tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76431027158733049212024-02-20T12:40:28.181-05:00THOUGHT IN MINDThe Official Blog of M.L.WalkerMarcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-59653058146274391022019-01-21T13:21:00.001-05:002019-01-21T13:38:22.158-05:00WHAT'D I MISS?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfDDTOIey3WMKwEyRETcHWZn1y8Rx3pFWGy6UIGCAFqHpJ2FhXIc9ndmVby8K3bi27ChQiKBwp3G1yQf7UA2eJJGr9PqOsJdnxeGJDReJDigMBxD4kW5FU39Q6coIxWCNlN6rP1s2W9ewP/s1600/HamiltonLogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="599" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfDDTOIey3WMKwEyRETcHWZn1y8Rx3pFWGy6UIGCAFqHpJ2FhXIc9ndmVby8K3bi27ChQiKBwp3G1yQf7UA2eJJGr9PqOsJdnxeGJDReJDigMBxD4kW5FU39Q6coIxWCNlN6rP1s2W9ewP/s320/HamiltonLogo.png" width="234" /></a></div>
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<i>How does a Broadway creation, birthed in a nation</i></div>
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<i>By a rapper-slash-writer, prove to be tighter and
brighter than anything that preceded it?</i></div>
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<i>Our country, man, we needed it; in these desperate
times we found a message in rhymes</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>From a show-stopping</i></div>
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<i>Son of an immigrant who was imminently</i></div>
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<i>Positioned to go farther by working harder and being
a lot smarter</i></div>
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<i>By being a self-starter, at 35 he avoided becoming
just a martyr</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>Thanks to his rampant creativity, he knew that
someday</i></div>
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<i>Across the Great White Way he could make something
better</i></div>
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<i>Something more colors of people could bring to
life together</i></div>
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<i>He was making cultural history as a trend-setter</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>The box office got to popping and all the jaws they
dropped</i></div>
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<i>Our man saw his future rise, rising high non-stop</i></div>
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<i>Audiences responded, even better yet, they bonded</i></div>
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<i>The message corresponded with what they didn’t
know they wanted</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>Well the word got around, they said</i></div>
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<i>“This show is insane, man!”</i></div>
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<i>Saved money for tickets knowing it was off the
chain, man</i></div>
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<i>Won all the awards, critical and popular acclaim</i></div>
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<i>And the world now knows his name. What’s his name,
man?</i></div>
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<br /></div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
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LIN MANUEL MIRANDA is now embedded in our cultural
conscience by virtue of his signature composition, the cultural phenomenon
<a href="https://hamiltonmusical.com/us-tour/">HAMILTON</a>. It’s a work that now needs no introduction or explanation; even those
who still have no interest in experiencing any of its myriad forms understand
some semblance of the musical’s power. A rap-infused Off-Broadway musical about
one of the Founding Fathers of this country, the very idea of its success was
absurd. This is a show that, in a relatively short period of time, has gone
from being an eyebrow-raising curiosity with no hallmarks for mainstream
success, to occupying a place in musical theater so definitive <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2016/nov/05/why-hamilton-is-making-musical-history">some
people already speak of Broadway in <i>before-and-after-HAMILTON</i>
terms</a>.</div>
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It’s a show that explores the White Patriarchy
while featuring virtually no White men in the cast. (The one that’s present, as
King George III, has the most comic-relief of any character, inverting
long-standing American narrative traditions of the Funny Token Black Character.)
HAMILTON is the Barack Obama of Broadway: a smart, Color-infused,
paradigm-shifting signifier of great new expectations. It’s changed the game
just by existing, but proved its merit by also being quick, funny, thoughtful
and endlessly quotable. The exuberance from its supporters further supports the
comparison.</div>
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It remains to be seen <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2016/jun/07/broadway-race-diversity-hamilton-theater-stage">the
full extent of HAMILTON’s lasting theatrical effect</a> on everything from
creative choices and voices, to hiring practices for performers, to marketing
shows featuring casts of Color as something more than niche entertainment
options. The promise is there, but HAMILTON still looms so large, it’s an
intimidating act to consider following. For now, most people want to witness it
in person while it’s still a standard bearer for arts-and-cultural evolution. This
doesn’t mean that those who see it automatically appreciate the subversive
nature of its premise and execution. (It’s debatable if <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2016/11/19/us/mike-pence-hamilton.html">Vice-President
Mike Pence went to see HAMILTON</a> out of curiosity, appreciation, or spite,
or some untwistable combination of all three.) Rather, I suspect that most
folks are flocking to see it because, even with its feet planted solidly in
mainstream sensibilities, it’s still the Hot New Thing.</div>
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* * * * *</div>
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HAMILTON is a success in a
way that makes it almost beyond reproach. It’s won Tony Awards and a Pulitzer
Prize, among scores of others. For his door-busting achievements, Miranda has
won a MacArthur Fellowship, a.k.a. The Genius Award, and a Kennedy Center
Honor. With success <a href="https://bbook.com/news/hamiltons-discontents-a-historical-cultural-critique-of-the-smash-broadway-musical/">come
criticisms</a>, and a big one for this musical has been the price tag of getting
into the room where it happens. Due to the way our country has evolved over the
centuries since Alexander Hamilton established our national banking system – <a href="https://www.forbes.com/sites/brianthompson1/2018/02/18/the-racial-wealth-gap-addressing-americas-most-pressing-epidemic/#279a50857a48">for
White people</a> – cost precludes many (possibly most) People of Color from
attending HAMILTON on Broadway, in Chicago, or any of the host of cities its
touring company is now bringing it to. The theoretic possibility of going to
see it is tempered by the limits of expendable income. While <a href="https://www.celebritynetworth.com/articles/entertainment-articles/how-much-money-does-lin-manuel-miranda-make-off-hamilton/">Miranda
is now a mutli-millionaire dozens of times over</a>, it’s entirely possible
that, if Alexander Hamilton were alive now, earning a wage equivalent to what
he did during his lifetime but also shouldering similar expenses, <a href="http://time.com/money/2946473/financial-lessons-of-americas-founding-fathers/">he
might not be able to take his family to see it either</a>.</div>
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There are other more cost-effective options, of
course, such as the soundtrack. This is how most people experience HAMILTON the
first time, and most of the folks I know who are fans are devotees. That’s an
easy thing to become, and I count myself as one. I first learned of it while watching
Jimmy Fallon enthuse about it on The Tonight Show with ?uestlove and The Roots
(who produced the album recording) in 2015. The premise of the show sounded
weird and at one point the audience laughed at the description. It also sounded
intriguing.</div>
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A very good friend and superfan convinced me to
listen to the soundtrack, and I found it to be a bewitching thing, so dense
with lyrical content you almost have to listen to it non-stop to unpack all the
layers of meaning. Nearly the entire show is on the soundtrack, so it’s easy to
visualize the performances by the phrasing and cues. It’s a confidently complete
work that makes you feel as though you’ve seen it even when you haven’t. That’s
good because, every time I looked up prices, not to mention the long wait for
tickets, I knew that actually attending this show was for me a distant dream.</div>
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It was <a href="https://pittsburgh.cbslocal.com/2018/03/24/hamilton-musical-pittsburgh-national-tour/">announced
in March 2018</a> that HAMILTON would be coming to Pittsburgh, which was met
with the expected fanfare. I wanted to see it but I knew that whenever the
ticket prices were announced they’d almost certainly be out of my price range. This
proved to be the case. A friend suggested that, with all of my contacts and acquaintances
in the local arts, someone might offer me a ticket. It was an intriguing
thought, but not the kind of thing a healthy ego anticipates. I certainly
wasn’t <i>entitled</i> to see HAMILTON for
any reason and didn’t even seek it out. Then, just before the tickets went on
sale, my superfan friend asked a question: Would I be interested in joining a
small group going to see it? I was then offered a ticket as a Christmas gift.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjucInx10b336uaBwVI0v8RXPRiSBxdv9gd_Iw2Lv11JKd4vhawgf85D77HcESSGWW_2_s-_uFFEQD96iQSmrldkibz_RgOzvGMhlhHMZwEO-kma0T3dCmG-bovfmUd3pPu4oao7JZ7cWjP/s1600/ham_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjucInx10b336uaBwVI0v8RXPRiSBxdv9gd_Iw2Lv11JKd4vhawgf85D77HcESSGWW_2_s-_uFFEQD96iQSmrldkibz_RgOzvGMhlhHMZwEO-kma0T3dCmG-bovfmUd3pPu4oao7JZ7cWjP/s320/ham_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Bill O'Driscoll for WESA<br />
(https://www.wesa.fm/post/broadway-hit-hamilton-makes-its-pittsburgh-debut)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I almost declined, mostly because it was a gift I
couldn’t reciprocate any time soon. I relented though -- how could I possibly
say no to this? Before long, it was New Year’s Day and I was sitting in the
Benedum Theater along with my friends, beside my superfan friend, staring at
the iconic stage setting as <a href="https://triblive.com/local/allegheny/14460312-74/hamilton-opens-in-pittsburgh-to-sold-out-crowd">the sell-out crowd</a> prepared for the house lights to dim. We no
longer had to wait for it; this was opening night and it had arrived.</div>
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* * * * *</div>
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I THINK THAT most audience members go in to see
HAMILTON primed to enjoy it. In all honesty, I did too and found it surpasses
its hype and, as suspected, the physical spectacle yields information not
suggested by the audio recording. Everything from the lighting and staging, to
the intricate choreography, to the body language of performers informs the
story in big and small ways. (One small lighting cue during an interlude with
King George was emblematic of this.) The rotating stage plays a far greater
role in prompting audience attention than you can understand without seeing it.
Even after massive exposure, HAMILTON remains something to be seen and
experienced in person to unlock yet another level of meaning from the story.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But there was still something else that the recorded
soundtrack didn’t capture that was visible in person, something that nagged at
me the entire time, an experience I’ve had at the Benedum Center in the past
and hoped not to have this time. Remember, I nearly missed this performance
because I couldn’t afford it. I heard it remarked that there were probably more
People of Color on the stage performing than in the audience watching. In
looking around prior to the start of the show, I saw little evidence suggesting
otherwise.<br />
<br />
I don't speak for all Black people (but I kinda do) when I say that I can't help but notice how many or few People of Color are in attendance at public events like this. It's just an automatic reflex. I'm decades removed from being surprised when it happens, but at certain events its more disheartening than others. The lifeblood of a specific culture was infusing the arts in front
of us, but the progeny of that culture was woefully underrepresented. If you
don’t see any disconnect there, you’ve got to be out of your God-damned mind.</div>
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Did this compromise me viewing HAMILTON? To an
extent, yes, but it’s hardly the first time I’ve been so surrounded by White
people at a cultural event. I expected it on some level, but it was still disappointing. I should also point out that I'm grateful that I had a chance to go see it, and thankful for the friends who treated me. I just wish more people had been able to see it beyond who I expected to see there. I’ve been pondering the situation since that night, the first night of 2019,
and wondering what has to take place so there’s as much representation in the
audience as there is on stage for works like this. </div>
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* * * * *</div>
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IS ANYONE ENTITLED to see HAMILTON because of their
race or fiscal circumstance? No. Many of the folks who have paid to see it
scrimped and saved and made it happen because it was important to them. They
earned it just as much as the folks who had more available income, and thus
didn’t have to save quite as much for quite as long to afford tickets. The only
people who can stake an uncontested claim to being entitled to seeing the show
are the people who bought tickets…but I have issues with a system that
virtually locks people out of a cultural experience, even when that cultural
experience benefits from reflecting audiences that can’t actually see the show.
Put bluntly, HAMILTON purposefully features a non-White cast and uses Black
musical art forms to catalyze a White narrative into one that’s more universal. It doesn't work without People of Color on that stage. It needs to be that diligent about having People of Color in the audiences too.</div>
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I say this next part emphatically: I do not
support the bootlegging of HAMILTON or any other work of art or commerce. As a working artist myself, it would be hypocritical to do so.
That said, my own artwork doesn’t usually exist at a price point that removes
it from mass audiences. That doesn’t mean HAMILTON should automatically be
cost-adjusted so that the masses can more readily afford it. They don’t have to
change anything because they know we’ll keep returning for what they’re
offering. They look at the audiences and say, “You’ll be back!” The show’s
producers have a right to charge whatever they want, and whatever the market
will bear. For this reason, <a href="https://unbrandednews.com/the-pros-and-cons-of-bootlegging-hamilton/">Miranda
has a right to dislike bootlegging</a> of his handiwork if people will pay
astronomical prices to see it. I don’t approve of it either…but I <i>understand</i> it.</div>
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There was a routine Jamie Foxx had about seeing
Michael Jackson and The Jacksons in the early 1980s during <a href="https://www.newsweek.com/1984-michael-jackson-tour-207028">their VICTORY
Tour</a>. This was during The King of Pop’s THRILLER-fueled ascendency into the
stratosphere, when anything touched by his gloved hand was guaranteed to sell
out. Foxx joked about how everyone went to go see the tour when it arrived in
town, although Black folks were a little less inclined to do so despite their
enthusiasm because “the prices were a little steep.” I remember that part
clearly too. Tickets for their VICTORY Tour cost between $30-$40, a large sum
back then. (Honestly, I don’t throw that kind of money around quickly even now!) Seeing
a Black man reign as the most popular entertainer in the country was important
then (and sadly missed now). But it doesn’t matter how important or popular a
thing is, there’s a point where it becomes problematic for everyone to
participate in it.</div>
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It bothers me when creative work steeped in Black
cultural experiences becomes inaccessible to Black audiences because of cost.
Something about that seems broken to me. I understand why other methods develop
to participate in a cultural exchange that large groups are locked out of. I
understand bootlegging, even though I don’t condone it. I don’t condone
stealing food, but hunger has its own demands, and this particular bootlegging
suggests a hunger for arts and culture that’s out of reach for lots of folks.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Part of me is bothered and I say "no" to this. It
feels like price gouging. It feels manipulative. It feels classist.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It feels wrong.</div>
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* * * * *</div>
<div>
</div>
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WITH HAMILTON ENTERING its last week of
performances here in Pittsburgh now, I can only guess if the crowds for following
sell-out shows were any more color-balanced then on opening night. I hope so,
but I doubt it and I suspect the crowds will looks the same as it rolls through
future venues. I also don’t have a solution. I don’t know everything, and
unlike Alexander Hamilton, I’m not going to use my words to try and convince
anyone otherwise. (I’m also not accepting any duels at this time. I have absolutely
no shots to throw away.) What comes next? I don’t know. The situation makes me
feel a little helpless, but not entirely hopeless.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I admire the ability of an individual who was able
to commit the power of their mind to shaping a new nation’s economy in a way
that’s still potent centuries later. But that fiscal infrastructure was
disproportionate in who it benefitted, and the racial gap in generational
wealth has to be addressed. It’s one thing for People of Color to not be able
to see a musical but, in terms of priorities, more Black people owning their
own homes and businesses is where we really need to focus. We’ve got to be
stakeholders to stake an uncontested claim to anything.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
But I’m not an economist: I’m an artist, so I
focus on art and its transformative power in society. It’s not enough for those
who have been underrepresented in the arts to suddenly find representation in
culture, fine, popular or otherwise, if it doesn’t find purchase with an
audience that wants to pay but can’t afford to. It’s like passing a football with
no receivers. We have to make sure that our art actually reaches the people it
will mean the most to. I know it’s every artist’s dream for that to happen; we
have to make this a workable reality for it to matter and have an effect.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I have to believe that someone out there has
the untapped potential to put a pencil to their temple to help form a better,
more balanced plan for the distribution of our cultural wealth. Hopefully it’ll blow us
all away, and I’m willing to wait for it.</div>
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<br /></div>
Because right now we don’t have a choice.<br />
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<br /></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/AH7rPkRRJZ8/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/AH7rPkRRJZ8?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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What'd I miss? If you can think of anything, please let me know.</div>
</div>
Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-13078795985977396192018-02-18T23:25:00.000-05:002018-02-19T20:04:42.194-05:00How The West Was Lost<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<i></i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Originally read at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/FreeAssociationReadings/" target="_blank">The FREE ASSOCIATION Reading Series</a></i><i><br />on February 18th, 2018 </i><i>at Alphabet City, Pittsburgh, PA</i></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuLwwrcR8IJ0kZ0cipPPBSqhNLgXGsKf54fbbShlmu-ahH6SFCiKtrlbHFNmz8YLSHx8z0Ez-gjDd0r5Rw1ZunimhDnWYisSgBg4RE6E80W0EHVKIR7nnnwj3ycuAfDs3M1z7FiLfVaSTt/s1600/Walker-006-JohnnyWest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="955" data-original-width="568" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuLwwrcR8IJ0kZ0cipPPBSqhNLgXGsKf54fbbShlmu-ahH6SFCiKtrlbHFNmz8YLSHx8z0Ez-gjDd0r5Rw1ZunimhDnWYisSgBg4RE6E80W0EHVKIR7nnnwj3ycuAfDs3M1z7FiLfVaSTt/s400/Walker-006-JohnnyWest.jpg" width="237" /></a>BY THE MID-1970s, my little family had already
registered considerable mileage migrating around Pittsburgh, living in various
neighborhoods. I remember when my mother, younger sister, and I moved into the
two-story, two bedroom house on Lyric Street in East Liberty. It was rented to
our mother by her sister, in an effort to provide a measure of stability for
the three of us. Later, this became four, when my youngest sister was born in
the living room. Sometimes the head count grew to five, when our father would
come to live with us for a while, though this was always temporary. All told, I
was a happy kid.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
However, even at six years old, I knew innately that
something was off with our family. Specifically, something wasn’t quite right
with my mother’s skewed perspective of the world. She loved her children with a
ferocious volatility, but would turn on friends and loved ones at the barest
provocation. Sometimes even <i>we</i> weren’t
spared her wrath, which could be terrifying to the uninitiated, and tiresome to
those who were. We weren’t so much a nuclear family as a family that was prone
to going nuclear for the most mundane of reasons. Still, we kids were very close
to our mother, even when her behavior was unstable, which was frequent.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Like most six-year old boys, I also looked up to
our father, even though he typically wasn’t in the picture; he was a
photographer so he preferred to instead take most of the pictures. That’s more
than a metaphor: He wasn’t built for helping to maintain much day-to-day familial
structure, so he existed at the periphery of our world, observing but not
guiding. Sometimes he’d live with us for a week or month or so, otherwise he
lived with his own mother in the Hill District. He was usually on-call as a
special visitor more than anything else, and I looked forward to his visits. To
make up for his absences, he frequently came bearing gifts. This was how I
became exposed to comic books, which would chart my path through everything
that was to come. Other times, he brought us toys.</div>
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<a name='more'></a><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK-4b5lZSLXgI9NmTMYJBYVhleUkcpmNGHKp40bvY1Zv9h-NBzoudUOD6_Io1ZoXzfubvwpeQ99RCG3N_chDddnuCLAKHchOcWwkEIUFuwYGkhrILT_XvBXHfhnkxZ682zVDm5jKtOovyT/s1600/Walker-002-GIJoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1237" data-original-width="1600" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK-4b5lZSLXgI9NmTMYJBYVhleUkcpmNGHKp40bvY1Zv9h-NBzoudUOD6_Io1ZoXzfubvwpeQ99RCG3N_chDddnuCLAKHchOcWwkEIUFuwYGkhrILT_XvBXHfhnkxZ682zVDm5jKtOovyT/s320/Walker-002-GIJoes.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Various G.I.JOE figures from the early-mid 1970s.<br />
I had owned several just like these!<br />
(Photos taken by me at <a href="http://www.museumofplay.org/" target="_blank">The Strong Museum</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I had most of the things any little boy from the
mid ‘70s would remember. I had a Big Wheel (and <i>loved</i> that thing), and a talking J.J. Walker doll that said his
catchphrase, “Dy-no-MITE!” I had a Six Million Dollar Man action figure, and
Johnny Lightning racing cars, and a battalion of G.I.Joe figures (the big ones
with dog tags, and kung-fu grip, and fuzzy heads of hair and beards that scuffed
off as you played with them). My middle sister and I shared full-headset walkie
talkies, and model kits that our father sort-of helped us put together. Considering
all the tumult our family experienced, I remember our parents, despite their
issues, being pretty good about getting us kids the playthings we wanted.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
They were so good, in fact, that I never believed
in Santa Claus. That wasn’t bad; I just saw how it worked. We wanted toys, we
asked for toys, if our parents could, they bought us the toys. This made total
sense. I didn’t need to believe in a middleman…although, as the years went on,
when other adults tried to convince us in Santa, I played along. It seemed to
make the grown-ups feel good, and it didn’t matter to me. Toys were toys were
toys, right? The delivery method didn’t matter.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
But one toy stood out from the rest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;">
<b>* * * * *</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVreEepgvTCJqc6dJlbfNGWqYVsHuPegjGYWVyE1yKYHfU6d6CjHICUmA96VjVmCNGWJ8sLfjvxEXsFxGv31ocM-CcY-4gcFKpPll1yia-hKPbUQFTARzatW4pdV7Wgx3jT-Lg4OU4gCU0/s1600/Walker-003-BestOfTheWest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1306" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVreEepgvTCJqc6dJlbfNGWqYVsHuPegjGYWVyE1yKYHfU6d6CjHICUmA96VjVmCNGWJ8sLfjvxEXsFxGv31ocM-CcY-4gcFKpPll1yia-hKPbUQFTARzatW4pdV7Wgx3jT-Lg4OU4gCU0/s320/Walker-003-BestOfTheWest.jpg" width="261" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Variations on this poster appeared in comic-book<br />
ads and point-of-purchase displays.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
IN MANY OF the comics my dad bought for me, there
were ads for the <i>Johnny West Adventure</i>
series of action figures, MARX Toys’ answer to the G.I.Joe line. They had over
a dozen characters, cowboys and cowgirls and Native Americans, real and
fictional, that were sold along with horses and playsets. Each figure came with
a surprising number of accessories, including pots, pans, and cups (because
toys have to eat on the wild frontier of a kid’s imagination). And central to
it all was the main character, Johnny West himself. This was what I wanted, and
I wasn’t shy about asking for it. My life would be made more complete with a
Johnny West doll. Of this, I was sure.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Several of the other characters had appeal too,
for various reasons. I liked the colors of Sherriff Garrett, and there was even
a Black character named Jed Gibson, dressed very Daniel Boone-like. However, the
main figure, Johnny himself, proved elusive. My father took me on a couple of
trips to department stores in search of one, and each time I came away with a
different figure.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
One was General Custer. It’s doubtful I knew this
was based on a real person, and I find it amusing that he existed in my
possession as a 1/6<sup>th</sup>-scale figure with accessories I dutifully kept
track of. Another was Chief Cherokee, a stern-looking indigenous chief made of
plastic so hard you could concuss a playmate if you hit them with it. However,
neither the chief or Custer could stand a lasting chance of diverting my need
to own an actual Johnny West figure. It was absolute, and now whenever I saw
the ads in comics I felt an even greater sense of longing. It was so close, yet
still just beyond reach. But I never got to complete the West family of toys on
Lyric Street. The harmony was interrupted.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;">
<b>* * * * *</b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJodg6OAMBdOCRf73Zk19yTzOfvZOnya6ZRYEAtQ4hUNfIy3LHjTOS8VfUa8XDZNDpfroqQMcHN9XRwk3TjDI1LaUPvQsCB9s0ns1AeiOn-hunxJw-h8Tx5kBgUUHTRygzP8vlSZxgJW96/s1600/Walker-005-ChiefCherokee_Figure-w-Box.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="750" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJodg6OAMBdOCRf73Zk19yTzOfvZOnya6ZRYEAtQ4hUNfIy3LHjTOS8VfUa8XDZNDpfroqQMcHN9XRwk3TjDI1LaUPvQsCB9s0ns1AeiOn-hunxJw-h8Tx5kBgUUHTRygzP8vlSZxgJW96/s320/Walker-005-ChiefCherokee_Figure-w-Box.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chief Cherokee action figure, just like the one I owned!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
ONE COLD DAY in November, 1976, my sisters and I
were forcibly removed from my mother’s care. It had to happen. Heading into
winter, the house had no electricity or gas, as those bills had been neglected.
Our father wasn’t staying with us, the house was in a horrible state (although,
as kids, we didn’t see it that way…it was kind of an adventure), and someone
had to intervene on our behalf. My mom physically fought the police, but her
cause was lost. Within minutes, the three of us were whisked away and taken to
a juvenile facility up off of McKnight Road called McIntyre Shelter.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
We stayed there for months, and time took on a
hazy, gossamer-like quality. The days blurred together, yet I still remember
some aspects of being there in microscopic detail, and things the staff did to
make such an unusual experience as routinized and bearable as possible. Kids
were separated by gender and age, and I ended up with the boys of Cottage
Three. It was here I learned to make a bed, and hang up clothes, and attend
school regularly, and speak when spoken to. There was a large playroom in the
cottage, perpetually covered with a haphazard landscape of toys. You entered
the playroom at your own bouncy risk; everything was fair game. A few toys
temporarily came out, but they all had to make their way back. Toys in the
playroom were community property and it was usually like Lord of the Flies
inside.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I was allowed to hold onto the comic books my
parents brought me on visiting days though. In them, I would still see the ads
for the Johnny West figures. As Christmas approached, I have the scarcest
memory of being asked what toys I wanted by the workers. I may have told them
verbally, or I might have written a list. The memory of this is hazy, I think
because specific toys had in many ways lost their same importance for a while.
