Friday, February 18, 2011

Introduction Part 1: The Little Artist


Before getting too far along here, I suppose some attention must be given to an introduction of myself.

Graphic Design and Art Direction is how I’ve been earning a living for the past 30 some odd years.  Twenty-five of those years I’ve been self-employed. My career has spanned the whole transition from magic-marker layouts and rubber-cement mechanical paste-ups through digital press ready PDFs.  Three of the past years have been extremely rough, income-wise.  But there are signs of hope; signs that the business may survive the last two years of operating at a loss.

I grew up loving to draw. I started out sketching birds, dogs and the animals in the jungle because there were great color photos of them in the set of Britanicas my parents had bought for my brothers and me.  I knew early on that I had at least a little talent because my second grade teacher would march me around the school, into other classrooms—before fifth and sixth graders--and introduce me to them and have me show them my art. That didn’t last very long however, because I learned not to bring the art I did at home to school, and especially not to show it to my teacher.  Don't get me wrong, I appreciated her encouragement immensely--there wasn't a whole lot at home, but she was way more enthusiastic than I, and I really didn’t care for the whole ‘sharing’ thing with the upperclassmen.

I got to work on all the special holiday bulletin boards every year through high school, I think. By fourth grade I would answer ‘commercial artist,’ (which, back then, was pretty common terminology for 'an illustrator' in advertising) when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up.  That, or a cartoonist.  I loved Walt Disney.  I had a couple ideas for comic strips that I played around with on the blank back pages of my notebooks and doing large illustrations of them in color on the brown grocery bag papers we used for covering our text books.  My favorite was ‘Butch and the Canines’—inspired by ‘Top Cat’--(I’ll have to see if I can draw up from memory the group of characters I had created.)

I got into drawing sports figures.  Baseball, basketball, especially football—I loved the colors, the uniforms, the bodies and muscles in motion.  And besides, reference photos were much easier to come by.  (Britanica Encyclopedias had become off limits for me, once my mother discovered missing pages) The back cover of the Daily News could always be counted on for great material for a new sketch idea.  The Sports Illustrated magazines at the doctors were the best. A lot of my friends liked my pictures to the point they would request specific teams and players for me to draw for them.  I didn’t mind. It was cool.  They said I was going to be a famous artist one day. 

I never let on that what I really wanted to be was a shortstop for the Yankees.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Thinking of Dad


Can’t get Dad off my mind these recent days.  Today’s moving day.  I’ve decided to have him moved from one nursing facility to another.  It’s been explained the new place is better equipped to handle his condition. Dementia, a touch of Alzheimer’s.  Mixed in an unknown amount of loneliness and fear.
He moves today.  I’m wondering how much he understands.   
He’s been at the other place four years.  I can’t be with him during the transition.  Deep down, I think I’m relieved.  I’ll visit tomorrow.  He’ll be settled in.  Deep down, I feel guilty, helpless.  I pray as I try to imagine what it is he feels.
I pray for the Lord to comfort him, to reassure him. Somehow, somewhere in my mind I hear the Lord telling me you comfort him.  You reassure him. 
 “Ah, Lord, I’ve never been good at comforting.”
You’ve never tried much.
“I’ve never learned.”
You’ve never tried much.
True enough, I must admit.  Growing up, somehow our family had accepted the fact that we each needed to learn how to comfort ourselves. It’s just how it was.  Each of us, Dad, Mom, the three sons, each of us had our own individual methods.  Reaching out, opening up, touching were not included in our ways, not good options.
“Will you help me, Lord?”
Mention my name to him. See where it leads.
Sometimes I wonder if Jesus understands that I’d prefer Him to handle it. Sometimes I’d prefer He not put me in the middle of it.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Beginning a Blog: Questions, questions…


It’s taken almost a year to finally begin this blog. Right from the start, I let myself be assailed by questions. What would I write about?  Maybe I could write about my hobbies; art--painting, photography, the montages I had been creating. Music? Sports? No, I wasn't sure I really knew enough about any of them to get me past a dozen or so posts. Maybe about my relationship with the Lord?  And then who would want to read what I've written? Pretty presumptuous, no? I'm really not that smart. Probably too old anyway. Isn't blogging just for young folks?  Isn't blogging just another Facebook thing? (Not that I understood the workings of Facebook) And is it safe? 
I got very introspective.  I prayed.

And after figuring I was closer to talking myself out of the whole idea, it came to me that perhaps I could at least read up on the craft of blogging. So, I headed over to the library and got a couple of books, one from the ‘Dummy’ series and another from the ‘Visual QuickProject’ guides. Gradually, I began to feel a little more confident about the whole thing. It seemed fairly simple--not that it was ever the fact that I was afraid of not knowing how to use a computer or anything--heck, I work on a computer. I'm no techie, but I know my way around it.  It was more the question of 'should I?'

Anyway, both books helped to tear down a lot of my doubts and both seemed to express that Blogger was probably the best place for a beginner like me to start. I finally decided to charge past the fears, doubts and questions and just begin.  It probably won't and doesn't have to be best, the most incredible, most read blog on the web. And that's okay.

So, like a little kid at the back of the diving board, I began to run the plank's length to the edge, take a deep breath, and launch myself. Jump in. Just do it for-- 
“So why did it take you so long to start?” the little girl asked.
“Well, you know…”
“Scared?”
“Not scared.  No. Just cautious. I don’t jump into something just ‘cause everyone else is doing it.”
“Hmm…”  You could tell she was a bright little thing by the way she tilted her head to the side and wrinkled her lips in contemplation. Freckles recklessly dotted each side of her nose. Black bangs, two side braids framed clear blue eyes. A little 'Darla' look-alike.
“So what finally got you over your caution?”
“I prayed.”
“Prayed?”
“Yeah, for guidance, direction…”
“God?  You prayed to God?” This was something for which she obviously wasn’t prepared. Her little fingers were interlaced in a ball in front of her.  Raising her arms above her head, she spun around, ballerina-style, in her shiny patent leathers. “I can dance, you know.” She explained.
“I can see.  Ah, yes, you’re very good, too.  Do you take lessons?”
She looked at me, her head still quizzically askew. I could tell she probably wasn’t going to answer my question about dance lessons.
“So you think there’s a God, I guess?” she asked.
“Well, sure,"  now I was taken back. "Doesn't everyone--don't you--”
“What if there’s not?”
“Not what? A God?”
“Right.  What if there’s not a God?”
“Hmm.”  I had to think about that one.  “Well, I guess I just wouldn’t have prayed, is all.”
“Would you still have started a blog?”
“I suppose.  But you see, I do believe there is--“
She was skipping away before I could finish.  She got five or so skips away, stopped and turned back to me.  “Good luck!” she exclaimed with a smile and then performed the ballerina twirl again.

"Thanks," I waved, as she ran off.  Somehow I knew I'd see this one again.