shadows,leaning on a tiled column. The young man cleared his throat, then walked over to stand close. Willy had his guard up. This late, that close, it couldn't be good. His left hand was already deep in the pocket where he,d just stashed the money, and was already clutching the small bottle he kept there. When the young man pulled out a small pocket knife, Willy struck, quick as a snake. The bottle came out. Willy pumped three times full in the would be assailant's eyes, and then said quickly "you'd better move fast, asshole! Your eyes will be stinging right now,but that is nothing compared to what is to come. You can finish trying to rob me. If you do, I'll lay you out flat. Or you can go now. I figure you've got a few minutes to get to the emergency room." The young man was rubbing his burning eyes, still holding his knife, but he was clearly unnerved by Willy's comment. "what the fuck are you talking about old man?" Willy looked him full in his smarting eyes and said "That's eight molar nitric acid I sprayed into your eyes. If you don't go to the emergency room now, you will be totally, irrevocably blind within the hour." Now the disdain on the hood's face changed to terror, as the threat sank in. "Time's a wasting!" said Willy, in a friendly tone. The young man dropped the knife, tried furiously to wipe his eyes with the back of his sleeve, which just made burn all the worse, then took off into the tunnel, the Mass general hospital was just a few blocks away. Willy picked up the weapon that had been abandoned and hollered "Hey, thanks! My Nephew will love this knife! He laughed heartily as he finished packing his gear,then hustled to hop on the train that had just pulled in. Just before the door closed, Willy tossed out the spray bottle, and the weak mixture of lemon juice and vinegar that remained inside. Later that day, when Beatrice came home from work, Willy asked her if she'd gotten the present he'd sent her. She laughed unrestrainedly, saying "that poor boy was crying like a baby when he came in." "Did you tell him what it really was in that bottle?" he asked. She just grinned and said "Why ruin a good thing? You may need that again some time." And Willy said "He's lucky I didn't use the hammer instead!"

Ralph Mactell

An argyle sweater got off the train at South Station

And demanded “Streets of London”

So I played it again.

When I looked up at the end

Of the song, 

the man was smiling.

And I realized that he had written

The song I’d just sung for him.

So I just smiled back.

Tunnel Poem Number One

Remembering the Tunnel

In the tunnel I heard a voice calling out

Oh was it human

Or was it just a distant train

Wheels screeching on the rail

Full of people on their way someplace

While here I was

Already at the destination

Sitting on an old metal chair

With a flashlight and a hardhat

Eating a candybar

And otherwise watching 

The great and secret

Show

Finally, the voice grew closer

And there you were in your orange 

Vest and a hardhat of your own

Your legs deeply tanned

And under the orange vest

Your bright white cotton blouse

By the light of my headlamp

You looked like a vision

A strange vision I must admit

Even with the black dust

Smudge on your cheek.

For you I pulled up the other chair

I’ll never forget that you brought wine that night

Just to watch the trains with me.

I just wanted to alert you that my friend Eleanore has a new website.  Go take a look here:
http://www.eleanoremarcey.com/
Its quite delicious!

Drawing with Autodesk Sketchpad for iPod

Over the past few weeks I’ve set for myself the task of making a minimum of three paintings a day on my iPod.  Sometimes in the evening, I’ll make as many as 15 – though usually I prefer to keep it down to a handful, before moving into Photoshop on my laptop to do more involved work.
The iPod images have been more of a creative generator than anything else.  I remembered a series of paintings I did several decades ago inspired by the stone figure known as “Venus of Willendorf”.  For the iPod images, I’ve been using Venus. and a Priapic figure (man with erect member) as the guidelines for the images.  Beyond that, they are colorful and playful, not great art perhaps, but interesting
I’ve been working for a long time with automatic images and writing – that is, not having any fixed ideas when I begin an image or a poem – as a way of tapping in to my subconscious, and learning to play with my mind a bit.  The Autodesk Sketchpad app on my iPod is uniquely suited towards automata.
First, it is very easy to use, and furnishes a myriad of excellent brushes, flexible color palettes, and a direct drawing surface.  I bought a cheap combination touch stylus and ball point pen – and with it, drawing on the iPod Touch is just like drawing or painting on paper. 
Today I’m celebrating my 200th iPod/Sketchpad painting since the beginning of 2012.  Hopefully sometime this year I’ll be able to by a larger tablet (both iPads and Kindle Fires have versions of SketchPad – ) so that I can work on slightly more involved images.  For now, I’m enjoying doing the work on my tiny touchscreen, and making images that are the size of postcards.
Its an interesting corollary to the work I’m doing on my MAWMAP project.  There is a lot of flexibility in the digital imaging that I don’t have when I paint with gouache or watercolor. 
Its also been a great boost to my productivity in the manuscript though, because working with digital tools has allowed me to really expand and improve my drawing and painting skills.  I can try things out on my laptop, desktop, or iPod, and then work up the initial studies into fully painted or inked versions in the manuscript. 
Conversely, I’ve been enjoying the face that I can use digital scanning and character recognition to transfer my hand-written entries in the manuscript into Word or Pages documents with moveable type, so that after the initial automatic writing is finished, I can digitize and begin to edit the raw material into finished poems, stories, essays, or meditations, and then rewrite the finished work into the manuscript.  I’m thinking that the next volume will be a lot of images that were worked up in the digital format transferred into hand techniques. 

