Black and Bluesy

Taken a week ago at about a quarter to six in the evening,

 for no reason other than for the fact my eyes 

were seduced by the black of the bare limbs 

against the variegated blues and mauves 

of the sky and clouds. 

Speedway Art: Pollard

A lot of the trees in Speedway have over the years 

been subjected to "pollard" cuts of their limbs.

And every tree I see seems like a silent, subtle memorial

to Indy car driver Art Pollard.

Pollard is remembered as an outgoing and kind man

who made time for fans and always valued friends and family.

He drove his first Champ Car race at Milwaukee

in 1965, was credited with 22nd place after spinning out, 

and received $165 for his effort. He attempted to qualify for

the Indy 500 in 1966, but was bumped from the field.

The following year, he made his first start in the race, finishing eighth.

In 1968, he drove Andy Granatelli's STP Lotus turbine.

All told, Pollard drove in five Indy 500-Mile races.

He qualified for six but broke a leg during a practice accident

for the 1972 race and was unable to compete.

In 1973, Pollard was killed while practicing at the Speedway.

Last Friday marked the 50th anniversary of the lighting 

of the World's Tallest Christmas Tree. Strands of lights were 

hung from the Indianapolis War Memorial Monument

by volunteers from the International  Brotherhood

of Electrical Workers. Around its base, thousands of spectators

gathered to watch the entertainment before the tree

was switched on by a young girl who had won a coloring contest.

Santa Claus, accompanied by assistants, Frosty the Snowman, 

and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, strolled among the crowd,

visiting and posing for pictures with admirers of all ages.

Street peddlers, hawking light sabres, light sticks, and antlers decked 

with flashing lights, wandered the crowd the entire evening.

The Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department used 

their mounted patrol to quietly keep watch over the throngs

of people. In recent years, the patrol has replaced

their earlier horses to improve their visibility at night, 

so that they are all now white, roan, or gray.

Textured Tuesday: Little Brown Birds

Little sparrows live year-round in the trees at the Speedway Shopping Center.

When the trees are bare, their brown coloring makes them look

as though they are leaves, clinging to the branches in one last, defiant

stand against winter. Here, I want to reach through the rough twigs to stroke

their downy breasts.

Maltese in Speedway

Fluttering in the morning breeze, the white fibers 

of the milkweed reminded me of Maltese 
terrier puppies being paraded in the show ring, 
their dark noses and eyes standing out 
from their silky coats as they strut for the judges.

Where Maltese puppies come from.

Awe and Happiness

Crowds of adults and children began gathering on Monument Circle 

in late afternoon to watch the lighting of the World's Tallest Christmas Tree.

Many had come down earlier to shop, to visit the museums, 

and to dine at numerous restaurants in the area, as well as at the 

many food trucks parked in the area. 

The event has progressed well beyond the inaugural year, 

when the local International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers strung the lights 

from the top of the Monument to its base, plugged it in for the duration,

then took it down after the New Year. No fanfare and "no big deal"

is now a local dancing and singing extravaganza, complete with visits from

Santa, Frosty the Snowman, and Rudolph with his nose so bright. 

Sparkly Season

This evening was the fiftieth anniversary of the lighting 

of the "World's Tallest Christmas Tree."

Each year, lights are strung from the Indianapolis

War Memorial on the Circle, the surrounding trees are

wrapped in lights and candy canes and toy soldiers

are stationed all around. This is done the day after Thanksgiving,

which marks the beginning of the Christmas shopping

season, when all the most sparkly displays are

shown in the stores, the laciest camisoles, the most

satiny of bows - not to mention the most outlandish

gimcrackery, and gimmicky tools for the men. 

The Indianapolis Power & Light Company debuted

window displays, re-creating some of Norman Rockwell's

most famous Christmas illustrations.

The one above caught my eye because the figure

closely resembles my brother, Doug, who's

going to be pretty astonished to see himself depicted

astride a rocking horse. The second one shows a young

boy, fallen asleep while "Miracle on 34th Street"

plays on the family television.

Leafless

In the Spring I look forward to the trees' budding leaves, 

the tender shades of green they make as they emerge after 

the fallow Winter. In Summer their leaves offer shade where 

I often stand, gazing upward through the layers of leaves,

marveling at the shapes and shades made by the sunlight.

 In the Fall, I get the colors and then the delicate

lines drawn by the bare branches as they mark their

own space against the cold sky.

Thanksgiving

Tuesday night, I came home to see fire apparatus at the end of the street, 

with more coming until they were lined up along the narrow lanes. 

