Tag Archives: artist

Da Vinci, Leonardo

Da Vinci, Leonardo: (Prop N) a famous artist, engineer and scientist during the Renaissance.

I guess if you paint well enough, no one remembers that you came up with an early design for a helicopter.

There’s a danger in being multi-talented.

You personally may want to be remembered for your designing or scientific mind, but since you emerged from the Dark Ages and were one of the first Renaissance Men, it may be a little difficult for people not to go ahead and put a name tag on you and assign you a permanent position.

Then there are those who found out that Leonardo was a gay man. Yet, for some reason, they didn’t take down the print of “The Last Supper” from the front of their church. I guess it’s okay to be gay as long as you paint well and you’re already dead.

It upset some other people when a conjecture was brought forth that the “Mona Lisa” was Leonardo painting himself in drag, yet that was survived.

After all, pretty is pretty.

So universal is our acceptance of Mr. da Vinci that we theorize that he had a “Code,” which turned into an action-filled book. Also, he was honored by being one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

I don’t think we’ll ever get over touting Leo as a great painter.

But fortunately, he was a good enough painter that history gives him a footnote for his helicopter design.

Curt

Curt: (adj) rudely brief in speech or abrupt in manner.

“Shut up. And if you’re not speaking, get the hell out of my face.”

Every single day of my life I sit here writing these essays—pouring out words from my heart, tumbling from deep in my soul.

And what do you do? Damn it, you peruse them. Or if you do read them, you’re only interested in catching grammatical errors.

Screw you.

Yes. That’s what I said.

You and your horse you rode across the wilderness…or whatever that street lingo is.

I’m a sensitive fellow.

I am in need of affirmation.

Have you ever met an artist who isn’t? Even though it is extremely pretentious to refer to oneself as an artist, I shall do it on this occasion, just to make my much-needed point.

You think you’ve earned the right to be a critic instead of basking in the warmth, the tenderness and the glory of the progression of thoughts I offer, using words as the boxcars of my train of thoughts.

Now, could YOU have come up with that previous sentence?

Your response: “Well, I wouldn’t. It’s silly. It’s affected.”

Well, screw you.

I don’t need your appreciation.

I don’t care if you ever read another thing I ever write.

Go surf the Internet.

Be a beach boy looking for the best wave.

I don’t care.

Of course, I do—but I can’t let you know.

So I have decided the best path is to follow the entire mass of present society and appear to be angry and apathetic. Or is it apathetic and angry? Which one makes you mad and which one disconnects you from the mainstream of the motherboard of life?

So this may be my last posting—though probably not because I still have time left on my WordPress contract.

But if I didn’t, you would be without ME tomorrow. So what do you think about THAT?

Too curt for you?

(The preceding was only for dramatic effect. Any feelings hurt in the process of production were unintentional.)

 

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Crap

Crap: (n) excrement, or used to reference refuse, rubbish, or junk

 I already spent the money.

I know that’s not smart.

But when you’re poor, you have to make arrangements—then hope those plans don’t fall apart.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

I had a gig. It was a big gig. At least for me. There was going to be some decent money involved.

I will tell you of a certainty, the only way to ever become an artist is to insist on using your art until it pays for you.

In the meantime, your creditors, your landlord and anyone you find yourself indebted to may question the intelligence of your persistence, and sometimes even dishonor the quality of your talent.

But I felt confident—confident enough to pay my bills before I got the check.

It was a two-day gig, and a conference, where I might be able to make further contacts for other engagements in the future.

On the first night, everything went along just swimmingly. The audience was laughing, clapping, appreciating both song and speech. I was feeling so good that I made a joke. I can’t remember all the details of the setup, but the punchline was, “Get this crap outta here!”

Everyone laughed. I thought I was on safe turf.

But later that night I received a call at my motel, telling me I was being canceled because the audience had children in it, and I had offended everyone by saying “crap.” I was contrite—I disavowed the deeds of my tongue—but it didn’t make any difference.

Move ahead in time.

I don’t know exactly when things changed. I suppose there are some people who still find the word “crap” inappropriate, but it would not be unusual to hear it spoken in the church foyer, and even possibly the pulpit.

Now we are fussing about the word “shit.”

It’s amazing how we can come to agreement on what crap and shit are, while being totally self-righteous on declaring it crap or shit.

I have a meter I run in my mind. It’s very simple.

For instance:

If the Ten Commandments are how God will judge me…

Or:

If you have to be skinny and a perfect weight…

One of the possibilities I consider is:

If you’re not supposed to use any colloquial or profane language…

Crap.

I’m in a shitload of trouble.

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Compile

Compile: (v) to produce by assembling information

Sobering.

It’s too bad we associate the word “sober” mainly with being free of intoxication from alcohol–because “sobering” is a great word.

To me, it describes those moments in my life when I am struck with the magnitude of the importance of the journey instead of allowing myself the audacity of complaining about the seating.

I had a friend–not really a close friend. Unfortunately, I think he viewed me as his best friend. I never had the heart to contradict him.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Not many people liked him–and that included me. Maybe I was just a better liar, or perhaps I believed there was something noble in feigning affection.

He was an aspiring something-or-other. I guess he fancied himself an artist.

I don’t know if you can actually be an artist until someone appreciates, enjoys or even purchases your art, but that’s a conversation for another time.

When my friend was diagnosed with terminal cancer, he picked up a cardboard box at the local grocery store to compile his writings, songs, thoughts, journals and work.

An avid cigarette smoker since he was sixteen years of age, he sat puffing away, faithfully putting this material into the container.

All of his accomplishments filled about half the box–with plenty of room to spare.

He handed it to me and said, “I want you to have all of this. Please do something with it.”