Ubik - the antidote to death.

Everything you need comes from a spray can.

In Philip K. Dick's Ubik, one of my favorite Sci-fi novels, everything you need to survive death is in a small aerosol can.  If you have a decent supply of Ubik, when you start feeling run down, or when the world itself starts to run down, you can simply spray some Ubik, and everything is restored - for a time.
In some ways, Ubik seems to be a metaphor for thought.  When our picture of the world becomes faded, if we apply thought to it, if we come at if from a different angle, it becomes refreshed - for a time.
The effect wears off, and so the process has to be repeated.  For some reason, every year after the holidays I feel the need to re-read Ubik.  I just spent a few hours today with my old pal Runciter, and renewed my friendship with the magical spray can.   Why is it that even though I've read the book nearly every year for several decades, it always seems fresh and new to me?  There are always elements of the plot that I've forgotten, bits of character that I don't remember being there before, new dimensions to the puzzle to chew on.  The book hasn't changed.  The book, written during the 1960's is stable.  I recognize the words.  Its the ideas that seem to change from year to year.  Ubik is new each time I read it.

An Interview with a Member of the Order of the Santas Claus.

As you can see, he does, and he doesn't look like Santa Claus.

First Impressions

I had the opportunity the other day to sit down and chat with a man who was quick to correct me in my thinking that he was Santa Claus. 
“I am not Santa Claus.  There is no one person who can claim that name.  I am in fact merely a member of a vast and world wide organization called The Order of the Santa’s Claus.  Since we all look relatively the same, as do members of any distinctive service organization, people erroneously think that there is only one of us, despite the clear evidence that this cannot be.  So please, if we accomplish nothing else during this interview, lets clear that up right from the start, shall we?” 
I was surprised at how serious this man seemed.  No trace of the jolly, ho, ho, ho that I’d expected.  Some things resembled the myth I was brought up on, but others were jarringly different. 
This member was dressed in fur trimmed red woolens.  Not a hint of felt anywhere.  The cap, so famous in literature and advertising, was not of felt, but instead was intricately crocheted of a deep red, almost burgundy  tweed.  It was quite impressive.  He said that the fur was real, rabbit fur, he said, but quickly assured me that the bunnies used were not killed for their skins and fur – there were raised, he said, and sheared like sheep, and lived on a delightful free range where they led happy and well fed lives. His beard was long, and impeccably groomed, and his moustache was waxed at the tips and curved up his cheeks.  Despite the fact that his hair was a stark white, he looked to be in his middle-to-late forties, not an old man by any account.  He smelled faintly of pipe tobacco, and on the shelf behind his stately cherry wood desk was a collection of intricately carved Meershaums.  I was once a pipe smoker myself, and the odor brought back pleasant memories of tampers and pouches of Captain Black Gold, and smoke rings hovering in the smoking lounge.
On the lapels of his jacket were eight brass bells, which, he explained, were actually significant of his rank.  Within the organization, he said, eight brass bells made him an officer, but not a highly ranking one.  “Equivalent, perhaps, to an Ensign in your Navy” he said, “Though not graduate of any college.  In the Order, it is only experience and merit that permits advancement.”
When I asked how long it took to achieve his rank, he vehemently shook his head and said “That is for other members only to know!”
I opened my case and took out my camera.  He’d promised me that I could take a picture.  When he saw the camera, he cringed, and shaking his head told me that members of his Order were not permitted to be photographed when, as today, they were in uniform.
“If you meet me in my street clothes, you can photograph me to your heart’s content,” he said.  “But not in uniform. That rule is clear:  When in uniform, we must only be depicted by hand methods, such as drawing or painting.” 
Rather than put him off by asking him to break the rules, I went out to my vehicle and brought in paper and gouache paint.  Making the picture was not difficult, and the time it took allowed us to have a long and deeply informative conversation. 
He couldn’t tell me his real name, nor whether the office he met me in was owned by him or a rental.  He cautioned me that if I tried to find out, I’d be wasting my time “We are very good,” he said, “At remaining hidden when we wish to.”