I was more focused on going home.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
One weekend afternoon closer to Christmas (or it
may have actually been Christmas Day), without much notice that I recall, all
of the boys in Cottage Three were gathered and made to put on good dress
clothes, including clip-on ties and nice shoes. As we were led to school buses,
we could see that well-dressed-and-tressed girls and boys from the other
cottages were also being put on buses. The fleet was driven to Allegheny Center
where we disembarked and were seated at tables, grouped by cottage number, in a
large hall. At one end of this hall was a stage with a big chair at the center,
which I didn’t pay much attention to. I figured we’d been brought out for a
fancy holiday meal, and looked around for my middle sister.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Later, the purpose of the stage and chair was made
clear when Santa Claus took to the stage and, table by table, the kids began to
be led up to receive individual sacks of toys! I may not have believed Santa to
be real, but I was just as excited as everyone else at this holiday magic. So I
took my place in line, played right along, gleefully accepted my bag of
presents, said “Thank you!” and exited the other side of the stage. I wasn’t as
mercenary about this as it might sound. I was so genuinely enthused that I lost
my bearings on the way back to my group’s table. In a daze, I dropped to my
knees and decided to see what I’d gotten from Santa. It was quite a haul, and
all good stuff.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb7vV1vR2TLgaQHwn6kNIBwNVcfBwoeDrfV_ljzQnXpYPhEoLBKmVGdsA1kMzqc5sTfGTUmcQHEsk8B2nVDpiD55SQyBVAIZAPCzzBtbdGHmJ7r-rG-PsjJFIoY0VLYKOlxUjOOJmGHiWV/s1600/Walker-007-JohnnyWest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="874" data-original-width="1116" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb7vV1vR2TLgaQHwn6kNIBwNVcfBwoeDrfV_ljzQnXpYPhEoLBKmVGdsA1kMzqc5sTfGTUmcQHEsk8B2nVDpiD55SQyBVAIZAPCzzBtbdGHmJ7r-rG-PsjJFIoY0VLYKOlxUjOOJmGHiWV/s320/Walker-007-JohnnyWest.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There he is!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
And then, there it was inside: A box containing a brand-new
Johnny West doll, fully jointed, with quick-draw action, and 24 pieces of
western gear. The world disappeared. This was something I’d coveted so badly,
and been denied for so long, it had been relegated to the role of fantasy. I’d
forgotten it was possible and wasn’t even thinking about it while looking
through the sack, and now, here it was. Decades later, it’s how I would feel
the night Obama was elected.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I was eventually escorted back to my table where I
gushed to my cottage buddies about it, and we all compared notes. Then we were
taken back to McIntyre Shelter where I couldn’t wait to open my toys and get to
playing. And it was then that each child was given a decision to make.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
The reason toys stayed in the playroom at the
cottage was due to the constant cycle of kids moved through the system. There was
no way for the counselors to track who owned what at any given time. I’d played
with kids in the morning who were gone, with no notice, by the same afternoon,
so the abruptness of change was very real. My sisters and I were also going home every
other weekend now for overnight visits to our parents’ new place on the North
Side – just a few blocks from here – in preparation for return to their custody,
but I couldn’t take the toys back until our time at the shelter was done.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I could allow the counselors to put them into
storage for me, to be given back whenever I went home for good, although there
was no way to know how far off that might be. Or, I could play with them right
then, but surrender them to the playroom, where they would become communal
property, and would never leave the compound. The decision was mine alone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I quickly chose to have them stored away. I’d already
waited for my Johnny West this long; I could go a while longer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;">
<b>* * * * *</b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
BY LATE-JANUARY of 1977, our visits had increased to
weekly intervals. My mother was especially faithful about making sure they occurred,
and pressed my father into service to make the treks along McKnight Road happen.
Every trip was a roller coaster of emotion, with elation at getting picked up on
Friday afternoons, followed by normal family activities for two days (I
remember anticipating a live broadcast of an Evel Knievel shark-jumping special
with enthusiasm), and then a rapid descent to tears on Sunday evenings when we
had to go back. For all of their faithfulness, Mom and Dad weren’t good at
easing our transitions back at all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
One Sunday in February, nearly 41 years ago from
now to the day, a few blocks away at 525 Armandale Street, my sisters and I
prepared to gather our things for the trip back to McIntyre Shelter. Our father
took a phone call, then told us we didn’t have to go back and could now stay.
He had such a weird sense of humor that, even though we were little, or maybe
because we were little, we didn’t trust him. (Remember, we didn’t believe in
Santa Claus either.) After a while, it became apparent this was the truth and
we really were allowed to stay. This was the moment we’d been waiting for!</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
And then I remembered the toy I’d never even gotten
to take out of its box.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
My mother recently corroborated that I’d then asked
about going back for my Johnny West. She said they’d tried to make arrangements,
but with the immediate requirements of getting us enrolled in school and
settled in, it just didn’t happen. By the time I began attending Saint Matthew’s
Lutheran School, with daily trips directly past this very building both ways,
the sting of losing my long-sought toy had dissipated into acceptance.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKiqNrzTZJOTbd5W8ILh7jhnJ46W7xHpVO3gK4EmY3h9uLfNPjFZoJMEdeqkhypPawGsHRn6bWCGsLA5JYTHTVHKhUcuZI9Imq8Y0-uqBPaosgFoghSk-tsa9WE1XOKzClc7e4c4VKleUr/s1600/Walker-008-evelknievel-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKiqNrzTZJOTbd5W8ILh7jhnJ46W7xHpVO3gK4EmY3h9uLfNPjFZoJMEdeqkhypPawGsHRn6bWCGsLA5JYTHTVHKhUcuZI9Imq8Y0-uqBPaosgFoghSk-tsa9WE1XOKzClc7e4c4VKleUr/s320/Walker-008-evelknievel-6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The EVEL KNIEVEL action figure and stunt cycle!<br />
(Circa 1977)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Just as Old West cowboys on horseback gave way to
daredevils on motorcycles, my attentions in toys shifted and later that year I’d
ask for and receive a new Evel Knievel figure with a rev-up stunt cycle. And I <i>loved</i> that thing. One of my fondest
memories is walking with my family down Monterey Street to cross West North
Avenue, and ending up directly across the street from here in Allegheny Commons
Park. In the summer of ’77, you’d have seen me there, playing with my Evel
Knievel, revving up his bike, and measuring my success by how far he travelled,
and how big the obstacles were that he hurdled. You’d have seen a happy kid who
made the leap from East Liberty to the North Side with no idea of the many miles
ahead.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;">
<b>***ADDENDUM***</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I'D LOOKED UP the toy online over the years,
curious to see if any were out there, what shape they were in, how much they currently
cost in collector markets, etc. I’d decided however that it was probably better
to not buy one now. Nothing could compare to the memory of what I’d almost had.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Late last August, a few weeks shy of my 47<sup>th</sup>
birthday, I was talking with my close friend Wayne when the subject turned to
childhood possessions. <a href="http://www.wayne-wise.com/2017/09/bookquest.html" target="_blank">He’d recently managed to track down a copy of an illustrated book he’d owned as a kid</a>. The ability to see, as an adult, how this book had influenced
him so early on, nudging him toward a path as a writer and artist, got him to
thinking about the value of reclaiming certain objects of our youth. I agreed,
which led me to the subject of my Johnny West doll. Wayne is a little older
than me, and he’d owned different figures in the line too, several of which he still
has in pretty good shape. He was also well acquainted with my story.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“I don’t think I even want one now,” I said. “It
has more power as a thing of the past.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“Really?” Wayne said, incredulously.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“Yeah, I think so,” I replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“Because, I got you one for your birthday. A new,
re-issued one.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I stopped mid-stride, sure that I’d misheard him.
But I hadn’t. “This changes things,” I declared. “I said I didn’t want one
before I knew that was possible!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I now had a familiar choice to make: I could
receive my gift that evening, now that I knew, or wait a month until my actual
birthday to have it. Based on my previous decision, you might think I’d have decided
to instantly play with my toy, but I chose once more to wait. I needed a chance
to emotionally prepare for it. I really did. That night, as I worked late at
the drawing table, I started crying at the thought of what he’d done.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
And a few weeks later on my birthday, after over
forty years, Johnny West, my long-lost toy was finally found.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Accessories included!<br />
<div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm5Zw75IiOX_RPWL2F2ZNX6jMrNnbr_qjuKSjKHyq7e2ao5hKJSJl7l1APDyI4N41j4Yt8Cfttr9R89QNi9Cb-DWeWHLVEg9BamuDcpUBJP1TtOo9k09qPlXKUVz4oayTt9Uvc9IJ7WeFx/s1600/Walker-009-Quick-Draw-Johnny-West.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="650" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm5Zw75IiOX_RPWL2F2ZNX6jMrNnbr_qjuKSjKHyq7e2ao5hKJSJl7l1APDyI4N41j4Yt8Cfttr9R89QNi9Cb-DWeWHLVEg9BamuDcpUBJP1TtOo9k09qPlXKUVz4oayTt9Uvc9IJ7WeFx/s640/Walker-009-Quick-Draw-Johnny-West.jpg" width="488" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-33714751319797838172017-07-17T18:03:00.001-04:002017-08-11T12:32:14.059-04:00Judy Penzer & The Art of Deepening the Mystery<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhulDmnXYueakr818B52zowawGIfhcDVNn7tjOE6POErO8wE-l6njstmP8EgNEAgjOU9bUSuMWlLg4nRuC9oE8Tt6hs8v_4Rg0sC3-da_RCAItA_D2zz6tq2LjukcYXxOO5b_aJKHi7byYx/s1600/Photo_JamiMarlowe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhulDmnXYueakr818B52zowawGIfhcDVNn7tjOE6POErO8wE-l6njstmP8EgNEAgjOU9bUSuMWlLg4nRuC9oE8Tt6hs8v_4Rg0sC3-da_RCAItA_D2zz6tq2LjukcYXxOO5b_aJKHi7byYx/s400/Photo_JamiMarlowe.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">Me working on my SPACE mural<br />
Photo by Jami Marlowe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
"The job of the artist is always to deepen the mystery." - Francis Bacon</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
THE RELATIVE DISTANCE of memories is a peculiar
phenomenon of aging. Think back to when you were a child and how every minute
between holidays felt like a month. For most of us, birthdays were the best
thing imaginable, our own personal holiday where time and space and gravity
bent in our direction. There was a perceived upgrade in status that came with
being another year older; we were allowed more and more autonomy of our lives. But
in time, most of us discover that our youthful perceptions are warped by inexperience,
and every upgrade comes with more and more responsibility. By the time most of
us have reached our early twenties, that precipice between the so-called
freedom of youth and previously-coveted responsibility of adulthood, we’re just
starting to sense the shift in our perception of time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
It happens incrementally, barely noticeable at
first. The event we thought occurred a year ago was actually two years ago. A
movie sequel is released and we suddenly realize it’s been more years than we
thought since the previous installment came out. Someone’s name gets mentioned
and it takes a second to recall who they are, then you wonder how you could
have ever forgotten that person. Or someone’s name is mentioned and you
immediately know who they are, but you suddenly realize how long it’s been
since you’ve been in touch. Then the occurrences pick up the pace, but we don’t
notice. Babies are born, then they’re talking, then they’re tweens, and we
remember buying them outdated gifts for birthdays long passed. In our twenties, we are fully-formed adults in the eyes of
twelve-year olds, even though we know we’re nowhere close to that. For them, as
it had been for us, minutes are months, but for us now months streak by like
minutes, and the clock ticks on. The time swirls into a temporal mural with
memories as the paint, and one’s lifetime as the wall it’s applied to.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Downtown Pittsburgh was a very different place in
the mid-1990s from what it is now, and from what it had been just a few years
prior when I’d gone to school at the Art Institute on Penn Avenue. There were
buildings fated to be crumpled which still stood tall, and landmarks that we
still pointed to with pride, or derision. The streets were full of business
people during the day, but destitute at night as those workers headed out and
away from the Golden Triangle. Some long-standing businesses had already
started to close up shop, like <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Horne_Company">Horne’s</a> in 1994.
But the Civic Arena’s dome still curved atop the skyline, and the last remnants
of our red-light district along Liberty Avenue clung tenaciously in place. On
Wood Street, the arts and sports worlds collided as <a href="http://www.pghmurals.com/Pgh-Sports-Mural.cfm" target="_blank">an eleven-story mural of local sports heroes</a> Roberto Clemente, Mario Lemieux, "Mean" Joe Greene, Bill
Mazeroski, and Jack Lambert reminded denizens of our blue-collar roots and
world-class ambitions. It’s been a while, but I see it all like yesterday
through a window, with a little mist fogging the glass.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;">
* * * * *</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFjcW8T07NEgI3mzOq1qE2gAfSoX8yTtvm1cLUABKXKBfPYpuPgemNbS0ue2-7A1KGnsZ9VfUyW4hnv10sgB7zefmlAiPPIWKUPIeTQhiuvY3vwJSwFupX29xD1__nXKcugcrjgwZwQdK7/s1600/mural-pittsburgh-downtown-sports-mural-wood-st-penzer-greg-puchalski-robert-harmon-pittsburghmagazine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFjcW8T07NEgI3mzOq1qE2gAfSoX8yTtvm1cLUABKXKBfPYpuPgemNbS0ue2-7A1KGnsZ9VfUyW4hnv10sgB7zefmlAiPPIWKUPIeTQhiuvY3vwJSwFupX29xD1__nXKcugcrjgwZwQdK7/s400/mural-pittsburgh-downtown-sports-mural-wood-st-penzer-greg-puchalski-robert-harmon-pittsburghmagazine.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sports mural by Judy Penzer<br />
Photo by Gregg Puchalski</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I BEGAN WORKING at Kinko’s at 210 Grant Street in
1994, which would be the start of an unplanned nearly two-decade run in print
services. In terms of what we were providing and how we did it, there was a
certain stasis in that industry. Customer service is the same no matter what
day and age, and the best explanation I ever heard for what we were doing was
that we weren’t just making copies (despite what <a href="http://www.avclub.com/article/25-years-ago-rob-schneiders-richmeister-started-ma-230952">Rob
Schneider’s Richmeister</a> had most people believing), we were helping people
to communicate. That meant something to me. Day in, day out, literally 24 hours
a day, my coworkers and I toiled between copy machines and such helping the
denizens of the Steel City to communicate their messages, big and small.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
We copied and printed everything: legal briefs and
concert fliers, business cards and presentation decks, theses and
dissertations, quite literally everything from birth announcements to wedding
invitations to funeral programs. We saw it all and reproduced it in abundance,
and I have to say that we were really good at it. As far as customer service
type jobs went, I knew my stuff and was part of a good team.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Before I go further, so you understand what’s to
follow, I’ll point out a couple of details of working at Kinko’s at that time.
First, in order to insure each team member knew what part of the store they
were supposed to cover during a given shift, we had what was called “The Glue
System.” The idea was that, once we were in our area – at the front counter
taking orders, or the key operator of the main black-and-white machines, or in
the production room binding books and mounting posters, etc. – we were to stick
to it like glue. (Cute, right?) Some stores were ruthless in following the Glue
System; on Grant Street it was more like playing roller derby, for the most
part. The upside is we were all cross-trained. The downside is sometimes it
became a free-for-all getting work done.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Second, the machines then were incredibly crude
compared to what would evolve just a few years later. Nowhere was this more
true than with our color copiers and printers. They seemed like magic at the
time, because it’s what we had, but satisfying customers who had particular tastes
or expectations was a tremendous challenge in the mid-90s. I did enjoy working
with most folks back then but, as with any job, there were aspects of the
monotonous to it as well. Most customers were easy to please though, so the job
was a straightforward one.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Our tentative Glue System typically placed me at
the front counter, because I was great with customers. (Back in those days, I
was <i>really</i> nice, to the point where
an inquiry was once made to my boss about my sanity. True story. I grew out of
that eventually.) I also usually ran the color machines. The way our store was
set up, they were the ones closest to the front counter which allowed me to
multi-task, and I was an artist so there was the presumption that I’d produce
better results for customers than other coworkers would. Again, most customers
were easy to please, and had standard requests that took a minimum amount of
effort to satisfy. But every now and again, there would be a customer who
required more time and attention than the majority of the staff had the
patience, or expertise, to deal with.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Enter into this scenario Judy Penzer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Judy was a regional artist of considerable renown
and talent. Originally from New York, she was the artist who had designed the
sports mural on Wood Street, and had other murals in Brooklyn, the Bronx, and
across the country. She carried herself with confidence and directness, and would
come to our Kinko’s to get color copies of artwork in progress, or completed
projects. I don’t know when she first visited our store. It’s possible that
predated my employment. I do know that she was a semi-regular presence there
between 1994 and 1996, and we came to recognize her as soon as she walked
through the front doors.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I have a fuzzy half-memory of my manager calling
me over to the front counter to help copy some artwork for Judy. There was
either some aspect he wasn’t quite figuring out, or he’d decided to not hassle
with it and knew I was eager and naïve enough to not mind taking over. Either way it
didn’t matter. It was a challenge, and she was nice, so before long, whenever
she came in and had artwork she wanted copied, she specifically requested me.
It got to the point where, when she walked in, everyone just knew that I’d be
preoccupied with running her order. I don’t remember anyone begrudging me for
it – quite the opposite, they were glad to let me take the bullet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;">
* * * * *</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
TO BE CLEAR, I never knew Judy outside of Kinko’s.
She was always a customer, and I was always a coworker. That defined our
relationship, which was still a very genial one. We spent a lot of time
together when she came in because Judy was <i>particular</i>
about her work and how it was represented. And I’m an artist too, which she
learned, which I think increased her favor towards me. I understood why she
needed her reproductions just so, and I couldn’t tell you how many test copies
were run to finally get the settings close to acceptable for her. I
understood…but, you know, I’m a human being too and it wasn’t easy appeasing
her. She was a customer who required inordinate amounts of patience. Her
standards were exacting.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
But I genuinely liked Judy and appreciated her
talents. It’s been long enough that I don’t remember the specifics of what we
talked about, but it probably covered our respective projects, and the weather,
and sports. (It’s Pittsburgh. I’m sure we talked about sports.) Considering
what she was producing, it’s a certainty that she brought in samples of her
work on <a href="http://www.pghmurals.com/the-bride-of-penn-ave-78.cfm">The
Bride on Penn Avenue</a> to be copied, but that’s lost to memory. She was tiny,
and she smiled a lot, so she wasn’t physically imposing, but she could be blunt.
Customers like that often intimidated coworkers, yet I never had a problem with
them. I actually preferred the ones who would let me know just what they
wanted, even if their standards were near-impossible to achieve.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKpWb6RUz0PzhfXW91va5k7lVUSVHziwH7zsw3LNW4-VQwfUiU3PkKd3m9GhQ7Tbeqe_elYRXceKluQEQPuo6e01msYyvYiP_Q0JvWHneJBz12W8bcJuwFt9cueGJE-Q867zsEzqBgB4r6/s1600/mural-pittsburgh-garfield-bride-on-penn-ave-judy-penzer-jill-watson-ashley-hodder-sprout-fund-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="536" data-original-width="800" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKpWb6RUz0PzhfXW91va5k7lVUSVHziwH7zsw3LNW4-VQwfUiU3PkKd3m9GhQ7Tbeqe_elYRXceKluQEQPuo6e01msYyvYiP_Q0JvWHneJBz12W8bcJuwFt9cueGJE-Q867zsEzqBgB4r6/s400/mural-pittsburgh-garfield-bride-on-penn-ave-judy-penzer-jill-watson-ashley-hodder-sprout-fund-3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Bride on Penn Avenue</i> (trompe l'oeil painting on the far left)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
And Judy wasn’t unreasonable. During a
conversation with my boss, he told me we’d have to start charging her for more
of the test copies being run during her visits. This put me in a tricky
position. We had to charge a sometimes prickly customer for waste, and<i> I </i>had to be the one to tell her. Maybe
it was because of my age – I was 24, and she was in her late-forties – but that
was one of the few times she intimidated me as much my coworkers. Judy wasn’t
totally happy about it, but she understood. If anything, it just reduced the
number of copies I had to run so it worked out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
There was one great secret I never disclosed to
Judy for fear of her reaction: I’m partially color blind. So her favorite
Kinko’s coworker, and fellow artist, who she continually entrusted to copy her
precious work wasn’t seeing it at all as she was! How did I get around that? It
was just a matter of following our procedures to the letter. When Judy would
hand me something to reproduce, I’d run a test copy and tweak the settings as
best I could to start off, then I’d hand it back and ask her what she thought.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
She might look at it and say, “It’s a little too
red, don’t you think?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I’d respond, “Yes, that’s just what I was thinking
too!” and then go adjust the settings, reducing the magenta, or boosting the
yellow and blue, etc., and eventually we’d get something close to what she
wanted. As the color machines became more sophisticated, I had to do less and
less of this hiding, but this went on for years with all of my customers; none
of them ever caught on. I was especially proud of my ability to hide it from
Judy and her exacting standards, a little creative slight-of-hand between
artists. Maybe she’d have been amused or appreciated my fortitude. Regardless,
I wasn’t about to find out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
And I know some of you might be thinking, “Maybe
the reason there was so much waste is because he was color-blind!” Fair enough
observation, but no, I was really good at that job. On the occasions when I was
unavailable to work on Judy’s projects, the waste copies generated were much
higher. Sometimes she would ask my schedule and opt to come back when I could
run her jobs. She wasn’t the only person who gravitated to me this way. It was
both flattering and maddening, but having a nationally-known artist
specifically want you to reproduce their work comes with some credentials of
its own. It’s nothing to put on a resume or CV, but it means you got something
right.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;">
* * * * *</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhenyPmmhv_8eSemcJrNszajQeDqrSO4lJKeW6m6DME28XOHnFamPMA3nDJkpTKkMvb2jBIUsBBzn4O_7X4WH9BikKwvGWPjz-VEX0AeWo-qxTNxhiF5tDuNWS5zLw3tM86f1YCzhpJUQKp/s1600/13799727_G.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhenyPmmhv_8eSemcJrNszajQeDqrSO4lJKeW6m6DME28XOHnFamPMA3nDJkpTKkMvb2jBIUsBBzn4O_7X4WH9BikKwvGWPjz-VEX0AeWo-qxTNxhiF5tDuNWS5zLw3tM86f1YCzhpJUQKp/s320/13799727_G.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mural artist Judy Penzer<br />
Photo credit unknown.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
ON THE NIGHT of July 17, 1996, the local news ran
a breaking story about TWA Flight 800, a passenger plane that had crashed into
the Atlantic Ocean near East Moriches, New York. It was an international
passenger flight bound for Paris which had exploded. As the details emerged
that night into the next day, it was learned none of the 230 people aboard had
survived. It was a terrible story, even shocking, but I was completely
disconnected from it. Like most events of that nature, you never imagine them having
relevance to your life. Those are things that happen to other people. In the
here and now, our lives go on without as much as a ripple.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Early the next morning I walked into work, and it
was quiet as it usually was. My manager was in the production area along with
the other first-shift employees, and he addressed me by one of my nicknames
when he saw me. “Hey Marquis,” he said, “did you know, your girl Judy Penzer
was on that plane that crashed?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Back then, the Kinko’s on Grant Street was staffed
almost exclusively with men, and our overall sense of humor was at times
predictably crass and dark, to put it mildly. I didn’t doubt for a millisecond
that my manager was joking. However, I was also the Pollyanna of the bunch, the
nice one, and thought that was taking the jokes too far. “That’s not funny,” I
admonished him. I did a lot of admonishing back then.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Then his tone shifted subtly and he said, “No, for
real, she was on that plane,” and the body language of the other coworkers
changed too. It wasn’t a bad joke; it was a surreal reality. Judy had embarked
on an impromptu trip to Paris, along with Jill Watson, the designer of the
Bride mural, and they’d been passengers. The ripples of disbelief travelled
through the water from the Atlantic Ocean all the way to the shores of the
Three Rivers. Soonafter, I clipped a newspaper article which detailed the event
and featured a photo of Judy. I kept that article in my locker for the rest of
my tenure there. On May 25, 1997, less than a year after she’d died and only
five years after its creation, <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/1997/05/25/sports/in-pittsburgh-fall-of-the-art-of-sports.html" target="_blank">the 24-story building on Wood Street that showcased her sports mural was imploded</a> to make way for a department store.
