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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 30: The Strange World of the Future

June 14, 2013

Pulp-O-Mizer_Cover_ImageMy gratitude to the folks at http://thrilling-tales.webomator.com/derange-o-lab/pulp-o-mizer/pulp-o-mizer.html  for  an enjoyable experience in creating pulp illustrations.

There is a seemingly never ending list of things I would like to explore, creatively, if I wasn’t concerned about earning a living. Finishing the illustrated stories I started 15-20 years ago; Steampunk, 3-D, special effects…. sigh

I grew up reading Tom Swift Jr. [Tom Swift Jr. and His Space Solartron], Tom Swift [my parent’s generation: Tom Swift and His Electric Locomotive], Tom Corbett, Space Cadet and Doc Savage [sort of a combination of Tarzan, Indiana Jones and Major Samantha Carter]. I used to have a large collection of all of the above; my guess is that they bought groceries in leaner times. Had I waited, or been better informed, they would have bought a lot more groceries… But I still have a few copies on the shelf. Heroes who used their brains more than muscles, and rarely fired lethal weapons. I still remember my favorite ‘toy soldiers’–curiously a mechanic and a ditch digger, one orange, one blue… I also grew up reading Robert Heinlein, Ray Bradbury and several others from ‘the Golden Age of Science Fiction’

When I thought about it, I wanted to create images like the above… The stick figure drawings that covered endless sheets of paper were drawings like the above, in my mind… and yet I haven’t really drawn many sci-images over the years. Not sure why. Too caught up with earning a living, I suppose, too caught up with the dramas in this time period to live in the future.

I’m recovering from my third ‘neuropathic episode’ in four years, almost exactly two years apart, which is really weird.  This one wasn’t as dramatic–I didn’t lose as many sensory nerves as I’ve experienced in the past. Probably because there are fewer to lose.  However, I had a day of a potential future I hadn’t seen before–one where changing the DVD was a major effort…drawing was out of the question– and the realization that I’m grateful for what I still have. So I’m re-calibrating myself to another ‘new normal’.

I’ve been drafting steadily for two months now; a very long time in my current life. Not getting paid a lot for it, but after nearly 50 years of drafting, I consider it as getting paid to watch DVDs. I’m on my second repetition of the Stargate chronicles, with a few other shows interspersed. I’ve always been a fan of ‘westerns in space’.

A couple of weeks ago we were in Fort Collins, Colorado, for the graduations of my daughter and my son-in-law: my daughter’s second Bachelor’s, my son-in-law’s first Associate’s. Amidst the celebration was a visit to the Holiday Twin Drive-in in Fort Collins, where we saw this:

startrek

…A digital re-creation; my little camera in the back of the pickup wasn’t of good enough quality to record the images in the dark. Watching Star Trek, under the Big Dipper, with shooting stars, was one of those amazing experiences that one can’t really comprehend. I do have to see the movie again–there were a few too many distractions…

I watched William Shatner’s “The Captains” this evening. A documentary about the 6 Captains in the Star Trek franchise. Classically trained actors, none of them type-cast, each of whom brought their own distinction to the role of “Captain”… and the tremendous cost that the casts paid during the 12-16 hour days of production for much of the years. I lapsed back into my ‘vulcan’ mode–[I immediately idolized Spock when he appeared on TV–the alien trapped among humans–I’ve always had trouble understanding human behavior]–watching thousands of fans at Star Trek conventions. I can’t imagine going to one, or why I would.

I think I may start drawing again this weekend. With a pencil. It’s been months. There’s a face on my drafting table that’s beckoning me, and I think my shoulder and neck muscles may be rested enough to draw again…

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 29: The other days…

May 10, 2013

Medicine BottleI don’t usually like to deal with my depression in public. Some mentors once told me that if the person you are talking to can’t do anything about the problem you’re having, then it’s somewhat pointless to tell them about it. Unless you are wanting to share your misery.
I’m not really wanting to share my misery, but other mentors have explained to me that shared pain can sometimes be helpful.