The Interview, Part One

E.T:  How did you become a member of the Order of Santa’s Claus?
S:  I was working on a farm in the northern part of the state. It was a harsh winter, not unlike this year in fact.  I slept in the Pole Barn on the farm, and had to wake up several times during the night in order to feed the fires to keep warm. 
One night, I was having difficulty sleeping.  I got out of bed, stoked the wood in the stove, took a pee, and then went over to look out the window.  It was snowing like heck out there, and the city lights reflecting off the low clouds made it eerily bright outside.  In that light I saw a sleigh with a reindeer yoked to it.  And I heard a voice in my head, saying that it was time to take the reins of the sleigh.  Convinced I was dreaming, I went back to sleep.  In the morning, I found deer prints, and could distinctly see an impression in the snow where the sleigh had been.  That morning, Herman, my boss, told me that I was fired and that I’d have to find someplace else to live.  I got in my jeep and drove to town, not knowing what to do next.  I stopped at the grocery store, and bought a lottery ticket along with my groceries.  Lets just say I won a modest sum, and that is how it all started.
.E.T: A modest sum? Might I ask how much a modest sum is?
S: No, I really shouldn’t tell you the amount.  Moving on, I can say that it was enough to live quite comfortably on for a very long time, if I was careful.  Well, when I collected my earnings, I moved out of that Pole Barn and moved into a house not far from there, which seemed to call to me.  It was in a part of the state where, between the angle of the sun, and the high ridge of rocks around it, the place is always cold.  In fact, there is nearly always snow on the ground. 
Since I’d been living in the Pole Barn at the farm, and since I’d been dreaming of sleighs and reindeer, I decided to call my cold property the North Pole.  After that, things started happening quite fast, you know.
E.T: Things?
S: Yes.  I had more dreams about the reindeer.  Later on I realized that the deer wasn’t a real reindeer, it was a manifestation of something very, very different, but I’ll get to that later. When we move in other circles, sometimes its hard to understand what we see, and our eyes show us something we understand so that we don’t go mad.  That is what that reindeer was – a substitute for a concept that I wasn’t ready to grasp yet. 
S: Then is the Sleigh a concept too?
Not in the same way.  There is a physical manifestation which one could definitely call a sleigh – lets just say that the reindeer represents a higher concept/power/entity, but the sleigh is a real sleigh with certain unusual properties.
E.T: Such as?
S: Well this much I can tell you:  it can take me anywhere, if the job requires it, but it never leaves my workshop.
E.T: I have to ask – and I’m possibly getting ahead of myself.  Are there elves in your workshop?
S: No, I’m a more modern officer of the order.  Some of the traditionals and other older members hold on to the whole elf thing, but I’ve found other ways of doing my work.  I do have a network of people in mundane jobs that help me determine who’s naughty and nice, but I wouldn’t call them elves really, except perhaps in the way that some people consider EMT’s to be angels.  Lets just say that my network is very very helpful.
E.T: Do you make toys and such in your workshop?
S: I’m not a toy monger.  The toy mongers aren’t officers.  I’d call them more lay-brothers, if you’ll, excuse the catholic vernacular.  My job involves much more convoluted and devious gifting, which is well beyond the scope of this interview.  Nice people need not fear my gifts. Nice people are always better off after receiving my gifts. Naughty folks get gifts from me too, but they never like what I bring them. 
E.T:  Are you married?
Yes. All members of the Order are required to marry before the end of their first training year.  He name isn’t Mrs. Claus, that’s something else the myths got wrong.  We married as normal US citizens, under our own names.  She does get to wear a badge for being married to a Seneschal, but everyone thinks its just a pretty locket.
E.T:  How were you invited into the Order?
After I won the lottery and bought the North Pole, I started using my money to do nice things for people I knew.  When I ran out of people I knew, I started doing nice things for other people too. The invitation came after I donated a bunch of computers to an impoverished school up in Portsmouth.  A few days later, a man knocked at my door.  He was bearded, and wore a very elegant burgundy tweed suit, which isn’t identical to this one – but is similar enough to meet the uniform code. 
He told me some small secrets about the order, and asked if I’d experienced any changes in my life recently.  I explained to him about the loss of pigment in my skin and hair, of my attachment to my new home at the north pole.  I told him about my dream of the reindeer, and the voice I heard telling me to take the reins of the sleigh.  He already knew about the lottery winnings, and asked what I intended to do with them. 
After hearing my own plans, he said that if I became affiliated with his group, I would learn how to make those plans happen, much more efficiently and quickly.  He said that my newfound wealth was not an accident and that he knew because of what I’d been doing with it.  And he explained a few things to show me how to increase the wealth, and to make it work for me so that I could continue to give nice gifts to deserving people – forever if I so desired. 
Six months later, I’d earned my first bells.  Oh – I’d better be careful.  If I say anything else about time in the organization, I’ll be in breach of the Uniform Code of Giftgiving Conduct.

