by Marty Coleman | Feb 3, 2015 | 'In The Gallery', Series |
The original painting or a print are available for purchase. A matte and frame is also available.
Chapter One
The artist had 3 friends. The 3 friends were with the artist at a bar one night when they all saw a very attractive man at the same time. They decided to play Rock, Paper, Scissors to see who would get the first chance of going up and saying hello. Paper won.
Chapter Two
The artist took a picture of them playing the game. He decided to make 3 sculptures of his friends and used the photo of their game playing as a basis for the artwork. The 3 friends didn’t know he was doing this.
Chapter Three
The 3 friends went to the artist’s gallery opening and immediately knew the pieces were of them by the hair and eye shadow color. The crowd loved the 3 sculptures and they sold quickly to a famous collector from Washington D.C.. He was very excited to meet the 3 models and had his assistant take a photo of himself with the models and artist in front of the pieces.
Epilogue
Paper ended up pregnant with the very attractive man she met that night at the bar. The baby was born 9 months later. and by that time the very attractive man at the bar had enlisted in the army and was off in Afghanistan. He was killed by an IED the day after the baby was born. Paper moved back to Minneapolis to live with her parents. They helped raise the baby while she worked and got her GED then bachelors degree. She worked as a bookkeeper for 40 years and never married. Her daughter became an art dealer.
The artist went on to have a great career, in large part because the collector had bought those pieces. He ended up marrying Scissors who went on to get her Ph.D in Anthropology and taught at Columbia until she retired.
The collector sold the 3 pieces 15 years later for 17.5 million dollars at Sotheby’s to an anonymous telephone bidder. He reinvested the money in land and retired to the Virginia countryside to raise horses.
Rock turned out to be the anonymous buyer of the sculptures. She had made her fortune in Pharmaceuticals, working her way up from salesperson to CEO of a very large company. She displayed the sculptures in the lobby of her company, feeling they reinforced her philosophy that hard work, game playing and chance were the driving force behind all success.
The paintings the artist did of nude men with big penises didn’t sell at all and he stopped painting them. They eventually ended up in storage in the barn at the family farm in Texas. They were stored in a loft, covered with sheets and stuck behind a wall of barrels, undiscovered until 28 years later, after the artist died unexpectedly. His children put the paintings up for auction where they fetched 225 million dollars, a record for a recently deceased artist at the time. Paper’s daughter was the dealer who sold the paintings. Her commission was 11 million dollars.
The End
© 2015 Marty Coleman
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by Marty Coleman | Feb 2, 2015 | Lauren Bacall, On Purpose, Richard Bach |
Your Simple Purpose
I see myself helping my daughters grow up, so that must be my purpose. Or perhaps you see your work efforts as a social worker pay off so that must be your purpose. Those are simple definitions. Simplicity is there because we usually think our purpose is defined by what we can quantify, explain, organize and see. When we do that it’s not a stretch to feel our purpose pass us by. We get older, our kids grow up and don’t need us as much or we retire and our job is over. Then what? Then we can become depressed and lack enthusiasm for life if we aren’t careful.
Your Complex Purposes
But what if you believed that your purposes in life are MUCH more complex than that AND you gave up trying to figure them all out? Don’t get me wrong, it’s important to try to figure out and focus on some of them, of course. But there are dark periods of life when you are blinded by the pain and can see no purpose. There are also sublime moments in life when your purpose is SO OBVIOUS that you can miss the other, more subtle purposes. And then there are the purposes your life has that you will never, ever know.
A Further Test
Does a person in a coma have a purpose? If yes, then obviously it’s a purpose they are not in control of. If no, then you are categorically giving up having any doctor, nurse, staff, family or counselor learn and grow from treating, growing or learning from the person in the coma. But we know that is not true. We know the medical staff could possibly learn very important things in how to treat a coma patient. We know a family member could be deeply moved and transformed by seeing their loved one in a coma. And what is that if not part of the person’s purpose in life?
In other words, If you are alive, you have purposes. They may not all be ones you are aware of, but your life is greater than you realize and accepting that is a key to both happiness and hope.
Drawing and Commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote attributed to both Richard Bach and Lauren Bacall
“Here is a test to find out whether your mission in life is complete. If you are alive, it isn’t. “
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 28, 2015 | 'In The Gallery' |
Drawing at Crystal Bridges
The origin of the drawing was a quick sketch at Crystal Bridges Museum of Art in Bentonville, Arkansas. There was an area of the temporary exhibition where people were handing out paper and clipboards and encouraging people to draw. I took one and told them I would use my own pen but they said pens weren’t allowed. So I used their pastels instead. I only took the black one, which they thought was odd. I did the quick sketch of my wife Linda gesturing like a spokesmodel on ‘The Price is Right’ to two paintings behind her and brought it home with me. I drew and painted it to completion this morning.
The Nickname – A Short Short Story
Prologue
Penelope hated her nickname.
Chapter One
She was excited to go to the opening because she really liked the artist. She wore a strapless dress and clunky heels. She spent a fair amount of time at the opening explaining to her friend, Benita, different things about the paintings. Benita listened but didn’t really care. She just kept thinking how glad she was she didn’t have that nickname, especially in this particular situation.
Epilogue
Penelope eventually moved away from New York. She landed in St. Paul, Minnesota and made sure no one there ever knew her nickname.
The End
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 26, 2015 | Series |
Hola Napkin Kin!
Turning 60
This past Saturday I turned 60 years old. I’ve been thinking about this birthday for quite a while, for years actually. But I haven’t thought about it negatively. Yes, there is a sort of fatalistic element to some of the thoughts, I am growing older, I don’t have forever, I wonder if I will live as long as my mother (died age 62, way too early) or my father (died age 96, just about right). I am working on the 96 assumption. Gives me more things to plan for! Of course I really don’t know, as do any of us, when my time to move on will come. I have been through enough tragedy and accidents to know it could happen any time and I am ok with that.
Most of my thoughts about turning 60 have been very positive. For example, it’s great to get up in front of the runners I coach and say, “I’m running a marathon at age 60. If I can do it, you can do it.” I also don’t mind being able to run faster than 90% of the people I coach, many of whom are 1/2 my age. It’s also a bit of a thrill to say I am 60 and have people stare at you like you are crazy because they just don’t believe it. A little ego boost is a good thing at 60.
But there has been something deeper about turning 60 than just an ego boost. It’s also about being at that interesting tipping point in life when you no longer have to prove or defend yourself, but you still have hopes that some of the most profound and important things in your contribution to humanity are still ahead. You aren’t done, but you aren’t just starting either. For example, I don’t have to try to convince someone I am an artist as younger people often do. If they don’t have an exhibition record or sales or a lot of work to show, then are they really an artist? Can they make it as one? Do their parents and family think they really are one, or are they just dabbling, is it just a phase?
I don’t have to worry about that. I started as an artist at about age 17. That was 43 years ago. I have 43 years of being an artist. I have years of teaching, selling, showing, etc. It’s already a done deal. That doesn’t mean I have been a great success, I haven’t. But you don’t have to be a great success as an artist to be an artist. All you have to do is create art. I’ve done that for a LONG time. I am an artist.
60 at 60
One of the things that came to me leading up to 60 is that I want to be more conscientious and deliberate about things I do. To do that I decided to make a list of 60 things I want to do at 60. Each thing is to be done in multiples of 6, preferably simply 6, 60, 600, 6,000, etc.
I haven’t finished the list, I am giving myself 60 days to do that. But I have some written down so far. I know myself pretty well at age 60 and I am not making some grand proclamation that I am doing all of these. They are ideas I hope to implement. I think I will implement some completely, some partially, some not at all.
Here is my list so far. Feel free to contribute ideas in the comments below.
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Write 60 cards to people. If you want one of these, send me your street address to my email, Marty@napkindad.com
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Walk the dogs 60 times. I know, I know, don’t I already do that? No, I don’t. So, sue me.
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Sell 60 art pieces. I already sold one this year. That one counts even though it was before my birthday. Why? Because I say so. If you want to buy a drawing, let me know!
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Attain 6,000 average viewers a day on my blog and associated platforms. I probably first should figure out my numbers as of now, ya think?
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Add 600 people to my newsletter address book. I have about 900 now so 1,500 total would be a good goal.
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Give away 60 books. I have a lot of books. Most of these will go to Goodwill I think.
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Delete 60 people from Facebook friends list. I have 1,900 or so friends so 60 shouldn’t be too hard, right?
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Book 6 paid speaking engagements. I have given a lot of presentations over the years and need to organize and promote that better.
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Finish 6 major website upgrades. The first one is already done, that is a theme change that I implemented last week. 5 to go.
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Do 6 pull ups. I was able to do 3 last year but now am back down to 1 (I’ve been lazy in the cross-training department)
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Fix 6 things . I went to Virginia to visit my daughter last month and I did a ton of DIY stuff around her house. If I can do it around her house I can do it around my house too.
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Build 6 things. I built a cool bookshelf from our old piano a number of years ago. I want to do more things like that.
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Cook 60 meals from scratch. I love to cook but most of the time I do more heating up than cooking. When I do cook it’s usually nothing special. I want to cook more cool stuff from scratch.
I asked on Facebook for some suggestions and here are some I think I might work on as well.
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Melanie suggested 6 fish tacos
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Lauren said be grateful for 6 things when you wake up and 6 when you go to bed.
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Angelika offered 6 half marathons
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Sex 60 times was Sam‘s recommendation
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Byron thought riding my bike 60 times was a good idea
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Jenny wants me to do 6 or 60 random acts of kindness
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Jenny also thinks I should give $60 to someone who needs it or by $60 dollars worth of stuff for someone.
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Jill thinks I can try 6 new food types each month
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Janis wants me to wish on 6 or 60 or 600 coins thrown in a fountain
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Robi thinks running 600 miles this year is doable.
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Take pictures of 6 families who can not afford a photographer is Anna‘s offering
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Judy has ‘pay it forward at least 6 times’ as her recommendation
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Jill says a bubble bath for 60 minutes while I eat 6 chocolates and drink 6 (or 60) ounces of champagne should be on my list
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Margaret concludes 6 affirmations said to myself and repeated 6 times for 60 days would be worthwhile
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Cynthia thinks I need to do a top 6 countdown of something
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Suzanne says visiting each grandchild 6 times this year needs to be done
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Courtney wants me to donate $6,000 dollars to her 6 times in 2015
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Chanting 666 on public transit until I get beat up is Julie‘s brilliant idea
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Jeanne suggests 6 marathons in 6 states in 6 days
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John wants me to back a big cake and cut it into 60 pieces and freezing them so I can bring one out every 6th day and eat it
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Pam wants to hear me sing 6 songs from the 60s
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Roxanne contributes 6 times a day for 6 days find 6 reasons to make 6 people’s lives easier
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Sidney thinks I should breathe 60 billion times and keep count
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John wants me to attend a concert with 6 musicians in it
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Earl says I should do 20 push ups three times a day
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Run 60 miles in 6 days is Brian‘s suggestion
I will keep you informed of my progress over the year. In the meanwhile, what are your suggestions?