Of course, another part of the story is that the gentleman above was facing a hanging in the days ahead. True story. Late 1800s, photo by Edward Curtis. He was called Medicine Hat. His crime? His skin was the wrong color and he lived on land that American settlers wanted. The Westward Migration.

While in relative terms, my challenges are far less than those of Medicine Hat, nonetheless, I’m ‘calling in sick’ for a few hours; possibly the rest of my day. One of the challenges of self-employment is that I have no paid sick leave. I don’t necessarily lose my job, but I don’t get paid if I don’t produce. I’m supposed to be working on some house plans. They are weeks overdue. I’m working at an amazingly slow speed; apparently. I seem to be very busy, but don’t seem to be able to produce with any speed.
I’ve been burning my candle at both ends, and have started on the middle, and I’m not as resilient as I was in years past. If I ever really was. I think that perhaps I self-medicated, and pretended I was resilient.
Tonight I feel sick, sort of. One of the problems of idiopathic polyneuropathy is that I never really know what I’m ‘feeling’. I have a broken toe–the bone at the end separated at the joint– that I’m only am aware of the damage a few times a week, and only in the sense that I have a sensation in a toe that normally has no sensation. I ‘should’ have sciatica, but that nerve doesn’t function correctly either. After 30+ years of chronic pain, much of what I dealt with in the past was predictable. I still feel ‘shadows’ of being out of whack; but those things mostly don’t hurt.

What hurts now is ‘nerve-pain’ — pain that isn’t really associated with visible injury. Biopsies have determined that I have damaged nerves; no clue why. We have millions of nerve endings in our bodies. I’ve lost a few million nerve endings. I still have a couple million left. I’m learning to be thankful for what I have left–it’s more profitable than whining about what I’ve lost. I think I can guess what people with ‘phantom limb pain’ experience. My feet have little external sensation, but they ‘burn’, almost constantly. Particularly when they decide they are cold. Burning cold. Like a REALLY bad sunburn. Go figure.

Among other things, my gut changed 4 years ago, this month. I’ll spare you the messy details. Today it’s worse. My doc of 30 years retired about 2 years before the neuropathy started. I’m on my third doc since [not counting ‘specialists’]. A new doc has no history beyond what’s on paper. Since most of my symptoms are subjective, a new doc has nothing to compare with, and no particular reason to accept my assertion that my life was much different 4 years ago.

Four years plus a day or two ago, I begged my Creator to let me come Home. I was at my nephew’s wedding, and after a couple of hours filming with my pocket camera, my hands were shaking too much to shoot anymore, and I ached everywhere. I made a deal with the Creator, a couple of decades back, that I wouldn’t try to speed my progress Home. A few weeks from that wedding night, the neuropathy took over half of my body. Never make demands of the Creator–it’s extremely dangerous. That painful past, that I often complained about internally, was better than my ‘new normal’.

Most people are unaware of my physical challenges; I can fake ‘normal’ for a couple hours at a time. I prefer the ruse. I have some trusted friends that I share some of the challenges with; it lessens the burden. But the reality is that so far, no one has a clue as to how to address the slow decline. Since the people I’m normally around can’t help much, I try not to make a big deal about it.
Tonight I feel like whining. Maybe someone will understand that they aren’t alone.

Maybe the reason for the pain is so we would pray for strength
And maybe the reason for the strength is so that we would not lose hope
And maybe the reason for all hope is so that we could face the world
And the reason for the world is to make us long for Home
Well I know you’re past the point of broken, surrounded by your fear
I know your feet are tired and weary from the road that you walk down here
But just keep your eyes on Heaven and know that you are not alone
Remember the reason for the world
No ear has heard, No eye has seen, not even in your wildest dreams
A beauty that awaits beyond this world. When you look into the eyes of Grace
and hear the voice of mercy say, ‘Child, welcome to the reason for the world’
Matthew West

The hurt that broke your heart, and left you trembling in the dark, feeling lost and alone
Will tell you hope’s a lie
But what if every tear you cry will seed the ground where joy will grow
And nothing is wasted; Nothing is wasted
In the hands of our Redeemer
Nothing is wasted