E.T:  You say that you are a regional Seneschal. Can you tell me what region you are assigned to?
S: My physical ailment requires that I remain within five hundred miles of the North Pole.  If I travel beyond that, I will lose my enhancements, and cease to be a gifter. So, although I can’t be more specific, you know that I can’t be further than five hundred miles from here.  There are two others in this district too.  I don’t have to do it alone, you see.

E.T:  You said that there are strict guidelines for uniforms, but you have a certain leeway?
S: Well, yes.  I choose my own clothing.  The color is important and I can’t stray from that.  There is a certain look we are going for, but we can vary the theme, within reason.
E.T:    In the Navy, some of the other sailors wore uniforms they bought in the orient – especially dress uniforms of silk, or sharkskin, which looked identical to the official dress uniform, but were much more comfortable.  You mean something like that?
S: Yes, that’s right!

To Be Continued

There is a lot more to our conversations, but I haven’t transcribed them all yet.  I will add the rest as I finish it up.  I am shocked that the organization he described has remained so well hidden over the years. 
He told me that the Order tolerates the whimsical, vapid version of themselves because it adds a veil to their concealment. 
He explained that there are those who, if they knew the full extent of the Order, would seek to end it.
He told me that he could only travel up to 500 miles from his North Pole, but later on in an unguarded moment, he showed me a picture of himself and his wife on a boat, somewhere in the Caribbean, so I know that he isn’t being entirely truthful with me. 
I wonder whether his deceptions are just to conceal specifics about the Order. 
During the next session:  I have to remember to ask him why he has granted me this interview, if the Order is so worried about concealment.  Maybe he assumes that nobody reads these blogs.  In that, mostly, he’d be right.  I’m not exactly the New York Times.
‘(before I left, he let me choose a Pipe to take home with me.  I selected one carved to look like a gargoyle. It will look nice on my computer desk, next to my Star Wars figurines.)

Twenty minute writing exercise: 
A Day on a Page

The song is an onslaught of sound directed at a point so far from here that I have never judged the distance right.  My mouth is infected with the lyric and my voice opens up like a flower to deliver the message. Deep in my chest the fire burns and threatens to engulf me but my breathing cools it and the heat keeps the cords supple and sound rises up and out and fulfills the breathtaking moment. 

And the taxis drive by and the buses and next door Blue’s puppet is speaking and from somewhere around the corner the sweet aroma of a well rolled joint can be smelled.  

I open my eyes and smile at a wonderful face a golden blonde and I know and its true I have seen her in movies.  But the baby in the stroller and her relaxed smile tell me that she is taking time off.  

Down the street the buses empty out and the Japanese crew of the day will by here soon snapping pictures and smiling and crying out delightedly, having never been to a circus quite like Brattle Square.  

In the twilight I can hear distant drums.  

I smile to see Frank setting up his tightrope.  

