Blah. Packing and moving suck.
Month: July 2001
Update
Okay, let’s try this again. The banner is fixed. I think I spelled it right. Geez … let’s hope so!
Ralf – I am the “L”. 
Art of the Day
A week of van Gogh self-portraits
Vincent van Gogh (1853 – 1890)
Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear
January, 1889
Oil on canvas
Courtauld Institute Galleries, London
Click on image for a larger view.
What is the full story of the “ear” incident?
The popular version of this story is that van Gogh chopped off his ear in anguish and offered it to a young woman who had turned down his romantic advances. This is not true.
On December 23, 1888 Van Gogh and Paul Gauguin, fellow artists and friends, had an arguement. During this, van Gogh reportedly threatened Gauguin with a knife.
Later that evening, van Gogh returned home where he lived and mutilated himself. Using an open razor, he sliced through his left ear, as shown in the diagram to the left. He lost the bottom part of his ear.
I Adore This Man —–> 
You may ask yourself … who the hell is that? No, he’s not the Mayor of Munchkin City. The man that you see pictured here is many things, though.
This is the infamous Banana Bomber. He has masqueraded as the captain of the Peeping Tom Division of the Greensboro City Police Department. He is one of the craziest people that I have ever met. (And that’s saying a lot.)
He is also one of the sweetest people that I have ever met. He has given me, literally, the shirt off his back. He has shared his home with me when I needed a place to collect my thoughts. He has shared his bed with me when I needed a place to sleep. He has shared his pot with me when I needed … oops.
He is wonderfully sensitive. He is a great listener. He is an even better talker. He is hilarious. He is thoughtful. He is missing a few screws. He is a terrific friend. He is a good hugger. He is a great cook. He has great taste in alcohol.
I love his laugh. I love his smile. This is my Mitch.
Personal Update
*singing*
“Someone made a new banner … someone made a new banner …”
It took a little work, but I finally did it. I think it shows all of my different faces. There is the contemplative, happy, sad, devilish, powerful, meek … all me.
I will now resist the urge to sing “I’m Every Woman”. You are welcome. *smirk*
UPDATE … 9ish PM
Gads, I am a ding-a-ling. I can’t even spell my own site name right. *slaps forehead*
Too bad PhotoShop doesn’t have spell check. 
I’ll fix it and repost later.
Art of the Day
A week of van Gogh self-portraits
Vincent van Gogh (1853 – 1890)
Self-Portrait, September 1889
Oil on canvas, In a private collection
This portrait was made while the artist was in an asylum in Saint-Rémy. During this point in his life, van Gogh continued his paintings of landscapes, including his famed cypresses. Van Gogh was forced to stop because of attacks, in which he tried to poison himself by swallowing his own paints, that often occurred while he was outdoors. He confined himself inside his room and began to do a series of paintings based on works of other artists he admired. There were also many self-portraits done at this point.
In November of 1998, this particular painting sold to a private collector for 71.5 million dollars.
Ironically enough, only one of van Gogh’s paintings sold while he was alive. That painting, The Red Vineyard, which is pictured on the left, now hangs in Moscow in the Pushkin Museum.
Click on images for a larger view.
Bits and pieces of this info were found on various websites and in various books.
Kindergarten Incidents
part 1
Jason and the Bathroom
Jason Fox was one of those boys that has been rotten and conniving since day one. He was the kid that monitored people walking up and down the halls. It was easy enough for him. He was usually standing out there, nose to the wall. This was his punishment on many, many occasions.
One of my first interactions with him was when he said that he wanted to go to the bathroom but that he was scared. He wanted me to go with him. I told him ‘No!’ Boys and girls weren’t supposed to go to the bathroom together! But then he promised that he wouldn’t watch me if I wouldn’t watch him.
So I went. When he peed I turned clamped my hands on my eyes so tightly I’m surprised I didn’t give myself a hickey. Of course the little bastard watched me. I caught him peeking.
The Naked Woman Drawing
Jason asked me if I had even seen a naked woman before. I said that once I had accidentally seen Iris getting out of the bath tub. He asked me to draw her. I told him no … what a pervert!
Then the little jerk pulled out the blackmail. He would tell the teacher that I went in the bathroom with him if I didn’t draw it. So, I did. I drew it really bad, though, so he would stop bothering me.
The Handcuffs
Jason and another boy, Luke, chased me on the playground all the time. Thank God I could run fast back then. They were relentless. They started ganging up on me. One would chase me up the slide and the other would be at the bottom waiting for me. I stalled at the top as long as possible, but had to slide down. I punched Luke a few times when he was at the bottom. He was a little wuss. He would skimper off crying and I could run away from Jason without his interference.
Luke’s dad was a security officer or something. At any rate he got hold of a pair of handcuffs. He brought them to school and he and Jason continued to chase me in their daily routine. I tripped over a tree root and they drug me off to a pine tree in the corner of the play yard. Luke handcuffed me with my hands behind the tree. He put his face right up in mine and told me that I was his prisoner until I kissed Jason.
I screamed Ms. Walker’s name so loud that Luke stumbled backwards. He was deaf for a few minutes. Jason ran off. Ms. Walker finally came over, Luke got into serious trouble and I was so mad I couldn’t see straight.
Mrs. Brady, the Art Teacher
This was covered in a previous blog. I’ll repost it here, though.
In kindergarten, things seem so scary but so wonderful. One of my favorite parts of class was art time. I wasn’t an ‘eat paste’ kind of kid. I liked the colors. I loved that there were so many colors and that I could use all of them for whatever I wanted.
I remember especially one day that we all enjoying art time. It was during the fall and our art teacher, Mrs. Brady, had us all draw a tree. We were going to paint it with and then use little leaf shaped sponges for our foliage. I had a layer of browns and reds and oranges covering my tree, like the other kids, but I wanted to make purple. Some trees have leaves that turn a purple-ish color and I wanted to show that in my painting.