It’s from the deepest wounds that beauty finds a place to bloom
And you will see before the end that every broken piece
is gathered in the heart of Jesus and what’s lost will be found again
And nothing is wasted; Nothing is wasted
In the hands of our Redeemer Nothing is wasted

From the ruins, from the ashes, beauty will rise
From the wreckage, from the darkness, Glory will shine.
Nothing is wasted
In the hands of our Redeemer Nothing is wasted
Jason Gray

piggy back draft 5
A detail from an illustration for a book I never had the chance to finish.That’s Hiroshima in the background; the little girl is going to die in a few minutes from radiation poisoning. True story. Thousands of parent-less, home-less children wandered the ruins of Hiroshima and Nagasaki after the bombs were dropped, looking for family or friends. Most of them died horribly alone and in pain, hours and days after the destruction. A teacher returned home from an out of town trip, and went to search for her sibling’s children. All of the children she found wandering died in her arms. She survived, and published her diary.

We did that. The good guys, the God-fearing, freedom-loving, rights-preserving US of A. Supposedly we killed hundreds of thousands to prevent the killing of thousands that would result from an invasion of the Home Island of Japan. My gut feeling is that the issue was really the nationality of those thousands who were ‘spared.’
The rest of the world remembers Hiroshima and Nagasaki and views us as either hypocrites or really stupid. We blame it on the past, and other people. But the true horror is that there are still idiots in the world who consider nuclear weapons as viable alternatives. Some of them live very close to Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

The reality is that while we are no better than the rest of the world, we also are not that much worse.

Home would be good.

Time for another hero movie.

 

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 28: Ending Eras

April 22, 2013

mickey

Walt Disney Animation Studios Lets Most of Hand Drawn Team Go


“So when Walt Disney Animation Studios says there will be no more hand drawn animated features, they mean it. Nine animators from the hand drawn team were let go yesterday. Sadly these are some of the most veteran animators on the team as well…”

The article above saddens me; there is also a small bit of ‘encouragement’ in a weird sense, to know that I’m not alone.
Nearly all of my work nowadays is digitally-manipulated hand-drawn graphite images. I do some entirely-digital work as well as photo-manipulation, but the work I’m most pleased with starts with a pencil and a piece of specifically-selected paper.
My experience so far is that my work isn’t that popular with those folks who buy illustrations for commercial use. I am immensely pleased with comments that I receive from people all over the world, who appreciate my work. I even have a couple of pieces in a museum… but, not a lot of ‘art buyers’ have any commercial interest in my work.

The image above was given to me by my paternal grandmother. I really don’t know who “Milt” is; I think the surname on the back is ‘Shafer’ but I can’t be sure. A vague memory tells me that Milt and I are somehow related, but I don’t recall ever hearing that surname in the family. I don’t know if it’s an ‘original Disney’ or simply a copy of a Disney concept. The calendar on the wall, to the right of Goofy, says ‘1937’ above the risque sketch of an apparently naked woman. Maybe it will end up on Antiques Roadshow some day, or History Detectives, and I’ll learn more about its history.

Back when I did school visits, one of the presentations I prepared was on the history of Illustration. At the beginning of the 20th Century, before photography had become part of the printing world, images that were published were created by engravers who worked in stone or very hard wood. Visual images were translated into intricate carvings, and prints were made from these carvings. The image below is a pen and ink copy of one of these carved images from the 1800s.

Peregrine Falcon

Photography entered the world of publishing. While it created new markets and opportunities, it also made engraving obsolete. The only place for engravers to work was basically in the jewelry and trophy industries. Disney animators have entered into the hallowed halls of the engravers.

I recently taught a couple of art classes for an after-school program at a local Middle School. A traditional drawing class, and a digital art class. I don’t anticipate doing that again. Two of the students in my drawing class were more talented in sketching than I ever have been. A couple didn’t really want to be there at all. I spent a lot of hours putting together handouts for them to work from; I don’t know that I had any positive effect.
The digital class didn’t go much better. The project I designed for the first one or two classes took the entire term to finish; in the process, the more talented kids got bored and the novices didn’t really retain much of the process.