Fish the Magician is doing close magic tricks in the doorway of the art gallery.  

Teenage lovers are everywhere, and a few sit down on the brickwork in front of me.  

The actress with the stroller is still smiling and tapping her feet in unison with my thumb picking out a bass line.  

There is a call, and the sound of wheels. 

Directly behind the heads of the lovers a boy on a skateboard hurtles by, barely missing, barely missing them.  

They turn around, the girls in awe, the boys in defensive postures.  Before anyone knows what’s happened the skateboarder has disappeared down the street.  

Wordsworth is closing its doors and the outer lights are coming up.  The sky is deep navy, with a thin, fierce layer of startling orange at the horizon.  

I can smell coffee from Warburtons, Pizza from Bertuccis, perfume as the actress steps forward 

to pick up a CD from my guitar case.  

She looks for a few moments, then puts it back down.  

Now she sits on the brickwork among the teens, and she pushes the stroller back and forth with the baby laughing in it.  Now the neon from the hardware store is on too, and my guitar is tightening up, taking on that more intense and clear stridence it gets when the sun and the temperature fall.  Laughter from over there, where Blue is.  

At the periphery of my hearing Frank bellows “Valerio” and I sing that song, introducing him as it were and simultaneously dismissing the group that was seated.  Now the actress comes over again as I’m putting down my guitar and turning equipment off.  She picks up not one, but two CD’s and asks me to sign them for her.  When I do I ask if she’ll autograph a page in my journal.  And she does and for a moment I share my memory of “Great Moments in Babysitting” and she laughs, surprised that I’ve seen it.  

Then she disappears into the night and I sit on my little plastic stool while Frank builds his crowd, and the last of the teens drifts over to put a few bucks in my basket.  “Was that...” and he says the actresses name, and I say “No, but it really looked like her” to put him off the scent. 

But he’s a smart one and asks “so why did you ask for her autograph?”  I have to laugh a bit at that.  Then I just shake my head and say “they prefer to stay anonymous here.”  

Much later I argue with the teen about why I have to shut down.  “Its only midnight” he says, and I reply “but I’m only legal until 11, and I have to catch a train.” And in the dark, I push my hand truck full of speakers and batteries and footpedals and microphones and the bundle of dollars the tin full of quarters, the single CD I have left, the manuscript I worked on earlier in the day, and satisfied, exhausted, I leave the pee puddled elevator and dash down the platform to catch my train back to Davis and Mikes restaurant, then home.  

Over Coffee

Chapter 10

Over Coffee

Today I went to Billy’s studio.  He said there was something he wanted to discuss with me over coffee.  

If you know Billy then you know that this was meant literally.  

Billy didn’t mean he wanted to drink coffee with me and talk something over.  

What he meant was that he wanted me to climb up on the little wooden bridge he has set up in his studio.  Under the bridge, he has ten fifty pound bags of unroasted coffee beans.  When he says he wants to discuss something over coffee, he really means it. 

Over coffee he asked me how I was. 

Over coffee, I told him I was fine.

Over coffee, he asked me if my daughter was doing okay.

Over coffee, I told him that she was fine.  I also mentioned over coffee that she was becoming a very fine printmaker.

Over coffee, He said he was having problems with an image.  Would I look it over and tell him what I thought.

Over coffee, I told him sure, as soon as we get down from here.  I don’t want to talk about it over coffee. 

So we got down. 

Not over coffee, I looked at his picture.

Not over coffee, I said, “Well this simply looks like crap.”

Not over coffee, Billy smiled and punched me in the nose.

Not over coffee, I hit him back.

Not over coffee, we had a fine little fistfight.

Not over coffee, when Billy had the fight knocked out of him he said

I really needed that, thank you. 

Then we stood up, shook hands and walked into his kitchen, where he put on a pot of coffee. 

Over coffee really (talking it over while drinking coffee this time) we seriously discussed his picture which was, really, quite good.  Over coffee really I told him I didn’t know what his problem was.  Over coffee really, I said if any other artist had painted this picture, he or she would be proud.  Over coffee really If any other artist had expressed this, they’d be rich and famous right now.

Over coffee really he said, but not me, because I don’t want to be rich and famous.

Over coffee really I told him I’d probably like to be famous even for a little while.

Over coffee really he said be careful what you wish for.