There was allegedly talk of recreating the mural elsewhere, but that never
happened. The dust settled and the past was simply relegated to the past.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Kinko’s gradually morphed into Fed-Ex Office, as
the machines became faster, with copies flying past just like the years. There
were many, many more customers, and while I enjoyed helping them communicate in
their various ways, my enthusiasm for the job gradually diminished. My truest
sense of satisfaction came from the work I did out in the world, the artwork I
produced for myself and for commissions. In 2007 I finally left the company for
another print-services job, working in-house for a corporation, essentially
doing the same work for better pay. In my spare time, I still drew whenever
possible. The projects became more personal, intricate, and professionally
fulfilling. More and more people began to take notice of my work, both within
and outside of the new company. After five years, when they decided to
outsource their print-services work, which eliminated my job, I decided to use
the opportunity to lean fully into my vocation for the first time. With some
stops and starts, I’ve developed an actual self-sustaining career as a visual
artist. I’ve come a long way since Grant Street, but I still have a lot of
those old friends cheering me on.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
A few months ago I was asked to participate in a
local art show, where artists would be live-painting murals in a gallery in
Downtown Pittsburgh for audiences to watch throughout the afternoon and
evening. I was flattered but also intimidated at the prospect. I have always
been a comic-book artist and illustrator. That’s my chosen profession, definitely
not murals. Often times people have seen my work and asked me to do other things,
like painting designs on cars, or web design. While I am versatile, and have
occasionally stretched well beyond my defined scope with impressive results,
there are some things I just don’t do. It had been a long time since I’d worked
in that media and on a scale that large, and I expressed my reservations to the
exhibition’s curator, Robert Raczka.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
He assured me that it would be fine. He really
hoped that I’d consider participating so, with that level of faith present, I
accepted the opportunity. I’d create my first mural to go along with the theme
of Storytellers. I just needed to figure out what the subject would be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPaV_QTJRQJSDrMYvNZckRwecgKTIErWEdOBDpTyBdL8FIaT32JBPwU2M20SFwP6-bii4cwWJHdZCudIxeAve5AO3cukQooa8DetrTPcMpXJvBwWU1JvUbu7XMljB3WHi9wH8NcM_ZPJsV/s1600/mural-Pittsburgh-Garfield-Bride-Penn-Judy-Penzer-Jill-Watson-Ashley-Hodder-Sprout-Fund-75PHigh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPaV_QTJRQJSDrMYvNZckRwecgKTIErWEdOBDpTyBdL8FIaT32JBPwU2M20SFwP6-bii4cwWJHdZCudIxeAve5AO3cukQooa8DetrTPcMpXJvBwWU1JvUbu7XMljB3WHi9wH8NcM_ZPJsV/s320/mural-Pittsburgh-Garfield-Bride-Penn-Judy-Penzer-Jill-Watson-Ashley-Hodder-Sprout-Fund-75PHigh.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Close-up photo of <i>The Bride of Penn Avenue</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
A few different concepts came to mind, but my
thoughts kept drifting back to Judy. Her <i>Bride of Penn Avenue</i> mural still
stands, having been restored a few years ago, and it’s one of the more
recognizable landmarks in the city limits. It’s bothered me over the years that
there is so little information to be found about Judy here where she made a
home and her presence was felt on the cultural and physical landscape. Was she
the most well-known or celebrated visual artist from Pittsburgh? No. Andy
Warhol holds a lock on that claim. But considering that there are still people
who remember that big sports mural and, like me, are surprised to know that
it’s been gone twenty years now, you would think somewhere there’s significant
information about the artist to be found. Something not focused on how she
died, which was beyond her control, but rather on how she had lived, which she
controlled like a brushstroke. Where is the information about Judy Penzer, the
artist?</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I searched the internet and was only able to come
up with one actual reference photo of Judy, but that was enough. My decision
was made. She would be the subject of my own first attempt at a mural.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;">
* * * * *</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbAcJARGuwHLtyQxeGNS_1SfYOAGGCxrQw6iCGIaOCpwOx_fUTA1VMqT6EvYftDga13rNpRE-ED_4J868MF-vknLD_cwEmZwkr0WTCrBsEj2yECxJ3pB1scdLxqbM-ONrRsOqnuL-RzKKH/s1600/SPACEmural_001_PENCILS_Cropped_SMALLER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="993" data-original-width="1395" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbAcJARGuwHLtyQxeGNS_1SfYOAGGCxrQw6iCGIaOCpwOx_fUTA1VMqT6EvYftDga13rNpRE-ED_4J868MF-vknLD_cwEmZwkr0WTCrBsEj2yECxJ3pB1scdLxqbM-ONrRsOqnuL-RzKKH/s400/SPACEmural_001_PENCILS_Cropped_SMALLER.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">Pencil artwork for my mural's concept sketch</td></tr>
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ON FRIDAY, JULY 7<sup>th</sup>, I along with
several other Pittsburgh artists created artwork for eight hours at the SPACE
Gallery on Liberty Avenue as part of the Pittsburgh Cultural Trust’s monthly Gallery
Crawl. If Judy was still here, I’d be curious how my experience creating this
small mural compared to hers on any of her works. During the day, all of the
artists toiled diligently, interacting with one another in appreciation, but
also finding our way along. A few friends and supporters stopped by to see what
we were doing, and Robert was on hand making sure we were okay. But as the 9-5 workday ended, things picked up and more people streamed through the venue to
watch us work. Some artists wore headphones to stay focused. I chose to
interact with patrons while I painted. It was a heady experience.</div>
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Part of my mural included parts of Judy’s best
known works, <i>The Bride</i> and several of
the athletes from the sports mural. Time and again I was asked by attendees
what was the story behind my work, and I gave them abbreviated versions of what
you’ve now read. For me, it was fascinating witnessing which aspects people
most reacted to. Once the painting was far enough along, some people instantly
recognized The Bride, a number of them saying how they live in the vicinity of
the original. Other people, mostly older, remembered the sports mural and were
shocked when I told them how long it’s been gone. A few folks knew who Judy
was, but almost no one knew that she’d died or the circumstances. Everyone liked the concept, and I got a lot
of encouragement.</div>
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In the end, I was happy with the end product. Not
ecstatic, but I could live with it. It didn’t look exactly like I’d envisioned,
and I didn’t get anywhere near as far along as planned, but it was complete and recognizable.
Normally that’s not the standard I create work by, but for a first attempt
while working way outside of my area of expertise, it wasn’t bad. (And I have
to mention that a bunch of my fellow artists kicked some serious butt!) The
likeness isn’t as on as I’d wanted, and it’s under-developed. Personally, I
think that Judy deserves a much more fitting and lasting memorial from hands
more skilled than mine. If anyone understood having exacting standards, it was
her, but I hope she'd appreciate the effort and intent to create a reminder of an outsized talent that,
like this mural, would have benefited from having more time.</div>
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The mural remains on display until September 3<sup>rd</sup>,
at which time all of the artists’ works will be painted over so something new
can be created. This strikes me as appropriate. Everything and everyone is
temporal and temporary, whether we’re here to witness the lifespan or not.
Nothing is guaranteed. Today, exactly twenty-one years from when she died,
imagine a reality where 70-year old Judy Penzer, celebrated muralist, writes
about a young man she once knew who worked at a copy shop on Grant Street, who
always got her orders right, and who wanted to one day be a professional
artist. It’s all conjecture, of course. Back then, in my eyes she was a fully-formed, confident and experienced adult, twice my age. In the here and now, she's gone and I'm just a couple of years shy from the age she was when she died. Who knows how confident and 'fully-formed" she was internally? This is how it is, this is the life we have, and the clock ticks on.</div>
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Maybe we'll get her a more permanent memorial someday, or recreate her sports mural. We could use another victory like that. In the meantime, as the relative distance of memories grows ever
farther, I invite you all to visit a hallowed SPACE and come with me to remember
Judy Penzer, Pittsburgh artist and storyteller. Hopefully my artwork will momentarily
lift the bride’s veil of time so Pittsburghers can be reminded of the work of
an artist who celebrated our biggest victories, and by her remaining major work
did what the best artists do: she deepened the mystery.</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKT9ifDiw0tlNLB_w1O0_QMRNAQKD4QuCCqPybPCqqBqxVWVpDOrZ8jF3qzdL0vPMh34fkogl1tD0TzWMGbRfvd92GJ36-6crV2S8sGl32CBFXoXL_l3A_t7ugvf-xWIWhnTmXrhLNbB70/s1600/SPACEmural_002_COLOR_Cropped_SMALLER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1008" data-original-width="1440" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKT9ifDiw0tlNLB_w1O0_QMRNAQKD4QuCCqPybPCqqBqxVWVpDOrZ8jF3qzdL0vPMh34fkogl1tD0TzWMGbRfvd92GJ36-6crV2S8sGl32CBFXoXL_l3A_t7ugvf-xWIWhnTmXrhLNbB70/s640/SPACEmural_002_COLOR_Cropped_SMALLER.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The concept illustration for my mural, drawn by hand, colored via PhotoShop.</td></tr>
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* * * * *</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Visit SPACE Gallery in Downtown Pittsburgh</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">to see their current installation</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b><a href="http://www.spacepittsburgh.org/portfolio-view/wall-paintings-storytellers-guest-curated-robert-raczka/" target="_blank">WALL PAINTINGS: STORYTELLERS</a></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>July 7 - September 3, 2017</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">featuring the artwork of:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-size: 18px; text-transform: uppercase;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">JAYLA PATTON, M.L. WALKER, ASHLEY CECIL, MIKE BUDAI, GENEVIEVE BARBEE-TURNER, JESSICA HEBERLE, ALPHONSO SLOAN & BARON BATCH, RYDER HENRY, RENEE ICKES, NILS BALLS HANCZAR, ANN ROSENTHAL & LISA RASMUSSEN, AND PAULETTE POULLET.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;">View <a href="https://www.pghcitypaper.com/Blogh/archives/2017/07/10/live-art-event-at-space-gallery-highlight-of-friday-nights-downtown-gallery-crawl?cluid=40801&utm_source=Email_marketing&utm_campaign=Monday_June_5_2017&utm_content=dev17_membernewsletter&cmp=1&utm_medium=HTMLEmail" target="_blank">The Pittsburgh City Paper's photo-blog entry</a> on the event!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;">Read <a href="https://www.pghcitypaper.com/pittsburgh/wall-paintings-storytellers-at-space/Content?oid=3753392" target="_blank">The Pittsburgh City Paper's review</a> of the installation!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;">Watch <a href="https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10155539992524826&id=184142654825&_rdr" target="_blank">The Pittsburgh Post Gazette's behind-the-scenes video</a> of the event!</span></div>
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Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-10247395241559392222017-01-16T18:02:00.001-05:002017-02-08T18:20:11.891-05:0044 Is A Magic Number: Part One<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir3r4ci-mta_8knYxu0MJHARPkOe02eyVaKcXuul_2BwJbMBgThUashZqxPAhJfCTULVMfYrbyr4uaLVLq5jQsJJVGRLBHCQUX2FQkO3FkKjJAIfjG-CT8TOXHCiyX-i2rZgXreo3fdF6N/s1600/ObamaPoster_PENCILS_Smaller.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir3r4ci-mta_8knYxu0MJHARPkOe02eyVaKcXuul_2BwJbMBgThUashZqxPAhJfCTULVMfYrbyr4uaLVLq5jQsJJVGRLBHCQUX2FQkO3FkKjJAIfjG-CT8TOXHCiyX-i2rZgXreo3fdF6N/s400/ObamaPoster_PENCILS_Smaller.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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<b><i>Prologue: A Personal History of Before and After</i></b></div>
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There are two kinds of occurrences that can be said to change the world: There are the types which unfold over time, which we often see coming, and there are the unexpected types which happen in an instant. It’s hard to say which ones ultimately leave the more lasting societal impact. That would be a subjective conclusion anyway. What these types of occurrences have in common is that they divide our history into <i>before</i> and <i>after</i>. Ask anyone who is old enough if they remember life before and after certain things happened, and you’ll most likely get a story that defines the person as well as the day and age in which it took place.</div>
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I remember watching the earliest news reports about the Iranian hostage crisis in November of 1979. I was much too young to grasp the politics that swirled around that story, but I knew it was serious, and it was protracted. I also remember the sense of elation when it was announced, immediately after Ronald Reagan became president in 1981, that they had been released. A little over two months later, upon returning home from a trip to downtown with my mother and sisters, I flicked on the television and, before it even warmed up enough for the picture to appear, you could hear the newscasters had interrupted programming to tell us the president had been shot. These two back-to-back events, one long-in-coming and the other happening out of nowhere, had the lasting effect of increasing Reagan’s larger-than-life persona to an extent that carried over long past his presidency into the present day.</div>
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I also remember, in 1984, when Jesse Jackson launched his first campaign for the presidency. I was still too young to understand the intricacies of his platform and politics (although at least some of that probably speaks to the trickle-down understanding of politics most Americans still experience), but I definitely felt the <i>newness</i> of that candidacy, and how it had the possibility of unlocking something we’d never seen before. Of course, that quality of the unknown didn’t inspire everyone, and many of us possessed an intimate understanding of where that resistance came from.</div>
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Eddie Murphy had a famed routine at the time where he described talking to Jackson while the latter was working out. “Why you getting in shape?” he asked. “Because I’m going to be the first Black president,” replies Jackson, “so I’m gonna have to give speeches like this…” and then Murphy proceeded to run around the stage, in character, delivering lines from a speech, then mimicking a sniper unable to keep the target in his sights. We all laughed because just barely beneath the surface of this joke was the sinister nature of our country’s racism being acknowledged. It was funny – and scary – because it was true.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMOukPCQayAVizIz8TfgYILGT62yn8gtjlx-9N_hUeuDzP6spkFTmcuiipxwG0xQX4X8SxtK0KrQsL_RfUc04qWP_32SDUU1JpmWpw-HIka6QLuSPlyeA8KTQfM5dfvftyLFjit3YU5wR6/s1600/Z_KeepHopealive.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMOukPCQayAVizIz8TfgYILGT62yn8gtjlx-9N_hUeuDzP6spkFTmcuiipxwG0xQX4X8SxtK0KrQsL_RfUc04qWP_32SDUU1JpmWpw-HIka6QLuSPlyeA8KTQfM5dfvftyLFjit3YU5wR6/s1600/Z_KeepHopealive.jpg" /></a>When I think of Jackson running for the presidency in ’84, and again in ’88, the words that seem </div>
most reflective of the endeavor were the slogan “Keep Hope Alive.” It’s almost as though he and his supporters knew he couldn’t actually win. Not at that time, not yet with Reagan-era enthusiasm in full swing. But they already envisioned the possibility of a Black president, some day, as inevitable and a hope to be passed along like the Olympic torch. But, there also remained the dark humor of a fictional sharpshooter keeping hope in his sites, lamenting, “He won’t stay still!”<br />
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Another quality of before-and-after moments is their lack of precedence. Usually they become affixed to our memories so fast because they represent a shock we could not have prepared for. The explosion of the Space Shuttle Challenger in 1986 was like that. I remember my mother bursting into my bedroom, waking me from a nap, to inform me of news so disorienting I wasn’t sure if I’d dreamed it. Space travel was no longer a thing to be collectively awed by, or even to take for granted. Now, the dangers were clear to all, reinforced by a perpetual news cycle of the 73 seconds between liftoff and history. Now the audacious attempt to escape the clutch of Earth’s gravity was a thing to be approached with extreme caution. Hope could not be guaranteed to survive in the vacuum of outer space.</div>
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But moonwalks were still possible, and we would still find our spiritual sustenance when least expected. In 1983, Michael Jackson transfixed nearly 34 million viewers with his enthralling performance of “Billie Jean” on <i>Motown 25: Yesterday, Today, Forever</i>, and cemented his role in pop culture’s firmament. Never before had a Black man been celebrated so openly, so fervently, so passionately, across racial divides, and his popularity grew exponentially. Eight years later, the debut of his video for the song “Black or White” was met with a viewership of half a billion people worldwide. Jackson’s musical progenitor James Brown had declared for the masses “Say it Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud.” Jackson’s career presumed that everyone already knew this and, if anything, took it for granted, and he used that as the launch pad for his flights of imagination.</div>
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While Black excellence in the realm of the arts and popular entertainment may not have been as socially daunting to many in White America as it potentially was in politics (indeed, prior to the civil rights movement, well-known Black athletes and performers were often segregated and denied basic accommodations across the U.S.A.), Jackson represented another strata of acceptance…and defiance. Just like participants in the Black Power Movement had done, Jackson brazenly raised a Black fist to the sky in front of the world. The only difference was his fist was adorned with rhinestones and sparkled like the stars. His ascendance would not be denied.</div>
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There were numerous other <i>before-and-after </i>moments that pushed the direction of the world I inhabited in unforeseen directions. Some occasions were joyous, while others were cataclysmic.</div>
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In November 1989, the Berlin Wall was brought down and the global response was unanimous. Millions of people came armed with hammers, pick axes, cranes, bulldozers, and a sense of euphoria to thaw East/West Cold War tensions. In 1995, however, the Oklahoma City bombing served to undermine our sense of domestic safety. Until a fateful day another six years later, this would be the defining moment of when America began looking over its shoulder, unsure of who to trust.</div>
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To this day, the 2001 terrorist attacks are one of the two most shocking events I’ve ever witnessed. Of the two, it’s the event I’d never even previously contemplated as possible. It’s a defining moment not just for me, but for the culture of the world. If you’re old enough to remember what the world was like prior to that happening, it’s probably safe to say you too recognize the tangible fear that still lingers in our collective conscious because of it. Our laws were not just changed in response to it, but co-opted. Our language was mangled. To be a patriot was now defined not by maintaining a sense of individual integrity devoted to the public trust, but instead by a topical allegiance to…flags. Colors. Slogans. Manufactured and unwinnable wars. The measures of the Patriot Act didn’t ask citizens to actually <i>be</i> patriots, but to merely <i>act</i> like them. There was American life both before and after September 11<sup>th</sup>, 2001, and the demarcation between the two was one constructed from the brick-and-mortar of fear. Hope, that haughty, mercurial thing, had been jettisoned into the stratosphere, as we spiraled farther into political and economical freefall.</div>
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At the helm was one George W. Bush, American president and cautionary tale. I never voted for him, but I knew people who did, which I couldn’t understand. To my eyes, Bush was not an especially intelligent person. His grammar was off, his manner awkward, and nothing about him bespoke confidence in the role of a potential world leader. I hadn’t voted for his father either, but I at least understood why other people had. Bush, Sr. possessed the gravitas of an elder statesman. He was older, he was White, he was conservative, he was rich, he was intelligent (at least enough to play the political game well for decades), he had connections, he had a pedigree…he was a shoe-in. Bush, Jr. had his father’s name and not much else that was visible to me.</div>
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Comedians often distill the primacy of our culture down to a punchline. Dave Chapelle had a routine at the time about politics where he offered his own criteria for selecting candidates to vote for. “I don’t even look at their political policies; I just look at their character.”<br />
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<i>(Video below NSFW -- jump to 1:40 for comments on policy and character.)</i></div>
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Like Chappelle, I felt Bush’s character was obvious, although, I’d like to point out, I didn’t think that the man was <i>evil</i>, just lacking in the wherewithal that a president should possess. Have you ever watched the video of Bush being delivered the news about the terrorist attacks while he was in the middle of visiting with a group of second graders? It’s unsettling. At once, you feel for him, teetering directly on the precipice of a before-and-after moment none of us saw coming. But at the same time, there was a vacant quality behind his eyes. You can see the totality of the presidency falling into place on him in those seconds. I don’t believe he’d taken its measure until then, and in the years that followed we all paid for his lack of foresight.</div>
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<b><i>I.: Hope Anew</i></b></div>
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Then, in 2008, we had another election. It was time to take the measure of another potential leader’s character into account and, like many others, I was already familiar with the candidate whose character beamed through like no other’s before or since.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgIszZKbl06WV_MvfdNa1CtybyGDRl1aLfB-MNc3uY86KEQ-4QOZMt4ppFFYXba_poCcgwqwNmbTqlSxzIEMdV8ofR7ohDONiO2PjhvRL1CtxNLtzHmsZiN-8CBijbd1mH_JAuk1OhecH7/s1600/2004_DNC-KeynoteSpeech.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgIszZKbl06WV_MvfdNa1CtybyGDRl1aLfB-MNc3uY86KEQ-4QOZMt4ppFFYXba_poCcgwqwNmbTqlSxzIEMdV8ofR7ohDONiO2PjhvRL1CtxNLtzHmsZiN-8CBijbd1mH_JAuk1OhecH7/s320/2004_DNC-KeynoteSpeech.jpg" width="225" /></a>I vividly recall watching the Democratic National Convention in 2004 when Barack Obama gave the keynote address bestowing the party’s nomination on John Kerry. On the whole, I was watching the convention more out of a sense of duty than anything else. My vote for Kerry was a foregone conclusion, so the rest of the ceremonies were mostly reaffirming what I already believed. Seeing former vice-President Al Gore take the stage at one point reminded me of the pangs of disappointment many of us had felt when he’d lost his own bid four years earlier. One pundit said that Democrats couldn’t win elections even when they did win. That was painful to hear, but it also was a stark reminder that nothing was assured. Obvious winners didn’t always come out on top even when they did, and some moonshots don’t make it to lunar soil.</div>
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But the moment Obama took to the stage, there was something inexpressible about him that refused to allow you to look away from the screen. There was his youth, and his bearing, and his direct, articulate voice, all of which the crowd adored. And he was Black, and via his Blackness he related an experience that I understood intrinsically. This was something new to my adult life, a politician the likes of whom I didn’t realize existed, or who could exist out there somewhere. Someone who openly talked about the inherent contradictions of being a Black American, caught between the duties of loyalty to country and the stinging of national betrayal. Somehow he managed to finesse a message of audacious hope out of the worry that we were mired in, and it had resonance. We needed to hear this, and it was working. I spoke about this with friends the next day, and those who had also seen Obama speak were likewise impressed. We all said the same thing: we wanted <i>that guy</i> to run for president!</div>
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But instead Obama did the thing he was asked to do, which was throw his already considerable political charms behind another candidate. In doing so, we still remembered him well after Kerry’s loss, less painful than Gore’s but maybe even more disappointing. We remembered that Chicago Senate nominee with the persuasive voice and, for the first time in a long time, we realized that there was a contender for a winning Democratic presidential hopeful. You couldn’t forget him. His speech was the political equivalent to Michael Jackson’s moonwalk across the Motown 25 stage, or Muhammad Ali winning the gold medal in Rome. We remembered him for the next four years and we wanted him to make his own run for the presidency.</div>
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When it was time to cast my ballot for a Democratic primary candidate in April, 2008, I knew who I wanted to win. 2008 marked twenty years that we’d kept hope alive; it was time for that hope to spring anew.</div>
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<b><i>II.: Win the Future</i></b></div>
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Election Night, November 4<sup>th</sup>, 2008 I was working alone on the 11<sup>th</sup> floor of PPG Place in Downtown Pittsburgh. The televisions were still on in the lobbies of the office, but I was tucked away in my production room, running copying machines and binding documents, and trying to get caught up for the next workday. All the while though, I had the election results streaming on my work laptop. Every now and again, on trips to the restroom or kitchenette, I’d steal a glance at the televisions lining the hallway to see if they corroborated what I was seeing on my laptop. What I was seeing looked good, but I knew enough to not be overconfident. This would be a nail-biter of an election. It had to be. The previous two were, and those had been between traditional candidates. I was preparing for a long night.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art: Alex Ross</td></tr>
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My voting record has been straightforward over the years. I’ve voted for Democratic Presidents every time. The first person I voted for was Michael Dukakis in 1988, so I entered into this process understanding that sometimes you lose. That’s how it works. But as I’ve grown older, and become more savvy about politics (not a genius or anything mind you – I still hew to Chappelle’s wisdom of looking at character before policy), it’s felt progressively more personal to me with each election. The more vested you are in the system and how it’s supposed to work, the more you view the politicians as extensions of yourself. You want certain people in office because it’s like seeing that part of yourself there. When your favored candidate loses, it can feel like a rejection of your own values and core beliefs. And because politics stresses a this-or-that sense of belonging, it’s easy to forget that certain values cross all lines, political, spiritual, gender, race, age, planet of origin, etc. (I threw that last part in there because Superman would make for the best president of all time!) When your candidate is elected but, in some way, falls short, it can feel like you failed too. We’re always striving for that win to validate ourselves.</div>
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You know something specific that appealed to me about Obama? His intelligence. There was no denying that the man was smart. This was a candidate who could do more than just memorize talking points; he was nimble of mind and navigated the debates with assurance. This is something that I could never forgive the Bush presidency for doing: they'd delivered to the people a sitting president who I never once believed was truly smarter than me. I don’t say that because I’m so brilliant (although I obviously am); I say it because watching him fumble for answers during press conferences, or construct incoherent homilies, or ramble during addresses was an exercise in futility. Did George W. Bush have access to resources I didn’t? Yes. Was there a political cunning there? Absolutely. You don’t grow up in a well-connected family like the Bushes without some innate awareness of how our governing infrastructure is assembled. Bush, Jr. knew enough to not be a monkey wrench in that machine. But do I believe he drove the changes that took place during his administration? Not at all. Frankly, I don’t believe he was that smart…but I’ll leave that for the historians to determine.</div>
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I was ready for a president who was smarter than me but who still felt like an extension of me. And I wanted a president smart enough to understand what the world looks like from the vantage point of the ground. I believed Obama could, because he’d been there. As a Black man in America, he understood the unforgiving nature of the ground. But could this really happen? How strong was the pull of racial gravity that night?</div>
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I watched the election results roll in and slowly felt something I hadn’t anticipated. It was promised throughout the campaign, and it was now rising to the surface: Hope. Obama’s election steadily seemed like an honest-to-goodness possibility, and every time I looked at the computer, there were more and more electoral votes in his favor. When the news anchors finally called the election and announced that the 44<sup>th</sup> President of the United States was going to be Barack Obama, I stood there, mouth agape and alone, trying to once again assimilate a colossal shift in before-and-after. This is the second of two moments I consider the most shocking in my lifetime to date. It’s the one that I had recognized the potential of beforehand – we’d seen it realized in movies and on television, and the intellectual possibility of it always was there – but the vision of it had never truly been in focus.</div>