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 23, 2015 | 'In The Gallery' |
Chapter One
The artist, Bethany, was having her first solo art exhibition in 3 years. She had done a series of paintings of nude biblical figures. The painting she was giving her gallery talk about was titled ‘Mary and Elizabeth’. It depicted the New Testament story when Mary went to visit her cousin Elizabeth after she found out she was pregnant and Elizabeth’s baby jumped in her womb when the two of them greeted on the road in front of Elizabeth’s house.
Chapter Two
Bethany was explaining why in particular she painted Mary, the mother of Jesus and Elizabeth, the mother of John the Baptist, nude. The paintings had caused a lot of controversy, even having been mentioned on cable new shows. Fox News had condemned the exhibition, saying it was disgusting and disrespectful. Others had been not so opinionated but still said they didn’t think the exhibition was worth seeing. “Unbiblical” was what one mainstream news outlet had said. A satirical website had called the piece ‘umbilical’, which Bethany thought was pretty funny.
Chapter Three
The artist told the story of her own life, having been raised by nudist parents in California. She said she loved being raised that way and that it taught her so much about not judging people based on outer beauty or style. When she went away to college to major in art she was drawn to figure drawing classes. She hit upon the idea of painting biblical figures nude when she went to Europe and saw many allegorical, historical, and mythological paintings that included nudes. She noticed however that paintings illustrating the Old and New Testament almost never had complete nudes in them. She decided to do a series on New Testament stories as a result.
Chapter Four
She had two of her friends pose for the piece. One was KimLee who was raised in an evangelical family who would not approve. They had met in college when KimLee had come into the Student Union gallery and looked at Bethany’s paintings. They became friends. KimLee had already posed secretly for her a number of times. She had always been shown without her face or Bethany had changed her face so she wasn’t recognizable, which Bethany promised she would do this time as well. The other was the Gallery’s assistant curator, Suzy, who had been pregnant with twins when Bethany came up with the idea. Not many people knew it but Suzy had been an ‘adult entertainer’ in college. She loved the idea of being in the painting. She wanted to be Mary in the the painting because she thought it would be cool if a stripper was Jesus’ mom.
Chapter Five
KimLee and Suzy met for the first time at the gallery talk. It turns out their babies were born just two months apart a little more than a year earlier. They hit it off while contemplating the painting after the gallery talk, comparing notes about what it was like to pose and to have their naked bodies out in public for all to see. KimLee explained how no one knew it was her and Suzy explained how everyone knew it was her, including some former ‘clients’ who had come to the exhibition not realizing Suzy was no longer a stripper but a respected gallery worker. They both laughed at how they had come from such different directions to arrive at the exact same spot.
Epilogue
KimLee and Suzy became great friends. They had playdates for their kids together, went to lunch once a month and eventually started a company together that had sales topping one million dollars last year. Their sons became best friends and both became elementary school teachers.
Bethany’s next show was of self-portrait nudes. It led to her being kicked off the PTA.
The End
___________________
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 22, 2015 | Reviews & Sponsored Posts |
Being a Grandpa
I am now officially Papa Marty. I went to visit my daughter Rebekah after Christmas. Her daughter, my first grandchild, Vivian, was old enough to call me ‘Papa’ and so it’s official. Next year my Grandson, Mr. Otis, will hopefully be able to call me the same.
When Rebekah was young her Grandfather, Dwight Johnson, was around a lot. He was a fixer. With an engineering degree 2 times over and a mechanic’s mind he could and did fix, install, repair, build and rewire most anything. Didn’t matter if it was a car, a house, a washing machine or a wheelchair. Didn’t matter if it was electrical, gas, water, air, big, or small. He would figure it out. I learned a LOT from him over many years.
I also learned a lot from my own father, who was quite handy with a saw and drill, and from my own grandfather, Papa Powell, who was an excellent woodworker with his own beautiful woodworking shop in the back of his house. I learned a LOT about how to use hand and power tools from them both.
So, when I went to visit Rebekah I saw a number of projects I could do to help them out, carrying on the Grandpa tradition. Here are the ones that were the most fun.
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The Table
This looks like a photo of a collapsed and broken table, and it is. But it’s secondary to the task at hand, which you can see on the far right, that white bench area. I had been looking at the window bench area, thinking it would be cool to have a cushion there for Vivian or someone else to sit on. Their breakfast area is very small so an extra seat would be great.
We also were putting thin plastic over the windows to help insulate the house from the cold. But, to get a good look at the bench area and to put up the plastic I needed to move the table. The table, unbeknownst to me, was in a precarious state and promptly fell apart when I moved it. Oops!
So, after putting the plastic over the windows I went to the hardware store and got some brackets to put the table back together. I used the brackets (and glue) to attach the legs to each other and then to the table top. Easy peasy. Vivian approves!
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The Window Bench
Now we could work on making a cushioned bench top for that space. It wasn’t something I had done before so I did what any good DIYer would do, I went to Pinterest. I searched under ‘window bench’ or something like that and the very first item that came up was a ‘how-to’ on making a window bench. It took me about 5 minutes to read it (if that) and I was ready to go.
I needed the following material:
- Peg board (or some other type of very thin, sturdy board – masonite of some sort basically)
- Foam
- Fabric
- Fabric Glue
And the following tools:
- Measuring Tape
- Stapler
- Saw
- Scissors
- Box cutter knife
First I measured the space and drew a drawing of it with measurements in all 3 dimensions. Then Rebekah and I went on a shopping trip to find the material.
First stop was Home Depot where we found 4’x6′ peg board. We needed it cut since it wouldn’t fit in the car. We ended up getting 3 identical pieces in size, plus 3 smaller pieces. We brought them all home in case our first effort was a mess up. Patrick, Rebekah’s husband, was also needing pegboard for his tool area in the basement so it worked out great. We also got a stapler and the staples I thought would be long enough to go through the fabric and the pegboard effectively. We looked at foam at Home Depot but the pieces were too small and not of very high quality.
We then went to JoAnn’s fabric store in Fairfax. When I was looking up fabric stores on Google the reviews of Joann’s had been terrible for customer service but they were fantastic when we went there. The woman waiting on us explained why we should use a certain type of marine quality vinyl for the fabric. They also had a large piece of high quality foam that we purchased. They explained what spray on glue would be best as well.
Patrick and I worked on putting it together. First thing Patrick and I did was mark and cut the pegboard to the right size. We used a handheld jigsaw which was pretty easy. It was a bit nerve wracking getting the measurements right but I felt confident we had, plus we had 2 extra pieces in case we blew it. Always nice to have a back up!
We then put the pegboard on top of the foam and marked it. At the store the person cutting the foam for us had used an actual electric knife, like you use to carve a turkey at Thanksgiving. We didn’t have an electric knife so I used a box cutter knife. It wasn’t quite as smooth but it was sharp and did the job just fine.
We then put the pegboard and foam together and measured and cut the vinyl to fit. We were told by the woman at Joann’s that we needed at least 4 inches to overlap on the backside. The foam was 3″ thick so it was a total of 7″ larger on all sides than the foam/pegboard.
Before we put it all together I took a test piece of pegboard and vinyl and stapled the hell out of it to see who well it would work. I found out I REALLY needed to press down on the head of the stapler or else they just wouldn’t go in. I also folded the vinyl over a number of times to see how well it would staple in that thickness. I figured it out through practice and it worked fine.
We took the whole thing outside and Patrick sprayed each section with the glue as I held the fabric out. We then quickly folded it over and stapled it. We had to work fast since it was about 35º out and the glue was only suppose to be used at 60º or above. We tested the folds at the corners first before gluing and found we had a lot of extra material. We cut that all away before we sprayed and stapled.
And about an hour later we had our window bench done. It looked and felt great, just the right height and the right amount of cushion.
Here is Vivian trying it out for the first time, right before bedtime. The vinyl is durable and washable, something that was critical when you know a toddler is going to be sitting on the seat!
The next morning at breakfast she walked right over to it and tried to climb up. It’s going to be a perfect place for her to sit and eat and play. Even though it was a simple project, I think my grandfather, father and father-in-law would have all been proud!
__________________________
The Tile Patch
The other thing I did was patch some tile in the guest bathroom. It was crumbling right where I had to stand to use the sink so I went and got some patching material and fixed it. The small tiles had been coming up for a while and I wasn’t confident I would be able to find all of them so I bought one 6″x6″ tile to cover the main area. I wouldn’t have done that but they are hoping to completely gut and remodel the bathroom next year so a weird tile stuck in the middle of the bathroom is no big deal temporarily.
__________________________
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 20, 2015 | Illustrated Short Stories, Sketchbook History Tour |
Brandi contemplating on a rainy day at Foolish Things with churches in the distance in Tulsa, Oklahoma on 05/12/14.
___________________
Drawing by Marty Coleman
___________________
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 19, 2015 | Martin Luther King, Martin Luther King Day |
I was thinking of using a different quote today but when saw this one come up I liked the idea of recreating the image again this year, as I did in 2011 and 2009.
This is my favorite Martin Luther King, Jr. quote because, to me, it embodies the rock bottom truth behind it all. It doesn’t matter what boat you came on, what matters is that you are here now and you are an American (or want to be one). If you are, then you are in the same boat I am in. I want the boat to sail well and true and I believe you do too. I will work with you to make that happen and I hope you will work with me. I don’t care what your skin color is. I don’t care if your heritage is African or Albanian. I don’t care if you are a pauper or a princess. I just care that you want the best America possible, one that lives out the meaning of its creed.
We all want that, right?
_________________
Drawing by Marty Coleman
Quote By Martin Luther King, Jr.
_________________
This drawing, and all my drawings, are for sale. Email me at marty@napkindad.com if you are interested.