I discovered that I’ve forgotten how much I’ve learned. I’ve been doing this for so long that I’ve forgotten what being a novice is, and what information is needed at the beginning. I think. Or maybe I’m just an ineffective teacher. At this point in my life, I don’t want to add those skills.

And standing for 3 hours, mostly on adrenaline, wiped me out for the rest of the day. Neuropathy sucks. Thankfully, I can still draw.

 

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 25: Yearning to Breathe Free

January 24, 2013

Liberty

I started teaching art in a middle-school, after-school program this afternoon. Two classes, once a week. One digital, one traditional. The first class was survival, the second was a disaster. My battered body complained for about 4 hours after I returned home.
Teachers don’t get nearly the credit they deserve.

When I was in my middle-school years, I lived in almost entirely White neighborhood in Portland. While not particularly prejudiced, I lived in a White world. I was First Generation on my Mom’s side of the family; Second Generation on my Dad’s side. My family came from Scandinavia. I didn’t go to school with African Americans until high school, and was generally in a different program. I knew a couple of Asian kids. My first real conversation with an African American was during my third year of college.  Nearly all of the surnames I heard were of Western European origin.

My class list was filled with surnames I’ve never seen before. Eastern surnames and Western given names.
While many people of my generation would be distressed over the loss of the ‘America’ they grew up in, I see my class lists as evidence that America is working.

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

So many seem to feel that the Golden Door should have been locked and bolted after they arrived.

I see right-wing comments on Facebook nearly every day, speaking of all the people who are taking handouts that aren’t deserved. I don’t go out of my way to meet people, but in 60 years I’ve only met one man who seemed to think that the world owed him a living. For many years, his wife supported that notion; and she worked her tail off, working herself into illness many times.

While I know almost nothing of my Norwegian and Swedish roots, I never forget that I am an immigrant son. My forebears came here looking for a better life. I don’t really know if that better life was found, since I know nothing of the life they left. It is only Grace [unmerited favor] that Scandinavians don’t have brown skin; living so far from the Equator. Americans have never been particularly welcome toward peoples of darker skin colors. Americans used to be opposed to Irish and German immigrants; but they blend in more easily.

C.S. Lewis, in his Reflections on the Psalms, writes that history is filled with writings that have more depth than was originally understood. Prophecy is realized in retrospect, when predictions are discovered to be true; and meanings appear that weren’t possible in an earlier time.
I am of the opinion that the Founding Fathers, when they wrote, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness,” they were probably talking about White Males. History has enlarged that meaning toward, ‘all [American] humans’.  My hope is that one day it will mean that all people are equal. We aren’t there yet.

We have a Black President; one of the most reviled Presidents in our history. Both adulated and reviled. I am of the opinion that President’s Obamas Nobel Prize was an acknowledgement that at last a Black Man could accomplish that which Americans brag about, but don’t want to see happen. As someone recently quipped [referring to drones], ‘probably the first Peace Prize winner with a hit list.’

We export ‘American Democracy’ as if it was a proven product, forgetting that this is still an ongoing experiment. It’s worked for 237 years, having wiped out the indigenous population. The nations of the other continents existed LONG before we were even thought about. I do not believe in the ‘divine right of kings,’ nor do I believe in the Empires of the past. This country frequently appears to be attempting to create an American Empire, a plutocracy. As Churchill stated, “democracy is the worst form of government; except for all of the others that have been tried.” Can we rule ourselves?

Perhaps my students and their peers can finally make that happen.

Declaration cover

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 24: Epiphany

January 7, 2013

 

Adoration

The Feast of the Epiphany…”epiphaneia, “manifestation”, “striking appearance” the visitation of the infant Jesus by the Magi from the East. Celebrated in Christendom on a variety of dates, depending upon one’s calendar and traditions. In my tradition, January 6th. Since I haven’t gone to bed yet, it’s still Epiphany in my time. In the Roman Catholic tradition, the end of Epiphany marks the beginning of Ordinary Time.