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I don’t know if I called or texted anyone. I think I just sat there stunned into silence, wondering if there’d been a mistake. It felt like the kind of thing this country would take away instantly. <i>A Black President? Now? In 2008? That happened?</i> I sat and stared and pondered and shook my head for who knows how long. It wasn’t until the new First Family took to the stage together to address the crowd that my disbelief was displaced by a Black Euphoria I hadn’t dared to feel until right then. The Obamas strode across the stage amidst streamers and applause and cheers, and there in the crowd was a tearful Jesse Jackson, witnessing his Rainbow Coalition made manifest. I too found myself crying, like others I watched onscreen. In that moment I realized I’d never allowed myself to believe this would happen during my lifetime, not during the campaign, not after the primary elections, not even after his nomination. Not until right then was it a reality. From my perch above Market Square, I could feel that the world had changed, and soon I would see I wasn’t alone in this sense of elation.</div>
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I managed to finish up working, and caught a bus that took the typical lazy route from Downtown through Uptown, then Oakland, and eventually to my destination of Shadyside. But when we got to Oakland, traffic slowed to a predictable crawl. Students from all of the colleges had flocked to the streets to celebrate the election victory. I wanted to get out and join them. It reminded me of the night, back in October of 1979, when my family was out returning from a grocery shopping trip and we got caught in cacophonous traffic on the North Side. I asked what was going on and was told that the Pittsburgh Pirates had won a World Series game. Just like that night nearly thirty years ago, this was a moment we danced in the streets celebrating how we are family.</div>
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For one glorious night, we could revel in achieving a milestone that could not be diminished. Here was the magic of having elected the 44<sup>th</sup> President of the United States, the person best suited for the job, someone smart and hopeful and inspiring and determined…and in defiance of centuries of opposition, he was <i>Black</i>. Furthermore, his entire family was Black and they were beautiful, and we said it loud how we were proud of them.</div>
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Before that night, I felt hopeful. Afterwards, I realized we’d just entered into a new world, one where the dreams of a King were actualized in the waking world, and that meant we were now dealing with the unknown.<br />
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<b><i>Next: Yes We Can</i></b></div>
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Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-76598254290276765152016-12-27T15:30:00.001-05:002017-01-06T09:53:05.169-05:00FENCES<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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“<i>A man is supposed to take care of his family. You live in my house, fill your belly with my food, put your behind on my bed, because you’re my son. It’s my duty to take care of you; I owe a responsibility to you.</i>” – Troy Maxson, Fences</div>
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<span style="color: #990000;">*The following blog post is written as though we're all familiar with the source material, and contains gentle spoilers. That's all the warning you get.*</span></div>
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During a scene in the final act of the movie FENCES, based on the decorated August Wilson play of the same name, the presence of lead character Troy Maxson is described by his younger son as being outsized, subsuming his own life and sense of self. This particular testimony is unique in that it comes from the only person in the story who has lived their entire life with the main character looming over them. The elder Maxson is angrily eulogized as a fearsome being whose shadow crept over and into everything in their home, including their souls. By this point in the narrative, the audience knows this to be true, but our vantage point also allows us a more nuanced perspective. At times, Troy is shown to be every bit as menacing as his son Cory sees him; at others he makes us laugh as he weathers each new indignity with a tall tale, a shrug, and a bottle of gin. By the end though, we can’t help but pity him for the self-destructive complexities he seems incapable of reconciling.<br />
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Not unlike Troy, Wilson similarly casts a very long shadow over his hometown. Thanks to his Pulitzer and Tony winning stageplays, many of the nooks and crannies of historical life here in Pittsburgh have been preserved in the arts for the ages. The esteem of being a musician who played onstage at <a href="http://triblive.com/opinion/ericheyl/10044927-74/grill-crawford-jazz" target="_blank">The Crawford Grill</a> and the significance of having once belonged to a <a href="http://www.negroleaguebaseball.com/teams/Homestead_Grays.html" target="_blank">Negro league baseball team</a> that took to fields in Homestead are no mere footnotes in Wilson’s works; here, they are mythic undertakings, the stuff that defines the character of fictional constructs and the real-life individuals they are based on. The author took his responsibility to this duty seriously, at times so much you might wonder if he liked his own characters, so achingly earnest are the labors he visits upon them.</div>
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The movie’s script, an incredibly faithful adaptation of Wilson’s stage play, offers a view of Pittsburgh so specific it cannot help but to ring true. In the real world, the communities his plays depict in bygone days now fight to avoid erosion by gentrification and apathy. <i><a href="http://www.august-wilson-theatre.com/plays.php" target="_blank">The Pittsburgh Cycle</a></i> manages to bestow measures of dignity to even the most mundane cobblestones of these streets. Troy’s large personality entertains and intimidates the people in his world, and the insight of Wilson’s pen does the same for us. The people who populate his streets are quintessentially Pittsburghers, though they don’t speak with anything close to a yinzer accent. They don’t need to; they are at once specific and universal. These characters are Black and they speak and act with a poetic cadence unique to their experience, not <i>quite</i> real but authentic nonetheless. </div>
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Denzel Washington, as the film’s director, smartly uses the physical terrain to reinforce the story’s ties to its setting. The decision to film FENCES in Pittsburgh pays off handsomely in many ways, particularly for those of us from or living in the city. While large numbers of movies have been shot here – everything from INNOCENT BLOOD to JACK REACHER to WONDER BOYS to PERKS OF BEING A WALLFLOWER – few have truly captured the <i>vibe</i> of living in Pittsburgh. The Steel City is more often than not merely window dressing for other narratives, non-essential to plots, and only chosen to provide tax credits. This is typified by haphazard editing allowing cars to begin chases in one neighborhood, only to be spat out in others that don’t correspond. At no point in FENCES can we forget that we are anywhere except the author’s hometown. Sloping hills and spewing smokestacks and a familiar-yet-different Downtown skyline always remind us where we are. Even the backyards that the characters take momentary respite in look like backyards most of us can see from our bedroom windows, because they <i>are</i>. It’s the old city that we built this newer city upon, and we can feel it like a pebble in our shoe.</div>
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Virtually no previously Pittsburgh-filmed movies have used such impressive Black casts. For African American viewers in particular, watching this story unfold might feel like watching a family photo album come to life, in large part because of the performances which are consistently superb. We look at these characters with nostalgia, but no attempt is made to whitewash their flaws beneath the surface. FENCES is Black verisimilitude in the arts and it's wonderful. Washington and Viola Davis each won Tony Awards for their Broadway performances as Troy and Rose Maxson, and there’s an ease with which they reclaim their roles. Troy gains a very direct potency by virtue of the actor portraying him. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=swOTgtvhu54" target="_blank">When Denzel smiles and laughs</a> with that bonafide star quality of his, he’s got you with him and he knows it. But the actor has aged, and he knows that too, and he uses it to bring a depth to his Troy that otherwise wouldn’t be possible.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK5Z6WnRA2OxcRtWoQGGYLQX2q-QG2D6sGGAxCpACZQPjMNgVx1k4PBCUZ6LfsgrE3GcCxUsfvQP4qdUJjIZHGChl8VUV7jnDYV8PNXGJfu6ZFjh0k2e7n9Wld7cNUBxnIep9d0lDPGEXb/s1600/fences-640x427.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK5Z6WnRA2OxcRtWoQGGYLQX2q-QG2D6sGGAxCpACZQPjMNgVx1k4PBCUZ6LfsgrE3GcCxUsfvQP4qdUJjIZHGChl8VUV7jnDYV8PNXGJfu6ZFjh0k2e7n9Wld7cNUBxnIep9d0lDPGEXb/s320/fences-640x427.jpg" width="320" /></a>It’s through the supporting characters that the audience is allowed to reflect upon the many parts of Troy. Davis’ Rose is a fascinating embodiment of the day-to-day joy and pain of Black women. She revels in her husband’s silliness, but when he wounds her with the ultimate betrayal, her response is palpable rage. The audience at the showing I attended cheered when she lashed back at Troy in this scene, nullifying his overly-self-important justifications with her righteous anger. There’s another moment when she sits in silence alone at her kitchen table, tired and resigned and weighted down by an unsympathetic world. In these two scenes, one exploding with blistering emotion, another steeped in fatigue, Davis is revealed as a master of her craft. The limitations and hurt of Rose’s world are laid bare and she, arguably more than any other character, leaves the most indelible impression.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWZilCZpaZ5fZM0kvY31bAY7Kzhfemc0jme94Nt66aShGf8o_kVWMsJsBDAVsgEesyCxdV-yYM_UJUqK7hACZcglzxh2Vi1mmtLe8cSN4wiwtPv7SIo_S-o6mFUn8XpB_wz1hq4vsN6Yoj/s1600/fences2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWZilCZpaZ5fZM0kvY31bAY7Kzhfemc0jme94Nt66aShGf8o_kVWMsJsBDAVsgEesyCxdV-yYM_UJUqK7hACZcglzxh2Vi1mmtLe8cSN4wiwtPv7SIo_S-o6mFUn8XpB_wz1hq4vsN6Yoj/s320/fences2.jpg" width="320" /></a>To Troy’s longtime friend and coworker Bono (Stephen McKinley Henderson), the lead character is ultimately a cautionary tale, often times entertaining, but also reckless and self absorbed. When we first see the duo, collecting garbage together beneath the opening credits, they have an easygoing rapport born from years of familiarity. Bono is Troy’s conscience and cheerleader, and he and Rose serve as fans in the bleachers allowing Troy to lament over the loss of his glory days playing baseball. While Troy constructs the film’s titular fence, Bono’s the one who explains that "some people build fences to keep people out, while other people build fences to keep people in." It’s meant to question the protagonist’s intentions, and like most good advice it’s unheeded. By the end of the story there is a discomfort between the men suggesting that Troy is unable to build his figurative fence wide enough to encompass the friendship.</div>
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Gabe Maxon (Mykelti Williamson) is the prism through which we are allowed to see Troy at his most vulnerable and self-reflective. While nearly every character in FENCES is nursing a wound of some kind, Gabe’s just happens to be at the surface. Having suffered a head injury during World War Two, Gabe’s government checks allowed his brother Troy to own a home, which he feels guilt over. Several times Troy delivers monologues about his ideas of responsibility – which his own behavior then contradicts – and this gives us a window into understanding why he feels compelled to look after his brother. But here we also see the limitation of what can be reasonably controlled. Gabe has already moved out of the family home when the story starts, and Troy continually says how he isn’t upset about it…but you feel that he is. Gabe is an ever-present, undeniable reminder of Troy’s own shortcomings and when he flees, screaming about unseen hellhounds, you know that both brothers are dogged by regrets they can’t outrun.</div>
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Brotherhood shapes another part of the narrative of FENCES. From the vantage point of Lyons (Russell Hornsby) and Cory (Jovan Adepo), Troy is an enigmatic and dominating father figure. Unlike with the others, he remains purposely distant from his sons and withholds affection. Older son Lyons, who grew up outside of Troy’s boundaries, seeks ways to climb back over the figurative fence and into their father’s good graces. Cory, who has conversely grown up confined by those limitations, struggles to find a way to escape that fence before the boundaries are extended. Both younger Maxsons seek their father’s respect as well as ways to define themselves as men. Lyons repeatedly asks Troy to come hear him play at the Crawford Grill, and Cory beseeches Troy to allow him to play football. Neither receives the approval from him they seek, and both rebel in their own ways.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cast l-r: Denzel Washington, Saniyya Sidney, Jovan Adepo, Stephen McKinley Henderson,<br />
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The irony of Troy’s antagonistic perception of mortality is that only after his own death is this internal conflict finally resolved via his sons. Individually, they embody the two outmost reaches of their father’s experiences: Lyons is now a convicted felon, mirroring Troy’s past as a migrating criminal who was incarcerated, and Cory has become a decorated Marine, representing Troy’s former glories of team belonging and failed dreams of grander recognition. When the brothers meet at their mother’s house, the unchangeable past and unavoidable future choose not to collide but to surrender. Lyons displays tenderness toward Cory, fulfilling Rose’s prophetic words that the sins of the father should not be visited upon the sons. The elder brother’s affection resolves Troy’s inner battle of self-loathing, dismantling it with paternal pride and a humbling self-awareness. Here we glimpse the sons’ potential to be better men than their father was.</div>
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From personal experience, I can attest that to be a Black creator with aspirations here in Pittsburgh is an especially daunting task these days. It’s a town where the bar of creative achievement has been raised to lofty heights by its venerated son even as resources to achieve remain scant. All Black creators in Pittsburgh are essentially Wilson’s children left with a nagging, familiar question: How do we get out from under such an omnipresent shadow? Now that Hollywood has finally come calling in the form of A-list actors and talents seeking to immortalize his legacy on the silver screen, is it even possible?</div>
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Wilson and Washington actually suggest an answer in the final scene. The remaining Maxson family witnesses Gabe attempting to blow his horn in salute to the heavens. As he finally manages to bleat out a note, the clouds part and the typically gray skies of Pittsburgh give way to rays of sunshine. If you consider the plays that Wilson wrote to be his version of building a fence to keep his hometown protected, then it’s here where real life and the arts converge. In order to finally emerge from the shadow of a fearsomely talented and larger-than-life patriarch, it doesn’t matter on which side of their fences we stand, so long as we stand directly in the light.</div>
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Thanks to Washington's brilliant adaptation of FENCES it's evident if Wilson's soul has crept into ours, the experience was mutual. That’s the way that goes.<br />
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Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-30958599294511273362016-12-23T15:08:00.001-05:002016-12-25T04:22:25.568-05:00Spinning Our Wheels<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I was asked just this morning if Christmas 2016 feels off somehow. A friend mentioned how they were struggling to get through the holiday and not finding joy in the normal seasonal routines. This person isn't the only one I've heard express similar sentiments, and my response was that, yes, it does feel off for a myriad of reasons. The perpetually slate-gray skies of Pittsburgh and the lack of snowfall or any other natural yuletide distinctions haven't helped, and the ever-advancing crawl of Father Time changes our perspective. Christmas rotates back into play so fast these days it barely seems as if we've had a chance to recover from the last one before we have to stop and consider what to buy for who again.<br />
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But still, there's something more at work this year. You know a big part of it, and I know a big part of it: The looming specter of The Ghost of President Future waiting to make his anarchic appearance on January 20th. It's cast a huge pall over celebrations for many this year, and there's no denying it. Some of us managed to get through Thanksgiving with family and loved ones, biting our tongues as much as the food on our plates, without drawing blood. But the whole thing is so effing depressing, it's still been sapping the lifeblood out of our spirits. There's an emotional lethargy that's palpable. How can we sing carols about tidings of joy when we're all suspect of what's to come? The notions of peace on Earth and good will toward all ring hollow in this hallowed season when we know how many of our neighbors don't truly have good will toward all.<br />
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Last night, I may have discovered a way to get through the next four years. It involves relearning some dormant skills, staying flexible, and learning when to go with the flow and when to pick up speed and roll your own way.<br />
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Last night, for the first time in over thirty years, I went roller skating.<br />
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I'd recently been telling my lovely friend T. about how my Aunt Myrtle used to take my sisters, her youngest daughter, and me out skating when we were young. She knew from experience with her older kids this was a good way to keep us younger ones occupied, and I was eleven or twelve when we first started going. We were all totally green and had never even thought of doing it before, but she assured us how we'd pick it up quickly and faithfully took us out to a rink in Monroeville every Wednesday evening during the school year.<br />
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The first few times there were rough. I skidded and fell as much as you'd expect. We all did. But you know how it is when you're a tween, you're young and healthy and resilient and you know how to take a fall with the best of them. Matter of fact, I think the biggest part of avoiding falling back then was mostly wanting to avoid being embarrassed. As you get older though, you develop a different perspective on the matter of falling. You realize that it's nothing to really be embarrassed about because, regardless of how much natural skill you've got, everyone falls eventually.<br />
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In time though, I got to be pretty good. Not great, but solid. We went from skittering and holding the rails and hugging the walls to being able to push off using our front stoppers, then to pushing off more easily, figuring out how to weave back and forth and make the turns, then how to pick up speed. Aunt Myrtle eventually even bought us our own skates, and that made things even better. (I still remember mine, blue with white stripes down the center!) Now our skates felt more like our shoes, more natural, and we could control them better and practice at home. Aunt Myrtle's faith in us paid off, and soon we were confident skaters. When summer came around, she enrolled us in the Homewood Brushton YMCA's day camp, and they regularly took everyone out to Spinning Wheels Roller Rink, and a couple of others. By that time, we were good to go and could keep up with our friends just fine, and those days are some of the happier memories of my childhood.<br />
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I never got to be great. Dancing on skates never happened, and I don't think I even learned how to skate backwards. But I do remember the specific kinetic joy of finally being able to cross my feet over one another when I went around a turn. That was a major accomplishment, and I think it's what cemented in memory, years and years after my feet had outgrown those skates and long since I'd visited a rink, that I still had the capacity to roller skate. Somewhere in there, I knew that if I strapped on a pair of skates again, I'd be just fine. It would all come back quickly.<br />
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And so, here in the present, I absently mentioned to T. that time in my life when I was young and brimming with tweenage confidence, and how I loved those trips to the skating rinks, and wanted to try it again sometime. It would be like riding a bike. It would be fun. It would be easy. It would make the gray skies of Pittsburgh melt away for a little bit.<br />
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It happened last night.<br />
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I was given the option of backing out while we were still pulling into the parking lot of the <a href="http://www.nevillerollerdrome.com/" target="_blank">Neville Roller Drome</a> out past the South Hills and, honestly, just the fact that I was given this chance was gift enough to make me laugh. But the chance was too rare to pass up. I'd heard a news story a few days ago that another local rink had closed, and this was one of very few anywhere now. It's a distinct possibility that before long we won't have any roller rinks in Pittsburgh to visit so, yeah, this had to happen.<br />
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When we walked in, it was apparent to the lady at the ticket booth that we were new. They knew all of the regulars there, and we weren't familiar. We were given the instructions, and went to get our rented skates. The sensory experience was akin to walking back in time. This place was old school, no doubt. Not throwback old school, but rather <i>this is how it was decades ago and it's been maintained this way, so welcome to 1983 friends</i> old school. I found something about this impressively charming. I'm not a big fan of living in the past, but boy, this was an odd sensation. As I laced up my skates, all I could think of was how much it all felt like it did back when I was a kid...and how much more susceptible to breakage my bones are now.<br />
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And after I'd laced up those skates? Let's just say that I'm cute, not bright. The coordination and muscle memory I'd been counting on? They kind of came back, but nowhere near as quickly as I thought they would. I tried to stand up and realized quickly that, yeah, my ego was full of it and I was now back to hugging the rails and wall again. T., meanwhile, got back into her groove quickly. Watching her coax me on - sometimes even skating backwards, that long-desired but yet-to-be manifested goal of mine - as the other attendees rolled past us was humbling, but good humbling. Sometimes, it's good to not be great at something. It's good for the soul to be straight-up terrible at your endeavors sometimes if you can admit to it. And at the beginning last night, I was terrible.<br />
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It was obvious to all that I was a beginner and one of the owners came over to help me. He was a friendly gentleman who, we would discover later, was 70 years old, but his agility belied that fact. He prompted me how to move my feet to get in motion, to stay loose, and how to drop and steady myself. It felt similar to when my friend Dave was trying to teach me how to drive a stick shift earlier this year: So much to be aware of, with the possibility for calamity if you got something wrong! The co-owner was very patient though, and much like my Aunt Myrtle years ago, he assured me that I'd pick it all up before long.<br />
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You know what happened? It did mostly come back. The surroundings helped. The music was an infectious mix of all of my jams from back in the day - The Gap Band, and The Dazz Band ("Let It Whip" was my <i>ultimate </i>skating jam!), and the Steve Miller Band, and all kinds of bands - interspersed with more contemporary fare. (Justin Timberlake was bringing sexy back while I was trying to bring my skills back. He does his thing better than I did mine.) And the decor was just what you might remember from back in the '80s, down to the food area where you could get nachos and hot dogs and Cokes. Step by step, this was all helping me to relax and lose my self consciousness, which in turn brought back my groove.<br />
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You know what else happened? I started watching the people who were there and the ones who arrived after us. At first I was possibly the only Black person in the building, which was fine and didn't matter to me. It's just something I noticed, as people of color do. We take a head count because it's obvious to us. But before long a lot of other Black people were in the house. Everyone was also older than 18, and a number of the other patrons were obviously in their 40s, 50s, and up. It was a really fun cross-section of people, and you could see who knew each other already, yet everyone seemed to get along really well. There was a community on the rink.<br />
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If you fell (and one older gentleman took a hard fall, leaving blood to be cleaned up in his wake), someone was there to check on you instantly. Skaters offered friendly advice and encouraged you to keep it up. Everyone wanted us to come back again. One robust skater, a gentleman who is 67, pulled out his smart phone to show us a meme of his motto: "I'd love to, but I can't -- that's my skate night!" Another lady named Darla, who didn't look a bit of her 55 years, showed off her skates customized with her nickname, "Miss Pittsburgh," and she likewise told us to keep coming back so we'd get better. When I mentioned how I hadn't been on a rink in over thirty years, she smiled and said, "I haven't <i>stopped </i>skating in thirty years!" They were all so sweet, they felt like family.<br />
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I met a lady there named Audrey who looked incredibly familiar. As it turned out, she used to be a customer of mine at a previous job. She remembered me, and was especially supportive of my efforts. "You improved quickly out there!" she said. "You're already getting around really smoothly. You're doing great!" Their kind words helped. Each time I came off the main floor, I felt my confidence rise. And then, when Michael Jackson's "Don't Stop 'til You Get Enough" came on...well, come on, how could I NOT respond to that? That hit my sweet spot for participating in the fun, and it was a lot of fun.<br />
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I took a few tumbles before it was all done, three in fact. The first happened well into the night, I think because I was growing tired. The second time because my rented skates did something weird and sort of locked up. A lady named Sophie was there right away to check on me, and I assured her I was fine. The last happened while T. and I talked to another co-owner, Jim. We were just standing there, discussing everything, and I fell on my bottom. It was laughable. This is how babies must feel, I thought, falling just because you forget for a moment how gravity works.<br />
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As we prepared to leave, I looked once more at the myriad souls darting around the rink and felt an unexpected sense of peace and warmth, Everyone out there was having fun and looking out for each other, and newcomers were welcomed into the fold with exuberance. If you were doing something extraordinary, you got loud praise; if you weren't doing so well, everyone took an interest in teaching and encouraging you. Everyone gave everyone else the space they needed to maneuver, but everyone also kept things moving and no one went against the flow of the masses. If someone fell, they were instantly attended to and repeatedly checked on. The space in the middle was reserved for people who wanted to do their own thing, maybe to practice, maybe to learn, maybe just to dance. It also occurred to me that this was the only place where those of us who aren't Michael Jackson can go backwards while still going forwards.<br />
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We weren't making roller skating great again; roller skating never stopped being great. Some of us just needed to rediscover our rhythm with encouragement from new friends. Folks who don't mind dragging others down when they fall - and remember, everyone falls eventually - shouldn't be allowed on the rink. If White folks and Black folks and all the colors in-between are going to spend the next four years going in circles with each other, we need to do it someplace where spinning our wheels will actually get us somewhere. Can you picture it? A country transformed from a nation on the brink to a community on the rink.<br />
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I hope you can roll with me on this. I'll see you out there...and Merry Christmas!<br />
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*This was another of my jams back in the day!</div>
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PS: No broken bones, no blisters, no sprains, no major pains...I think I did okay considering that three-decade gap in attendance!</div>
Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-8768330726461072592016-11-11T16:29:00.001-05:002020-01-19T10:59:15.016-05:00Wanda<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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CAN YOU THINK of someone you know who has radiated vibrance to the point where you either couldn’t look away from them or look directly at them? Maybe it was because of their looks, or their personality, or their intelligence, or their talents, or their empathy, or some magical combination of these elements. They had a “star quality” that affected how you interacted with them. Playwright <a href="http://annadeaveresmithprojects.net/">Anna Deavere Smith</a> has referred to this as having <i>presence</i>, and stated the qualifier for having presence is being completely and utterly authentic. How many people have you encountered in your life who you’d describe as completely authentic? Probably not enough but, if you’ve been lucky, there’s been someone who fit that descriptor.</div>
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Let me tell you about my friend Wanda, rock star extraordinaire. She had serious presence.</div>
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I ONLY EVER knew her as Wanda but, as it turned out, she’d adopted that name after she’d moved to Pittsburgh. She was originally Jamie Ricker from Massillon, Ohio, and had lived a well-travelled life by the time we met. She’d been involved in the local rock music scene for a while, and on weekends you could be sure to catch her among the crowds at local haunts like Excuses on the South Side or The Thunderbird Café in Lawrenceville or the late-great 31<sup>st</sup> Street Pub toward the Strip District. In the mid 2000s I was just starting to make the rounds at these places. I was a late-bloomer, still living with family and trying to carve out something of a social life with friends. When some of those friends started-up a band and gigged around town, I went out to see them. That’s how it got started for me and it was fun.</div>