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 18, 2015 | 'In The Gallery', Marty Coleman |
Chapter One
Penelope was a Tour Guide of impeccable reputation. She knew everything there was to know about the art in the museum, including the current exhibition. She would explain in great detail why the artist made the choices she made and how one painting led to another and when she did what she did and who she was influenced by and where her art had been shown and what it all meant. People loved her and always gave great compliments about her to the staff of the museum as they left.
Chapter Two
She was also a thief. She only took when no one was looking, on those rainy, cold days when she would have just one person in her tour, or she was walking through the galleries and saw an easy mark. The museum was an old place without a lot of money so it hadn’t yet installed security cameras. She was happy about that. She had learned to pickpocket when on a vacation to Barcelona. She actually watched others doing it on La Rambla and simply imitated them again and again until she had it down. She mostly stole wallets. It was a fun challenge for her and she was quite prideful about her abilities.
Chapter Three
What she didn’t know however was that the current exhibition’s artwork held a secret. It was more modern than the museum. The artist, unbeknownst to anyone, had installed a camera into one of her sculptures in the exhibition. Her father had worked as a camera repairman and often told her he thought it would be fun to secretly put cameras in art to see how people reacted to the work. He got the idea when she was a child and he had brought her to Disneyland. They went into the haunted house and he kept wondering if the animatronic figures had cameras in their heads to catch the reactions from people. When she did a large sculpture of a head for the first time he asked if there was any way the head could contain a camera. She figured out a way to make room while he adapted a little spy video camera he had got into the repair shop that had never been picked up after being dropped off for repair.
Chapter Four
The artist, a woman named, Britt Smithson, was getting a kick out of watching the video of people looking at her artwork. In particular the reactions to her paintings of sloped-shouldered slackers with big penises. The men usually wouldn’t say much but the women would usually crack up or whisper to each other. The camera didn’t have audio and she really wished it did when she saw this. Some people hurried past without taking barely a glance. Some seemed to really like the work, spending time looking and reading the little handout.
When she saw the Tour Guide pickpocket the woman in front of the painting she was dumbstruck. Not because she knew Penelope, she didn’t. But just because it was so unexpected. She showed the tape to her father who was very excited. He and his daughter had caught a thief with their little collaboration!
Chapter Five
They spent a lot of time talking about what they should do. Should they simply show the tape to the director of the museum? Maybe to the police? Maybe go and talk to the Tour Guide and let her know what they saw? But if they did any of those things it would be found out that there was a camera in the sculpture and she didn’t want that to be known. In the end they decided to set up a ‘gotcha’ operation. They would have Britt’s sister, Goldy, be a solo museum visitor. She was an easily distracted, spacey person to begin with, so asking her to play that role wasn’t a big deal. Goldy was up for it. It would allow her to put some of her long ago acting lessons into action.
Goldy was to get Penelope as a Tour Guide, make sure her purse was wide open, slung behind her with her bright pink wallet easily accessible. The wallet would have a little tracking device in it that her father had bought at Radio Shack and had installed. Once it was stolen, Goldy would go to the front desk and complain, explain about the tracking device and bring out her iPhone with the tracking app on it. It would be easy enough to track it back to Penelope that way and she would be caught. It was a simple. easy plan that would still allow the camera in the sculpture to be kept secret.
Chapter Six
The plan seemed to go perfectly. Goldy played her role to perfection. Penelope stole the pink wallet just as they expected she would and Goldy went to the front desk when she ‘discovered’ the theft after she had finished the tour. The wallet’s signal could be seen on the iPhone and a security guard, a beefy, bearded guy named Gus, went with Goldy and her phone to find it. They had to go through almost the entire museum to where the signal was coming from and the security guard turned out to be quite a flirtatious character. In the five minutes it took to walk to the signal he had tried to finagled a date out of Goldy. This happened to her much more often than she cared to admit and she held off saying yes for the time being.
When they arrived at the back of the museum, they were led to a trashcan just inside the entrance to a restroom. The security guard took the plastic swinging part off the top and looked in. There, on top of a pile of wet paper towels was her pink wallet. The security guard reached in brought it out and asked her to check to see if anything was missing.
Chapter 7
Goldy suddenly realized she had done a very stupid thing. Her sister and father had told her to take anything really valuable out of her wallet but in the nervousness of doing this secret mission she had completely forgotten to do that. She had left all her credit cards, all her ID and all her money in the wallet. She was feeling like a complete idiot as she looked through the wallet. Relief came over her though when she discovered the only thing missing was her money. It had been more than she usually carries, probably around $120.00. But that wasn’t going to throw her into poverty or make her miss her rent payment. It was just going to mean not buying anything at the flea market later that day. She was pissed off at herself and relieved at the same time.
Gus said he would report the theft but chances are they would not be recovering any money. Goldy asked about fingerprints on the wallet. Gus said if they reported it to the police they would do that but if she just wanted to be done with it and not report it, then no, he wouldn’t be taking fingerprints. Goldy asked if he thought he could find out who did it. He said it wasn’t likely but he would look as people left, keep an eye out in general and who knows, something might turn up.
Chapter 8
Goldy decided to just cut her losses and not call the police. She knew that is what her dad and Britt would want. And she had no intention of telling them she had stupidly forgotten to take her money and credit cards out of the wallet. Gus gave her the number of the security office at the museum as well as his cell phone number. He also asked for hers in case he found something out. She had a feeling he wanted the number to continue to try to get a date. She wasn’t wholly against the idea and gave him her number.
Chapter 9
Goldy called Britt as soon as she was out of the museum and explained everything that happened, not including the loss of the money. Britt and their father were disappointed. They did have the tape showing Penelope stealing the wallet if they did want to go to the museum or the police, but it really didn’t seem to be worth it since as far as they knew nothing had been lost. They still did worry about Penelope and her continued thievery. They just weren’t sure what to do about it.
Chapter 10
Gus had been wondering for a while about the loss of wallets and other items in the museum. He had seen all the reports come in, most via telephone after someone would get home from the museum and realize something was missing. At first he thought it was a ring of pickpockets that had been around the city over the past few years. It had been reported on again and again but there hadn’t been any progress in catching anyone. But after a while Gus came to the realization that something else was going on. First, it was only women’s wallets that were reported stolen, never a man’s. The city-wide issue had mostly men being targeted. Second, it only happened on slow day, never busy ones. The city-wide pickpocketing was almost always at busy tourist destinations. Gus was starting to have an idea that this might be someone from inside the museum. He instructed the other security guards to watch everyone, including staff. And when possible, discreetly use their cell phones to take pictures of videos of suspicious situations.
Chapter 11
It was a little over a week later, during a spring downpour in the city, that one of the security guards, a young women named Jolene, decided to follow Penelope from a distance. It really was a reflection of Jolene being bored more than anything else, but she also had never liked Penelope nearly as much as everyone else. Penelope had treated her rudely a few times in the back offices, basically ignoring her when she said hello and turning her back on her while she was saying something once.
Jolene had her cell phone recording video from the very far side of an empty gallery when it happened. She was looking the other way, out into another room, as if she was paying no attention to Penelope and the lone women she was with. Penelope was explaining one of the paintings, pointing to the volcano in the background when she brought her hand up to the lady’s purse and quickly snatched her wallet out of it and put it in the museum bag she always carried with her so she could hand out information sheets.
Chapter 12
Jolene brought the video back to Gus who immediately went back with Jolene to the gallery and confronted Penelope. Later that day she was both fired and arrested. They found 5 sets of credit cards and 10 wallets in her apartment. She confessed and told the authorities she had thrown away all but the nicest wallets. She had sold most of the credit cards on the black market except for the ones she had stolen recently.
Gus called Goldy and told her Penelope had been caught. Penelope in turn called her sister and father and told them. They all took a deep sigh of relief over a resolution happening without the hidden camera being found out.
Epilogue
Gus also took one last chance to ask Goldy out. Goldy said yes. Gus and Goldy ended up dating for 2 years and getting married 3 years later. Penelope was sentenced to jail time, spending three months incarcerated. She was ordered to repay close to $10,000.00 but never did, since she was basically broke the rest of her life. Her life didn’t last long. She was hit by a taxi in a rainstorm two years later.
Britt never did another piece with a camera in it. Her father stuck to listening in on his Ham Radio to conversations in distant lands.
The End
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 16, 2015 | Labels - 2015, W. C. Fields |
Man Labels
A few days ago I drew the first of my labels series. After I posted it on Facebook my sister took me to task for it only being about women, not men. I explained that 75% of my audience is women, that the person depicted was a woman and that 3 out of the 7 words used were gender neutral. I also said it was just a sample of what people might say, not a thorough compendium.
After thinking about what would be next in the label series this morning I started thinking about what a man might be called compared to a woman. I had the words ‘ugly whore’, ‘slut’, ‘goddess’, and ‘pretty’ as the four gender specific words in the first drawing. What might be the equivalent, or would there be an equivalent, for a man? I ended up using 2 of the same words exactly as before; ‘smart’ and ‘stupid’. I used ‘handsome’ instead of ‘pretty’ and I used ‘God’ instead of ‘Goddess’.
Asshole
I then added 3 words I think are directed in a derogatory way towards men most of the time. ‘Asshole’ can of course be used with any gender. I even have a female blogger friend who just this morning posted a photo of her foray to the fancy pizza restaurant with her young kids last night. She said the kids didn’t like the pizza because it had basil on it, thus she was an ‘asshole’. But that sort of proves the rule to me. It’s a greater rarity to call a woman an asshole than it is a man. It’s changing though, I admit. Not sure that is a good thing or not.
Faggot
The words ‘Womanizer’ and ‘faggot’ are safe bets to be used primarily towards men. I’ve been called both in my life. Being called ‘faggot’ as a teen really had no meaning for me and didn’t really affect me one way or the other. Primarily this was because I didn’t really know what it meant beyond someone being effeminate. I never worried about me being effeminate and I wasn’t really thinking about the sexual acts that would lead one to be called that when I was growing up. It wasn’t some sort of ‘oh, they know my secret’ type worry. It was just something guys said in putting each other down.
I feel for those among my friends who suffered through being called that and actually were questioning their sexuality and attraction, or who did know they were gay from an early age but weren’t at all sure it was right or ok. I know now, when gay rights and gay relationships are much more out in the open, it still is a hurtful word to have thrown at you. But back then, in the 60s and 70s, I can only imagine that to have that word and accusation thrown at you then had to be very hard to take. I am happy that it’s easier for so many now. I hope it becomes easier for more and more around the globe soon.
