Live Models

I have a couple of old color postcards of this building, and I had designed the facade tiles to be green. Fortunately, it still stands on Buffalo's Main Street. Still, it's hard to tell the color. Also fortunately, I discovered an article about the opening of the building in 1941. In the article they discuss the "blue tiles." This makes sense, being Greyhound colors.

Nonstop

Not too long ago I almost gave up printmaking. The saga is well documented in past blog posts, but the gist is that I was having serious technical issues ultimately related to ink and and an ink additive. I finally solved the problem, but was surprised to discover that I'd been so obsessed with solving that problem, I'd drifted away from what I loved about printmaking.

Finally, I broke through the block, and I'm trying to make up for lost time. I have 3 more colors to go on this one, and I'm so happy about it!

Destination Unknown

As discussed in the previous post, reduction woodcut printmaking is different than most other graphic arts in that you are carving away what you want to be seen. And to get certain details, you need to print an entire layer of a color just to let a small bit show through.

Additionally, you should have a good idea where you are going before you start.

Slow Roll

With reduction woodcut printmaking, a print generally takes about 12 to 24 hours to dry to the touch. This means that this print will likely take two weeks to complete. Patience is an absolute requirement. There are plenty of methods of printing that offer instant gratification. But in this time of instant information, expedited service and now, now, now, reduction woodcut printmaking is my meditation, my yoga, my chapel.

Whisked Away

As much as travel anxiety plagues me, I love the idea. I grew up on a pretty, tree-lined residential street which also served, for some reason, as a bus route for a large Intercity service as well as the local metro. Every day I would watch the buses fly by, and I'd wonder where they were going, what adventures they were having in the Big City (1983 Buffalo, NY!) and I'd dream of one day being among them.

Be careful what you wish for. I've been commuting by bus for over 30 years and... let's just say, I have stories.

Lost & Found

There is no shortage of songs about the love of the American highway. It's in our DNA, whether we were born here, came here or long to be here. Often the songs that celebrate the freedom of the open road take a melancholy bent at some point. Because the open road, as exciting and mythical as it can be, is also fraught with fear and loneliness, and very often travel leads one to take in the unexplored expanses, uncharted roads, and dark alleys of the heart.

One of the finest lyrics to define this ache of self-exploration amidst the thrill of exploration comes in Simon & Garfunkel's "America":

"Kathy, I'm lost", I said,
Though I knew she was sleeping.
"I'm empty and aching and
I don't know why."

Baggage

It's really not travel I dislike. But I'm a naturally anxious person, and from the moment the house fades away in the rearview, I begin to imagine all of the calamities that could happen at home -- from the trite is-the-coffee-pot-still-on to the more realistic daymare of one of our cats getting a tail amputated by a door blown shut to the insane Rube Goldbergesque fantasies of a spilled bowl of water ballooning into a situation in which first responders bust in and then everyone will know that I didn't clear the breakfast dishes! Yeah, that's the inside of my skull. And I haven't even begun with all of the insane possibilities of hitting the road.

In my defense, when we headed out to Columbus, OH last May for our anniversary, we didn't make it to the Eden-Angola exit before the windshield wiper came loose and began flopping around. So I'm not TOTALLY nuts. I'm not.

I'm NOT.

Totally.

New Arrival

I hate traveling. I live in constants (unrealistic) fear that we will win the lottery, and my wife will drag me all over the world. Ugh. I mean, I like BEING somewhere, I like SEEING things, but traveling, I just don't enjoy it. Unfamiliar places put me into a small panic. I love Chicago, but we arrived on a Sunday evening, and downtown was as desolate as Buffalo on a Sunday evening. Looking for a cheap place to get a quick bite, we found nothing but a Subway restaurant. Thrilling. I'm sure there were other places, but, like I said, new places put me into a mode of constant worry.

I'd love to SEE the world, I'm just not keen on how to GET there.

Oddly, I love to drive, long aimless drives to nowhere. But if you give me an itinerary, I'd rather be....why, I'd rather be down in the studio!

Night Lights

"Sans Furniture" Reduction woodcut print, 8 colors, printed on Masa paper from single shina plywood block using Renaissance Graphic oil ink on an antique cast iron book press with additional burnishing via wooden spoon. Edition TBD. First print of 2018.

I love this print. Folks familiar with Hamburg know Sans Furniture, which has occupied a mid century modern building in the heart of the Village for my entire life time and beyond. While their bold storefront dominates on Buffalo Street, the rear Pine Street entrance, seen here, is cosier and more inviting. I pass by often at night on weary walks home from the bus stop, peering into the windows warm with the golden glow of artificial homescapes.