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The bands were lively, and there was always something to talk about in the days that followed. The Forbidden Five, The Motorpsychos, The Cheats, The Science Fiction Idols and many others bounced around from venue to venue, and we all followed along like kids dancing to the Pied Piper. You’d get to know people just by virtue of seeing them out in the world so much and, to be frank, I stood out a bit. I was one of just a few Black people at these shows, and I also wasn’t aesthetically into any particular scene. I wasn’t punk or goth or glam or rockabilly or metal… I’m a child of Michael Jackson more than anything else, so the music and vibe never fully enveloped me as it did many others. I did appreciate when a band was on their game though, and the crowds were always fun, which was a big part of the appeal. Over time, it’s all drifted away from what I remember it being, but it was fun then. Some nights, it was downright magical.</div>
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Among the throngs of attractive ladies, Wanda literally stood head and shoulders over everyone else. She was tall and emanated cool confidence. She was like an Amazon in the rock scene. Before I learned her name, she was often described by many as “the girl who looks like Joan Jett.” Whether she ever knew of or appreciated the comparison as a compliment, who knows, but it was apt in a lot of respects. Like Jett, she was dark-haired, her eyes were striking, and there was something immediate about her aura. She stood out. I don’t just say that out of retrospective fondness, I’d have said the same thing then: Wanda stood out. No one ever had a bad thing to say about her. And on top of everything, she had the most devastating 1000-gigawatt smile I’d ever seen.</div>
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Wanda also performed under the stage name Lydia Lithium in a band of her own called This Wicked, which even furthered the Jett comparison. I never got to see them perform, but judging from her taste for the theatrical, they probably would have been fun to check out live. There’s no doubt they likely fit into the local music scene like a hand in a bloodied velvet glove. <br />
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I never spoke directly to Wanda at first, which was rare. If you left me alone with an attractive gal for a second we’d probably have ended up talking. And aside from the usual dramatics that an overlapping scene like that will have, everyone generally got along. The vibe was usually mellow and friendly, and by all indications, Wanda seemed totally approachable. Still, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. She intimidated me. There’s a part of me that thinks I’d have been able to approach Joan Jett with more confidence than Wanda. It can’t be overstated, but the gal had presence to burn.</div>
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One night, as the bands finished and last call was shouted from the bar at Excuses, I decided to break the ice and speak to her. I’d just had enough of my own reluctance, which had been silly. So, I walked into the back toward the stage, and saw her engaged in a conversation with someone else. There was a moment when I thought about turning tail and skipping out, but instead I stepped forward and waited until she was done. Almost instantly, Wanda turned to me and burned that 1000-gigawatt smile permanently into my retinas. We exchanged introductions and I remember feeling extra foolish afterwards for having been so nervous around her. She had been impossibly sweet and charming, just a nice down-to-earth person. She fit perfectly into the circle of friends who communed at these clubs. She was a good soul.</div>
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I didn’t see her a lot after that, but when I did there was now familiarity. We were on a first name basis and would hug when we’d cross paths. She was just adorable. Every time we parted, I would laugh at myself for having previously been so intimidated. The lady was every bit as impressive as before, but she’d climbed down from the pedestal in my mind (at least a little – she was fine as Hell) to become a human being. Even better, she was now a friend.<br />
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THE LAST TIME I saw Wanda was on my birthday in September of 2006. My friend Michelle had treated me to a Friday night showing of <i>Spamalot</i> at the Benedum Center, and afterwards we went to The Smiling Moose on the South Side to see one of her friends perform with their band. That night was also notable because there was a zombie walk going on (like you could tell the difference on the South Side on a weekend…), and a shuffle of people dressed like the walking undead would enter the bar and order drinks. I turned to the door just in time to see a tall female walk in wearing a Michael Jackson <i>Thriller</i> jacket. I laughed and watched her talk to other patrons before I eventually realized, after she smiled, that it was Wanda.</div>
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We hugged and when I told her it was my birthday, she embraced me again and enthusiastically wished me well. Then we sat at the bar and talked for a good long while. I couldn’t tell you anything else about what we specifically chatted about, but I remember being flattered that she’d spend that time with me. I felt special. By the time she left, I remember thinking that there was something bigger at work that night. In Pittsburgh, it’s not uncommon to run into people you know in the most random places. But the fact that <i>Wanda </i>was wearing a <i>Thriller </i>jacket on my <i>birthday</i>? That felt predestined. I was meant to see that girl. There was no way I’d have missed her. And even if it was just dumb chance that allowed it to occur, I accept it for the blessing it was.</div>
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EXACTLY TEN YEARS ago today, some friends of mine saw Wanda while out on a typical weekend night, enjoying bands and the camaraderie of friends. I don’t recall if I’d gotten stuck at work that night, or I’d been out doing something else, or had elected to stay home, but I wasn’t with them. I knew at some point I’d get an update on whatever I’d missed, and under normal circumstances I’d have never given it another thought.</div>
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The following morning, I got a phone call from one of those friends, who I also happened to work with. After a brief greeting, I presumed he was calling to either ask a work-related question, or it would be about something interesting that had happened the night before. It was the latter.</div>
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“Hey, do you know that girl Wanda?” he asked. “The one who looks like Joan Jett?”</div>
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“Oh yeah,” I replied. “She’s gorgeous. I just saw her on my birthday.”</div>
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Then just like that, he told me she was dead. The details came later. After everyone had said their goodbyes, hugged, and gone their separate ways, Wanda was driving home when her car was hit by another at the corner of Centre and South Negley Avenues. From what I recall, the other driver had been drunk, and she was killed instantly. Ten years later, I still shake my head over it and the suddenness with which it occurred.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmeZ-RP7TszJDG7l7E50Z8wE-llcI8JvtDTSaSHu_ganQOpZvO8zNAKwpkg5TrOF3a8Rx9VDCZyH51kxobIeAuduGVJDzAvy4bUH3Ojxnure4otLGEx9iqOd0vH69fS8xoiKSVcvNuKQqH/s1600/007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmeZ-RP7TszJDG7l7E50Z8wE-llcI8JvtDTSaSHu_ganQOpZvO8zNAKwpkg5TrOF3a8Rx9VDCZyH51kxobIeAuduGVJDzAvy4bUH3Ojxnure4otLGEx9iqOd0vH69fS8xoiKSVcvNuKQqH/s320/007.jpg" width="240" /></a>To be clear, I didn’t know Wanda that well, not really. We weren’t buddies who went out specifically to see each other, and I didn’t have her phone number. As mentioned before, I doubt if I even knew her real name then. But she had always been so warm it felt like I knew her better than I did. She was also the first person in my life who I knew and lost in that way, out of nowhere for no good reason. For many people, it comes much sooner, but it was a harsh wake up call to the fact that none of us are guaranteed another day, ever. Even the best and brightest and most towering of us all are still incredibly fragile.</div>
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It’s stupefying to think of what she might have accomplished if she hadn’t been taken away. She was only 30 years old. Think about that. Think of all the things she didn’t get to see, both good and bad, during this past decade. Think of the music she didn’t get to hear or create, the bands that have played in our city. Think of the earthquakes and hurricanes of nature and of everyday life we’ve lived through. We’ve got superheroes ruling the box office now, and same-sex marriage is legal. KISS and Alice Cooper are in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. She'd have probably liked the Struts! We’ve had two popes and a Black president, the latter for two terms! And unfortunately, there’s no Wanda to share it all with.</div>
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There are also things I’m glad she never had to see. Gun violence that almost feels casual now, and natural disasters that have killed thousands. The stock market meltdown and rise in unemployment that saw thousands of people fearful for their jobs. The country full of a general distrust now that has in recent days led to the election of an inauthentic demagogue who attained the position by spewing hatred. Fortunately, Wanda doesn’t have to see this. Or maybe she does, and she feels worse for us. At least she doesn't have to deal with this nonsense.</div>
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I can tell you this much: Losing Wanda has made me cling all the more tightly to the people I do still have in my life. There were no comparable losses among my friends and loved ones over the following decade, and I’m grateful. It’s a delicate calm that can’t last forever, but I’ll enjoy it while it does. Still, every now and again, my mind drifts back to her and there’s a pang of longing. When I see photos of her, I can’t help but remember how beautiful she was.<br />
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IT WOULD BE nice on cloudy days in Pittsburgh to be shuffling along and be dazzled by a chance encounter with a glamorous presence. As it is, when the landscape is bleak and I’m in need of a burst of sunshine, I remember the night I worked up the nerve to introduce myself, and the night she wished me Happy Birthday and spent time perched next to me on a barstool. I’m glad that I got to wish her goodbye in a personal, specific way. I’m glad I have memories of her, and I’m glad she’s taught me the value of my loved ones.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEr95OPyZDgm1UyVgRFg_KoO4CifPbR2U1zDJRKFcBoWzcjkQ5XY7TxT-3nHwLGpd30QInzBXNY_do6U-OIOBt_1E36a49yPnT-C-b7Q62712eKzvLxToAhvhnrUu6y47fOsh5vG2mTOKq/s1600/00111348_11132006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEr95OPyZDgm1UyVgRFg_KoO4CifPbR2U1zDJRKFcBoWzcjkQ5XY7TxT-3nHwLGpd30QInzBXNY_do6U-OIOBt_1E36a49yPnT-C-b7Q62712eKzvLxToAhvhnrUu6y47fOsh5vG2mTOKq/s1600/00111348_11132006.jpg" /></a></div>
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Wanda still burns bright in a lot of people’s memories. And while these 3640 days and nights have zipped past in a dizzying blur, there are those of us who still have that 1000-gigawatt smile burned into our eyes. In the haziness of memories, that much remains clear. </div>
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In times like these, it’s helpful to stay focused on light like hers. So thanks for your authentic energy, Wanda.</div>
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We still feel your presence.</div>
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Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-37644945770780176832016-09-01T14:59:00.001-04:002016-09-02T03:43:03.202-04:00To Tell The TROOF, Part 1: On a Mission<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDDfhjtdrurZc1WwlsSppnIsQZWJVvHA2lp2n-UT0xQZDPP2MquPhShneTrXEp9rix9CYoGED2JydC3CUKo2rmK5BmYaB_iIgMKO7DttFoiIf-iKREC-n562f7hPXKrVCGDB-ai5c0c00/s1600/ToTellTheTroof_Poster-001_SMALLEST.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDDfhjtdrurZc1WwlsSppnIsQZWJVvHA2lp2n-UT0xQZDPP2MquPhShneTrXEp9rix9CYoGED2JydC3CUKo2rmK5BmYaB_iIgMKO7DttFoiIf-iKREC-n562f7hPXKrVCGDB-ai5c0c00/s400/ToTellTheTroof_Poster-001_SMALLEST.jpg" width="258" /></a></div>
PEOPLE OFTEN WANT to know when I realized I wanted to draw as my vocation. That came very early on, when I was about five years old. My father had introduced me to comic books, and he was a talented artist himself. He did all kinds of things, but none of them fully professionally. He could draw, he could sculpt, he was good at woodworking, and he was adept at photography. (The latter is the reason why our family albums are so full.) He also introduced me to my first comic books. That may have been just to keep me occupied, or he may have wanted to share something he loved with his son; regardless, comics fascinated me from the outset and that never went away. <br />
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Knowing that my father could draw so well, I would pick out my favorite pictures from within the various comics he’d buy – the comics ranged across genres too, and included everything from superheroes to cowboys to Archie comics to monsters to Richie Rich – and ask him to redraw them for me. He would, and to my eyes they looked just like the ones in the books. I’d toddle off for a while, satisfied with his latest handiwork, then I’d find another one and come back and ask him to do it again. This went on for a good while, and one day he turned things around on me and told me to try drawing the chosen picture myself. This had never occurred to me as an option, and to this day I don’t know if my father had grown weary of the incessant requests or not. Regardless, I was so happy with my end result that, while I would occasionally seek his approval of my own handiwork, I never asked him to do another drawing for me. <br />
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I also knew, with the absolute certainty of a five-year old, this was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I wanted to make comic-books. I didn’t know anything beyond that about the actual work involved, where you went, how you trained, what you earned, etc., but I knew I’d be making comic books one day. In a sense, even though I didn’t know it at the time, I had already started making comic books. <br />
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This would be a very long journey, and the destination was uncharted, but my compass was pointing true north.<br />
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I'VE TOUCHED UPON my upbringing in previous posts here and elsewhere, and the one word that most succinctly describes what my family experienced through the years is <i>instability</i>. A deep dive into the various components of that descriptor is still forthcoming. The people close to me already know all too well why I choose that word to describe our family’s history. For now, let’s just say it’s apt<i> - instability</i> - and for years and years it framed my world as completely as a comic-book panel. That said, comic books themselves forged one of the more lasting emotional and intellectual strongholds that I could have ever hoped to take shelter in. It might be a stretch to say that the characters populating my comic books saved my life, but it’s an absolute certainty that Superman and all of his descendants saved my sanity. <br />
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So, what does one do when they are young and impressionable and they’ve formed an attachment to who or that which rescues them day after day? In my case, I ended up absorbing the lexicon of comic books and set upon a quest to become one of the people behind the scenes making them one day. There was no one around to guide me back then, so I just had to figure it out on my own. Fortunately, a lot of the initial answers to those early questions could be found in the comic books themselves.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJT5UkcKWZSg496qePMchIApVYbSdOLiO24lUOI3zPqf71o_lny3JzZm-h6YGmxQgXTvvhX5Og_jscRILxA34tHNEj5031TLR9P7nQp6I9VPzaBUXa1BpmoNqn6MtYtibVhxmb_-hl7uc9/s1600/Bullpen7009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJT5UkcKWZSg496qePMchIApVYbSdOLiO24lUOI3zPqf71o_lny3JzZm-h6YGmxQgXTvvhX5Og_jscRILxA34tHNEj5031TLR9P7nQp6I9VPzaBUXa1BpmoNqn6MtYtibVhxmb_-hl7uc9/s320/Bullpen7009.jpg" width="216" /></a>If you looked at the credits on nearly every story published there was a list of creators, so you could see who did what. There was always a writer, there was a penciller, there was an inker/embellisher, there was a letterer, there was a colorist, and there was an editor. <a href="http://panels.net/2015/01/18/time-capsule-daily-planet-bullpen-bulletins-pages/" target="_blank">There were editorial columns and features</a>, like the <i>Bullpen Bulletins</i> and <i>Stan's Soapbox</i> at MARVEL Comics, and <i>The Daily Planet</i> and <a href="http://www.dcinthe80s.com/2016/05/our-second-podcast-chattin-with.html" target="_blank"><i>Ask the Answer Man</i></a> at DC Comics. Names became familiar over time, and you'd see them crossing over titles, and sometimes even across companies. Reading the letters pages and the responses to readers' questions (and we obsessives read every square millimeter of our comics), you'd discover even more about who did what and why. Personalities emerged, roles were defined, and interpersonal backstories were discovered. If one read enough comics, you would learn who masterminded the creation of these characters and, if you were dedicated enough, eventually you'd see the path toward embarking on a career of your own.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2BjVntMuq_BUR-Di-pjaTQuo8oZRGhctPsId70mZOM2isWpGbE0M12kMbIvUSjtgbzgyu9tLfwtNFeeaqQcp6lB0BrR443Bk4xbE2gxnXofBGxIw5cnADPJmu9OYB45O-uWxyROv8l_FG/s1600/912441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2BjVntMuq_BUR-Di-pjaTQuo8oZRGhctPsId70mZOM2isWpGbE0M12kMbIvUSjtgbzgyu9tLfwtNFeeaqQcp6lB0BrR443Bk4xbE2gxnXofBGxIw5cnADPJmu9OYB45O-uWxyROv8l_FG/s320/912441.jpg" width="229" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art: John Romita, Sr.</td></tr>
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When I was around 8 or 9, I came across Stan Lee's <i>Origins of Marvel Comic</i>s and <i>Son of Origins of Marvel Comics</i>, and both of those books were full of hyperbole-filled prose about the creative genesis of their most popular characters straight from The Man himself. Later, while I was in my early teens, DC's main editorial column became <i>Meanwhile...</i> which was primarily written by their executive editor <a href="http://thoughtinmind.blogspot.com/2010/07/dick-giordano-july-20-1932-march-27-2010.html" target="_blank">Dick Giordano</a>. I found this to be especially intriguing, as he tended to offer very specific information on how to enter into the profession of making comics, and he'd even have guest-columnists from time to time who would give further insight into the business. Giordano wrote an entry wherein he described his typical workday, starting with getting up before sunrise to ink a page of comics before catching the train in to New York City to work at the DC offices. There was a specific routine to his days, and it became apparent that the key to a career in comics for most creators was <i>discipline</i>.<br />
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Discipline is hard to forge in an environment of instability, but I had enough inertia to propel me through the shifting landscapes of multiple homes, schools, and parental custodians, all the while keeping that end goal in sight. At every age and stage, wherever I was, and whoever I was surrounded by, my identity was apparent to all: I was an artist who drew really well, and I was going to grow up and make comic books.<br />
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Which reminds me of a story. I know that I was telling you a story already, but let me tell you this one now before I forget. It's apropos, and it centers on one of the few overtly discouraging figures who momentarily stood on my creative path.<br />
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My mother, sisters, and I had to go in to a family court hearing once, and it was an especially serious affair. I was twelve or thirteen at the time, and we'd been to many others by this point; some were just to check on our status, while others could make an impact on our home life for years to come. You could feel in the air how this one was important. The status of our custody again hung in the balance and, one by one, the judge had us kids brought into his chamber to get a sense of our individual perspectives on what was going on. Knowing that something like this was probably coming, I had brought along some of my artwork for him to see. I wanted him to know that I was an artist and that I had a plan.<br />
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He looked at my drawings from across his desk as I explained that I was going to make comic-books for a living, and that I understood the path to being a professional. I might have even started submitting artwork to the publishers already -- that's entirely possible. I suppose I expected him to be impressed with my precociousness and maturity, as adults often were. Instead, a quizzical look crossed the judge's face, and his brow furrowed. He handed me my drawings back and asked me a question:<br />
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"You have so many options<i>...This </i>is what you want to do with your talent?"<br />
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And I knew immediately that I didn't have an ally in the room. Sure enough, our unstable landscape shifted before we went home. The judge's verdict on my chosen career was disheartening, but it was
also a wake-up call as to how comics were perceived in the outside
world. Even throughout the tumult, my world had been so insular I'd never really conceived that comics could be regarded as a lesser thing one should not aspire to create. Likewise, it was unfathomable that the landscape of comics was just as malleable and shifting. I had no idea what would lay waiting for me on the other side once I eventually arrived. Still, I remained undeterred and the heroes kept me focused, and they kept me disciplined and I never stopped drawing. Honestly, there were very few times while growing up that I ever doubted I'd one day be making comics as my career. But there were pinpricks of awareness of that outside perception of comics, and how my relationship to them might change.<br />
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* * * * *</div>
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WITH HINDSIGHT COMES the awareness of how those early experiences all fit neatly into my current relationship with this medium. Some moments challenged what I'd previously thought, some made me realize I possessed a very narrow understanding of the elements involved. Some lessons took me years to learn, and there was a lot I had to unlearn too. There's a lot to be said for having the full-on-trusting blind faith of a child to motivate you into action (and in my case, <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Action_Comics" target="_blank">Action Comics</a>!</i>), but ultimately it's better to have your eyes opened by the lightning of illumination.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3IH35sXfAtfuxb5xVkrHOXAVzrMO_Pz3KDiIOsyCdmMXu_06sfVqLlWS6OUEaSn05u5ekOMULCqVIyvF5IhSUxyKwqCkMg2vkMPB0YP2xeboSUrjARgzQPnLBLIF00lO9_9d-7ij-fq7b/s1600/TalesOfTheTeenTitans_Vol1_No1_1982-06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3IH35sXfAtfuxb5xVkrHOXAVzrMO_Pz3KDiIOsyCdmMXu_06sfVqLlWS6OUEaSn05u5ekOMULCqVIyvF5IhSUxyKwqCkMg2vkMPB0YP2xeboSUrjARgzQPnLBLIF00lO9_9d-7ij-fq7b/s320/TalesOfTheTeenTitans_Vol1_No1_1982-06.jpg" width="208" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art: George Perez</td></tr>
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One day in early 1982, I had some copies of various recently purchased comics strewn across my aunt's dining room table. It was a mish-mash of things, as usual, and there were issues of <i>House of Mystery</i> and the newly launched <i>G.I.Joe</i>, among others. One of my older cousins sat and asked me to hand him an issue. "That one," he said, "the one with <i>the brother</i> on the cover."<br />
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It was <i>Tales of The New Teen Titans, Number 1</i>, featuring the (at that time) brand new superhero Cyborg. Now, my cousin's request wasn't unusual at all, but in that moment something dawned on me. You see, it had never even occurred to me that most superheroes were White. Not exclusively, but predominantly, for sure. I had always just figured they could be whatever you wanted them to be, whatever race or gender or species. That's how I approached creating them too. Superman was the first character I'd ever really been exposed to and I loved him passionately. I'd also owned some of the first issues of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Lightning" target="_blank"><i>Black Lightning</i></a> by then which reinforced the idea that superheroes could be anything. But in this moment *POP!* it was understood how, in the bigger scheme, it <i>did </i>matter. All Black superheroes didn't have to be defined by the word "Black" or associated words (Black Panther, Black Goliath, Black Racer, Black Talon, Bronze Tiger, Brother Voodoo, Power-Man) as their go-to descriptors. They could be...like all the other characters, and it mattered to potential readers.<br />
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I should point out that all of those characters, including Cyborg, had been created by White creators, which accounted for the prism through which they refracted the superhero paradigm. Nobody I knew in our community who was into comics disavowed any of these characters either. But when you become aware of the fundamental nature of what you love, it can shift your perspective on maybe how some things need redefining. <a href="http://www.avclub.com/article/roxane-gay-and-yona-harvey-join-marvel-comics-worl-239995" target="_blank">We're only just now really starting to see what it looks like when mainstream Black characters are handled by Black creators.</a> It's been a journey for our superheroes too, and they're still marching.<br />
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Years later, I was on a bus, headed home from the Art Institute of Pittsburgh. I was 18 and the youngest person in my class, with an identity that was set in stone. Everyone who knew me knew that <i>Marcel was going to make comic books</i>. I took this art thing super-seriously too, and my perfect attendance record reflected that. This was just destiny. It was going to happen.<br />
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Another passenger got on, an older Black man, and upon seeing my large portfolio he asked me about what I did and what my plans were. I told him what everyone knew, very matter-of-factly, and may have shown him some samples. The look he gave me was a total inversion how that judge several years before had looked at me. "You sound like you're on a <i>mission!</i>" he said. In retrospect, he was right. There were a lot of options in front of me, but this is what I wanted to do with my talent. And realizing how impressed this gentleman was...*POP!*...made me realize in turn how this could have an effect on people, specifically, seeing ME making comic books. <br />
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One of my instructors at A.I.P. put me in touch with another student who was already a seasoned comic book creating professional. This person had returned to school to get additional training at that time, and even hired other students to occasionally do coloring on his books for him so they'd get experience. An introduction followed and I was invited to his studio where I spent several hours on a hot Sunday afternoon seeing, for the first time with my own eyes, how comics were physically made. I've often said that I learned more that day, and got farther along the path towards making comics in those few hours, than I did in the entirety of my years at A.I.P. and beyond. That's no exaggeration.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1tybUJrlPHmW4Ol0XGrp0QI6UqyM2pACQbWZIMuE7BD9U49SOwFZ85-EYbhyDqCeMGsuSG8yXmETun5h3-Dinf-uDQHky_RYcWJdVc8IwJQuyXzOTVTKhuKevd4B_1bKXqeDM93O8VJYi/s1600/Vigilante_Vol_1_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1tybUJrlPHmW4Ol0XGrp0QI6UqyM2pACQbWZIMuE7BD9U49SOwFZ85-EYbhyDqCeMGsuSG8yXmETun5h3-Dinf-uDQHky_RYcWJdVc8IwJQuyXzOTVTKhuKevd4B_1bKXqeDM93O8VJYi/s320/Vigilante_Vol_1_3.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art: Keith Pollard</td></tr>
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This artist was White, as was pretty much every comics creator whose work I'd been exposed to at that time...or so I thought. I mention that only in relation to something I learned that day. As he showed me how to wield an ink brush and introduced me to the works of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean_Giraud" target="_blank">Moebiu</a>s and answered my questions about lettering, he casually mentioned that he'd once gone to visit an established artist when he was younger, just as I was doing. "Keith Pollard," he said. "He's Black too, you know."<br />
<br />
No, I hadn't known, and *POP!* there was that feeling again, that sudden realization of, <i>Oh, I know nothing really</i>. I'd been very aware of Pollard's art. He was very prolific and had drawn for DC and Marvel for years. He'd drawn issues of <i>Spider-Man</i>, and <i>Tho</i>r, and <i>Indiana Jones</i>, and <i>Vigilante</i>. That last one I had his complete run of and I loved his work. It was funny then to learn he was Black and I'd never even considered this. That was one of the attractions to working in comics for me while growing up: It didn't matter what you looked like behind the scenes, or what your background was. Anyone could make comics, right?<br />
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No, not really. That was as much an exuberant fiction as the characters themselves, and would be discovered later. But this was still noteworthy information. It meant there had been people like me working in comics, and that provided a tangible end goal. Pollard had even been successful enough to prompt this working artist to seek his input when he was still learning, and now there was an indirect link from him to me. Making comics wasn't just an aspiration anymore -- it was absolutely a mission.<br />
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But the journey wasn't over by any means, and the mission still needed a purpose.<br />
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***To Be Continued!***</div>
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You're invited to come experience <i>TO TELL THE TROOF</i>, the first solo gallery exhibition for Pittsburgh visual artist/writer Marcel Lamont (M.L.) Walker. Appearing at <a href="http://mostwantedfineart.com/" target="_blank">Most Wanted Fine Art Gallery</a> in Garfield through the months of August and September 2016, this retrospective of the last few years of his work includes original art produced for The Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, The Holocaust Center of Greater Pittsburgh, Row House Cinema, and the independently-produced comic book <i>HERO CORP., INTERNATIONAL</i>. This installation is in the lower gallery at MWFA, and was made possible by an Artists Opportunity Grant from the Greater Pittsburgh Arts Council.<br />
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In September, the upper gallery features resident artist-illustrator Genevieve <span class="_4n-j fsl">E. T. Barbee-Turner, who works under the banner of <a href="http://theapcollection.com/" target="_blank">The A.P. Collection</a>. Her artwork reflects </span><span class="_4n-j fsl"><span class="text_exposed_show">the diverse communities within Pittsburgh and the blend of old places and new ideas in the city.</span></span><br />
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Attend the <i>Unblurred Gallery Crawl</i> on Friday, September 2nd and visit all of the galleries along Penn Avenue, including MWFA, for free! There will be other <i>TROOF</i> events throughout September, including a closing reception on Saturday the 24th, and you are welcome to contact MWFA to schedule a private viewing of the installation.<br />
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See you there!</div>
Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-84252222733329501982016-06-19T12:35:00.000-04:002017-07-19T07:45:06.481-04:00Jake<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicwLdJGjOUV0QrTUgqPgf3RcboqEsboYvEGD2wIWpBpi_zchwwqiHswaJSJqFW7AsoqlfK1rbnwvOAs9wYXt_YOADNtX1VS-lF75mZBJuiQrXnKEhEUsAPLT8wXTkLt4S4GQ_2R2-l-MkD/s1600/JAKE_Drawing-by-Marcel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicwLdJGjOUV0QrTUgqPgf3RcboqEsboYvEGD2wIWpBpi_zchwwqiHswaJSJqFW7AsoqlfK1rbnwvOAs9wYXt_YOADNtX1VS-lF75mZBJuiQrXnKEhEUsAPLT8wXTkLt4S4GQ_2R2-l-MkD/s400/JAKE_Drawing-by-Marcel.jpg" width="286" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPSBoEQf97Rr8PGqBEXgCXP_jjmjPPQ6wPaDlkeZIzFSmVU8M7celaDf2ERj5V8l046EjZfp-jIaTpgnK9QLtABmso1StXt0X7NekQ8_dQjmuiqnQCgDT7GtxzCP2t58sEPRCqM380xY-T/s1600/DSC03184_RETOUCHED.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>I HAVE A lot of friends, which anyone who knows me would agree to. I’m one of those people who you can’t walk down the street with, practically any street, here in Pittsburgh without someone calling out my name. I have artist friends, and comic-book fan friends, and friends from various neighborhoods (as Fred Rogers demonstrated long ago, neighborhoods are all-important in Pittsburgh), and friends from various workplaces. The latter is a particular source of pride for me. Over the years, I managed to forge incredibly solid friendships with people I worked with. I’ve designed their wedding programs and even been in some of their weddings, babysat their children, and had at least one child (so far) named after me. I’ve been adopted into numerous families, and laughed and loved and cried with them. My places of employment changed, but I’ve still managed to stay close to scores of these people who support me every day.<br />
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My sister Jami is one of them. I call her sister because she has been that to me, and much more. We worked together at two different places, and know each other through and through. I was adopted into her family, the Marlowes, while in my twenties, and had no idea of the depth that this relationship would develop. Through her, one by one, I met the other Marlowes, and each one embraced me without reservation. Billie, the matriarch, adopted countless kids via her own kids, and you always knew that she cared about you. She even had a phrase related to her children I’ve taken to heart: “I love all of my kids equally. But sometimes, one might require more attention than the others.”<br />
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Think about that. Isn’t that the smartest way to spread the love around? By not worrying about comparative volume, but instead focusing on the need, we address what really counts. And Billie let you know you were loved, even when she cracked the whip. She fed her kids and kept them stuffed, and she made everyone laugh. I made a drawing of her once at a party, just a quick sketch to pass the time, and tried to capture that vivacious spirit. She loved it so much that it hung in her home for years afterwards. When she passed away, the Marlowes used it as the cover image of Billie’s memorial program. I’ve rarely been so humbled and flattered. But it goes to show that a few moments can mean a lot over time.<br />
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Another Marlowe family member I met was Jami’s brother-in-law Jake. His last name wasn’t Marlowe, but for all intents and purposes, he was a Marlowe and he knew it. I think he was proud of that. The very first time I saw him, it made an impression. I’d been commissioned, via Jami, to draw a portrait photo of her young niece Denise (yes, we’ve made many jokes about that cadence) who was taking dance lessons at the time. This is back when Jami and I were working for the same company, but at different locations. She called my store one day to inform me that Jake was in town from West Virginia and would be stopping by to see me, as I recall to drop off reference photos of his daughter to draw from. He was described as a big, tall man, who would probably be wearing boots which made him even taller. He sounded like a good ol’ country boy with a genial nature. That’s exactly what he was.<br />
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Eventually, the front door beeped opened and made every coworker snap to attention, and Jake walked into the store. The second I laid eyes on him I thought, “Yeah. That’s a big guy.” Whenever I think about this initial encounter, I always remember the impression he made in that moment, basically filling up the store. There was never anything more complicated about Jake from that moment forward. This was a very open and genuine person. What you saw was what you got, and what I got in that first encounter was a sincere man who was very enthusiastic about celebrating his family. That never changed.<br />
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What I had no way of knowing was how what I saw and got was what everyone else who knew him was seeing and getting too.<br />
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I CAN’T SAY I got to know Jake well at all over the years. I just didn’t see him often. The Marlowes live in West Virginia, and I’ve always lived in Pittsburgh, and I don’t drive, so going to see them wasn’t in the cards. But when they were in town visiting Jami, I’d see them. In more recent years, Jake could be depended upon to come into Pittsburgh annually to help, behind-the-scenes, put on her charity event LUVFEST. He was always there to do the lifting or the driving or the ticket-taking or, really, whatever was required of him.<br />
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Jake was funny to watch. For the most part, he was pretty inauspicious, and for a man of his size didn’t take up much room. But he was quick to make small talk, with anyone, and could get enthused about minutia in seconds. And he’d talk. And talk. And talk. And then his wife, Jami’s sister Betsy, would snap him out of his revelry and he’d get back to the task at hand. It was always like watching a puppy get corralled from jumping on a guest, no matter how many times the guest had visited.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPSBoEQf97Rr8PGqBEXgCXP_jjmjPPQ6wPaDlkeZIzFSmVU8M7celaDf2ERj5V8l046EjZfp-jIaTpgnK9QLtABmso1StXt0X7NekQ8_dQjmuiqnQCgDT7GtxzCP2t58sEPRCqM380xY-T/s1600/DSC03184_RETOUCHED.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPSBoEQf97Rr8PGqBEXgCXP_jjmjPPQ6wPaDlkeZIzFSmVU8M7celaDf2ERj5V8l046EjZfp-jIaTpgnK9QLtABmso1StXt0X7NekQ8_dQjmuiqnQCgDT7GtxzCP2t58sEPRCqM380xY-T/s320/DSC03184_RETOUCHED.jpg" width="214" /></a>The rapport between Jake and Betsy was just as amusing, but it was also always tempered with affection. There are couples I know who snipe at one-another in ways that are uncomfortable to witness; Jake and Betsy had figured each other out long ago, and it was obvious. These two just belonged together. And when you saw them with Denise, you could tell exactly where she got her DNA from. It was as if every other molecule in her body was evenly distributed from her parents. As a microcosm of the Marlowes, and an example of how families should be, they were in many ways almost sitcom perfect. Not literally perfect, which doesn’t exist, but they followed Billie’s advice and made sure the love and attention was evenly distributed.<br />
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A few years ago, I had plans to set up at the West Virginia Pop Culture Con, and Betsy and Jake offered to let me and my girlfriend stay at their place for the weekend. They were wonderful hosts, and I never doubted for a second that we were welcome, and I also never got a sense that their routine was appreciably different with us there. They bantered and jested like always. Jake asked me questions about how the Toshiba Thrive tablet I’d gotten was working, as he’d recommended through Jami it was the brand I should buy. His IT knowledge was boundless, and he shared it with enthusiasm. Denise was also there, as was Betsy’s and Jami’s brother Wally, and everyone was great and expressed interest in our daily doings at the convention. It was a good trip in close quarters, and the family let it be known we were always welcome to return.<br />
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In retrospect, I wish I’d taken them up on it more frequently.<br />
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JAMI ASKED ME to call her earlier this week, and gave the news that Jake had been hospitalized for several days and his condition was serious. She immediately travelled home to West Virginia to be with Betsy and Wally. A few hours later, she sadly informed me that he’d passed away.<br />
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Not being able to go where you want to make yourself most available leaves you feeling frustrated. But I was tasked with looking after Jami’s cat, and later I designed a poster for the memorial service. Recalling how the portrait of Billie had been used for her memorial service program, I drew a similar sketch of Jake. He was easy to render. He was a character and his personality was understated in photos, but evident nonetheless. When Jami repeatedly thanked me for pitching in, and expressed regret over how what I was doing had eaten into my time, I tried to dismiss that thinking. Right now, my family needed my attention. That’s all that counted.<br />
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The Marlowes are a strong family with a vibrant collective personality. Their core unit of siblings is fascinating in their differences and similarities, and how tightly they hold on to one another. They really don’t mess around when it comes to being available for each other. It’s enviable to watch, even for those of us who have similarly large extended families. You can have a big family, but that doesn’t mean your relatives will make the effort to understand you, or to accept you even when they don’t understand you. And even big families can be exclusive with who they choose to let into the perimeter of their clan. Have you ever been part of a family, or a circle of friends, and yet still felt apart from everyone? It happens all the time.<br />
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Joining a big, headstrong family is an intimidating prospect. Allowing your identity to merge with theirs can be a fast way to become lost, but it can alternately work miracles. I’ve seen people join families and become transformed. The Marlowes have always been marvelous at allowing more and more people to build treehouses in their family tree, and spreading that love and attention around. So many people from so many walks of life are now Marlowes, in that broadest sense, that you can’t remember how they all joined up. But they just keep getting added to the database, all the same, and the treehouses get expanded.<br />
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Jake joined the Marlowes and made them a better family for it. He never lost his identity, and instead carved out a specific role for himself filled with laughter and fortitude. He loved Betsy enough to accept dealing with her big, intimidating family; he then dealt with them so well he came to love them through and through. They in turn came to love him so thoroughly that he was, in every respect, a Marlowe.<br />
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He was a hard worker and he made friends at his workplaces easily which he held onto. At his memorial service, when it was asked how many of the people in attendance knew him through his job, it was stunning how many hands went up. But there were also people there who knew Jake from other walks of life, from high school to the military to neighbors. People apparently knew him everywhere he went, and they all had nothing but good things to say about him. As Jami put it, “Jake was like the you of Morgantown, Marcel.” If that’s so, I might be even more loved than I realize.<br />
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The remembrances of Jake delivered at his memorial service yesterday had several things in common. Family and friends all spoke overwhelmingly of his sense of humor, which made a somber occasion much easier to bear. Memories revolved around his love of food, and his knowledge of IT services, and his absolute pride in his family. There was also a general acknowledgement that when there was a crisis, and when circumstances made the more sure-footed members of the family a little shaky, Jake could be counted on to keep things together. He was a rock in a storm, in direct contrast to his goofy, overgrown man-child demeanor. Jake could be counted on, and that would be missed.<br />
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It’s tough to see people you love deal with such an immense loss, knowing you have nothing to replace it with, but it’s comforting to know there are a lot of people feeling the same loss. The best balm for grief is communion and laughter. And we laughed a lot. I think Jake would have wanted it no other way.<br />
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JAKE REMAINS UNIQUE in my life as someone who I remember the first and the last time I ever saw him. The first time was when he walked into my workplace, wearing large boots, and filling the room with his presence. The last time was just a few weeks ago, when I was invited to join their family on a Sunday brunch to celebrate Denise’s graduation from nursing school. We sat directly beside one another in the restaurant, and made small talk, like usual. There was nothing outstanding about it at all.<br />
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I met Denise’s boyfriend, and Jami and I joked with our friend Jess about the couple we’d seen dancing in the car outside. Denise and Betsy sat side by side, now colleagues in a profession we all have admiration for. Jake was a little quieter on this occasion, mostly staying buried in apps on his smart phone. As boisterous as he could be, most of us at the table were a different type of boisterous, and so he just left us to our own devices and we had a good time on a chilly May day in downtown Pittsburgh. We hugged goodbye at the end of the meal, and I presumed I’d see Jake again for another family event soon in a month or two.<br />
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And now he’s gone. It’s stunning how quickly this has happened.<br />
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I knew Jake in very broad strokes, but to be fair, Jake was a very broad strokes kind of person. He was funny and goofy, and he loved people and many, many people loved him. He was a dedicated worker who loved his job and did it well. He was dependable. He was excited by what other people considered little things. He was the kind of person whose absence will make the rest of the world - his hometown, his workplace, the close-quarters of his home - seem a lot smaller now. He was a kind person, period. He was our IT guy, and now he’s God’s IT guy. I guarantee you, Heaven’s hi-speed network is running even smoother. And I guarantee he knew half the people on the other side the moment he arrived. That other half are now all his friends too.<br />
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He was big and he had a big heart, and he leaves big shoes to fill. I can only hope that, as the Jacob Tennant of Pittsburgh, I can reach as many people as he did.<br />
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Happy Father’s Day, buddy. Job well done. We'll take it from here.<br />
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Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-7992839013017270092016-06-10T13:43:00.000-04:002016-06-11T10:48:38.036-04:00Classical Music, Inspiration and the Importance of Superman<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>The following post originally appeared as <a href="http://blogs.pittsburghsymphony.org/2016/06/guest-blog-marcel-walker-classical-music-inspiration-and-the-importance-of-superman/" target="_blank">a guest blog on the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra's PSO BLOG</a>. Special thanks to their Director of Media Relations, Joyce DeFrancesco, for extending the invitation to contribute!</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJkfHztBFE8MsRlhD6n5sDfcQhHqw5A849N3FCtwNQoTHvSY9LOtafvw-sXIIqrkAiKFjPqp2CPLxVyFVVpdwWidWsXT6MoBUGT3STAGkPpvWJSXRLVaXcRthNDe4ISJ__c2XoXPkcyXU/s1600/2016-05-22_HeinzHall.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJkfHztBFE8MsRlhD6n5sDfcQhHqw5A849N3FCtwNQoTHvSY9LOtafvw-sXIIqrkAiKFjPqp2CPLxVyFVVpdwWidWsXT6MoBUGT3STAGkPpvWJSXRLVaXcRthNDe4ISJ__c2XoXPkcyXU/s400/2016-05-22_HeinzHall.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and my artwork in front of Heinz Hall<br />
Photo: Kristin Ward</td></tr>
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SYMPHONIC AND CLASSICAL music entered my world when
I was eight years old. It wasn’t in a particularly sophisticated way – if one
goes in for notions of art belonging to “high brow” and “low brow” classes,
which I don’t – but rather the same way it does for a lot of people. I was
exposed to it through the release of a specific film which resonated with me
before I’d seen a single frame: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">SUPERMAN:
THE MOVIE</i>. I had already been a fan of the Man of Steel for half my life,
and was at the perfect age to see that film. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">SUPERMAN</i> was big and full of spectacle and it perfectly brought to
life a character I needed in my topsy-turvy home life. Much of my early years
were characterized by dysfunction and instability; Superman always delivered
the opposite of those elements, wherever I encountered him. He was always
strong, smart, caring, and dependable. These traits immediately made him my
lifelong hero.<br />
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Reading his adventures in comic-books directly inspired
me to start drawing, which in turn became my lifelong profession. I realized
that most people decided what careers they wanted to have as adults only as
they got older. Some wanted to be doctors or police officers, and some wanted
to be firefighters or astronauts. My mother was a gifted musician, and her
siblings and their children always said she had “the gift” of being able to naturally
play the piano in church from a very young age. I ended up taking a cue from my
father, who had visual arts talents, which led directly to my exposure to
comic-books and the worlds of superheroes. Every time I opened the covers of
another issue, I knew, without question, that making stories with my own artwork
was what I wanted to do with my life.</div>
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Other media reinforced this notion. I watched
cartoons and television, like every other child, and Superman and his cohorts
were there as well in various incarnations. Reruns of the 1950s television show
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Adventures of Superman</i> brought a
different kind of thrill into the living room. I instantly memorized the
opening title march and heroic music became synonymous with the character. In
much the same way, The William Tell Overture had, over time, became synonymous
with another fictional hero who also had a tv show in the ‘50s, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Lone Ranger</i>. Unlike that western
hero, however, Superman merited his own original music, and no one understood
this more than composer John Williams. Having just scored a hit, literally,
with the soundtrack of the original <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">STAR
WARS</i>, Williams then turned his attentions to helping us all believe a man
could fly. His results have since proven to be one of the most impressive
special effects to have ever been derived from comic-books.</div>
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It's more accurate to say that I felt the music of
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">SUPERMAN</i> more than I heard it. That’s
probably the way most movie-goers absorb orchestral movie soundtracks. The more
impressive scores produce melodies and motifs that we recognize in our
day-to-day lives. Most people on the street could identify the treading water <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">DA-du, DA-dum, DA-dum</i> notes of JAWS (another
Williams composition) as readily as the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dum-dum-dum-DUUUUUUUM</i>
opening of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. So it was for me in 1978 with the
soundtrack to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">SUPERMAN</i>, one of the
first albums I owned.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6830770390012387783#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">[1]</span></span></span></span></a>
In the days before most homes had VCRs, that was how I managed to re-visualize
the cinematic world I remembered. Thanks to Williams and the London Symphony
Orchestra, I was able to temporarily lift myself out of the tumult of my
surroundings and soar on musical wings, just like my hero, every time I played
that album. And I played it a whole lot.</div>
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You should believe a boy can fly…because I did.</div>
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OVER TWENTY YEARS later, I was finally able to see
Williams, my orchestral hero, in person, conducting the <a href="https://pittsburghsymphony.org/" target="_blank">Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra</a> through a program of many of his most well-known works at Heinz Hall.
The night was grand, and I found myself buoyed by his music in a way I’d never
realized was possible. Listening to orchestral music in a hall designed for it is
an experience that can only be described as metaphysical. I left Heinz Hall
that night convinced that everyone should experience the fullness of
a performing symphony in person at least once in their life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9nv_lSPMtVztppSv8q2Cq08d_l-3p6SdpoBOODGL1TOvAx3tU8QW8b9ACZ1tqZNsJz3zxk2snJRDUQekG87x4HfFRerHMQcKeIfhugAi0T6IJIBmFxz-2S6tv2Z-Ua7A2pFn4gz1yC1Y/s1600/Heroes-and-Inspirations_Pencils-001_SMALL.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9nv_lSPMtVztppSv8q2Cq08d_l-3p6SdpoBOODGL1TOvAx3tU8QW8b9ACZ1tqZNsJz3zxk2snJRDUQekG87x4HfFRerHMQcKeIfhugAi0T6IJIBmFxz-2S6tv2Z-Ua7A2pFn4gz1yC1Y/s400/Heroes-and-Inspirations_Pencils-001_SMALL.jpg" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My pencil composite for the H&I poster.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I had only one quibble with that night’s
performance: the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Theme to Superman</i>
had been performed in truncated form, as part of a heroes-and-villains montage
(which ended with the indelible image of Christopher Reeve in costume being
projected on a big screen above the PSO). We’d all heard a few notes of my
favorite symphonic piece ever, but not the full thing. You could say this
allowed us to hover, if not fully fly. I got to see Williams conduct his music
with the PSO again just a few years ago, and it was an equally moving
experience…except this time the piece wasn’t a part of the program at all. It
felt like one of the most cruel plots Superman’s arch-nemesis Lex Luthor could
have ever devised.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
None of that quelled my love for symphonic music
in general though. By adulthood, I’d branched out far beyond movie soundtracks
into the work of classical composers. I often listened to the three B’s – Bach,
Beethoven, and Brahms – in direct rotation with contemporary musical artists
like Michael Jackson, Prince and Madonna. Everything was fair game, and when I
sat down at the drawing board (a real drawing board, with paper, pen and ink) Mozart,
Chopin, Vivaldi, etc. all helped inspire me to bring super-heroic worlds to
life on paper.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
And, intermittently, I continued to go see the
Pittsburgh Symphony perform. For a while, my girlfriend worked in ticket sales
with the PSO, and this allowed the opportunity for her to take me to a number
of shows I may not have otherwise experienced. My belief that everyone should
experience this music in person increased with each performance I attended, but
I also became aware of barriers which keep potential audiences at bay from these
shows. Some of these barriers are invisible if you aren’t the person
experiencing them. For me, this was noticing that I was usually in the minority
in distinct ways when going to shows, much like in the rest of the world. I was
often one of the younger people in attendance, and usually I was one of few
people of color. When I would actively count the people I saw at PSO shows who
looked like me (trust me, we <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all</i> do
this), the numbers rarely entered double digits.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
But I wanted this music to affect people like me
in the same way I’d been affected. I wanted it to open up worlds in both
directions. I wanted more people to fly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWrBJdWXG0mQErE7mxY-7vJMeYXKjb8olZ8i6rw_OjJs3CKmEx3Nqfk5HYk1k22gMnqceoNV_ZqAb_P2GlLkmkjlR6Im_V51zSUUm_tanXPjLF2VZ0RGSgCffZgWrvteF0HAUsV62L8E/s1600/Heroes-and-Inspirations_FINAL-002_Astronaut.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWrBJdWXG0mQErE7mxY-7vJMeYXKjb8olZ8i6rw_OjJs3CKmEx3Nqfk5HYk1k22gMnqceoNV_ZqAb_P2GlLkmkjlR6Im_V51zSUUm_tanXPjLF2VZ0RGSgCffZgWrvteF0HAUsV62L8E/s200/Heroes-and-Inspirations_FINAL-002_Astronaut.png" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br />
A FEW YEARS ago, I attempted to bring this to the
PSO’s attention, along with some ideas I had for marketing and promotions, and
had a brief discussion with one of their representatives. They were very polite
in listening to my suggestions, but it was quickly apparent nothing was going
to be used, and I was somewhat discouraged. It felt as though the PSO was
locked into a certain way of presenting itself. I’ll admit my attendance at their
shows tapered off and my enthusiasm for live performances dimmed. I always
listened to the music, and certain shows still brought me back (the
afore-mentioned return performance by John Williams being emblematic of that).
I’ll even admit to getting into a heated public (and then private) online
discussion once in defense of symphonic music concerts. I loved this stuff! But
I wanted more people to be able to enjoy it too, people who, like me, had to
deal with exclusive barriers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxlGJjLCAuC9uoftNM2_8JJM0BN_ZvyvQeNdNg7lUfcoa-uXeHaC2buYzbOTnF1Qa7BQz3UZh0luscAbNMGvQErjvKMHtT2btxXeNy0uFSuGeKdpb3go5VnEFDl8zE65Xy50ujMhi-f3U/s1600/2016-05-11_1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxlGJjLCAuC9uoftNM2_8JJM0BN_ZvyvQeNdNg7lUfcoa-uXeHaC2buYzbOTnF1Qa7BQz3UZh0luscAbNMGvQErjvKMHtT2btxXeNy0uFSuGeKdpb3go5VnEFDl8zE65Xy50ujMhi-f3U/s400/2016-05-11_1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My poster in great company! (The heroes are going interplanetary!)<br />
Photo: Jami Marlowe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Flash forward to 2015 when an article appeared in
the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette about how the Pittsburgh Symphony was looking to
expand its audience membership to broader age ranges and racial groups. The
article cited research studies the PSO marketing staff had conducted towards
these ends, and the comments section was full of people who had much to say
about their goals. I also chimed in and posted a comment, citing my own
experience attending shows and my thwarted attempt to change their marketing. I
fully expected my comments to get lost in the flood of others, but to my
surprise, the PSO staff reached out to me and invited me in to revisit my
thoughts and solicit my feedback.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I like to talk. A lot. So, I met with them and
talked a lot. And you know something? The PSO listened. They still didn’t use
my brilliant idea (which really is a thing of genius), but they listened. And
during the conversation, I also learned of some of their current initiatives
and saw that, yes, the PSO was looking to make the concert-going experience
more inclusive for its audiences as well.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
One of the things that came up was their Sensory Friendly
concert series, shows designed to make for a more comfortable experience for
people with various types of disabilities. The promotional artwork for their
original performance was drawn by local artist Joe Wos, and I had heard great
things about the show. My friend Mike took his daughter Zoey to the show, and
they both loved it. It was essentially made for her, and others like her. She
even appeared for just a moment in the promotional video the PSO created,
culled from footage shot at the event.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xSTbIJUWcFs" width="560"></iframe> </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
The staff of the PSO encouraged me to come to new
events they were holding, and took the time to follow up and see what I’d thought
about those concerts. Over the following months, I also crossed paths with some
of their staff at local arts events, and they became more aware of my
comics-based artwork. The last few years, I’ve had opportunities to combine my passion
for creating comic-book art, and my love of super-heroes, along with projects
that showcase real-world heroes educating us on real-world topics. (Things like <a href="http://www.tms.org/comictanium/default.aspx" target="_blank">COMIC-TANIUM</a> and <a href="http://holocaustcenterpgh.org/education/chutz-pow/" target="_blank">CHUTZ-POW!</a>) Little did the
PSO and I know that we would soon be combining forces in a way that played to
both of our strengths.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWrBJdWXG0mQErE7mxY-7vJMeYXKjb8olZ8i6rw_OjJs3CKmEx3Nqfk5HYk1k22gMnqceoNV_ZqAb_P2GlLkmkjlR6Im_V51zSUUm_tanXPjLF2VZ0RGSgCffZgWrvteF0HAUsV62L8E/s1600/Heroes-and-Inspirations_FINAL-002_Astronaut.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWrBJdWXG0mQErE7mxY-7vJMeYXKjb8olZ8i6rw_OjJs3CKmEx3Nqfk5HYk1k22gMnqceoNV_ZqAb_P2GlLkmkjlR6Im_V51zSUUm_tanXPjLF2VZ0RGSgCffZgWrvteF0HAUsV62L8E/s200/Heroes-and-Inspirations_FINAL-002_Astronaut.png" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br />
THIS PAST JANUARY, I was approached by the PSO
about doing the promotional artwork for their next Sensory Friendly concert.
They said that while discussing the theme for this show, it was suggested that
I would be a good match to come up with something appropriate. When they
revealed what the theme was, I couldn’t fault their logic: <a href="https://pittsburghsymphony.org/production/47930/heroes-and-inspirations" target="_blank"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">HEROES AND INSPIRATIONS</i></a>. I felt destined to draw this artwork.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Nvp6nd26U7HkZzwWwd_9iFIrfms3nJHELrFbPk1muWIhb8-NUZd81t5XCB2OetQkMuaNQ-FOs0D5q5Wj27z3RA4PncLymhugzHeffYOmPwhnV3OLk-j7sX1D1-rrPSeOtKESdqTcZmE/s1600/2016-01_PSO_HEROES-and-INSPIRATIONS_BW-ColoringPages-01_SMALL.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Nvp6nd26U7HkZzwWwd_9iFIrfms3nJHELrFbPk1muWIhb8-NUZd81t5XCB2OetQkMuaNQ-FOs0D5q5Wj27z3RA4PncLymhugzHeffYOmPwhnV3OLk-j7sX1D1-rrPSeOtKESdqTcZmE/s400/2016-01_PSO_HEROES-and-INSPIRATIONS_BW-ColoringPages-01_SMALL.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Line art composite.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
When asked if there was anything specific they
wanted included on the promo art, they said it was mostly up to me as their
artist. I was allowed to include whatever kind of heroes I wanted,
including superheroes, and it was an all-ages show that everyone was encouraged
to attend. Now, having that kind of freedom to create artwork for a client is
great, but it’s also daunting. I thought, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">what
should it be?!</i> Some imagery came to me right away, and I wanted to include
faces on the poster one might not typically associate with classical music, but
that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do</i> exist everywhere in our
world. I wanted this to be something in line with the other artwork I’ve been
producing…but I needed the spark to make it all come together.