Womanizer
‘Womanizer’, on the other hand, I didn’t like being called, probably because it hit too close to home. There were times I did feel like a womanizer and so when I was called that word it hit a nerve.
I’ve had many people over the years ask why I primarily draw, photograph and befriend women more than men. I don’t have a problem being asked that and I am confident in my answer. My answer is: I like women more than men. Yes, because of the physical attraction. But also yes, because of the emotional availability. And yes, because of the communication. And yes, because of the mutual interests. Yes, for a lot of reasons.
But being a ‘womanizer’ is not the same as being a person who likes and loves women. Being a womanizer is being manipulative. It’s being predatory. It’s having an agenda. I have been all those things in the past and it took me way too long to see the damage it did to myself and others. Being called that, and worse, being that, wasn’t a good thing.
Your Nerve Point
What about you. What were you called that you never thought about answering because it wasn’t close to who you were? What were you called that actually did hit close to home and you have had to deal with inside yourself?
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Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote adapted from one by W. C. Fields, American comedian and actor, 1880 – 1946
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 14, 2015 | Labels - 2015, Marty Coleman |
Question
What labels have you been given and how did that affect you?
Self-Esteem
I wrote a short story yesterday about a homeless woman and her daughter. The mother was confronted by a woman who judged her negatively without really knowing her. The daughter was upset about the judgment and her mother used the opportunity to explain that the judgment wasn’t based on the lady knowing them. She explained that she judged because she had some hurt in her that she was trying to get out and judging others was her way of doing that. And the mother was right, the judgment occurred because the woman was raised being judgmental. It was how she tried to be like her own mother. It was a convoluted attempt to get her approval, which she never really had as a child. The child was lucky to have a mother to help explain that their self-esteem came from them, not from some random person who did not know them. The link to that story is below.
Their Story
I am guessing those of you reading this have been called one of the words in the drawing above. Some are negative and some are positive, but all of them are fables, or stories. That doesn’t mean they may not have some truth in them. Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. But at the most they are incomplete statements of who you are and at the least they are outright lies. Wherever they are in the arch of truth, the reason they are spoken has more to do with the person speaking than it has to do with you.
In other words, they are making up a story about you that fits their needs. It’s not a story about truth, it’s a story their need. Within that story may be some truths about you that you agree with. Maybe you think you are smart just like they do. Maybe you do think you are a slut just like they do. But that is just two stories having a similar character. It doesn’t make their story your story.
Your Story
When I do a photo shoot with a model for one of my art projects I will often ask the following question: What is your favorite facial feature on yourself? Many will answer in the following way: “Well, most people say it’s my… ‘type in facial feature here’. I, in response, will say, “I am not asking what others think is your best feature, I am asking you what feature is YOUR favorite.” That gets them thinking and they often, but not always, will change their answer. They might say, “I know no one else really pays any attention to it, but I love my forehead best because it reminds me of my dad.” or something like that. That, to me, illustrates the difference between the story you would tell about yourself and the story others may tell about you.
Question
What labels have you been given and how did that affect you?
Story Link:
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Drawing, quote and commentary by Marty Coleman
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 13, 2015 | 'In The Gallery', Marty Coleman |
Prologue
Beatrice was raised by a very judgmental mother who didn’t like her much.
Chapter One
Beatrice saw the mother and daughter on the street outside of gallery as she went up the steps. As she juggled her keys and coffee to unlock the door she hoped they would move along soon.
It wasn’t that cold out but it had been cold overnight and they were both barefoot. Their shoes had been stolen at the homeless shelter the night before. The mother, named Emily, was hoping the shelter would have extra shoes, but they did not. She had come downtown hoping the church caring center would have some and was waiting for it to open. She stopped in front of the gallery because there was a ledge just the right height for her daughter to sit on with her doll. Her daughter, named Cerise, had to go to the bathroom very badly. The mother was hoping she could wait until the caring center was open but it looked like she might not be able to. She finally decided she had to go into the gallery to see if they had a bathroom.
Beatrice heard the door open while she was in the back turning on the computer in the office. When she went out and saw it was the mother and daughter she rolled her eyes, sighed heavily and went up front to confront them. “Yes, may I help you?” She asked.
Emily said, “We are waiting for the church caring center to open down the street but my daughter really has to go to the bathroom. Would you mind if she used yours, please?”
Beatrice said, “Yes, she may, but make it quick.” She walked towards the back, sweeping her arm behind her indicating for them to follow. She pointed to a small door and said, “There, please be quick and clean up after.”
Cerise was quick and did clean up after. Emily thanked Beatrice and started to walk back to the front to go out. Beatrice stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and said, “Hold on a minute. I really have to say I am bothered by you allowing your daughter being barefoot in the city like that, not to mention yourself. It’s dangerous on the sidewalks with trash and glass and all sorts of things. Why are you barefoot?”
Emily explained about the shoes being stolen. Beatrice said, “But why did you allow them to be stolen? Why weren’t they on your feet? Why were you at a homeless shelter in the first place? Your child is very young, you should take better care of her.”
Emily by this time was holding Cerise close. Cerise in turn was holding her doll even closer. Emily said, “Yes, you are right. I wish I had taken better care of her. Thank you for letting us use the bathroom. We won’t bother you again.”
Beatrice said, “I hope you don’t and I hope you get your act together. It’s not good for her.”
Chapter Two
Emily and Cerise went outside and down the street to the Church Caring Center. It had opened and it turned out they did have shoes they could have, along with socks and sweaters for both of them. Cerise had been crying about the lady in the gallery. She asked her mom, “Why was that lady so mean? She really scared me. You should have told her the whole story, then maybe she wouldn’t have been so mean.”
Emily responded, “You know Cerise, sometimes it really doesn’t matter if someone knows the whole story. They need to judge and so they will judge, no matter what. You and I know the story and we both know why we were at the homeless shelter. We know what we are doing and why. That is what matters.”
Beatrice told the story of the homeless mother and daughter to five different friends over the course of the day. Four of the friends agreed that the homeless mother was bad and that the daughter should be taken from her and put in protective custody. The fifth friend, a wealthy gallery patron named Jill, told Beatrice she thought she had treated them badly. She said what they needed was kindness, not judgment.
Beatrice was rather taken aback by this and asked why she was making such a big deal about it. Jill said, “I once was homeless when I was quite young and people treated me the same way. I already knew all the negative things about myself and how I had ended up homeless, I didn’t need other people telling me the same thing. What I needed was help and understanding. Luckily for me I got that help, and ironically it was actually from a gallery dealer in Los Angeles. Without his understanding and help I never would have gotten out of the jam I was in.”
Chapter Three
A few weeks later Emily and Cerise were in the same gallery neighborhood again. This time they had shoes on. Emily had gotten a part-time job at a coffee shop about a block from the gallery. The coffee shop owner had said Cerise could stay there as long as she didn’t bother her mother too much while she was on duty. It would only be for a few more weeks then school would start again for the fall and Cerise wouldn’t have to be there during the day. Cerise sat at a little table near the window and drew in the sketchbook they had given her at the Church Caring Center a few weeks before.
Beatrice usually came to the coffee shop around 9:30 am, right before she went to open the gallery. This day she saw a little girl through the window as she approached. As she walked past she bent down, pointed at the drawing and said, “You are a very good artist. Keep at it and one day you might be famous, who knows!” Cerise looked up and recognized the woman as the mean person from a few weeks prior, but Beatrice did not recognize Cerise. But when she came to the counter she most definitely did recognize Cerise’s mother, Emily. She remembered the green eyes, the strong eyeliner and the red hair up in a bun. Emily recognized Beatrice as well. They stared at each other for a moment. Beatrice could feel her cheeks flushing with blood.
Emily asked, “Hello, what may I get for you today?”
Beatrice answered, “Um…I will have…um….I will have a large Cafe Mocha please.”
Emily said, “Will that be all?”
Beatrice answered, “Yes. Um….you were in my gallery last week, right?”
Emily responded, “Yes. My daughter used the bathroom. Thank you for allowing that.”
Beatrice said, “Um….yes. No problem. Anytime.” She felt particularly stupid after saying that.
Emily said. “Your drink will be ready over to the left. It should be just a minute.”
Beatrice moved over to the counter at the left. She picked up her drink and was on her way out when she returned to Emily. She said, “I am sorry for the attitude I had that day. It was mean and judgmental and I regret it.”
Beatrice looked up from ringing something up in the cash register. “I appreciate that. We are used to that attitude, you aren’t alone. But you are the only person who’s ever apologized to me for it. That means a lot. Thank you.”
Beatrice asked, “Where is your daughter?”
Emily pointed to the front and said, “You already talked to her, she is the little girl at the window over there.”
Beatrice Asked Emily her name and the name of her daughter. She shook Emily’s hand, said her apology again and walked over the Cerise. She kneeled down to Cerise’s level, forgetting that her skirt was short and was probably exposing too much, and said, “Cerise, my name is Beatrice. I own the gallery that you came into last week to go to the bathroom. I remember being mean to your mother and you and I should not have been like that. I wanted to come over and apologize to you. Will you forgive me?”
Cerise said, “Yes, I will. Mom says when someone treats us mean it usually means something is hurting inside them and that we should hope that hurt goes away for them instead of us feeling hurt about what they said.”
Beatrice stared at Cerise. She couldn’t talk for a moment. Finally, as tears started to gather in her eyes, said, “Yes, your mother is a very wise woman. She is right. It is much more about my hurt than anything about you. Once again, I am sorry and I hope you won’t hold it against me.”
Cerise said, “I won’t, I promise. By the way, thank you for saying you liked my drawing when you came in. That made me happy. I am not very good yet but I like drawing so I do it anyway.”
Beatrice said, “You are better than you think you are, I can tell you that much.”
Beatrice left, crying.
Chapter Four
Two days later Beatrice went back in the coffee shop and saw Cerise and Emily again. She asked Emily if it would be ok if some days Cerise spent her time at the gallery instead of the coffee shop. Emily said it was ok with her if it was ok with Cerise. Beatrice went over to Cerise and asked, “Cerise, I had an idea last night. Would you be willing to spend a bit of your time during the day at my gallery instead of here? You can still draw of course. But you can do other things there too, maybe even help me with some stuff. And we do have a cool cat that needs some company.”
Cerise looked over at her mother who nodded her ok. Cerise smiled and said, “Yes, that might be fun.”
Cerise spent an hour or so each day at the gallery for the remainder of the summer. She drew a lot, often drawing the cat sleeping in the sun. She also learned how to hammer a nail, cut a mat, wire a frame and paint pedestals. As the end of summer approached Beatrice’s assistant announced she was pregnant and going to be moving the the suburbs with her husband, who was taking a job in Greenwich.