As a color mixer by trade, I'm most proud of the colors here. The sky, yellow gray with the aura of street light, the warm interior. The ceiling was a crap shoot -- I left it unfinished in my drawing, unsure how to execute.

It may be my most favorite print yet.

Well, This Is Awkward

I've talked about this in past posts: awkward stages. They usually involve the need to print a light color over a dark color, sometimes as a buffer against a bold color like red, sometimes because I forgot a color, sometimes because the second to last color just seems lighter. This color, a yellow gray, had to appear now for structural reasons -- applying ink is easier in the later states if you have more relief scattered around the block.

But it also offered a happy accident. I intended to have the sky be black, but I like this color for the sky. I think it captures the glow of sodium arc lamps in heavy humid air. I'll think about it.

The thing with awkward stages, in art and life, is just to remember that there is purpose to them, and surprises await.

Come On In

It's hard to name artists who inspire me -- the list is too long, and always growing. My first art infatuation was Picasso, when I was just 11. Then the usual suspects for a kid -- Dali, Warhol, Pollock. Anyone weird. I still respect them all, but when I look at this print with just two colors to go, only two names come to mind -- Hopper and Burchfield. Contemporaries, Burchfield, in my opinion, was the far superior artist, with his work approaching and crossing the boundaries of abstract expressionism. Hopper is revered for his "commentaries" on isolation and desolation, a notion he had scoffed at, admitting that he was only trying to study light. Both geniuses, both inspiring this print.
.

Space Exploration

 It wasn't too long ago, but it's been a few years since "DeSoto Motel" (right). The print was similar in that it was a study of light and dark, though my chief concern was more the light of the sunset, the lights of the outdoor roof and the neon. I wasn't happy with the print though, for several reasons, one being my dismissal of the interior of the hotel office.

The current print is partially concerned with making amends for my ignoring space. Though I am still focused on the effect of light ( in this case, the orange glow of sodium arc municipal lighting), it was vital to explore the inside of the building. The image is only 9"X7", and shina plywood becomes brittle as the block gets inked and wiped, so I can't get as detailed as I might sometimes like. But I can feel the space here, and with 3 colors to go, I'm pleased.

In the introduction to his novel, "Birdy," William Wharton offered the following poem:

"There are bird tracks
And nothing in the sky
Something lived, left
And left something"

That speaks to what I find fascinating about these storefronts, aglow as if ready to fling open their doors to commerce, but closed, locked, and still. Rest, repose, sometimes, in the case of the old empty Woolworths I used to peek into, dead.

Think of your desk, or your garage, or someplace untidy with the folderol of life, and imagine you never return to it again (let's not be maudlin -- you moved, you retired, you stepped out to get a giant Paula's Donut, you are creating new bird tracks on another beach somewhere). What would someone coming on the scene think? What story is being told about you in the universal language of stuff?

Seeing the Light

Ten years ago, when we lived in Buffalo, I took a side job delivering newspapers in the southeast corner of the city, a somewhat rough and rundown area called, ironically, Lovejoy. I'd deliver my route somewhere around four or five in the morning, just the darkest time. I saw some crazy things in that neighborhood, as the drunks stumbled home, the skunks roamed for a snack. But the solitude of that hour was calming. The houses with the droopy window eyes, the yawning garage doors, the whole world lulled to slumber by the lonely howl of a train off in the distant railyard. Or maybe I'm remembering Snoopy as the World's War I flying ace in "Great Pumpkin." Anyway, one day I had to go to that neighborhood during the day. I couldn't find my way around -- the garish colors of the houses, rotted roofs and torn sidewalks that we're rubbed out and faded by the charcoal of night's dark. Daylight sure has it's beauty, of course. But the dark of night offers a glorious pallet, and a warmth of its own

Seen here, three pools of color, trying for the perfect one. Sometimes you have to go on faith. Reduction printmaking is deep on faith -- you never no if it will work out until the end.

Floored

For most of my formative years, up until the last decade or so, I was a night owl. You could find me at 2:00 am walking the quiet streets. A favorite place to go was the village shopping center. I loved to wander up and down the concrete walks, looking in the empty shops, quiet and cozy, with only a few lights left on. Woolworths, Pleasures & Pastimes, Ulbrich's Stationers. I can't say why I was drawn to these vacant night scenes, or why I still occasionally wander over there (P&P is now a Tuesday Morning, Woolworths is a closed tanning salon, and Ulbrich's was long ago demolished to become a Rite Aid parking lot). But a few things around there stand up against time....

Pop the Cork!

Happy New Year, folks.  I'm starting a little late on my first print of '18 -- I decided that it was time for a new brayer and new knives. Now that they're here, I've begun. Feels very good.