I’m not Catholic; however, my life appears to be taking place in Ordinary Time. The period before the Resurrection. The period of ‘hit the ball, drag Marty’. One of my favorite jokes, if you’ve ever heard it.

Melancholy tonight. I decided that this wouldn’t become a platform for my battles against depression; so that’s all I’ll say on that subject.

There was a murder in my dorm back in my college days; a girl I didn’t know, but it changed life in the dorm. For some people, the subsequent investigation and uproar probably changed their lives forever. The Creator was merely a concept in my mind at the time; my life as a part of other people’s lives was also a concept at that time. I remember how my innocent next door neighbor changed dramatically as he was being investigated as  a subject. It appeared that the police used his investigation to draw attention away from the search for the actual killer–a 16 year old Freshman who’d been rejected by the older girl.

Christmas was changed forever for hundreds of people this season. In a family that I consider part of my family, even though I’m not really in their thoughts, a death and a re-awakening of life happened in the last week or two. A murder and a life-saving transplant. Mass murders were happening all over the world in the weeks of this Christmas Season. The time before the Incarnation revisited. Some of the murders received more attention than others. All were losses.

The painting above is taken from a Norman Rockwell illustration. The right-hand portion is a copy of his painting, the left half my own. It started as a painted window–a Christmas gift for a former church congregation. It greets me each Sunday as I enter the church we attend now.

The Christmas Story has become so sanitized these days, that it would hardly be recognized by Mary and Joseph. In the days following the slaughter of all of the 2 years and younger children of Israel, by Herod the King, a young pregnant couple couldn’t find a room for the night. They were offered the barn. “Stable” sounds so much better than a barn. It’s possible that the mule ride and subsequent events that aren’t covered in Scripture caused the child to be born…

Farm animals aren’t housebroken. One must muck out the barn on a regular basis, replacing the crappy straw with clean straw. Scripture avoids the muck. Our pastor asked the children at the Christmas Eve service whether they had pets, and if their pet had a food dish. That was where the infant Jesus was placed after his birth. In the animals’ food dish–the Manger. Hardly an auspicious beginning.

The “Call the Midwife Holiday Special” was heart-rending in its images of the Nativity/the Incarnation. A young girl giving birth alone in an abandoned building… the playing of “Oh Come, Emanuel” as the nurse and nun peeled the clothes from an elderly woman and gave her her first bath in years. The Creator became human so that our grime could be washed away, and so that we could share that washing experience with others. Some of the murders of recent weeks, like those instigated by Herod, were also acts that were politically-based. What we refuse to learn we are destined to repeat…the murder of children continues.

We were given substantial monetary gifts this Christmas. Charity. Hard to swallow; hard to refuse. We shared some of the funds with others; the gifts of charity were increased. Paid medical bills with the rest.

Dan Fogelberg is one of my healing places when I’m melancholy. Tonight I am thankful for his creativity, a soundtrack to so much of my life; I’m sorry he left so soon. I believe he is still writing and that I’ll be able to hear him again. The “After” equivalent, that is. I believe that the Creator became human in order to lead us to where we will go. I believe music is somehow involved.

One of my favorite DF memories is a time in Newberg, working on the house of a young couple who needed to make it more weather-resistant before the Winter rains. My gift of a few days labor, with Dan keeping me company for much of that time. I remember going to sleep in my hammock, listening to his music. So much of my life is centered on construction; something I don’t appear to be able to do anymore…

I watched “The Vow” tonight. “Inspired by actual events,” a young woman suffers a massive brain injury in a car wreck on a snowy road. When she awakes from the induced coma, she no longer recognizes her husband of 3 or 4 years. Her brain is erased after an event that occurred 5 years in the past. Her husband is determined to win her love again; she is no longer the same young woman he married. She watches a video of their wedding, and her passionate marriage vow; to her, it’s someone else’s story. The ‘for better or worse’ vow is meaningless for her.
“It can all be gone in the twinkling of an eye… is that all there is? There must be something more than this… [All There Is–Dan Fogelberg]