Beatrice offered the assistant job to Emily, who accepted.
Epilogue
That was five years ago. Beatrice has since opened a second gallery uptown. Emily is in charge of the downtown gallery and is making quite a name for herself as an astute judge of talent and an excellent curator. Cerise is just entering high school and has decided to major in art when she goes to college.
Beatrice keeps in contact with her friend Jill, who is also great friends with Emily and Cerise. Beatrice has no idea what ever happened to her other four friends.
The End
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 9, 2015 | Art Smith, Museum Compositions, Photographic Sunday |
Yesterday I posted a drawing and 2 photos from my foray into the Dallas Museum of Art’s ‘Bouquet’ exhibition over the Thanksgiving weekend, 2014.
There were other temporary exhibitions as well. One was a retrospective of Modernist Jewelry created by Art Smith. I honestly was more interested in the photographs of the models wearing the jewelry, most seeming to be from the 50s and 60s. The photographers were listed as ‘Unknown Photographer’ in all the photos, though one actually did have a last name written on it. It’s a relatively rare occurrence when something on a museum wall from the last 100 years is attributed to ‘Anonymous’ . The names of models in old paintings are often lost in time, but that is usually not the case with more contemporary portrait muses. But these were photos focused on the jewelry, not the photographer or model, and at least the Jewelry designer was known, right? Still, I felt bad for the photographer and models lost in time. I did however like the word play that immediately appeared in my head; I was taking photographs of photographs taken by unknown photographers of anonymous models.
I took a few pics with my regular camera then decided to take one with my cell phone so I could post it if I later wanted to. When I did that I happened to catch a reflected light in the eye of one of the model photos. That led me on a search for more reflected lights in the eyes. I spent minutes at a time trying to get the reflection to be just right. It was a fun and exacting effort. The other people in the gallery definitely were wondering why I was holding up a little old cell phone so long in one position, that was obvious!
Here are a few of my favorites from my effort.
Museum Composition – Anonymous Eyes #1
Museum Composition – Anonymous Eyes #2
Museum Composition – Anonymous Eyes #3
Museum Composition – Anonymous Eyes #4
After I took the pics I wandered around looking at the actual jewelry in the cases and, as you can see from the photos, they were incredible.
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Here are more ‘Museum Compositions’ posts
Museum Compositions – June 2013
Museum as Muse – Dallas Museum of Art – July 2013
Bouquets in Dallas – Dallas Museum of Art – November 2014
Anonymous Eyes – Dallas Museum of Art – November 2014
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Photographs and writing by Marty Coleman © 2015
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 8, 2015 | Dallas, Museum Compositions, Photographic Sunday |
Dallas Museum of Art
Over the Thanksgiving weekend we were down in Dallas visiting our daughter, Caitlin. We went to see the Dallas Cowboys play on Thursday, had Thanksgiving dinner after that and then spent the rest of the weekend just enjoying ourselves. On Friday Linda and Caitlin went shopping and I went to one of my favorite museums, the Dallas Museum of Art. I’ve been there 3 times now I think. It’s a large museum with an extensive permanent collection in all the major areas of art. It also has rotating exhibitions, usually at least 3-4 at a time. This time the major show was ‘Bouquets’. That means it was paintings of flowers. Not my favorite genre. It could even be my least favorite genre actually.
I knew this in advance and was thinking of going to the outdoor Sculpture Museum across the street instead but for some reason I forget now, maybe it was cold or rainy, I opted to go to the Museum anyway. I had my camera with me and figured at least I would be able to work on my ongoing ‘Museum Compositions’ series. I also knew that the exhibition had at least one Matisse painting in it so it couldn’t be all bad.
One of the good things about the DMA is they allow photography (without flash) everywhere, even special exhibitions. Most museums allow photography but not in the temporary exhibitions. Some, like the Gilcrease Museum in Tulsa, don’t allow any photography at all. So, I went traipsing around the museum and took some photos.
Drawing
I also did a drawing while I was there. It wasn’t in my sketchbook but rather in a gallery in the Bouquet’ exhibition where they had an actual bouquet of flowers for people to draw. They had paper and pencils and places to sit. I had a pen with me, the type I use in my sketchbook, so I used that on one of their pieces of paper to capture the scene. There was a place to put up your art work once you were finished but I didn’t want to let go of mine. I rolled it up and brought it home thinking I might color it later on. It got hidden in a bag I brought home and I didn’t find it again until last week right before my road trip to Virginia.
One of my goals for 2015 is to follow through on more of my artwork so I figured I needed to scan the drawing and put it out there before it got forgotten.
A drawing of someone drawing flowers in an exhibition of paintings of flowers at the Dallas Museum of Art.
Photographs
I didn’t capture many shots I liked but here are two I think stood out.
Museum Composition – Bouquet #1
This is one of the favorite ‘Museum Compositions’ images I’ve taken. The pose this woman unconsciously struck as she looked at the painting was exquisite and I quickly got off 3-4 photos of her standing there. I later went up to her and asked her if she was a dancer since the pose looks so much like one a dancer would strike. She said she wasn’t and I told her she sure had the posture of one. She took it as a very nice compliment and I was happy about that.
Museum Composition – Bouquet #2
I like the color combinations in this one and I especially like the interaction between the two people.
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Here are more ‘Museum Compositions’ posts
Museum Compositions – June 2013
Museum as Muse – Dallas Museum of Art – July 2013
Bouquets in Dallas – Dallas Museum of Art – November 2014
Anonymous Eyes – Dallas Museum of Art – November 2014
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Photographs and drawings © 2017 Marty Coleman | napkindad.com
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 6, 2015 | 'In The Gallery', Marty Coleman |
Prologue
Millicent had never been the subject of a short story before. She had been mentioned in a weird poem her 10th grade boyfriend had written for her when he was high on pot, but never a short story.
Chapter One
Millicent had never been in an art gallery before. She did go into one with her father in Sausalito when she was 11 and stole a pair of earrings, but never as an adult.
Chapter Two
Millicent was hired at the last minute to sub for Berthe, who had come down with Shingles and couldn’t work. She had subbed last minute plenty of times for Sid the alcoholic, but never for Berthe.
Chapter Three
Millicent had never seen a painting of a naked person in person before. She had seen pictures years ago in some dirty magazines her brother had, but never a painting.
Chapter Four
Millicent had never worn stripes and polka dots together to work before. She had worn stripes and paisley together once to her husband’s Christmas office party where she drank too much Vodka, but never stripes and polka dots.
Chapter Five
Millicent had never taken the N Judah trolley to the end of the line before. She had taken the M Owl all the way to the end before, when she was depressed about her oldest son being caught putting on her makeup, but never the N Judah.
Chapter Six
Millicent had never had to actually interpret the word ‘breast’ in public before. She had to sign ‘butt’ plenty of times, but never the word ‘breast’.
Chapter Seven
Millicent had never eaten Sushi before but that is where the class went after the gallery. She had eaten raw chicken once and got sick, but never fish.
Chapter Eight
Millicent had never worn salmon colored eyeshadow before but got some for Christmas and decided to try it. She had worn peach colored eyeshadow before, but never salmon.
Chapter Nine
Millicent had never contemplated divorce before but she saw her husband with a big busted blonde in a Starbucks across the street from the gallery as they walked in. She had contemplated killing him before, but never divorce.
Epilogue
Millicent divorced her husband, wore salmon colored eyeshadow every day, gave her peach colored eyeshadow to her son, got a fish tank, wore stripes and polka dots together often and started painting for fun. Her best friend Geraldo even posed for her naked once.
The End
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 24, 2014 | Santa Claus |
Merry |ˈmerē|
adjective ( merrier , merriest )
cheerful and lively : the narrow streets were dense with merry throngs of students | a merry grin.
• (of an occasion or season) characterized by festivity and rejoicing : he wished me a merry Christmas.
• [ predic. ] Brit., informal slightly and good-humoredly drunk : after the third bottle of beer he began to feel quite merry.
PHRASES
go on one’s merry way informal carry on with a course of action regardless of the consequences.
make merry enjoy oneself with others, esp. by dancing and drinking.
the more the merrier the more people or things there are, the better or more enjoyable a situation will be.
DERIVATIVES
merriness noun
ORIGIN Old English myrige [pleasing, delightful,] of Germanic origin; related to mirth .
Happy |ˈhapē|
adjective ( -pier , -piest )
1 feeling or showing pleasure or contentment : Melissa came in looking happy and excited | [with clause ] we’re just happy that he’s still alive | [with infinitive ] they are happy to see me doing well.
• [ predic. ] ( happy about) having a sense of confidence in or satisfaction with (a person, arrangement, or situation) : I was never very happy about the explanation | I can’t say they looked too happy about it, but a deal’s a deal.
• [ predic. ] ( happy with) satisfied with the quality or standard of : I’m happy with his performance.
• [with infinitive ] willing to do something : we will be happy to advise you.
• (of an event or situation) characterized by happiness : we had a very happy, relaxed time.
• [ attrib. ] used in greetings : happy birthday.
• [ attrib. ] fortunate and convenient : he had the happy knack of making people like him.
2 [in combination ] informal inclined to use a specified thing excessively or at random : our litigation-happy society.
PHRASES
( as) happy as a clam ( at high tide) extremely happy.
happy hunting ground a place where success or enjoyment is obtained. [ORIGIN: originally referring to the optimistic hope of American Indians for good hunting grounds in the afterlife.]
DERIVATIVES
happiness noun
ORIGIN Middle English (in the sense [lucky] ): from the noun hap + -y 1 .
Yes, this is what I hope for you.
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Drawing by Marty Coleman
Definitions by us all
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 22, 2014 | 'In The Gallery', Marty Coleman |
Chapter One
Rita got the invitation the same day her date stood her up (she hadn’t had a successful second date in 2 years) so she decided to go to the opening alone. She knew the show would have nudes in it, but didn’t realize every single painting was of a blue, slack-shouldered loser with a big dick. This depressed her until she finally broke out laughing and said to the young woman standing next to her, “This show is ‘truth’ – men are just big dicks.” The both laughed and became friends. They left the gallery disillusioned and went to see a movie about a female army ranger who was stuck in the mountains and had to eat her fellow male army ranger who died to survive. That made them feel better.