I want this print to be revealed as I go. As you see it develop, I'll add some observations and insight into this print, which I hope will lead to a larger exploration of the subject.

I live in the town I grew up in, a small pretty village South of Buffalo. I spent many late nights as a kid walking the streets in the wee hours, watching the business district change over the years. I saw it bustle with shoe stores and grocery stores and liquor stores, dissolve into vacant shopfronts and demolished buildings, rouse again with offices and new structures, empty out again as the economy collapsed, then surge back to life with an infusion of hipsters.

Through it all, though, there have been a few constants.....

Testytesttest

This is only a test.

Test2: This is going somewhere, I promise.

Big.

Test

Scan Test

Christmas Tradition: The Thoughtless Gift Guide

Back in 2004, when for one bright shining moment I was actually putting my college training to use, I was publishing regularly in the Buffalo Beast, a always very political, often very funny and offensive at every opportunity free newspaper circulated in the city of Buffalo, NY. The paper -- co-founded by a guy named Matt Taibbi who, I've heard, left to go work on some rag called Rolling Stone, or something -- is long gone, but my clip file endures. One of my favorite pieces, from Christmas 2004 is reprinted without permission below. Enjoy, and Happy Holidays!

Buffalo Beast #65

Ho-Ho-Hum:

The Thoughtless Gift Guide

By Jeff Dean

It's noon on Christmas eve and you've just learned that cousin Todd has been paroled and will be coming to Christmas dinner, or maybe you are "secret Santa" to the new kid in shipping who eats his lunch in the john. The clock is ticking, your credit card is scorched and suddenly you've gone from jolly to humbug. Don't panic. There are plenty of options for the last-minute gift-giver who has neither the thought nor the cash to put into another gift.

It goes without saying that you will start your hunt at a discount chain store such as Wal-Mart or Target. These stores have anticipated your arrival and have stocked their doorways and front aisles with dozens of thoughtless gifts, most under $10.

For the less-than-special woman in your life, consider a scarf and glove set, handsome winter accessories that are colorful, yet as protective as cheesecloth. Slipper sets are also popular because, hey, everyone has feet (though, with the war, you may want to check first). Resin fountains and musical water globes sporting fairies, angels and critters are also a favorite with the get-in-get-the-hell-out shopper. Why not splurge and pick up a matching resin garden stone inscribed with wispy verse?

There is no shortage of thoughtless gifts for the gent you have to buy for. Motorized tie racks, TV shaped remote control caddies, talking pedometers and 3-in-1 anythings abound at holiday time. Particularly obnoxious are the miniature pool or dart sets. Imagine the hours of fun you'll have imagining your lame-ass brother-in-law actually shooting pool on his lame-ass 5x7 inch table. And who doesn't like snacks? You could go spend an arm and a leg at Hickory Farms, or you could just stop at the drugstore and pick up a box from the Chestnut Creek Country Snack collection. For less than $5 you get smoked cheese spread, crackers, tea and sausage. The peace of mind is free.

A very popular "oh shit" gift is the mug set. Usually packaged with coffee, cocoa or soup, these handy packs come with mugs or bowls emblazoned with popular logos. This year, among the traditional Campbell's and Hershey's packs, you will find sets from John Deere, Field & Stream and NASCAR.

Maybe you've given the mug set too many times to the loser on your list, but you still don't want to come off like you care. No problem, with Kammenstein's hardwood mug tree, which prices at about half of what another mug set would have set you back.

If your budget is a little more flexible, consider a multipurpose watch. Toolmaker Stanley has lent its name to a line of watches that, in addition to, presumably, telling time, also open bottles, drive screws flash lights and offer level gauges. The watches come in metal replica toolboxes that can also double as an attractive casket for small pets.

For the ladies who barely blip on your emotional radar, seek out a nice shrink-wrapped tub of hyper-allergenic lotions and soaps, such as Wal-Mart's 20-pound Comfort & Care set, which includes bubble baths, shampoos and loofahs wrapped in a huge gilt basket so tasteless Donald Trump would roll his eyes.

If you want to be more subtly obnoxious, spring for the Febreze ScentStories player. Clocking in at just under $30, this useless gem uses fragrance cartridges to tell a story, such as "Walking Barefoot on the Beach" or "Relaxing in the Hammock." The cartridge cycles through different scents as it plays, supposedly telling an olfactory tale. Sounds ridiculous, but just try to find one.

There are so many choices for the thoughtless gift-giver, you'll wish you were obligated to put more names on your list. But instead, just relax, have a cup of Harley Davidson cocoa, maybe a bite off the sausage log, and be glad it's over for another year.