Again? Again. For what seemed like the third time in three weeks,

families had been burned out of their homes. If it seems like an

epidemic, it is - an epidemic of stupidity - because all

three fires were due to negligence. It isn't just the homes where

the fires originated, but the adjacent townhomes

were also damaged, which means about a dozen folks

have been forced to start over, from scratch,

because someone was careless with a cigarette or left a frying pan 

on the stove while they went to the store. Damn.

I've always said that my biggest fear about apartment living 

was not knowing what my neighbors were up to. While I can control 

 my own actions, I have to trust that my neighbors are not

going to fall asleep while smoking, or splash hot grease

onto the stove top. The prospect scares me to friggin' death;

all the smoke detectors and extinguishers in the world are no defense

against stupidity and negligence. We are just lucky that,

so far, no one has been injured or killed.

My little place is warm, my neighbors are quiet, and

the stove tops are OFF. Tomorrow, I will

have a Thanksgiving dinner of broiled salmon, rice pilaf,

asparagus, cranberry sauce, and chocolate ice cream.

I have a meal of my choosing and "hovel, sweet hovel"

has not been among those burned.
Yes, I am thankful. Amen.

A Brief Glance

I'm afraid that if someone turned me loose in, say, Yellowstone Park, 

I'd never come out except to download my image files.

I was walking across the bridge at the Coke Field when I glanced

to my right and saw what I think could be the best little

set-up - fall leaves back-lit by the sun revealing their ribs and

color, with sun-sparkled water below.

Damn, I just love that russet and yellow-green

color combination.

Textured Tuesday: Patch

One rainy afternoon, while waiting for a bus, I happened 

to see this cross-hatched patch on the side of a tree.

Resembling the back-and-forth stitching on a pair 

of mended jeans, it was definitely purposely done, perhaps

to mend a wound on the tree's bark. The tree would

not have made this pattern on its own.

Fall In

All it takes is one. I went to the creek to see whether 

any colorful leaves remained, if any had fallen 

into the creek to show themselves like bright jewels 

against the creek bed. The moss is heavy this year, like green

velvet to show off the crystal ripples of the water.

Then I saw it, a brown leaf face down against the rocks,

its ribs delineated by the bright sun.

A plainer beauty, but beauty just the same.

More from the Street: Barnett Newman

Sometimes, when I find one of these pictures, 

I know immediately the artist whose work I'm reminded of. 

Other times, I have to set it aside a bit, think about 

and look for it.

It took me a bit, but when I looked up the work 

of Barnett Newman, saw the bold stripe or two against 

a field of color, or the one stripe with texture, 

much like the pavement in these photos, 

I knew I'd found my guy.

Here is one of Newman's works, Untitled, done in 1946, 

ink and brush on paper. This drawing is on the 

website for a gallery that handles a lot of his work.

"Of course he's beneath us, he's an actor!"*

These paintings are small, about 5" X 7" each, meant as sketches 

for a project to show the Ohio River and boats that 

cruised her currents, as well as of scenes and events. 

I made them a couple years ago, along with some drawings,

 adaptations of navigation charts to give the viewer a sense of 

the place, and an idea of where the scene was located.

When the first steamboat journeyed the river just over 

200 years ago on its way to New Orleans, it paddled through 

primeval forests, where flocks of birds, among them 

the now-extinct Passenger Pigeon and Carolina

Paroquette, were so thick they counted in the millions.

During migration, the flocks blackened the 

sky for days. Hunters did not have to aim their 

guns at the birds, but just fired into the air 

for them to fall to the ground, more dead birds

than they could eat. 

The Ohio River got its name from the Native American 

phrase meaning "beautiful river." It would be an odyssey 

to attempt to explore and to effectively portray 

its beauty. One worth doing, if I can find a way. 

*A line from one of my favorite movies, My Favorite Year, 

starring Peter O'Toole. I laugh and laugh every time

I see it. What has it got to do with the little paintings?

Nuthin', other than for the fact that so many people 
do not understand why I want to tell this story.

(But of course I'm beneath them, I'm an artist.) 
Those who bother to listen think 

it's a great story, and are enthralled. 

Warmer Colors

As the days get shorter, I look for warmer colors 

to brighten the grays. While winter has its own colors,

one needs fiery jewels to off-set and appreciate

the subleties of russet and taupe.

"Gotta Be Juicy" from Sandy Bull's 

1972 album "Demolition Derby."

No reason. I just liked it.