The End
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 19, 2014 | Anonymous, The Senses - 2014/15 |
Eye Believer
What is the most compelling thing in a murder trial? The eyewitness testimony. It’s graphic, emotional, and compelling. Why? Because the person saw it happen. That’s strong. It’s also often wrong. Eyewitnesses are known to actually be notoriously unreliable in many cases.
Ear Believer
Have you seen the Christmas movie ‘White Christmas’? The housekeeper is an eavesdropping busy body who overhears a partial conversation over the phone and makes assumptions, and shares them, about the whole nature of the conversation. It leads to a big huge mess.
Smart Believer
So, what is the solution to this dilemma of having something seen or heard that seems to be rock solid? Withholding judgment is how I deal with it. I say to myself, What’s the rush? Why do I have to go on social media or to my friends and say something RIGHT NOW about this event that I have heard or seen just a fragment of? Why not be patient and wait to find out more about what is happening? Why not investigate and look deeper?
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Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote by Anonymous
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 18, 2014 | Sketchbook History Tour |
I got up early on the day after the Dallas Marathon that Caitlin and I ran in. Caitlin and Linda were sleeping in so I went off to Starbucks to draw and have some coffee.
The sun rose as I started to draw, hitting this woman who was studying intently. The pale yellow glow was focused directly on her and I quickly started getting her down on paper. After I had drawn her top half she got up, picked up her backpack and laptop and looked like she was getting ready to leave. Luckily she was just going to the bathroom. When she returned she crossed her legs as you see here and I was able to finish drawing her without it looking disconnected from the top.
She kept her head down for a good portion of the time but I had to draw her facial features from memory since I hadn’t drawn them while she was sitting the first time and now her face was turned at an angle. I kept waiting for her to turn back to the right side of her page so I could see her face straight on again but she didn’t.
I showed her the drawing after I was done. I try to gauge the reaction from the people I draw and I definitely felt that while she was impressed to some degree, she was also perhaps a bit freaked out by it. I introduced myself, gave her my card and told her to contact me if she was interested in seeing the drawing after I had finished it. I asked her name and I thought she said ‘Alton’ but when I repeated it back to her she said what I thought was ‘Alta’. So, until I hear otherwise, she is Alta!
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Drawing and story by Marty Coleman
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 17, 2014 | 'In The Gallery', Marty Coleman |
Prologue
She didn’t realize today would be the most important day of her life.
Chapter One
The Waitress was waiting tables, depressed and annoyed at having been in the city for months and still not having made any friends or making any progress in her hoped for career as an actress. Her first table wasn’t making her feel any better. The man at the table had stopped her the moment she set down his coffee. He took hold of her hand and stared at it. He said, “You have a beautiful hand” then let go of it and thanked her for the coffee. She rolled her eyes as she walked away. “What a loser.” she mumbled.
For the rest of the breakfast he was deep in conversation with his breakfast companion, an elderly woman. The Waitress guessed she was at least 50 years older than he was. At first she thought it was probably his Grandmother, but as she heard snippets of the conversation she got the impression it was a business meeting. They talked a lot about costs, delivery dates and clients.
When she took the check from the artist at the end of the meal one of the dollar bills fell on the table. He picked it up and gave it to her. When she took it he said loudly, “WAIT!” Once again he took hold of her hand, this time with the dollar bill still in it. He looked up at her and said, “Would you consider modeling for me?”
She gave a deep sigh, rolled her eyes and looked at him with a smirk. “I am a legit artist, really!” he said with a laugh.
The elderly woman nodded her head and said, “He is right, you know. I am his art dealer, have been for 10 years. You can bring a friend or escort to his studio if that would make you comfortable. And don’t worry, he will pay you very well.”
The waitress looked at him and said. “Do I have to be naked?”
He laughed again. “No. Well, your hand does. I want to do a sculpture using your hand holding a dollar bill.”
She popped out her hip, put her hand on it and smirked again as she said, “My hand? Really? Not my surpassing feminine beauty? I am not sure what to think of that.”
Everyone laughed. He said, “Well, how about this. I will do a drawing of your surpassing beauty AND pay you if you will model your hand for me.”
She stared at him a moment then looked over at the elderly lady. The lady said, “You really should do it, you know. He’s a great guy and artist, plays good music in the studio and always has good coffee brewing.”
“OK. Done deal. I’ve always wanted to be a hand model!” Sara said.
The artist brought out an old-fashioned appointment book, flipped the pages and landed on a Saturday about 2 weeks away. He asked, pointing to the page, “Would this be ok? That Saturday, maybe at about 10 am?
She brought out her iPhone, checked the date and said, “Looks good to me. See you then.”
He got up to leave with his dining companion and the waitress said. “Do you want to know my name? And maybe we should exchange phone numbers? And I will need the address of your studio as well”
He looked at her with a silly grin and said. “Sorry, I always forget that part. Thanks for reminding me. My name is Art Mann and this is my dealer, Vivian DeWhite. What is yours?”
She raised one eyebrow. “Your name is Art Mann? Really? Come on.”
He looked at her, put up two fingers side by side and said, “Scouts honor. That’s my given name.”
She shook her head with a slight grin. “This is just too strange.” she said under her breath. “My name is Sara. Sara Montgomery. Nice to meet you Mr. Mann!”
She got his number and the address and said her goodbyes. As he went out the door he turned around and said with a laugh, “Be careful with that hand for the next two weeks. No ditch digging or other manual labor, ok?”
She gave him the thumbs up with her soon to be immortalized hand and went on to finish her shift, chuckling about the encounter for most of the rest of the day.
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Chapter Two
Sara spent the morning of her modeling debut trying to figure out what and how she should prepare. She hadn’t dug any ditches and she had moisturized each day. She did do her nails the night before. And since it was winter she did have warm gloves for the trip to the studio. Her hands were set.
He said he was going to draw her ‘surpassing beauty’ so she had also done her hair up nice, plucked her eyebrows and bought new mascara that didn’t clump. She wore a simple green leotard type top, not too much cleavage but enough to maybe impress just a little. She tried it with and without her bra and even though she thought of herself as still being pretty uplifting in that category, she was worried the studio might be cold and her perky girls would be way too obvious. She erred on the side of caution and wore a bra. She wore her go-to jeans and ankle high boots. He didn’t seem like a perfume type guy so she didn’t put any on.
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Chapter Three
Just as she was about to ring the buzzer at the apartment building when she was startled by the door opening and a very good looking man burstimg out. He smiled at her as he bounded down the stoop and said in what sounded like a German accent, “You must be the hand model. You can go right up, he’s expecting you. It’s on the 3rd floor.” He was 10 steps down the street by the time she got out a “Thanks.” and turned back towards the door. She was pretty sure he hadn’t heard her.
She could have gone without the bra. He had a wood-fired stove in the middle and, in spite of the 2 story wall of windows on 2 sides bringing in incredible winter light, the place was toasty warm. She was very nervous coming in but he welcomed her in with a big smile and a quick hug and that put her at ease. He offered her coffee or tea and had orange scones on a red plate waiting for her. She chose the supposedly great coffee and took a scone.
They made small talk for a few minutes, mostly about the cold front that had just moved in and if there would be more snow. He then jumped up, took her hand and said, “Come on, let me show you my space!”
He had a large array of canvases leaning up against the walls to the left, facing away from her. She was dying to know what they were of but he didn’t offer to turn them around. There were some drawings tacked up on the partition on the right, between the studio and what she figured was the kitchen and living area; portraits, body parts and full nudes in what she thought was probably charcoal. Among the drawings was a drawing of an ear with a big gaudy earring hanging from it, a portrait of a woman with a patch over one eye and a fully body nude of a man who she thought looked like the guy she saw bound out of the building. The drawing was complete except for his genitals. There was just a blank space where they would have been.
There were also three stands with clay sculptures on them against the windows. There was a nose with a clothes pin holding the nostrils closed, a foot in a high heel standing on an unbroken light bulb and a set of very round butt cheeks with a smoking pipe sticking out of it. Each one was about 2 feet tall.
He said that each piece started the same way the one he was going to do of her started. He met them as strangers, liked something about them and asked if they would model for him. She couldn’t help but wonder about the circumstances behind them all, and finally had to say something when they got to the sculpture of the butt cheeks.
She could feel a flush coming to her cheeks as she asked, “So, how exactly did you approach this woman to ask her to model her butt for you?”
He laughed, “I was wondering if you were going to ask! So many people see these pieces and know that they are all of strangers and never ask. I would certainly ask if I heard that story!” He pointed to the butt cheeks and said, “This is actually one of the simplest of explanations. She works out at the gym I go to. She is pretty much a superstar there and loves being the center of attention. I did exactly what I did with you, minus the ‘touching the body part’ part of course. I just told her she had amazing glutes and asked if she would model them for me. She did look at me a bit funny but I explained myself and she agreed. That is all there is too it.”
“Did she know you were going to stick a pipe up her butt?” she asked with a smile on face.
He bowed his head a bit and responded, “uh…No, she didn’t know that. I didn’t even know that until I was pretty much done. But, she’s seen it since and thinks it ‘gnarly cool’ to quote her.”
She looked at him and said, “Now I am nervous! What are you going to do or add to my hand after you are done sculpting it? Should I be worried.”
He laughed, “No, I already know what is going in your hand. It’s going to be the one dollar bill you had in your hand at the restaurant when I asked you.”
“Really?” she asked. “Promise? You promise nothing perverse or x-rated will be in my hand? I don’t want to bring my mom and dad to some opening and find my hand has a dildo or something in it!”
“No, sorry.” he said. “Just a boring old dollar bill, I promise.”
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Chapter Four
The actual modeling session went by quickly and without much excitement. He posed her arm so her elbow was on a table and her hand was facing straight up. At first her hand was empty but with her fingers together as if she was holding a dollar bill in them. He took photos from every conceivable angle, with and without a flash. He had her hold a dollar bill and he did the same set of photos all over again. He then sat very close in front of her and drew her hand a number of times. He did quick 30 second drawings that looked like scribbles to her and then worked his way up to a drawing that took almost an hour. She got a break after the short drawings and that was a very good thing because the coffee (which was very good) had gone through her and she was about to pee in her pants if he hadn’t stopped drawing right then.