When I started to squirt out some the purple paint, one of the kindergarten teachers, Mrs. Walker, came over and spanked me for ‘wasting’ paint. She said, “There aren’t purple leaves. Use the colors you have.”
I was so upset. I was confused as to why I was being punished for using my imagination. This didn’t make sense. I put down my sponge and started to cry.
Mrs. Brady saw me and came over to see what was wrong. I told her about being popped for using another color of paint. She looked upset and told me to go back over to the table and use whatever color of paint I wanted to. She said, “The leaves on your tree are whatever color you want them to be. No one can decide that but you.”
That was almost twenty years ago. Since then, I’ve had many colors in many paintings, but whenever I paint a tree, there’s a little purple leaf on it. It’s for Mrs. Brady.
February 1981 – mid-August 1982
Crayola was my crutch. After Curtis was forced to leave my grandparent’s house, I delved into art. I colored and drew everything that I could get my hands on. I was already using art therapy, as ironic as it seems now.
As it is apt to do here in North Carolina, the spring lasted a week and summer came pouring down through God’s heating vents. It was hot and sticky and Lisa and I were locked outside once again for our shifts of hiding under the car for shade. Our only hopes for salvation were that Grandpa would be sick or that an encyclopedia salesman or the Jehovah’s witnesses would come around. Though Grandma didn’t want to take care of, she would be damned if anyone could kidnap us. As soon as she heard the sound of crunching gravel in the driveway, out the door she would dash and jerk us inside.
I prayed for these occurrences.
Late-August – December 1982
I finally got an escape pod, in the form of kindergarten. I was thrilled to be getting away from the Wicked Witch and her soggy banana sandwiches. I was going to embark on a new world with new faces.
I was in Ms. Hubbard and Mrs. Coley’s class. I was a combo class, half kindergartners, and half first graders. I was taller than any of the first grade boys and only a few inches shorter than the tiny Ms. Hubbard. I was 4’5″ at the end of the year.
I met lots of neat kids, though some of them were obviously not as sophisticated as I was. Some of them cried during naptime, ate crayons, sniffed glue … it was amusing to say the least.
I was the very last person in line for everything since my last name began with a “W”. This was sometimes and advantage, and sometimes a big pain. It meant I was last to get the playground, to get lunch, to get into centers, to get into music class and art class. It also meant I had to turn in my work last and that I was last to have to do anything in front of the class. Perhaps here, in this last-ness routine, the seeds of procrastination were born?
I was the only kid that was being raised by their grandparents. This singled me out when the others would ask me about my parents. I was already shy, but this was not a helpful factor.
I had led such a sheltered life; I was completely unaware that most people were not all wonderful and perfect. I knew Grandma was mean, and there were “bad guys” out in the world, but they were traveling through Mayberry on “The Andy Griffith Show”, not sitting in the desk beside me. Or so I thought, before I met Jason Fox.
to be continued ...
See the whole story so far here.
Art of the Day
A week of van Gogh self-portraits
Vincent van Gogh (1853 – 1890)
Self-Portrait, Autumn 1887
Oil on canvas
Paris: Musée d’Orsay
Click on image for a larger view.
Paintings have a life of their own that derives from the painter’s soul. — Vincent Van Gogh
It’s been said that you learn about yourself when you do a self-portrait. I think that it is also true that you can learn about a painter from his or her self-portrait. One sterling example can be found by studying the works of Vincent van Gogh.
Van Gogh lived a life of poverty. Often, when he couldn’t afford a model or when one was not available, he would paint himself. These self-portraits tell us a story about van Gogh. They show the ups and downs of his moods and the swing between sanity and delirium.
This week I will post a series of these paintings. Feel free to comment on what you see or feel when looking at the work. Though beware, often what you see reveals a lot about you, too.
Print Shop Stories
Mitch and the Banana Bombs
You never knew what to expect from Mitch, but you could pretty much it would be gross. Even I wasn’t always immune to the sick things that he said and did. No in the shop was immune to the Banana Bomb.
Mitch’s digestive track was very finicky. It did not like bananas. Mitch got the worst gas from them, but he still ate them at least once a week. He was making ammunition – the Banana Bomb.
Here is how the attack took place: Mitch would walk by another person’s work area very quietly. The victim would never know that he had been by – except for his calling card. The Banana Bomb. It was an unmistakable smell. The victim would rush out of their area and go streaking outside, their fingers clamped securely over their nose. It was hilarious … unless you were the victim.
Mitch seemed to be only one not affected by the Bombs, and he used this to his advantage. The work areas in the shop were almost like cubicles, only instead of those little paper-thin cloth covered partitions, they were walls, about 4 inches in thickness, with a opening of about four feet between the top and the ceiling. These little cubby holes were called “booths”. Mitch’s booth was separated by our friend Craig’s only by one wall. Mitch would wait until Craig was working on a very important job, let loose the Banana Bomb, and wait for the shriek. The smell would climb the wall and Craig would start to sweat. Craig couldn’t leave, so he had to suffer with the smell until that particular project was through.
Mitch also used these little smell bombs to deter management from visiting him in his booth. He saved them up, but they were 100% effective. When one of the supers came strutting up to ask him to work on a rush job or to complain about the noise level or whatever, *whoosh*. Super would quickly wrap up the talk and run back to their office. *door slam* It was delightful for the rest of us. They normally didn’t feel safe enough to reappear for another hour or so.
Previous Mitch posts:
Mitch – He’s Not All Bad, Mitch in Costume, Metting Mitch
Other Print Shop Stories:
Nekkid Noodles, Miss Halloween pt 1, Miss Halloween pt 2, Owen