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Then my friend Wayne Wise suggested something
magical (which he often does when I’m pondering an approach to a project) by
saying, “You should include Mike’s daughter Zoey in the poster.” And just like
that, I knew how it was going to look. There would be two groups of characters,
a group of kids and a group of adults, and they would be dressed alike. The
kids would clearly be deriving inspiration for their future professions from
the adults, their heroes. And Zoey would be a superhero.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, she already is a superhero…I just
revealed her secret identity.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I took a more methodical approach to producing
this piece than I often do. First, I drafted the composition and got it
approved; then I drew the figures separately in layers. This allowed for more
flexibility in positioning the characters, but I also did it because the
characters quickly became very real to me, and I wanted to give each one my
full attention. I even named each of the fictitious children in the drawing,
because they had very vivid personalities in my mind. They had souls. After a point, I wasn’t
making them up, but rather they were dictating how they would be drawn. Even
their choices of professions came organically. These kids already knew what
they wanted to be when they grew up just as surely as I knew what I wanted to
be at their age. I wanted to be an artist…and you better believe there’s an
artist included in the group, smeared with paint and full of enthusiasm.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
It’s up to the viewer to decide if the adults in
the drawing are the kids’ parents or the kids themselves as adults. I don’t
even have the answer to that. What I can say is that everyone in it is taking
inspiration from someone else. We may be inspired by our heroes, in the way my
dad inspired me to draw, and Superman inspired me to be use my powers for good.
But heroes are usually inspired by their own heroes, and they are also inspired
by you and me to become better heroes.<br />
<br />
Someone else took a cue from Superman's example too...<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/RHl_ZYQVGeQ" width="560"></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
The Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra is working to
become a better, more inclusive venue for promoting the arts. In my vividly
illustrated book, that’s pretty darn heroic.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWrBJdWXG0mQErE7mxY-7vJMeYXKjb8olZ8i6rw_OjJs3CKmEx3Nqfk5HYk1k22gMnqceoNV_ZqAb_P2GlLkmkjlR6Im_V51zSUUm_tanXPjLF2VZ0RGSgCffZgWrvteF0HAUsV62L8E/s1600/Heroes-and-Inspirations_FINAL-002_Astronaut.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWrBJdWXG0mQErE7mxY-7vJMeYXKjb8olZ8i6rw_OjJs3CKmEx3Nqfk5HYk1k22gMnqceoNV_ZqAb_P2GlLkmkjlR6Im_V51zSUUm_tanXPjLF2VZ0RGSgCffZgWrvteF0HAUsV62L8E/s200/Heroes-and-Inspirations_FINAL-002_Astronaut.png" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br />
THE PSO LIKED my artwork, and it’s been an adventure
watching them use it in promotions online and out in the world. Friends have
posted photos of the fliers for the show when they see it the world. My friend
Jami took one that gave me my first glimpse of the actual poster outside of
Heinz Hall, which made me do a double-take. When I saw it in person I
discovered the poster is at least six-feet tall! Usually the only thing
oversized about me is my ego. This may have even exceeded that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
When I drew the poster, and created the adult
version of Zoey’s superhero, I hadn’t thought of the back-story for her
character. But almost immediately after I sent it to the PSO, the character
told me who she was. It was so obvious, as though the hero had been shouting at
me the entire time: She’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Crescendo – The
Hero of Symphonic Music!</i> If I could compose music, I’d create her a march
to rival Superman’s. Who knows, maybe I’ll ask my mother to help me with that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg1d612xoPKgpvIPF0LxTJQV8Q7Rz_SnIqmcfTYLcgev1PmhWY8kQyb2kp6EK99BvOSj4-P4kM69AnUbR5YyR1aORqjj5aU1ep9z8IHD928iLFmFUG0ZRedC6Ml431MrNwIo4-Wewhu-U/s1600/2016-04-27_LoranSkinkis.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg1d612xoPKgpvIPF0LxTJQV8Q7Rz_SnIqmcfTYLcgev1PmhWY8kQyb2kp6EK99BvOSj4-P4kM69AnUbR5YyR1aORqjj5aU1ep9z8IHD928iLFmFUG0ZRedC6Ml431MrNwIo4-Wewhu-U/s400/2016-04-27_LoranSkinkis.jpg" width="220" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Loran Skinkis</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
There was also an unexpected follow-up offer. It’s
the kind of thing that solidifies your belief in destiny.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Last year, Joe Wos did some live-drawing during
the actual performance of the Symphony, sharing the stage and creating artwork
that was projected while they performed a selection. The PSO now made me a
similar offer, and whether they knew it or not, they sealed the deal as soon as
they told me what the musical selection was.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Yes. That one.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
The Theme from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">SUPERMAN:
THE MOVIE</i>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
So, I invite you all to come to Heinz Hall on
Saturday, June 25<sup>th</sup> at 2:30pm and experience the thrill of the
amazing Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra in person, the way everyone should hear
symphonic music at least once in their life. Come out and allow the Symphony to
see YOU and take further inspiration from all of the many colors and ages and
abilities that you embody. Because, you know, this inspiration thing works both
ways.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Come see me either floating to the gilded ceiling
of Heinz Hall with joy, or crashing and burning under the weight of my massive
ego. (I suspect I’ll just remain grounded onstage, which is fine.) Watch me
live out a dream as I draw while backed by the PSO, performing music I’ve been
drawing to since I was eight years old.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Watch as my drawing is projected on the same
screen that they showed Christopher Reeve dressed as Superman. And who will I
be drawing? None other than Crescendo, the Hero of Symphonic Music.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Come on out and be someone’s hero, or bring your hero
and share this performance. And don’t forget your capes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I do believe an audience can fly…because you will.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1U9lVa_lLLrz55PJ5Pj8j3WvBi5ZpX1mp2OBv4KAtCInECaUaB01g9n36PjfAGbOJrKUK5mVMnlDmDeWDfHpbnXzJP7zMd_PZEajVSoGok0JEeLMmCZYO3p4t8Sp7VtufMS3xQsU6LqU/s1600/2016-01_PSO_HEROES-and-INSPIRATIONS_PromoArtRGB_SMALLEST.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1U9lVa_lLLrz55PJ5Pj8j3WvBi5ZpX1mp2OBv4KAtCInECaUaB01g9n36PjfAGbOJrKUK5mVMnlDmDeWDfHpbnXzJP7zMd_PZEajVSoGok0JEeLMmCZYO3p4t8Sp7VtufMS3xQsU6LqU/s640/2016-01_PSO_HEROES-and-INSPIRATIONS_PromoArtRGB_SMALLEST.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The kids are alright, and we can be heroes!<br />
Middle row, l-r: Sing, Dayna, Sanji<br />
Bottom row, l-r: Maggie, Zoey, Jamychael</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div style="mso-element: footnote-list;">
<br clear="all" />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<div id="ftn1" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6830770390012387783#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">[1]</span></span></span></span></a>
Technically, it was a double-album!</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-42063912047013106002016-04-26T14:52:00.000-04:002016-04-29T02:19:34.441-04:00KA-BLAM 2016: "CAUSE-PLAY"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2a7zh__7NhbMAorqTlmQoXyiIq1LVDU4q_JTCQXREDijDUP0klVJbPoIaaB-_0kX2GUbrIqVpSCQX8mSpq4A-cAX4fqiEAMruA3PgfO-a5_Ti7MFJFRSevAsLzWm4OLgc26nyhpaD_Hc/s1600/Ka-Blam_RobRogers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2a7zh__7NhbMAorqTlmQoXyiIq1LVDU4q_JTCQXREDijDUP0klVJbPoIaaB-_0kX2GUbrIqVpSCQX8mSpq4A-cAX4fqiEAMruA3PgfO-a5_Ti7MFJFRSevAsLzWm4OLgc26nyhpaD_Hc/s400/Ka-Blam_RobRogers.jpg" width="222" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art by Rob Rogers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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FOR THE SECOND year in a row, I was on the
committee which put together the <a href="http://www.toonseum.org/" target="_blank">ToonSeum</a>’s annual fundraiser, KA-BLAM! It’s a really
fun event that allows us to get together with friends and comrades to celebrate
and support our local bastion of the cartoon arts. Everyone who I’ve ever
talked to who has attended one enjoyed the experience immensely, so it’s a
pleasure to be one of the people who help put this together.</div>
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It’s also a <i>lot</i>
of individual and collective work. Fundraisers don’t throw themselves, and
there are tons of organizational details involved in making it to the big night.
Fortunately, KA-BLAM! isn’t the first event of this type I’ve participated in,
so a lot of the challenges were anticipated. Like last year, my primary role involved
networking with local artists and coordinating their art donations for auction
and sale. As before, the pieces we received were beautiful -- in some cases so
beautiful I wanted to outright steal them. (I didn’t, but the temptation was
real and I have some regrets over being ethically responsible.) I ended up
handling some organizational aspects of the project this year too, and it definitely took time
and attention and more than a little bit of support to pull it off.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This year’s theme was “CAUSE-PLAY” and guests were
invited to show up dressed in costume. It’s a theme that was previously used
for another event, and it seemed like a natural fit for KA-BLAM! this year.
Most of the thematic elements were then designed around popular media
characters, especially comics and cartoon characters. Our event poster had some
fun riffing on this, but once the big day arrived, a lot of the folks who
dressed up put flair and creativity into their costumes. It was a great call to
include this, and I hope we revisit the costume-party theme again.</div>
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<a name='more'></a><br />
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There was set-up on Friday and Saturday afternoon
at the Teamsters Temple in Lawrenceville, the same venue we used in 2015, and
things really sailed along. Lights were strung up, and auction items were
displayed, and decorations were hung from the balcony, and it all happened
faster than last year. I almost felt superfluous, as everyone present seemed
to figure out their roles quickly. I did my part, answered a few organizational
questions, then left to grab my costume and art supplies. Unlike the year
before, this time I would be live drawing at the event, so I would have a fixed
perspective on how the night unfolded.</div>
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Our committee, volunteers, helpers, and friends
all worked hard to make KA-BLAM! a success, and I want to take a moment to say
thanks to some of these folks for their respective roles, and to thank some of
the great attendees for bringing their enthusiasm to the party.</div>
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* * * * *</div>
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TOONSEUM BOARD OF directors President <a href="http://robrogers.com/" target="_blank">Rob Rogers</a>
and Vice President Harold Behar both served on the committee, being as hands-on
as their very busy schedules would allow, getting things done, and attending
the majority of committee meetings. Rob’s artwork has graced KA-BLAM! posters and fliers these
past couple of years, as well as decorations at
the event site, and it doesn’t draw itself. Harold juggles promotional aspects
including the website, designing and distributing print media, and even the final event program. Without them, most ToonSeum things wouldn’t happen, so thanks
for shoehorning this into your already busy days, gentlemen.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCMpTGSN36nj5uTky8zjEc4uxpiqXsIvjzFOOejXKlxmOLuKqYeLJTrzHaD8-9APo2Y6IMCaP6eKs2RyzjQBSnurxUL86u3X141h88Nd8iZMNthK_isoIeHtET_idaHabTtjm_y3mPbclz/s1600/KaBlam2016_Z9Q1506.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCMpTGSN36nj5uTky8zjEc4uxpiqXsIvjzFOOejXKlxmOLuKqYeLJTrzHaD8-9APo2Y6IMCaP6eKs2RyzjQBSnurxUL86u3X141h88Nd8iZMNthK_isoIeHtET_idaHabTtjm_y3mPbclz/s320/KaBlam2016_Z9Q1506.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">l-r: ToonSeum board members<br />
Harold Behar, Rick Sebak, Rob Rogers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Fellow board member and regional documentarian <a href="http://www.wqed.org/tv/sebak/sebak.php" target="_blank">Rick Sebak</a> again served as our
event host, and if there’s a more beloved living Pittsburgh figure, I don’t know who
they could possibly be. Everyone who knows Rick or knows of him loves him.
EVERYONE! (People tell me I’m well-known and beloved, but I’m a piker by comparison.) The best part is he’s as gracious behind the scenes as you might
imagine, and genuinely enjoys the good will he receives and returns it in full.
He’s a large part of the festive nature of the event every year, and it’s
appreciated.</div>
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Stu Neft, yet another board member, worked tirelessly to arrange for all of
the wonderful food from local restaurants we had this year. The spread was
impressive, and he handled it with aplomb. In addition, he coordinated
everything for our drinks and beverages which, let’s face it, one needs in order to get
through a night of cosplayers and cartoons. (I’m telling you, it makes a fun
night even more fun.) He did triple-duty by also procuring and managing the auction items, so thank you for being in it from beginning to the very end, Stu!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXDCxRwNN01nW5ldfCPyE1evs5j3X1052uWjC5emb6SBA31pXn7VVTgHpIc1qCz_HUFFXEdEF1B-l8ud7nYMCLpQnR9wcQ6NBoOCrWYgil05GzvJcRp39hWgXNDae7NtVXqJzVvKEbnjV/s1600/13015680_10101037547378579_5997070312984124992_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXDCxRwNN01nW5ldfCPyE1evs5j3X1052uWjC5emb6SBA31pXn7VVTgHpIc1qCz_HUFFXEdEF1B-l8ud7nYMCLpQnR9wcQ6NBoOCrWYgil05GzvJcRp39hWgXNDae7NtVXqJzVvKEbnjV/s320/13015680_10101037547378579_5997070312984124992_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">l-r: Olga, me, Mary</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Thank you as well to our lovely bartenders,
Olga Borisovna and Mary Bielich for having business handled. As I mentioned to them beforehand,
when I knew they were both on board for the night, a lot of my anxieties went
away instantly. There’s nothing like knowing you’ve got the right people in
place to make things happen. Olga (an incredibly talented artist in her own right) set the tone for the night when I first saw her across the hall by declaring to me, “Marcel, why are you over there and not
over here hugging me?” I had to oblige, right? And <i>the</i> Metal Mary (if you have to ask about the name, you haven't seen her shred onstage) stepped in and stepped up like the pro she is and instantly
became a fixture to our group. Take a bow, ladies -- your support was greatly appreciated!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Misty Morrison was our event coordinator, and she
and I worked closely on some of the minutia of planning, including keeping
up-to-date (or close to it) notes from our meetings, and tracking members' action items. Misty is the ToonSeum’s
gallery manager, and she was able to navigate a lot of the matters that one
needed to physically be at the ToonSeum to do. (For instance, those gift bags VIPs and
volunteers got? That was all Misty and the staff!) And on the day of the event, she was right there with everyone else on the front lines. Thank you for providing such
a great ear to bend for bouncing ideas off of. You’re the best!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNCg6rp-LFEtzq_tQaQCILkBzLTu-yP8MFCtck6rHq4lB9uf2v7kiLIeJwLGVw2HRMeY4j30ZB5R1wR7XMzGEj_23fxEG0EeDGA3k7f_4zk8u8f727T1gyQ1qTOWnYbvpbAh7bAlq3umk/s1600/13055557_10156830912130273_1881012710966464771_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNCg6rp-LFEtzq_tQaQCILkBzLTu-yP8MFCtck6rHq4lB9uf2v7kiLIeJwLGVw2HRMeY4j30ZB5R1wR7XMzGEj_23fxEG0EeDGA3k7f_4zk8u8f727T1gyQ1qTOWnYbvpbAh7bAlq3umk/s320/13055557_10156830912130273_1881012710966464771_n.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">KA-BLAM! committee and ToonSeum<br />
board members Wayne Wise (as Dr. Who) &<br />
Marcel L. Walker (that's me, as Shakespeare!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Alexa Astarte has been a key staff member at the ToonSeum for several years, and she's typically my go-to person for all things on the ground. Dani Grew also worked there until fairly recently and her absence has been keenly felt, so it was nice having her on the committee. Alexa wrangled volunteers, helped work on finding promotional partners, and managed KA-BLAM!'s social media presence, while Dani was responsible for organizing the cosplay contest and related elements. Their input kept things balanced and on point, and they were always willing to do more when requested. Thank you for the hard work, stalwart friends!<br />
<br />
John Kelly has long been closely involved with the ToonSeum in a volunteer capacity, including helping with promoting <a href="http://pixcomics.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">PIX</a> every year. This year marked his transition to formally joining the KA-BLAM! committee, as well as the ToonSeum's board of directors (like me!). John brought strong enthusiasm coupled with practical ideas to the table every week, and created our guide to contributing artists and auction items. Good lookin' out, John!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.wayne-wise.com/" target="_blank">Wayne Wise</a> brought his connections across the comics community to the table and facilitated sponsorship and in-kind donations. In addition, he was one of many artists who provided artwork for the auctions. There are people who legitimize an enterprise and foster creative thinking by being present, and Wayne is definitely one of them. Thank you, friend!<br />
<br />
Chris "Chance" Brown and board member Nicholas Cafardi were willing and able to do whatever was requested of them throughout all the stages of planning, right up until the day of the event; you <i>need </i>people willing to do just that, so thank you for running around and helping us get it all done gentlemen!<br />
<br />
There's one key member of the committee who hasn't been mentioned yet. More on him in a bit. He knows who he is...!<br />
<br />
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* * * * *</div>
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</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRfzQWhpS9ZWahXwyqf8gzvggvG63NOCVwp4XpeTgmcsUtyrjzq-Nsup1Ls0V07wdJo6a9hoUR82oNIiriS1gJjh1-W7cwrCW2Jw5HH8HP3KdxvibJHwH3sZ9JBNEo7sFQkJDC5A7eXR_W/s1600/KaBlam2016DSC_3959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRfzQWhpS9ZWahXwyqf8gzvggvG63NOCVwp4XpeTgmcsUtyrjzq-Nsup1Ls0V07wdJo6a9hoUR82oNIiriS1gJjh1-W7cwrCW2Jw5HH8HP3KdxvibJHwH3sZ9JBNEo7sFQkJDC5A7eXR_W/s320/KaBlam2016DSC_3959.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kristin Ward a.k.a. Morgiana a.k.a.<br />
Wonder Woman a.k.a. Diana Prince!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
EVEN WITH THE full resources of the committee available, we couldn't do everything by ourselves. Fortunately, we had amazing volunteers who all came through in a big way.<br />
<br />
Dave Rogers, Anton Vesci, Michelle "Midnight Mame", Declan Hoffman, <a href="http://www.morgianabellydance.com/" target="_blank">Kristin Ward</a> (our vivacious Wonder Woman!), Tiffany Wilhelm, and <a href="http://www.zomboworld.com/zomboworld/dj.htm" target="_blank">DJ Zombo</a> (who kept the music going and ensured an upbeat atmosphere!) all provided the back-up we needed by showing up and bringing their A-game with no complaints and lots of energy, even when the night grew long. Kudos to you all for helping us to do more than we could have hoped. Your spirits are invaluable!<br />
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* * * * *</div>
<br />
OUR LIST OF contributing artists who provided their time and talent to create beautiful sketch cards and comic-book board-sized artwork for sale at the event was stellar. From Archie Andrews to Zippy the Pinhead, the characters rendered ran the gamut from silly to superheroic, and provided a vibrant illustration of the art form the ToonSeum celebrates.<br />
<br />
Thanks to Shawn Atkins, Nils Balls, Jason R. Bender, George Broderick, Jr., D.J. Coffman (who also provided live drawing of sketch cards at the event and, along with his wrangler Aleasha Monroe, was as friendly and professional as they come!), Derf, Vince Dorse, Bill Griffith, Danny Hellman, Kaz, Jim & Ruth Keegan, Leda Miller, Marjorie Rishel, Rob Rogers, Marcel L. Walker (yes, I'm thanking myself!), Wayno, Wayne Wise, Fred Wheaton, and one more artist who I'll mention in a bit. He also knows who he is...!<br />
<br />
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* * * * *</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXaAkkNUlPpZCO0l0u-K60qPHaeDQDCQisn6DL5Skk0t3F3u11-G3BmN5IDnNXAo7whQky5XdsM96hSbsjey6MTU5x3HB5EjBJ_JiWOB4ZiUX_2xQQYq1xRWxAATxzidoNUgA2M65Qak_Z/s1600/13076547_10208345982060921_1189638998625553013_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXaAkkNUlPpZCO0l0u-K60qPHaeDQDCQisn6DL5Skk0t3F3u11-G3BmN5IDnNXAo7whQky5XdsM96hSbsjey6MTU5x3HB5EjBJ_JiWOB4ZiUX_2xQQYq1xRWxAATxzidoNUgA2M65Qak_Z/s320/13076547_10208345982060921_1189638998625553013_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">l-r: Olga Borisovna, Sally Wiggin, Stu Neft</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
WITHOUT OUR SPONSORS and donors, it goes without saying that KA-BLAM! wouldn't have happened, simple as that.<br />
<br />
Our event sponsors <a href="https://www.schellgames.com/" target="_blank">SCHELL GAMES</a> and <a href="http://starkist.com/" target="_blank">STARKIST</a>.<br />
<br />
Our cosplay sponsors, <a href="http://costumeworld.com/" target="_blank">COSTUME WORLD</a> in the Strip District, <a href="https://www.spotlightcostumes.com/" target="_blank">SPOTLIGHT COSTUMES</a> on the South Side, and BRICOLAGE.<br />
<br />
Our in-kind donors Harold Behar, John Kelly, Jim Mesloh, Sean Miller (who crafted the bombastic balloon art that adorned the walls!), Stuart Neft, PHANTOM OF THE ATTIC COMICS in Oakland, Rob Rogers, and Rick Sebak.<br />
<br />
For your charity and contributions, we thank you one and all!<br />
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* * * * *</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_0dc2tG_v6ILhiDSiqfjQpCF9Dp_jNGTvN10OTSAXu_vU0gVajzCBUHC97jjePtWpC2dKY0x7ClPS7k-LH5d7p6VpSSTzzzgKHkeYDuDT2Sp5_nC25hOjM2kLxyDsHjeNAvL9C2H4dAN/s1600/KaBlam2016_Z9Q1494.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_0dc2tG_v6ILhiDSiqfjQpCF9Dp_jNGTvN10OTSAXu_vU0gVajzCBUHC97jjePtWpC2dKY0x7ClPS7k-LH5d7p6VpSSTzzzgKHkeYDuDT2Sp5_nC25hOjM2kLxyDsHjeNAvL9C2H4dAN/s320/KaBlam2016_Z9Q1494.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">l-r: Braddock Mayor John Fetterman, and<br />
Republican Committee Chair Jim Roddey</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
WITHOUT OUR ATTENDEES, KA-BLAM! wouldn't be worth having, and watching such a friendly</div>
group of supporters mingle and have a good time is a spectator sport where everyone wins. Thanks to our special guests John & Gisele Fetterman, Jim Roddey, and Sally Wiggin for participating in everything from selfies to Celebrity Pictionary.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I'd like to point out Gisele Fetterman is lovely, incredibly sweet, and she won me over as a fan within less than twenty seconds. She stopped by the table where D.J. Coffman and I were drawing commissions for the event, introduced herself, and when I went to shake her hand she instead quickly shook her head and beckoned me to come around to her side of the table. "I'm a hugger," she said matter-of-factly, and pinned me in a bear hug that would have been impressive even coming from her husband. Without a doubt, Gisele gets my vote every time, and I hope she chooses to campaign on the KA-BLAM! party!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-cy2bUIeXwlR3a_vrbE2HY_O5TrhOJdhmiEPpU_iYAqFr0vK_dk7zlUdxvCC1ShFnER3xWT4C9kPz8jKj-t4Yadih8E9Pn3Zkj6KbZ5TWG26Yen9goLlUitKko9SVWH1LnZo_pxeOWPLO/s1600/KaBlam2016_Z9Q1480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-cy2bUIeXwlR3a_vrbE2HY_O5TrhOJdhmiEPpU_iYAqFr0vK_dk7zlUdxvCC1ShFnER3xWT4C9kPz8jKj-t4Yadih8E9Pn3Zkj6KbZ5TWG26Yen9goLlUitKko9SVWH1LnZo_pxeOWPLO/s400/KaBlam2016_Z9Q1480.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John & Gisele Fetterman</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Too many friends attended from far and wide to name everyone individually, but if comic-books have taught me anything it's that pictures sometimes speak more than words can. With that in mind, here are some of the moments as captured by our event photographer Archie Carpenter.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiedWefGakqBpPxpEye-GidCJkPMBXzSpFJucJqTrqGl4eJY-yevqHQE0QfyPszN11xLyMCbUhxAe7KEx8wgP31PqpYgumgeVUkaY4Gl_eh3YvRv3mLzC8pj1Y5m0wax2VAjVFaAtTq7M_g/s1600/KaBlam2016DSC_3868.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiedWefGakqBpPxpEye-GidCJkPMBXzSpFJucJqTrqGl4eJY-yevqHQE0QfyPszN11xLyMCbUhxAe7KEx8wgP31PqpYgumgeVUkaY4Gl_eh3YvRv3mLzC8pj1Y5m0wax2VAjVFaAtTq7M_g/s400/KaBlam2016DSC_3868.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of our trio of Supergirls (Kimberly Love), holding the first<br />
commission I did of the night -- of her!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUTYSVM6mQHhl40ANPSmbs6cGqUe__W8Sj36A_xFQD5ITzw21Q49hYqWW7OKwJmb3jU84V6jAZVyllTVV88yEBScuN2mhPyC6sQyW26M3zaLlQnSuTBXiC2C8yD92RI9KfBYUChykMxXa/s1600/KaBlam2016DSC_3884.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUTYSVM6mQHhl40ANPSmbs6cGqUe__W8Sj36A_xFQD5ITzw21Q49hYqWW7OKwJmb3jU84V6jAZVyllTVV88yEBScuN2mhPyC6sQyW26M3zaLlQnSuTBXiC2C8yD92RI9KfBYUChykMxXa/s400/KaBlam2016DSC_3884.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Board member David Atkins is a Man in Black!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTQby5dDpl9fbBRICfb_ONWnyLdUBNpWfgQNNKfI4gEnk3MrvGFixJ58vVmBAJltWDjsswE2IdWADJMdMZ2rl_XnT659IPKConlScQ2kXTEU11lmU4TlJrdrHLB1djDBFPhF-mNxlwRyEC/s1600/KaBlam2016DSC_3997.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTQby5dDpl9fbBRICfb_ONWnyLdUBNpWfgQNNKfI4gEnk3MrvGFixJ58vVmBAJltWDjsswE2IdWADJMdMZ2rl_XnT659IPKConlScQ2kXTEU11lmU4TlJrdrHLB1djDBFPhF-mNxlwRyEC/s400/KaBlam2016DSC_3997.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">l-r: ToonSeum founder Joe Wos, Rick Sebak, "Princess Leia",<br />
and ToonSeum Board President Rob Rogers</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crisis on a trio of Earths! (My money's on the one wearing the cape!)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpY5EudSWcIs8TQxk486LPpjOypapxrwDhREMsNqwURQ3tVoG3XEBGerpq1ERGhdohs453qZ-4HYhu26EQkgl4xpah3yeeo69o5bw0CgQG_HyTO2mg1XgnPKdhrKj94KGnwgbDg4kojcAB/s1600/KaBlam2016DSC_4099.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpY5EudSWcIs8TQxk486LPpjOypapxrwDhREMsNqwURQ3tVoG3XEBGerpq1ERGhdohs453qZ-4HYhu26EQkgl4xpah3yeeo69o5bw0CgQG_HyTO2mg1XgnPKdhrKj94KGnwgbDg4kojcAB/s400/KaBlam2016DSC_4099.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our winner -- Leia shot (to the top) first!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjMe5oqDmSSOW_72jymHJC9IVGlOa3UD-ZGdCvj8BCJ1l_RfMmK0LXIkd2S8Wws7W_hhW_1AozaIu7K_gohT_0fNkN4RbeblnFpIZL_R4ZgwuJjZd1nPj9xt-1Sed1fYD03I6FXM2UqO7/s1600/KaBlam2016DSC_4135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjMe5oqDmSSOW_72jymHJC9IVGlOa3UD-ZGdCvj8BCJ1l_RfMmK0LXIkd2S8Wws7W_hhW_1AozaIu7K_gohT_0fNkN4RbeblnFpIZL_R4ZgwuJjZd1nPj9xt-1Sed1fYD03I6FXM2UqO7/s400/KaBlam2016DSC_4135.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I t'awt I t'aw the lovely Alicia Cafardi!</td></tr>
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THE LAST THING I want to mention is, what was for me, the highlight of the evening. We presented two awards during the event, and they were both fully deserved and overdue. The best part is we were able to do so as complete surprises to the recipients, even with a host of collaborators taking part in making it all happen.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3jo3dXAxLBjPVKbShVAFV-fMJRwl_LDDda-vqalA54LQ02hXzzfbFlR31aLLmRU5QOROBd0D4gEKeIAFRaiFfN5FEbhy2VCA75dedEDIUDDKGc6CfdDxugXXkZSvfoIpRV2SEzJcIl5Y/s1600/KaBlam2016DSC_4054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3jo3dXAxLBjPVKbShVAFV-fMJRwl_LDDda-vqalA54LQ02hXzzfbFlR31aLLmRU5QOROBd0D4gEKeIAFRaiFfN5FEbhy2VCA75dedEDIUDDKGc6CfdDxugXXkZSvfoIpRV2SEzJcIl5Y/s400/KaBlam2016DSC_4054.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">l-r: Mark Zingarelli & Chris Bushmen</td></tr>