She pretty much ran to the bathroom, barely getting her pants down before she let go. She hung her head down while she went, eyes closed in relief. It wasn’t until she looked up to find the toilet paper that she realized there was a huge drawing of a orangutan’s face staring right at her from the back of the bathroom door. She almost screamed when she saw it. She muttered to herself as she washed her hands, “At least it wasn’t butt cheeks”
The hour long pose was much harder than she imagined. Her fingers got tired and cramped and then seemed to fall asleep. She had to take a break and shake out her hand to get blood flowing back to it. But soon enough it was over. He exclaimed, “Finito! at least for now.” She got up, stretched a bit and asked if she could take a look at his drawing. He gestured to it sitting on his drawing bench and said, “Feel free. I will use it, along with the photos, as a basis for the sculpture. I expect it will take me a few months to finish it. I am going to have a show in the fall at Vivian’s Gallery and I am hopeful it will be in the show. I will let you know. “
After a break for more coffee and one last scone he said, “Ok, I promised you a drawing of your surpassing beauty so let’s get to it.” He brought her over to his drawing table and had her sit across from her. He told her to just look right over his head out the windows behind him. He said her eyes could go wherever she wanted as long as her head stayed in the same position. As he drew she scanned the apartment building across the street. There was one window with the curtains open where a woman was pacing back and forth talking on the phone. She imagined what that conversation was all about, creating a story in her head about the woman and her lover having an argument about how badly he behaved at her company Christmas party the night before. Before the drawing was over she had decided the woman really needed to break up with the guy and see a shrink.
Right as she came to that conclusion Art said, “Ok, all done.” He picked up the drawing and turned it around to show her. She had to admit, he had made her look beautiful. Probably the most beautiful she had ever seen herself. And it wasn’t that it was unrealistic, it actually did look just like her and it was beautiful. She really didn’t know what to say but she managed to eek out a “Wow, that is amazing, thank you!”
Art went over to a drawer, slipped the drawing in. Sara looked at him and said, “What, I don’t get the drawing?”
He said, “I said I would draw you, not that I would give you the drawing.”
She stared at him. “Sheesh, what a rip off. I was brought here under false pretenses!” She said with a laugh.
Art said, “I didn’t say I would NEVER give it to you, just not now.”
Sara harrumphed, “Alrighty then. I’ll expect it for Christmas or my birthday.”
And with that, it was time to go. She had about 2 hours to get home, maybe take a nap and get ready for her dinner shift at the restaurant. He led her to the door of his studio and handed her a check as he bid her farewell. It was for $250.00. Not a bad haul for a few hours of sitting around with her hand in the air, she thought.
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Chapter Five
Sara didn’t see Art again until the opening of his show 8 months later. However, In the intervening months Sara’s life changed dramatically. In spite of the hand cramp she loved doing the modeling. She found out from a friend that agencies around the city didn’t just look for face and body models but also for body part models, like hands and feet. She got up her nerve and contacted an agency after seeing photos of hands on their site. Sara had a photographer friend take some photos of her hands in Black and White and submitted them to the agency to be considered.
Within a week she got a call asking her to come in and within a week after that she had her first job hand modeling. It was for a brand of rubber gloves and she was photographed putting the gloves on and off. It wasn’t glamorous and it paid poorly but amazingly within 4 months she was getting enough work as a model to go down to about 3 dinner shifts a week waiting tables. After 3 months she had a premium shoot for jewelry that paid really good money. She got to wear bracelets and rings all day long as they photographed and videotaped her lounging around in a very ritzy apartment on the 76th floor of some building on the upper east side of Manhattan. They had put a very sexy party dress on her and even did her makeup and hair. It wasn’t scripted or rehearsed but at the last minute they asked her say something while looking directly into the camera while slipping a bracelet over her wrist. It was just one line, “It’s not jewelry, it’s art.” and she nailed it the first time around. They had her do it twice more just in case, once smiling as she said it and another time looking off camera.
She had to give the dress and jewelry back of course but her makeup and hair were still done. Even back in her day-to-day clothes she felt like a glamorous movie star. When she went back out onto 5th Avenue pretending to be a movie star. She put her sunglasses on with one deliberate arch of her arm and hand to her face. She pulled her gloves on with an elegant tug. She stopped to look in the windows of the boutiques, striking a deliberately casual pose each time. She went into one of the stores and bought a Burberry scarf. She threw it over her shoulder with a flourish as she left the store. When stopping for coffee she kept her sunglasses on inside the coffee shop. She said, “Thank you, dear” to the barista.
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Chapter Six
On the evening of Art’s opening Sara was ecstatic. She had the date circled on her calendar for over a month. She had even rejected a modeling gig that afternoon because she knew the photographer was notoriously flaky and would take about 3 hours longer than he said he would to get the project done. He also had tried to hit on her last time they worked together and she wasn’t the least bit interested. She had her hair and makeup done in that same glamorous style she had at her first big jewelry shoot. She bought a low cut green dress that she felt showed off her new, thinner figure, to best advantage. This time she wore perfume.
She went to the opening alone. She knew her mother would freak out if there were any ‘naked’ pieces so she thought it would be better to bring her to the gallery when it was empty instead of on opening night. She could have brought her younger brother but once again he would have giggled and made fun of anything remotely skin oriented. She had one friend, a model she had met recently, who was going to go with her but she had come down with Bronchitis and was coughing incessantly. It was better to just enjoy a solo night out and see who she might meet at the show than force some friend who wasn’t going to be into it to go with her.
When she arrived the gallery was filled with people who she did not know. She immediately started to think it might have been a bad idea to come alone when Vivian DeWight approached her with arms outstretched and a big smile. She greeted Sara and gave her a double kiss, not air kisses but actual kisses, on both cheeks. Sara liked that, her lips were warm and she could smell a great perfume on her.
Vivian quickly turned away and pulled a young man over. “Sara, this is Hans. He’s from Germany, just moved to New York about a year ago. He is also one of Art’s models. As a matter of fact, he is in a painting very close to the sculpture of your hand!”
Hans shook her hand politely. She could tell he didn’t recognize her. But she recognized him as the guy leaving Art’s studio as she was arriving that day. She remembered his height and his very cool floppy knit cap. He gave her a bit of a thrill as he pulled his hand away from her, dragging his fingers ever so slightly across her palm as he did so. She was a terrible guesser of height and age but she thought he was at least 6 feet tall and maybe 30 years old. She really had no idea but she guessed in her head all the same.
Sara said, “He doesn’t remember, but we met that day at the studio. Well, almost met. He came out in a rush as I went in. He let me in and yelled, “Third floor!” as he ran down the steps.”
Hans looked at her intently and said, “You know, now that I look at you, I do remember. You had on green that day as well, right?”
Sara was impressed. To remember what color she was wearing 8 months later? That showed some serious attention to detail she thought. She said, “Yes, I was. Some sort of brownie points are due for remembering that!”
“I have a thing about color, I pay way too much attention to it!” he said with a smile.
Sara responded, “Well, it worked on your behalf tonight, that is for sure.”
Vivian said, “Well, you two seem to be getting along famously. I am going to go check if the wine has run out yet. You two enjoy!” and off she went.
There was a bit of an awkward silence after Vivian left. Then Hans leaned forward and said, “By the way, your hand looks and feels more beautiful than the sculpture of it.”
Sara felt her neck warm up, a sign she was about to blush. “Thank you. Wait, how do you know my hand feels better than the sculpture?” she said with a laugh.
“Well, don’t tell anyone but I always find a way to touch sculptures, even if there is a sign saying ‘Don’t Touch’.”
Sara raised an eyebrow and said in mock indignation, “So you went and fondled my hand before you even knew me? Aren’t you the rude sort!”
Hans laughed, “Yes, I am afraid I am a bit of a rule breaker that way. So sorry, but I couldn’t resist. It really is a beautiful sculpture of a beautiful hand!”
Sara responded, “Well, I just arrived and haven’t even seen my allegedly beautiful immortalized hand yet. Are you going to show me where it is or do I have to search it out myself?”
Hans grabbed her hand and said, “Let’s go, it’s in the back gallery. It’s where all the best pieces are!”
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Chapter 7
Twice, as they moved through the crowd, they were stopped by people greeting Hans and telling him they loved the painting he was in. One slightly tipsy woman in a blue beret said, “That painting has me wanting to see more!” Sara was puzzled, and after they moved away from the woman, said to Hans, “She wants to see more? There’s like 25 more paintings within 100 feet of her, what is she talking about?”
Hans laughed and said, “Oh, yea that. I’ve already gotten a comment like that 3 times tonight. You’ll see what she is talking about when you see the painting. But just remember, the artist is a master of hyperbole and symbolism, not realism.” She had no clue what he meant by that.
They both collected a champagne flute and plate of hors d’oeuvres by the time they got to the back gallery. Sara was putting a brownie shaped like a starfish in her mouth when she finally saw her piece. It was what she expected and then again it was nothing like she expected. It did look like her hand, the shape of the fingers, the size of the fingernails, even the longer than usual life line on her palm, were all exact. Her hand also had a dollar bill in it, just like Art said it would have. But she didn’t expect her hand to be green nor the dollar bill to be purple. But not expecting that didn’t mean she didn’t like it. She thought it was very cool. She liked the colors being different. It made the piece familiar and new at the same time. She put down her plate and glass and brought out the price list they had at the gallery door. There was a photo of her piece on the front and a list of all the pieces in the show inside. She looked up her piece and the brownie almost fell out of her mouth. It was listed for $25,000.00!
She leaned over to Hans and whispered, “If I knew the piece would be that expensive I would have asked for more money to model!”
Hans responded, “Tell me about it! The painting I am in is priced at $60,000.00!”
She looked at him with her mouth open. “Really? Wow, I want to see it, where is it?”
He chuckled, “You are standing right in front of it. It’s right behind your piece, over there, on the left.”
She looked up and saw a painting at least 8 feet tall. It was of a sparse landscape with a nude man standing in the middle of it. There was a road leading from the man’s feet back to a volcano in the distance. He was looking down with sloped shoulders. He had on his cool knitted hat. His eyes were sad and he looked depressed. He also had a very large penis hanging straight down.
Sara pointed to the penis and laughed, “Don’t tell me that is what Art saw on you that he wanted to paint!”
Hans responded dead pan with a straight face, “Yep.”
Sara stiffened and stopped breathing. Nobody has a penis that big she thought. She was trying to figure out what to do next when Hans slapped her on the back.
“JUST JOKING! He actually liked my cap and that is what got his attention. He asked to paint me when we met at a coffee shop one morning.” Hans said through his laughter.
Sara breathed again and laughed as well. “Ah, so that’s not realistic?”
Hans said, “Well I didn’t say that.”
