270. ILLUSION
When you study the
lines, it becomes obvious
there are other worlds.
Drawing is nothing
like reality but it
shares the same
attributes of push
and presence.
When I first began
hacking around with
a pencil, I realized I
was looking right
into the maw of
another set of
realities - I could
blaze my way
anywhere. Running
through art school
and studio spaces
and all that, I did
my acquaintance
with form and
color good -
oil paints, acrylics,
waters, mixed-media
things, found objects,
assorted versions of
a 'collage' format.
I was always
thinking, so that
after a time it
all became a
very normal
nature to me,
and is - to this
day and moment
- the way I still
see. Form and
color, content
and weight,
tension and
push/pull,
randomness and
design, swirl
and eddy. There
is really nothing
within a 'scene'
that bears a true
witness to itself
until the artist's
eye grabs hold
of it, in whatever
singular fashion
that may be, and
makes of it something
again, different entire,
and newly-rafted,
afloat and fraught
with symbol and
meaning. I can
'walk' into a scene,
and find a place
through which to
disappear out of
and then know too
that I have arrived
at a different place,
a conclusion other
than that which the
rest of the dreadful
world has presented.
Perspective and
overlap, echo
and image. There
wasn't much
more for me.
-
It's funny how
life pulls you
where it wants.
There are probably
a hundred guys,
good with a pencil,
crafty and adept,
who'd be drawing,
and far better than
I ever did, and who
probably entered
Uncle Sam's Army
willingly and ended
up as wartime-artists,
the people who
drew battle scenes
and had them
printed in
Stars n' Stripes,
the Army publication.
Illustrating propaganda
pieces or instructional
field manuals or
those introductory
handbooks for
new recruits. The
military was always
churning through
things and putting
any of a million
young guys to some
sort of 'useful' purpose.
Like anyone else, I
could have said
that was my interest,
what I wished to 'do'.
They'd sometimes
listen - questionnaires
and all. Like a musician
kid, putting in for
band detail. Yes,
but for me, none
of that would have
worked. And I knew
it. I was already so
far gone, and my
mind was so
abstracted, that
anything I may
have sketched
for those jerks
would have
implicated me
in some weirded-out
psycho-babble
with them that
would have
probably had me
to the brig in a quick
15 minutes.
-
A good portion of
my life has been
about loss and
missed chances
anyway. I had an
uncle who, right
after his military
time, took a GI Bill
stipend and went off
to the Buffalo Art
Institute, or Buffalo
Institute of Art, whatever.
He became a graphic
artist, a commercial
sketcher. I never much
got to know him, past
the normal Uncle stuff,
but now I wish I did.
During my NYC time,
he was working daily,
somewhere down on
Wall Street. I never once
looked him up, never
spent a minute sharing
notes, or even trying
to get to know him
What was it like for him,
then, right after the war?
How did he fare in
immediate postwar
Buffalo, what artists
influenced him,
interested him, how
did he go about his
study of Art? To end
up as a Commercial
artist, yes, in my view,
was a pretty sucky
thing, the ultimate bad
compromise, but that
didn't matter. What was
his worldview? Was it
influenced by 'Art'?
What did he care about?
Did he care about
anything? What
interested him? I
could have talked to
him ten months to
a day, but said not
a word. Divergent
worlds. But I was
the idiot, not him.
-
Every so often, back
then, and much more
prevalent today, along
the sidewalks and parks,
you'd see someone set
up with an easel and
things. They'd be sitting
there all absorbed in
sketching buildings or
skylines, tree and people,
the parks and lanes. It's
a very solitary thing -
in the sense that, yes,
it's a lonely endeavor.
I'd watch them, and still
do. They're 'processing'
information in only the
way an artist and his
or her hands can do. The
ones there today, mostly
Asians, usually older
guys and women, for
ten bucks or more,
whatever, will, with
some ease, quick-sketch
the sitter. Fairly nice
facial sketches, applied
colors, chalk or pencil,
blush, coloration, etc.
These people 'get' their
job done, and it's no
fakery - there's no
three-card monte type
cheating or false-eye
stuff going on. However,
what they 'make' of the
world is nothing at all.
There is simply no movement
at all. They merely seem
to 'represent' what it is
said they are 'seeing'
and leave it at that.
To me, it's a failure, and
- yes too - a gimmick.
Like those old films of
the 1950's Greenwich
Village Sidewalk Art
Shows. with guys in
chinos hiding behind
Art in their quest to follow
and find that hot-looking
jazz-babe with the pointy
sweater. The Art's there,
yes, but why bother
the illusion at all?
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