what the world needs now

is more art by hand. don't get me wrong. i love good graphic design done in InDesign, photoshop, what have you. And sure, every year i spend hours flipping through PRINT. But today, I have some other stuff to share.

today i'd like to share some pretty cool stuff i've found. one is a shameless plug for my girl, maya whitman, an LA transplant who grew up in Sonoma County who has found herself suddenly here in western MA with her girlfriend Reesa and her two doggies, Emma and Zoe Bean. Make sure you go to her photography section.

the other talent i "met" on myspace this week. take a look at Justin Harder Studio . Very fun. Also, for more of that same person's work (and others) click here .

art by hand makes me happy. sit back, relax and drink it all in. it's like flax oil baby. flaxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.

better than ice cream

Perhaps my need for art as nourishment stems from a childhood founded upon regular doses of it.
My father did not take us to the zoo or out for more unnecessary ice cream during our visits (yes, another child of divorce). My father took us to museums. Being that he was an artist, he went for inspiration. And I will never regret a moment spent, those hours in the quiet, respectful museums, where people gaze so seriously. Thing is, I often wondered why it all had to be so serious. Why were they staring so long? What did they see that I didn't see? Or were they just pretending? I never understood that. All the same, I liked what I saw. I enjoyed the brushstrokes, the bronze statues, the things people made because they just....had to.

The Philadelphia Museum of Art was as familiar to me as my grandmother's pool (which my chilly grandfather meanly preferred at a bone-freezing 68 degrees). We called it "Granny's house" because she was the one with the sugar cereals and the stocked cookie jar. And the bags of Tootsie Pop lollipops. It was her house and therefore, her pool. But anyway, art was all about healthful consumption of beauty. And healthful consumption of metaphoric wheat germ, too. While I was drawn to Monet or Manet or O'Keeffe, my father made sure I had a little helping of Goya or Velasquez, too. And one dollop of Pollock which, of course, my eight year old mind found accessibly possible ("I could do that" I thought, when many years later in Venice, I realized, wow, that's really something).

And so, I will share with you the man whose soul passion is art, who lives and breathes it, who is and will always be art full rather than artful, possessed rather than postured.

art vitamins

There's something to be said for spontaneity. I've certainly been succumbing to its charms for many days now. Last night for example. I went to an open studio in Easthampton, MA called Eastworks. I went to The Invisible Fountain. Check out Luke's work! and I bought a bunch. It was joyously healthy. I said to Maya and Reesa as we headed out with our purchase, "I feel like I've taken some art vitamins and I really needed them."

You could also call spontaneity robust immaturity or an act of rebellion---depending on who feels the sting of your (perhaps) misbegotten ways. For me, this was last night, David. He didn't feel like joining me on me cultural journey. (The Patriots were playing, forgive me). I then met a woman and her new husband for drinks (turned into a bottle of wine and then some) and their friend, a newly widowed 65 year old woman with a delightful British accent. And then, a text message from a colleague. "Why don't you join in the fun too?" A cast of characters and all of whom I only recently met. (The colleague used to have my job so he's a new friend also). Anyway, the conversation flowed as easily as the shiraz. And I was joyously healthy again.

Social vitamins to wash down my art vitamins.

So, in keeping with my robustly immature, rebellious and joyously healthy (spontanenous) frame of mind, I have been looking up old friends, and some old acquaintances as well. It has been another journey. Stay tuned. I have interesting things to report.