Fortunately, there is more than this.

the universe in his hands_mer

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 23: Sustainability

November 20, 2012

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I just finished watching Ken Burns’ “The Dust Bowl;” chronicling the 30 or so years that it took to turn a self-sustaining savannah of Buffalo Grass into what almost became the Sahara Desert revisited. Land that should never have been cultivated, because it can’t sustain agriculture. Rain is infrequent, but Buffalo Grass had roots that grew 5ft into the ground. The ‘Dust Bowl’ happened because wheat ranchers over-cultivated land that should have been left for grazing. I didn’t keep track of the numbers; but the narration speaks of millions of tons of topsoil that was blown away. At one point in the mid-30’s, Oklahoma dust fell on a tanker 300 miles at sea.

The area where the Dust Bowl once existed is now used for “corn” production, which requires even more water than wheat. The water for this production is pumped out of the Ogallala Aquifer. Not only does the aquifer provide water for irrigation, but it also provides drinking water for much of the central plains.  Some estimates say the aquifer will dry up in as few as 25 years. The Dust Bowl will very likely return. Drinking water used for hog feed.

Why are we so stupid?

The farmers came because they wanted to own land, and to make a life for themselves and their descendants. A valid desire. The Ken Burns story references the writings of Carolyn Henderson; a woman who came to Oklahoma looking to build a life for herself and her husband, and their family. I have relatives who are Hendersons, probably not related; my father expected to be a wheat rancher, here in Oregon. The Ken Burns story pushed ‘buttons’ that I prefer keeping un-pushed.

In America we have the freedom to ruin the land that sustains us. We do things because we can; not because we should. This too, is the American Way.

There are those who had the ability to create a ‘dust bowl’ of our economy. Not just the American economy; but much of the Western world’s economy.  The homeless [both on the street, and those who now live with family and friends, having lost their homes] are the ‘Okies’ of today. Victims of our own foolishness and/or lack of foresight. We over-cultivated our economy, in the same manner as did those who created the Dust Bowl. The parallels are frightening.

I am heartened by individuals in my children’s generation; people who want to repair the land, and live in a more sustainable manner. It requires a divorce from consumerism; which drives our economy. So, we not only need to live a more sustainable lifestyle when it comes to agriculture and energy production; but we also need to wean our economy off of consumerism, and into sustainability.

A large portion of the population of our world live in tin shacks or mud huts. They have internet access in this world of dire poverty; the contrast is also staggering.

Black Friday is coming, this week; and retailers are excited. During the time of the Dust Bowl, there occurred a Black Sunday. Walls of dust, thousands of feet tall, blocked out the light of the sun for hours on end, for much of the Plains states. I wonder if our upcoming Black Friday is also leading to a Black Sunday in the future.

Cover art for Scholastic’s “Oregon At Last”

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 22: Recent Images

November 9, 2012

 

Photoshop Humor

Images inspired by the Grand Staircase in the movie, ‘Titanic’

cropped version:

 

Illustration from a ‘work in progress’ children’s book:

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 19: The Power of Story

August 25, 2012

Last night I finished the last, and 100th episode of Stargate:Atlantis; not without a measure of sadness. The Story is over.  Prior to that I watched the 213 episodes of Stargate: SG-1. The better part of the sadness is the realization that I was working on my laptop during most of the episodes, so I can watch them again and still have the story be fresh.

I saw some of the SG-1 episodes when they were first aired; this was back in the time when we didn’t have a television in the house. We borrowed my Mom’s portable TV on occasion; and watched TV at her house on Sundays. Back in the early ’80’s, when I was self-employed as a building contractor, I used to watch “Cheers” and “Hill Street Blues” every Thursday night. At some point I finally realized that NBC wasn’t paying me to watch their shows; and I was turning down opportunities to bid on remodeling jobs, fearing that I might not return on time… So, the television went into the closet. When we moved to a different house, the TV did not accompany us. Our children grew up having television as a special event. They read a lot of books.