Sunset Gradations: Blue to Orange

Sunset seemed to come much earlier than I'd expected.

It didn't seem to so much sink slo-o-owly behind the treeline,

than it dropped like lead sinkers on a fishing line,

controlled and smooth. 

Crosswalk: Josef Albers in Speedway

This looks more like one of Albers's sketches for the 

controlled compositions we are used to seeing.

The balance between the sections of gray and 

white reminded me of his explorations

of color theory.

The broad swash of white hangs suspended in the gray field, 

held up by the crooked thread of the cracked asphalt.

Textured Tuesday: Gnarly

Today, the weather was gray. I woke up to a steady rain, one that 

had played its tattoo all night against my windows. 

The rain turned into a snow shower, which made the rough

skin on this tree seem more appropriate, as it turned

its resources inward to survive the coming winter.

I suppose we all need to develop a rough skin as we get older,

we need it to preserve our ideals and our dignity. 

We need it to survive the small cruelties we see every day, 

committed by those who would believe the

world they live in is black and white, without variations

and nuances in rhythm and color,

Thank god we all do not march to the same drummer.

Or the world would be flat gray every day. 

Sunny Reflections

Clouds moved in as the sun rose over the Coke Field 

 casting rich, seductive color over the landscape.

I turned around to see that the clouds had 

allowed the sun to take a peek at its reflection 

in the creek. What it saw was a pool of liquid gold, 

undulating through the field, at the beginning 

of a long trip to the Mississippi River.

Saturday Morning, 7:30 A.M. or So

The colors vary according to the seasons, but even in the winter, 

they are rich and compelling. The Speedway takes care 

of the Coke Field, mowing it regularly and cleaning up trash.

But stuff gets thrown in the creek, gathering just behind 

me against a pylon sticking out of the water.

All this color, of the sort that inspired the weavers of

long-ago tapestries. All this beauty from

a fucking drainage ditch.

I did hit the "Auto Contrast" button in Photoshop, but that was it.

 The color was all there, if you took the time to wait for it.

My response to question 83.

365 Days Apart

I thought I was finished with my book, but I wasn't.

 I'd replaced a number of my pictures because the originals 

weren't of sufficient quality and re-wrote the captions to match. 

I've been expecting a payment that would allow me 

to pay for the remaining pictures. It hasn't arrived. 

In the meantime, contracts have been rewritten to change 

the invoices so we can get our pictures. It's not hard, 

but it is a pain in the ass. I want to be out taking pictures. 

The top picture was taken November 10, 2010, while 

the second was taken November 10 of last year.

Fiery Bling

I've started collecting stand pipes, at least those that provide an 

opportunity for a bit of interesting composition. 

Looking down on these fixtures shows their red enameled tops, 

beautifully set off against the brass-colored hardware.

The chains on the caps remind me of a woman I saw years ago 

in the infield at the Speedway. She had pierced her nipples

and had a chain running between the two. Argh!

The Water Has Ghostly Ribs

As it came out of the downspout, rainwater produced some foam,

 creating rib-like pictographs, ethereal and ephemeral,

both in their composition and existence on the water's surface.

Bull Shit or Fertilizer?

Well, the seeds have been planted that will determine 

whether the United States remains a government of the PEOPLE, 

by the PEOPLE, and for the PEOPLE.

On Wednesday, we will know if the fertilizer being 

spread is nurturing to the population as a whole or 

toxic shitt in an expensive suit, foisted off on

gullible voters by the Koch brothers and Karl Rove.

Apparently, the people of my state have rejected the bull shit

of a misogynistic ideologue running for Senator, only to select 
the sleazey used car salesman running for President

whose opinions reflect the wishes of whomever is funding 

his campaign. I haven't ever applied for a passport; 

I should probably do so should he get the office.

The bastards have bought off Congress as well

as the Supreme Court. If they managed to have bought

the POTUS, the people will never get their

government back. 

Textured Tuesday: Order/Disorder

The construction workers have nearly completed work on the new overpass 

and exits near my home. There are crosswalks marked by brick pavers

verging on the asphalt pavement, where anarchic gravel appears to have over-run

the machine-like precision of the raised dots on the bricks.

Nekkid

What I enjoy most about this picture is the bright blue 

edging around the leaf, created by the sky's 

reflection in the water.

I went out today, camera in my pocket, as usual,

but the day was gray all around, leaves

matted into brown carpets on the sidewalks.

The poor trees, tall as ever in the park,

looked as though they were huddled together,

their limbs shivering in the chilly breeze

from their nekkidness.