Sara was trying to figure out how to change the topic when Hans said, “But sorry to disappoint, it’s not. I didn’t even pose nude for him. I had on underwear on. He told me the painting would eventually be a nude and I told him I was cool with it but he said I didn’t need to pose nude, which was a relief. I am a bit too modest for that. Ironically, now everyone thinks I did pose nude and that I have this gigantic appendage. It’s really pretty funny to me.”
Sara laughed and said, “This has got to be the strangest conversation and evening I have had in a long, long time!”
Hans laughed as well as he responded, “You and me both.”
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Chapter Eight
After that funny episode Hans and Sara walked around the gallery together. They had a hilarious time talking about the art, wondering if they would ever buy any of the pieces if they had the money. They decided they would. Hans said he would buy her hand sculpture and put it on his dresser to hold his watch. After explaining her mother would disown her if she had a big painting of a naked guy in her apartment, Sara said she the most she could get away with would be to buy the sculpture of the big butt with the pipe coming out of it so she would have something to hang her scarves on. Her mom would likely have a heart attack when she saw it, she said. They decided Art would never let them buy the pieces if they knew what they would be used for. They also came to the conclusion that they should form an artist’s model union and demand more money.
After about an hour of walking around the show Hans asked Sara if she would like to go get a bite to eat. They said their goodbyes to Art and Vivian, thanking them for including them in the show. It was a warm evening and they walked across town a few blocks to the West Village where Hans said he knew of a great place that served killer Pho noodles. Sara had never had Pho noodles but was game for it.
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Epilogue
Sara and Hans dated for 2 years before Hans asked her to marry him. They were married in Vivian’s gallery and Art was in attendance. His wedding gift was two drawings, the portrait of Sara he had done and the drawing of Hans that had been on his studio wall when Sara modeled. Art had never finished the drawing, the genitals were still missing. Hans and Sara had both pieces up in their living room and loved to tell the story of how they met when people would ask about the drawings.
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The End
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 12, 2014 | Paul Valery, The Future - 2014, Yogi Berra |
This ain’t nothin’ but another future.
Pet Peeve Rant
A pet peeve of mine are the Facebook posts that brag about how great the past used to be. How we didn’t have seat belts and we didn’t die, how we didn’t have the internet and we played in the mud and we didn’t die. How we had respect for our elders and we didn’t die. That grandma cooked things from the garden and from stuff given by a neighbor and we didn’t die.
The upshot of all that is ‘The past we had was great because we didn’t die.’
There is then of course a comparison to now. Now we have fat kids on the internet who don’t play in the mud and they are going to die. We have seat belt laws and that takes away our freedom to die. Other peoples’ kids are brats and they are going to cause themselves or others to die. Our country is going down the toilet because of all these terrible people who weren’t raised right and that is going to cause us to die.
The upshot of that second part is, ‘the past was much better, the present sucks and the future is going to suck even more and as a result we are all going to die.’
Style and Culture
And this really shows up in style and culture. The saggy pants? They show humanity has fallen. Forget that the same person who says the saggy pants suck also says the old style of the high waisted shorts from the 80s suck too. Low sucks, high sucks.
Music today sucks of course. Why? Because it’s not the old music, which was much better and proved we were geniuses back then. And people allegedly making music now? They suck and their music sucks because they aren’t as great as we were.
It All Sucks
Here is the truth; if you think the present and future suck it’s because you are becoming an old curmudgeon who has forgotten how your grandparents said the same thing about your generation. It’s because you gave up on discovering new music and movies and art and literature. It’s because you are afraid to see your world disappear but you are even more afraid to explore the world today. So you sit and complain about things you haven’t really explored or tried to understand. You judge because judging feels good and backs up your prejudices and inclinations.
It’s All Great
Here is another truth; the youngest generation doesn’t really care what you think. They are on to you. They listen to your rant and know you are speaking from ignorance. They know their music is awesome and their art, and their movies. They know their food and attitudes and work ethic and a million other things are just fine. They don’t need your approval.
Barbarian Truth
The truth is the worst of the older generation has ALWAYS condemned the world to destruction at the hands of the younger Barbarians at the gates. Ancient Greek curmudgeons complained about the younger generation 3,000 years ago and it hasn’t stopped yet.
How To Not Be A Curmudgeon
And the other truth is the best of the older generation stays open to what each new generation has to offer and does it’s best to understand it on the new generation’s terms, not their own. They keep an open mind about music and art and tattoos and clothing and style and words and sex and ways of understanding the world. They are the ones who stay young and engaged in the world today.
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Drawing and rant by Marty Coleman
Quote by Yogi Berra, 1925 – not dead yet, American Baseball player and Paul Valery, 1871-1945, French poet
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 10, 2014 | Jack Welch, The Future - 2014 |
In the future, this will be known as #4 in my Future series!
All to Some
Let’s get this out of the way right off the bat. We have very little control over anything. If you don’t know that, you probably will learn it soon enough. Having determined that we have very little control, let’s also acknowledge that means we do have some control.
Some to None
Within the admittedly small area where we could have control, many of us don’t take it. We are like a hot air balloon drifting in the wind. If it blows us towards the fire, we become a fire fighter. If it blows us towards the office building we become an office worker.
None to Done
Why don’t we take control of those things we are capable of controlling? Maybe it’s another person; a parent, spouse, boss, friend, who is trying to control you or circumstances. If you are afraid of conflict or worried about consequences of fighting for control, you are likely to let the other person’s vision for your future to dominate.
Here’s a great example of what I am talking about. A friend in college was a wonderful organist. He had a dream of being an organist in a big church as his career. But his father was adamant, he was going to go into banking. And so he was a teller in a bank and had every intention of going into banking even though he didn’t like banking. He was a very depressed guy.
Do you have an example of this in your life or the life of someone you know?
Done to Fun
If you don’t work towards the future you want chances are you will be dissatisfied with the future you find. And that means you won’t have the fun and joy in life that you could have if you pursued your vision.
Don’t be a hot air balloon, be an airplane.
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Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote by Jack Welch, 1935 – not dead yet, American businessman. His original quote had ‘destiny’ instead of ‘future’.
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“Control your own future or someone else will.”
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 3, 2014 | 'In The Gallery' |
Prologue
She was born in 1975 in Tupelo, Mississippi but moved with her family to Paris, France at the age of 2. She had been married but her American husband had been killed in the Iraq War. She was an accountant and liked to do crafts. She had one son.
Chapter One
The mom brought her son to see the museum exhibition of the famous artist’s work. She had been a muse for the artist, posing for a giant sculpture of her head, as well as a number of paintings. The artist had painted 10 paintings of her but only two were in the show. Both were big paintings of her jumping. In one, she was jumping over a fence to escape a bear. In the other she was jumping into a pool to escape a fire.
Chapter Two
After they saw the paintings they went into the gallery that had the giant sculpture. She explained to her son that she had to sit still for a whole hour, then would get a 5 minute break, then would have to sit again for another hour and how this went on for about 4 hours each day for a month. The son thought that would be really boring.
Chapter Three
The son also thought the sculpture was boring because it was just his mom, only really big. The son got excited though when two young women came up to his mom and asked her if she was the model. They asked all sorts of questions about the artist and wondered if the artist was looking for models because they thought it would be cool to pose for a famous artist. The mom said the artist was always looking for models and to just email the artist through the artist’s website. The son pointed to the giant sculpture and said, “My mom had to sit still for like forever and barely ever got to go pee.” The two women laughed and patted him on the head.
Chapter Four
They looked at the other paintings in the exhibition and the son asked all sorts of questions. His mom answered them all as best she could. He told her he thought the paintings of her jumping to escape things were the best in the whole show and asked if they could go back into that other gallery to see those paintings again. He also said the painting of the man with the blue penis was really funny because no one really has a blue one.
Chapter Five
After they left the museum they went for ice cream as it was a very hot day. The son told the mom she was prettier than the art she was in. The mom smiled and was happy.
Epilogue
What is the gender of the artist?
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Drawing and short story by Marty Coleman
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 2, 2014 | Abraham Lincoln, The Future - 2014 |
It’s day #3 of The Future!
The Big Picture
As a coach of runner’s moving up in both distance and speed I regularly come across a lot of doubts and fears. Their goal is a race about 12 weeks away at the start of the season and they are often petrified about their ability to achieve their goal. They can run a 5k race (3.1 miles) but a 10k (6.2 miles) or 15k (9.3 miles) or 1/2 marathon (13.1 miles) race? THAT is something beyond their abilities and thus they fear they can’t do it.
And you know what my response to calm their fears and give them confidence is? I tell them this: You are right, you can’t do it…
Yet
I teach them that three letter word, ‘yet’, and it makes all the difference. It makes a difference because it helps them understand two critical things. First is, they don’t have to run a 1/2 marathon today. All they have to do is run the training run slated for today. That means they have to run 3 miles, maybe 4. Not 6 or 9 or 13, just 3, which they know, and I know, they can do. They can relax that way and just focus on the small picture, a much easier task.
Second is, training (and life) is a cumulative process. That brick wall you sometimes hit in training? While it stops you dead in your tracks, it also returns some value. And that value, otherwise known as ‘experience’. will come in very handy, perhaps at the next training run. Or maybe on your rest day. Or maybe 10 weeks down the road at the race. Who knows when you can spend what you earned from that workout. I don’t know. But I know you earned it and it’s in you and you will need it later on in the future.
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Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote by Abraham Lincoln, 1809-1865, American President #16.
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 1, 2014 | Visual Poems | Photos |
Outwin Boochever Portrait Competition
Every three years the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C. holds a juried portrait competition. The process is very competitive, as you might imagine when the first prize money is $25,000.00. The time frame is long. The semi-finalists will be announced in March, 2015. They will then send their actual work for consideration and the finalists in September, 2015. The exhibition will open in March, 2016.
I waited until the last day to enter this year. I had created a portrait collage earlier in 2014, using photos taken of my friend, the Meteorologist, Brittany Rainey, at Philbrook Museum of Art and at her home. It is one in a series called ‘Visual Poems’ that includes images and written text. It’s also a continuation of my long-term ongoing series, ‘IN Public/Private’ on public personalities in Tulsa, primarily TV news anchors and reporters.
The Meteorologist’s Poem
Here is the image reduced in size. The printed image should be around 4 feet wide.
I also sent a closeup detail so they could get a better idea of the piece.
Find more of the Visual Poems Series here
Find the ‘IN Public/Private’ series here
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Photo-collage by Marty Coleman
Model – Brittany Rainey
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