I got into this illustration gig to be a storyteller.

children's book jacket: Oregon At Last

Oregon At Last by Lillian Foreman, Scholastic Press, digitally colored graphite drawing

This is the cover of my first illustrated children’s book; one might think that people here in Oregon might be familiar with it. However, it was part of a 5th grade curriculum package for Scholastic, and they never bothered to market it in Oregon…

Back in the days when the world was in black and white, before color had been invented, I went to the bookmobile every week, and returned with a stack of books; mostly science fiction, if memory serves. The bookmobile was a mobile library. A converted bus with library shelves instead of seats, the bookmobile was used as a supplement to regional libraries. It had a regular route, and helped me get through my elementary school years. I had a small portable television in my bedroom, but there were only 5[?] channels available, and the selections weren’t necessarily interesting.

I grew up with the illustrations of Howard Pyle and NC Wyeth as well as several of their contemporaries. When I decided to do this illustration gig in the 1990’s, I envisioned following in the footsteps of Norman Rockwell. As big as my feet are, I knew I would never fill those footprints.

I was thrilled when I had the opportunity to enter the world of one of my childhood heroes, Sherlock Holmes…

A Scandal in Bohemia

A Scandal in Bohemia by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Digitally-colored graphite drawing; copyright Steiner Korea

I continue to hope that this will be followed by another Holmes opportunity in the future, but it seems unlikely, at this point.

Stories teach us to dream; they show us what and who we can be. Music, movies, books, stories around the campfire… these are the elements that can shape our lives. Stories can lift us beyond our circumstances.

Would we have cell phones today, if not for Star Trek and Dick Tracy?

 

 

 

 

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 17: This is what I am here to teach—a mystery!

June 4, 2012

 

 

As I write this, I’m watching a biography of Audrey Hepburn. Watching the images go by on the screen, there are so many that are familiar. I illustrated a biography of hers several years ago; a ‘work for hire’ job for which I was paid; but never saw in print. One of my projects that did not go well. Portions of the illustrations went well, but overall, the book’s illustrations flopped. As usually happens when I illustrate a book, I became immersed in her life, searching the Internet for photos, and watching her films; all in a space of a few weeks. Watching her story after all these years is a strange déjà vu.
Judy and I were on our way to Denver, Colorado, to attend Rob’s graduation from Johnson & Wales University. I planned on working on the illustrations with my portable drawing board, scanning the drawings at Kinko’s, and manipulating them on my laptop. My laptop decided to crap out on me during the trip; and most of the illustrations had to get finished after we returned home, by working 16 hours a day for 2 weeks, in order to meet my deadline. As it happens whenever I have to work in a rush, things did not go well, and I had no time for making better versions of the images… I delivered my illustrations on time, I got paid, but received little satisfaction from the project.

    “All of life is a mystery, but the answer to the mystery is outside ourselves, and not inside. You can’t go on peeling yourself like an onion, hoping that when you come to the last layer, you will find what an onion really is. The mystery of an onion is still unexplained, because like man, it is the issue of an eternal creative act. I stand in God’s shoes, but I can’t tell you any more. Don’t you see? This is what I am here to teach—a mystery! People who demand to have all of creation explained from beginning to end are asking the impossible. Have you ever thought that by demanding to know the explanation for everything are committing an act of pride?  We are limited creatures. How can any one of us encompass infinity?”

