From the “men and their power tools” department: I recently bought a new circular saw to replace the old one I’ve had for probably 20+ years, which was not only under-powered but hopelessly dull. I wanted a new one - partly to cut the MDF board I use for my new pieces, and partly because I had a bunch of old crappy masonite pieces that needed to go away.
I do this every couple of years: Whenever I change media/styles and don’t plan on showing the old work any more, I go through the old stuff, save the best of it, give away/sell cheap to friends what I can of the rest, then the other unwanted work meets the saw. Some people think this is crazy, but I absolutely love doing it. It’s incredibly freeing, and so much better than just throwing the pieces away - it’s a ritual sacrifice. It leaves me free of failure, with plenty of room - both in the studio and in my psyche - to move forward. (Twenty years ago, when I used to paint on glass, I had a big box in my studio and I’d take a hammer to the sacrifices. Now that was a release.)
So yesterday was break-in-the-new-saw day. Cut some new boards for new pieces, then about a dozen old Andrew artworks were cleaned out of my studio and out of my life. (And, yes, the new saw is like a knife going through room-temperature butter). The simple act of throwing away is an amazingly healthy exercise.
Onward.
—–
Relief.
In perhaps the best Route 66 episode of them all, “Fly Away Home”, Summers, played by the great British character actor Michael Rennie, says these beautiful words, written by the eloquent Stirling Silliphant:
I can sum myself up quite precisely. I’m a gaunt fellow, full of the sounds of the past, hearing nothing of the present. I’m aware of time’s despair, not despairing. I’m a lean and thoughtful fellow who gets about in the clouds to gain a temporary detachment. A fellow who wants to stop hurting, and being hurt. Simple as that.
Please.
1. First things first. You’ve been 404ed. It’s time to say goodnight, Hillary.
2. Wilford Brimley and the cats who resemble him. (Boing Boing)
3. The wisdom of our Vice President. (And they wonder why the rest of the world hates us). (Daily Kos)
4. This weekend I shall have two whole days of making art. You have no idea how I need that.
5. But most importantly of all, Tom Speaks! Say it with me now, “pehdtsckjmba”. (Thanks, Kim!)
6. Flags.
This is one of my neighborhood groundhogs. I call him Walter, though I don’t know what his groundhog friends call him. They live in the woods below my condo.
From obsidienne, another of her amazing photographs.
From VQR Online, Porn For The Blind.
From Daily Kos, Lessons Learned.
From Wired News, a really big squid eye.
From Democratic Central, Happy Mission Accomplished Day!
From the Stubbs girls, Descend:
“Well the night’s forlorn
And the morning’s born
And the morning shines
With the lights of love
And you’ll miss sunrise
If you close your eyes
And that would break
My heart in two”
-Townes Van Zandt, “If I Needed You”
Charlottesville
Back home tonight. The drive was pretty exhausting, but it took less time than I expected. I’m very glad to be back in my little home, but I always get emotional when I leave Alabama. It’s become a little like a second home to me. I always have such a good time there, and I love seeing my artist friends. This year’s show was not the greatest sales-wise, but rarely if ever have I had more fun there.
A Chandra-Owl:
A word about expectations.
We all have memories that we carry around with us. Memories of places we’ve been, things we’ve done, sensations we’ve experienced. We like to think that our memories of such things are accurate, but often the reality of a thing is based more on situations and circumstances than on facts. So often, second readings don’t measure up.
This brings us to Johnny Ray’s BBQ in Birmingham. I went to Johnny Ray’s last year with my friend Chandra, completely out of the blue. We had been driving around, looking for a place for dinner. We ate good bar-be-que, and then, only because we had a little room left in our tummies and not because we had any great yearning for dessert, we ordered some pie. What happened then changed us. It forever altered our ideas about dessert, and it remained in our collective memory. The lemon pie we had that night lived on - it was remembered not just as good pie. Not just as the best pie we’d ever had. Not just as the best dessert. But The Best Food Either of Us Had Ever Put Into Our Mouths.
So this year, we’re back in Birmingham with Chandra’s family - her husband Chris (who is a fine and talented cook himself), and her cool and knowing daughter Madison - and we talked them into going back to Johnny Ray’s. I wanted to go - I wanted to experience the pie again - but I’m also a little leery - it doesn’t seem possible that any food could possibly live up to that memory. Surely we were mistaken. Or exaggerating. I warned Chandra - maybe we shouldn’t build this pie up so much - maybe we should just go there, without recounting all of the details of how the pie affected us.
The pie was not what we remembered. The pie was better. Much, much better. We all agreed. Even Chris, who knows a thing or two about food, said it was probably the best food he had ever eaten. I do not exaggerate when I say I had tears in my eyes. The pie made me cry. How is this possible? How could any sensation that lives in memory as the best ever be that much better than the way you remember it?
Oh Johnny Ray’s, you have my heart.
—–
Signed,