About two weeks later he died, leaving me his papers and cassette tapes, the distinct odor of cigarette smoke permeating the cardboard.

I sifted through it once.

I wondered what my responsibility was to what he had compiled. I felt guilty.

And then a realization came to my mind.

If he didn’t have time to do something with this material when he was alive, vibrant and caring, what significance does he think it should have now–for anyone else?

My thinking seemed cold and heartless. I rebuked myself.

Time passed.

I never did anything with his material. Honestly, I’m too busy working on my own compiling. Every once in a while I think I should take the box out and look at it again.

You see, the only problem is… I don’t know where it is.

 

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Clap

Clap: (v) to applaud

I have spent much of my human journey with two little toes in heaven and the rest of my footage on Earth.

Those two little toes did not go to market. They went to church.

It’s where I sang my first song.

It’s where I met my first girlfriend.

And it’s still one of my favorite spots for spontaneous dozing.

One of the things I discovered about the experience of “church attendance ” is that there is a wide range of opinions on many subjects.

Clapping would be one.

Some churches believe it’s sacrilegious to express appreciation, worship or excitement by striking palms. They find it Biblically and spiritually unsound.

Other churches clap so much that you can’t hear anything else going on. They clap for everything. It’s kind of a “clapping without ceasing.”

As a person who shares his talent in a church, I have to admit to myself that I am also a performer and an artist. (Although I think the word “artist” is overused–even by me.)

As a performer, I do have an ego. Ego is not a bad thing–it’s that little “Nancy-cheerleader” who keeps us from jumping off a cliff just because we had a bad day. (“It might get better tomorrow. Yea, team!”)

When you perform a song, come to the end, and receive silence, it is not golden.

It’s rather moldy.

Ashen.

Empty.

I’m told I’m supposed to sing to the glory of God. But it was God who said, “Clap your hands, all ye people.”

If you’re afraid I’ll get the big-head if you applaud my efforts, then you should pray for me. Don’t snub me.

Until we understand that the Universe pushes energy one direction and there is supposed to be a push coming back from the other way, or else something is afoul, we may just continue to believe that God is so insecure that He is frustrated with anyone else receiving adequate appreciation for his efforts.

Since I wouldn’t even have lunch with someone who’s cantankerous, I choose to believe that when I perform, God applauds, the angels screech…and the congregation should follow suit.

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Chatter

Chatter: (n) incessant trivial talk.

I make a practice to never refer to myself as an artist.

Using that term is similar to someone who has sex calling himself a lover, or folks who occasionally have a garage sale in their front yard
deeming themselves to be entrepreneurs.

Truthfully, because we’re all a little insecure about the quality and veracity of what we do, we chatter on to try to magnify our significance to the yawning yokels.

How many times do I need to explain what I do before you are truly impressed?

How many different ways can I exaggerate my abilities, hoping deep in my heart that you will finally understand that I am better than you?

Chatter is what people do when they are nervously afraid they can’t cover the time alloted with simple truth.

So they elaborate. They use words like “interesting, wonderful, great, amazing and awesome” at diabolical rates. And they smile a lot, hoping what they have to share is not only convincing, but dazzling.

A wise man once said that it is much smarter to answer questions “yes” and “no.” He contended that anything other than this is usually born of evil.

If by evil you mean the incessant clatter of chatter that doesn’t matter, then…

Amen.

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Archangel

dictionary with letter A

Archangel: (n) an angel of high rank

Gabriel drew the short straw.

God had decided that announcing the birth of the Messiah would have to be prompted by a visitation from an archangel.

Gabriel lost.

It isn’t that the archangels were especially angry about saving mankind–it’s just that trying to tell a fourteen-year-old virgin that she’s pregnant is not exactly the most pleasant task.

Angels are always a little perplexed with humanity anyway. Matter of fact, the only thing an angel and a Homo sapien share in common is free will. And any respectable angel will be quick to tell you that they use their free will much more righteously than earth-bound bipeds.

Gabriel mused. How do you tell a young girl that her life is about to be interrupted in the most inconvenient ways, only to be further dismantled by adventure and mayhem?

It fell Gabriel’s lot.

He spent a few moments alone to make sure he had rid himself of all preconceived ideas and prejudice. He realized that a certain amount of compassion would be necessary to talk to Mary of Nazareth about welcoming a baby which would not be easily explained tor either her betrothed or to her parents, sitting around the dinner table.

In contemplating it, the archangel gained more and more heart and sympathy for the human race:

  • They were certainly more tempted than angels, who spent time surrounded by goodness and mercy.
  • Humans also possessed an emotional explosion not fully comprehended in the heart of the standard celestial inhabitant.
  • And on top of that, Mary was a young girl with dreams which would have to be melted into a divine mission of being the mother of God.

Yes, Gabriel drew the short straw.

The rest of the angels flew away, giggling in delight. But instead of viewing it as a burden, Gabriel took it on as a challenge, which turned into an opportunity.

“Behold, Mary, you are blessed.”

That’s a pretty nice thing to say.

Even though the rest of the message was much more daunting, he felt good about blessing the little lady.

Archangels are the bridge between God and human beings.

Michael, one of the other members of the team, once noted, “We angels have just enough of God to know what we should do, and enough human to sometimes be miserable doing it.”

Maybe that’s true.

But without the archangels, our world would slide into a pit of mediocrity, and nothing of excellence would be achieved.

Time passed (though angels have no watches).

Gabriel sat for a moment, remembering what it was like to speak to Mary. There were many jobs that followed.

He recalled that one of his favorites was whispering into the ear of an artist who was staring at the ceiling, wondering what to do … prompting him to paint God.

 

 

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