Pope Kiril I, The Shoes of the Fisherman; Morris L. West

…I got paid, but received little satisfaction from the project… I wanted a ‘do-over’, but didn’t have the chance. A lot of the people in my life are going through difficult times right now; myself included. Doesn’t seem right, doesn’t seem fair, we want a ‘do-over’. As they were growing up, I often told my children that ‘life is hard; then you die’. This is my third career, the first two not ending as well as I’d have liked. The line, “…and they lived happily ever after…” hasn’t been the story of my life. Until I reflect upon the lives of others…
    A scene from a Hiroshima Diary, another project that didn’t work out; again because of an unreasonable time line. The above illustration was a gift. I was compelled to create the drawing above, the product of a drawing marathon, and I felt the Hand of the Creator guiding me. Unfortunately, I had to earn a living while working on the project, and I could not devote the concentrated time that I had with the first illustration. The story, written from the reflections of a woman still living in Japan, tells the story of a teacher who returned to Hiroshima a few days after the bomb, looking for her niece and nephew. Throughout the story she meets other children, all of whom die in her arms, from radiation poisoning. Children everywhere, separated from their parents or huddling by their deceased parents. The teacher brings a final blessing to their short lives. A part of our ‘proud American history’ that never gets told…
One of the reasons why I watch so many movies is to enter into the stories of other people. I prefer living my life in my cave, rather than interacting with others; at the same time I realize that my Creator made me as a person who needs other people in my life, in order for me to grow. When I was in college I was told repeatedly that “God has a plan for your life;” and I’ve always wondered whether I was really following that plan. My desire has been to follow that plan, and my desire has been to live the life I felt led to follow. My assumption, based on things I’d heard from platforms and pulpits, was that my life was supposed to work out well—by my definition of well. In truth, my life has worked out well; but I suffer from the Human Condition, I suffer from envy. I want my life to work out like some other people’s lives have worked out. Funny how we rarely envy those who live in tin- or cardboard shacks. I’ve met people who live in tin- or cardboard shacks, and have been learning that happiness does not depend upon the things with which we clutter our lives.

Some people are content with not asking questions about their lives; some people have no questions to ask.

    These lives remind me of the fact that I am blessed. I’m angry with my dissolving body; I’m angry about the stupid financial decisions I made when I didn’t realize that the economy was going to collapse. And yet, I have a roof over my head; my children have roofs over their heads; I’ve been married to Judy for 36 years [in a couple of weeks]; my career with the City earned a small pension that pays a lot of our bills. I can create images that have meaning for me.
Life is a mystery. Sherlock Holmes isn’t around to answer all of the questions for us. We have to live with the questions until we get Home. A lot of people claim to have answers to the questions, and I suppose it’s a good thing that these answers work for them. Unfortunately, a lot of the answers aren’t as universal as they believe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Posted in art, careers, children's books, depression, Illustration, neuropathy, pain, self-employment, Uncategorized | 100 Comments »

Chronicles in Ordinary Time 16: only you can know if the price is worth the stress

May 20, 2012

Every now and then I get paid to have fun. A client wanted some ‘bots’ for his PowerPoint project, so I was able to design ‘bots’. I wanted to avoid ‘feet’ since we’re in the 21st Century, but the client didn’t seem to understand plasma jets. In the time-honored tradition of animated robots, all of my bots were created from ordinary household objects…

Our pastor reminded us this morning of the importance of joy in our lives. That’s why Christ came to space/time as the incarnated Creator; to help us find joy in our lives. The Church has messed that up for the last couple of millennia, because rules are easier than freedom. I needed to hear that message today, because I’m still beating myself up for once again succumbing to one of my perennial temptations–one that has cost me dearly over my life. I have the ability to willingly abuse my body with overwork, in order to accomplish goals that I set for myself; substituting self-medication for common sense. This last week it was 6 hours of sleep in 48, I think, in order to finish a project by a totally unreasonable deadline. But I wanted the money that the job would bring.

Richard Jesse Watson, a very wise man, once told me, “You can get quality, speed, and inexpensive but not all three at once. In other words, if they want it fast and cheap, fine, but they can’t expect quality. If they want fast and quality, fine but it won’t be cheap. If they want cheap and quality, that too is possible, but it shouldn’t be expected fast, as it might be more of a favor or gift.
If it is something that you feel you need to do for you, then only you can know if the price is worth the stress.”

 

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Posted in art, careers, children's books, depression, Illustration, neuropathy, pain, self-employment, Uncategorized | 14 Comments »

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