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The GERTIE Award was named after the animated character <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gertie_the_Dinosaur">Gertie the Dinosaur</a>, created by Winsor McCay, and is given in recognition of substantial contributions to the cartoon arts by supportive individuals involved in a non-creative capacity. Rob Rogers presented the award to our chosen recipient, Chris Bushmen, who has helped the ToonSeum in innumerable ways. He's always at events, he's always helpful, he always contributes of his time and money, and speaking on behalf of our creative community, we are incredibly thankful!<br />
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The NEMO Award was named after the title character of the comic-strip feature <a href="http://everything.explained.today/Little_Nemo/">LITTLE NEMO'S ADVENTURES IN SLUMBERLAND</a>, also created by Winsor McCay, and is given in recognition of contributions to the cartoon arts by notable creative practitioners of the profession. Local illustrator and former ToonSeum board member <a href="http://www.wayno.com/" target="_blank">Wayno</a> was gracious enough to present the award, in stirring fashion, to recipient <a href="http://www.houseofzing.com/" target="_blank">Mark Zingarelli</a>. Mark is an artist and illustrator who's work has graced countless publications (including <i>TIME</i>, <i>ESQUIRE</i>, and <i>ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY</i>). He has worked with indy comics creator Harvey Pekar and, more recently, Mark was the artist and co-author who brought writer Joyce Brabner's script for <a href="http://www.post-gazette.com/ae/books/2014/12/21/Book-review-Second-Avenue-Caper-a-heartfelt-graphic-novel-about-AIDS-in-the-early-80s/stories/201412210015" target="_blank">SECOND AVENUE CAPER</a> to life as a graphic novel. Published by Hill & Wang, SECOND AVENUE CAPER won the 2015 Lambda Literary Award for Best LGBT Graphic Novel, and was a Village Voice Best Graphic Novel of 2014. Mark has also been a peer beyond measure to local creators, always offering support and advice, and showing us how to get the jobs done with class. Much love to you, Mark!<br />
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(And just for the record, I have a personal investment in the NEMO Award: since 2009, my artwork has been engraved on each one, styled after McCay's drawings. Having my artwork on the shelves of some industry greats like Mark is definitely a dream come true.)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's hard to be the Bard, baby!</td></tr>
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I WAS FAR more stationary this year than in the past, since I was drawing commissions for attendees all night. However that vantage point offered me a unique perspective on how the evening unfolded. I was also humbled by how many people kept coming over to check on me, offer to get me food and drinks, and compliment my artwork. Kristin, and Phoebe, and Rae & David, and Dean & Leigh Anne, and Fred & Renee, and Bud & Serena, and Tiffany, and everyone else: THANK YOU for being so wonderful!<br />
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I went as Shakespeare, because it was his birthday (and, coincidentally, also the date he died), but because Prince passed away a few days prior, a number of people kept thinking I was dressed as him. I didn't mind, and ultimately split the difference and decided I was there as <i>His Royal Bardness</i>.<br />
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I don't think even Shakespeare himself could have penned a more colorful narrative, and I think our evening's cast of characters should all take a bow. If you were there on Saturday, you played a role in keeping one of our most unique contributions to the arts alive and well, and we are grateful.<br />
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Job well done, one and all. Thanks for taking a pause for the CAUSE.<br />
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See you next year for the encore!<br />
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Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-1527447353705095912016-02-04T13:09:00.004-05:002017-10-26T12:07:42.082-04:00Telling the Storyteller's Story or How to Dance with Fire and Not Get Burned (Much)!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">The first photo! Many, many more followed!</td></tr>
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KRISTIN WARD IS a lot of things, chief among them being impossibly industrious. I know a lot of people who work incredibly hard at their respective jobs and professions – librarians and professors and artists and musicians and poets and art community champions and much more – but even among this elite company, Kristin stands out. From the moment I met her she was demonstrating her greatest talent, which is the ability to make an observer’s jaw drop in wonder.<br />
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Her list of trades almost single-handedly drives up the stock-market price on slashes: <a href="http://moquettevolante.org/" target="_blank">bellydancer</a>/<a href="https://twitter.com/PghFireGirl" target="_blank">fire-eater</a>/balloon-sculptor/stage-props designer/physical fitness trainer and even more. It is truly hard to keep track of what she is doing on any given day. But it’s probably safe to say that the one thing that strings all of the other things together is her love of storytelling. In one way or another, most of her talents are directed toward that end goal and she’s tireless in finding new ways to express herself. It’s fitting that she eats fire, because she’s definitely got a fire inside of her. Maybe it’s how she recharges.<br />
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So, indulge this moment of adulation as I tell you about the force of creativity that is Kristin Ward…or as I first came to know her, the mystical <i>Morgiana</i>.<br />
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THE EXACT DATE on which I first encountered Morgiana was October 20th, 2007. She was performing at a medieval-themed wedding which I attended, and it says something about her stage presence that she stood out among the plethora of talented people providing entertainment that day. She doesn't remember meeting me that day because she was working. I, on the other hand, was smitten, and I wasn't the only one. With so much going on, there she was, eating fire and holding court. It was a sight to behold! As the festivities continued into the night, she continued to find new ways of enthralling the crowd.<br />
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She laid on a bed of nails at one point, still eating fire, and invited three grown men, each one easily twice her size, to sit on her while she did. I don't know about you, but I don’t want anyone sitting on me while I try to do the majority of things I do – least of all anyone bigger than me, and especially not while I’m handling <i>fire</i>. But there she was, and that’s what she did, and she did it with panache. And there was more.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">I even turned her into a superhero</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">named Ember!</span></div>
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There’s this bit she does where she pushes a flexible rod of plastic all the way up her nose. It’s really gross. Personally, I hate it. (I hate most activities where one puts inanimate objects into parts of themselves which aren’t inviting it. Call me peculiar that way, but it makes me squirm.) But she’s good at it, and it’s a fascinating – albeit yucky – thing to watch. And typically she’ll withdraw said flexible rod, lick it, and wrap it around the wrist of some admiring soul. Usually they laugh and keep it. I’m more often than not too busy recoiling in <i>*ick*</i> to tell, as was probably the case that night. The crowd was with her though, and fortunately there was even more.<br />
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A bunch of us, young and old, gathered into a barn where there was a bellydance performance, and it was here where she truly dazzled the crowd. As she twirled and rippled across the floor, a group of young kids watched her and one boy in particular stared, transfixed. There is no way to know for sure what he was thinking as he watched, but I’m pretty sure he went home with a speaking voice a couple of octaves lower that evening.<br />
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To be clear, while Morgiana is an attractive woman – and I should know, because I’m still dazzled – her bellydancing is not in-and-of itself sexual. She’s a storyteller, and that’s what comes through first and foremost. Her ability to communicate narrative via dance is impressive. This turned out to be my introduction to the world of Pittsburgh’s bellydance community, which is thriving all around us, and she’s a wonderful practitioner. She gracefully spins tales of silk road folklore smoother than satin, and I was impressed enough to ask Morgiana for her contact information. I wanted to see more!<br />
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She gave it to me, but for various reasons it would be a while before I witnessed this whirling dervish again. Only chance allowed me to recognize her too, since she was in the guise of a not-so-secret identity… </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">She's the one on the left!</td></tr>
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ALMOST TWO YEARS later, at the <a href="http://www.toonseum.org/" target="_blank">ToonSeum</a>’s semi-annual fundraiser KA-BLAM! on the South Side, I was having a grand time with friends and comrades in ink. It was a bright and festive event replete with bright artwork, music by local DJ and musician <a href="http://www.zomboworld.com/" target="_blank">Zombo</a>, balloons, and cosplayers. The first thing you saw when you got there were the “security guards” dressed as Empirical Stormtroopers. It was <i>that </i>kind of gathering.<br />
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There were other costumed folks in attendance too, including two ladies dressed as Wonder Woman. Somehow I ended up on the dance floor with one of them, and she was a lot of fun! Wherever she went during the night, I tried to keep track of her in the least stalker-like way possible. There was something familiar about her, but I couldn’t quite place it. I may have even asked her if we’d met before, but she couldn’t think of where or when, so I just chalked it up to errant vibes and pending intoxication. </div>
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Several dances and drinks later it finally hit me. In mid-sentence I blurted out, “Oh! You were the belly dancer at that wedding a couple of years ago!” She needed reminding of which wedding that was, because she did that a lot, but I was right – it was Morgiana. The Gods of Olympus had seen fit to allow our paths to cross once more. This time I managed to hang onto her magic lasso, and she hasn’t been able to get rid of me since.<br />
<br />
In the years since, I’ve watched her perform at all kinds of venues across the city, from hookah bars to festivals, and she always gives it her all. Sometimes she uses props such as veils or scarves or fans to beautiful effect, and sometimes she dances on overturned goblets with a focus that will hush observers. But it always comes down to sheer determination and hours upon hours of disciplined practice.<br />
<br />
I’ve also seen her display a range of talents that can only be described as exhaustive. For one, her balloon sculpture is quirky and inventive and charming. How many people do you know in your day-to-day life who literally conjure up fantasies out of thin air? Give her a tank of air and a bag of balloons and watch her make kids of all ages laugh for hours. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">Pittsburgh Fire Girl in Katz Plaza, Downtown<br />
Photo by M.L.Walker</td></tr>
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Morgiana, also known as Pittsburgh’s Fire Girl (<a href="https://twitter.com/PghFireGirl" target="_blank">@pghfiregirl</a>) can be found regularly Downtown at Katz Plaza, as well as other areas of the city, lighting up the night for theater and art gallery patrons. Are you right now recalling seeing a young lady eating fire somewhere Downtown, maybe when you went to a show at the Benedum Theater, or during the Saint Patrick’s Day festivities (when everyone around is as flammable as can be)? Yup, that was probably her. It’s especially amusing to watch kids of all ages gather around and stand transfixed as she does what she does. That happens every time. And she has yet to singe a single hair on a viewer's head.</div>
<div>
<br />
In her real-life as Kristin, she’s also a seasoned stage props designer who regularly creates delightful pieces for <a href="http://www.drama.cmu.edu/" target="_blank">Carnegie Mellon University</a>’s drama department. I’ve had the opportunity to go behind the scenes and witness the transformation of a roomful of the most disparate of items you can imagine into stunning works of art. One of my all time favorites was the full-size elephant gun she created. It was at least as tall as her and it looked marvelous both on stage and up close. There have been other examples of her ingenuity too, everything from purple bathtubs to oversized poppies, to lighted walking staffs, and they all display Morgiana’s penchant for transforming the mundane into the magical.<br />
<br />
She’s pretty freaking talented. And where all of these talents get to shine best is her storytelling.<br />
<br />
A couple of months ago, Morgiana/Kristin, as the founder and director of the performance troupe <a href="http://moquettevolante.org/" target="_blank">Moquette Volante</a>, began an original series of events under the banner <i>TEA, TALES and TAKSIM</i>. At each gathering, she invites other talented folks from the region to join her as they each perform in unique styles and ways. Some use music and instruments, some use dance, some use spoken word, some use props and humor, and Kristin encourages them all to give their all. Being one to put her money where her spoken-words are, she also engages the audiences with her trademark spontaneity. Honestly, I never really know what she is going to do at TT&T, but I always know she’s going to give it everything plus some.<br />
<br />
All these years later, and when she performs she still dazzles.<br />
<br />
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* * * * *</div>
<br />
The second all-new performance of <a href="http://mvdance.ticketleap.com/tea-tales/" target="_blank"><i>TEA, TALES and TAKSIM</i> is coming up this weekend, Saturday, February 6th at 2pm</a> at <a href="http://www.arnoldsteapittsburgh.com/" target="_blank">Arnold’s Tea on East Ohio Street on the North Side</a>. I heartily recommend you come check it out. It will be a fun, eclectic collection of offbeat characters plying their trades and bringing clever whimsy (and, at times, unexpected sentiment) to your day. If you’re like most folks, you could probably use it. I could. Also performing is local bellydance legend <a href="http://pittsburghbellydance.com/" target="_blank">Amethyst</a>, as well as the music of <a href="https://soundcloud.com/speak-life-storytellers/a-dichotomy-of-love" target="_blank">Langston Kelly Human DJ</a>. Plus there’s good food and tea included in the price of your ticket. That’s a win all-around!<br />
<br />
To tell the truth, Kristin doesn’t need a magic lasso to make you wonder how one woman can do it all. Even when she isn’t eating fire, she already has the fire of creativity burning inside of her. I may know how to draw, but Morgiana knows how to draw a crowd. As she says, it's all done "for your sick pleasure" and donations are appreciated. It's money well spent -- no one holds a candle to this lady. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Come watch her pour it on!</td></tr>
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<a href="http://mvdance.ticketleap.com/tea-tales/" target="_blank">Get your tickets</a> and I'll see you at Arnold's Tea on Saturday, folks!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***<i><a href="http://ki11erpancake.com/ap-collection/2015/3/26/kristin-ward" target="_blank">Listen to Kristin talk about her history on THE AP COLLECTION!</a></i>***</div>
</div>
</div>
Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-19912673625329001002016-01-26T12:29:00.000-05:002016-01-26T12:29:37.952-05:00"Love You, Black & Gold": An Open Love Letter to Pittsburgh<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of Downtown Pittsburgh from the West End Overlook<br />by Marcel L. Walker (that's me, folks!)</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
LAST WEEK I attended <a href="http://www.unionproject.org/love" target="_blank">an event at The Union Project in Highland Park in commemoration of the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday</a>. It was wonderful. The level of community participation was high, and by all accounts the event has grown bigger, better, and more popular with every one of its fourteen years. There was discussion, creative activities, singing, and food, all of which were shared in the spirit of fellowship. It was a truly uplifting event.</div>
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I participated in the love-letter writing activity. The organizers provided letterhead adorned with different quotes from Dr. King and gave us a prompt, written directly to the attendees, as an example of what we could write. The sample letter thanked us, told us that we were loved, and encouraged us to keep the world around us in mind as we moved forward. We were allowed to write to anyone we wanted to, which was surprisingly daunting. One of the organizers explained that an earlier participant had written a letter to the 1960's, which inspired me. This could be more abstract than just telling a single person how much I loved them. And it could be bigger.</div>
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Not wanting to be outdone, I chose to write a love letter to the City of Pittsburgh. The writing went on for two-and-a-half pages and only stopped when the food was served. What follows is a slightly-expanded upon version of that letter, which was debuted at the PAGE open reading series last night in Lawrenceville.</div>
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Dear Beloved Pittsburgh –</div>
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<br /></div>
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I really do love you. I want you to know that. I’ve
known you my entire life, and I know you better than any other place I could
hope to keep company with. It’s part romantic love – despite our age difference
– and part agape love, yet it’s all sincere. You run through me at least as
much as I run through you. So this is an attempt to put into words how I feel
about you.</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
It’s simple: I love you…but this relationship has
become complicated, or perhaps <i>conflicted</i>.
I need to address a couple of things with you, and this involves a little tough
love, but it always comes from the heart.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I love you because you gave me everything that
makes me who I am. You gave me family and friends and coworkers and fellow
artists…the list goes on and on.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I’ve been sheltered and comforted and supported here,
and all of my best days happened with you. I’ll always be grateful for that and
I expect even more of them. I love you and when you’re great, you’re fantastic…but
you’re <i>far</i> from perfect.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
You can’t control the weather and I’ve come to
accept that and chalk your moodiness up to part of who you are. That’s life,
right? My favorite color is yellow (which makes me <i>Black</i> and Gold, I suppose!) while yours is gray, and we make it
work. I’ve also come to accept there will always be potholes, construction and
traffic. We all have ups-and-downs; we all are re-inventing ourselves; we all
have someplace to be.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But you’re not exactly fair to everyone, and you
know it. You’ve treated me pretty well over the years – better than a lot, not
as good as some, but I can’t really complain – but I notice your favoritism more
and more as I get older. There are a lot of people you aren’t as loving towards
with no good reason, and you have to know that.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
You need to watch your emotions and better protect
your citizens. We need far fewer casualties. You also need to make more
opportunities for people who aren’t doing so well. Give more Black folks more
of what they need to build their lives up. And women folks. And young folks.
And artists. Frankly, you need to get more demonstrative with the affection.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The people have been leaving because they’re
feeling unloved and it’s on <i>you</i> to
turn that around.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
You see, I know you have lots of pretty hills, but
we need a more level playing field. And the kind I’m talking about doesn’t require
you to demolish a stadium to make room for it.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I <i>do</i>
still love you. I swear I do. That’s why I’m asking so much from you. You don’t
need to be perfect – but you do need to live up to your potential.</div>
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<br /></div>
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You’ve done it before when you knew you needed to
change. You got some work done here and there, and you’re still willing to go
under the jackhammer to look pretty. It pays off almost every time (even if you
make <i>us</i> pay for it too often). And
when you decided to stop smoking, started attending <i>all</i> of the schools, then got into medicine? Look how that’s paid
off! You can make a smart decision when you try.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
So now, I’m asking you to make some smart
decisions for all of the little folks like me who need to know that you care
about them. You’re not always the best at saying it like you mean it...I
suggest you put up a few more billboards. (The nice new ones with the lights
that change messages. Pull out all the stops like it’s Valentine’s day!)</div>
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<br /></div>
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I expect even more beautiful days from you for
everyone here. I know you can make them come to pass.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Because I love you – and I know you love me.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We’ve got this.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I love you!</div>
<br />- “<i>Black </i>& Gold”<div>
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* * * * *</div>
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There were similar events in town last Monday, and they continued in the days to come.</div>
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There was <a href="http://kelly-strayhorn.org/events/east-liberty-celebrates-mlk-2016/" target="_blank">another MLK Jr Day celebration at the Kelly Strayhorn Theater in East Liberty</a>, then on Saturday there was <a href="https://summitagainstracism.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">the 18th annual Summit Against Racism at the Pittsburgh Theological Seminary</a>, as well as a special community showing of <a href="http://eastofliberty.com/" target="_blank">Chris Ivey's immensely powerful documentary series EAST OF LIBERTY</a>, again at the Kelly Strayhorn Theater. I attended the latter, and spoke to folks who had attended both. There is a palpable sense that much-overdue change is the air, begging to occur, and the time to see it happen is right now.</div>
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And on a very personal note, it was just nice to be out at events where there were mixed crowds of all kinds of people. I'm pretty darn sure that's what Dr. King talked about so fervently. And despite what certain media outlets would have you believe, Black people really do make up a sizable portion of Pittsburgh's population. (Yeah, that's right, <a href="http://thoughtinmind.blogspot.com/2015/07/36-hours-in-pittsburgh-and-lifetime-in.html" target="_blank">I'm <i>still </i>looking at you New York Times</a>. We have unfinished business...) And we can all get together and be productive without it turning into a free-for-all, even while discussing some really intense subjects. We can have hard discussions if there's mutual respect involved.</div>
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If you see an event of this type pop up here - or anywhere in America, really - I encourage you to take a trip and go get involved. There's the notion that unless one is expending blood, sweat, tears and fears toward a cause at every opportunity then they aren't invested in it. I'd like to dispel that line of thinking and reassure anyone reading this that the pen - any the keyboard - are still immeasurably mightier than the sword.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So go use it to write a love letter and kick someone you care about in the pants.</div>
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Let's level the playing field so we can start playing together.</div>
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I suggest we re-build that field East of Liberty.</div>
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Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-55768739668619847902015-11-11T09:00:00.000-05:002015-11-11T09:00:01.977-05:00Marko<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfaLhkhrM0rrB2RuVC_8N7iTM0dmQCQ0QDCHKTqxL4H-RTE1ptH8_rotAHgPI1tyzpePkOa-l0CT6gBPziAyXirqsuZVc2BWDho-yU6F_AhcDiGWeyzrcOWMh40h08htR1dRk1u389gbo/s1600/2015-11-08_Marko_Cropped_SMALL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfaLhkhrM0rrB2RuVC_8N7iTM0dmQCQ0QDCHKTqxL4H-RTE1ptH8_rotAHgPI1tyzpePkOa-l0CT6gBPziAyXirqsuZVc2BWDho-yU6F_AhcDiGWeyzrcOWMh40h08htR1dRk1u389gbo/s320/2015-11-08_Marko_Cropped_SMALL.jpg" width="269" /></a>ONE EARLY EVENING several years ago, when I was still living with my family in Oakland, I walked towards the storefront district along Forbes Avenue. I don't recall what for. I may have been headed to the 24-hour drug store, or the local music store where my sister worked, or any other number of places. I don't remember exactly which street I was on either, although it was one along the Fifth and Forbes corridor near the hospitals. I also don't remember a small item falling unnoticed from my bag.<br />
<br />
What I do remember in very exacting detail is hearing a voice, a child's voice, calling out to me above the din of Oakland's street and sidewalk traffic. I was so focused on getting to wherever I was going that I hadn't heard this at first. I turned to make sure it was me being hailed, and there was a little boy, no more than four or five years old, running down the hill after me. (For those who live outside of Pittsburgh, everything here is on a hill.) In his outstretched hand was my umbrella (for the sake of expedience, we're going to say the item was an umbrella), and he continued to call to me, with a slight Chinese accent, "Sir! Sir!"<br />
<br />
Just up the street from him was a lady, presumably his mother, who had presumably just told him to run after me and deliver it back. I knelt down and he handed it to me. I thanked him and smiled, then watched him turn and run back up to her. I waved my thanks and she smiled back. Then the two of them continued on their way and I went mine, amused and touched that the woman would trust her child to be safe enough to allow them both to grant me that small act of kindness.<br />
<br />
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The entire exchange took maybe twenty seconds and I never saw that mother and her son again (that I'm aware of), but I remember it clearly. I've thought often of the two of them and wondered where their life paths took them. I've also considered how there are people you can see regularly for days or even years, like school mates and coworkers, and then forget their names and faces once contact is broken. Conversely, sometimes the briefest of encounters can leave an impression that lasts a lifetime. Not just traumatic or dramatic encounters, but the quiet, nondescript ones. Such interactions might seem random and unpredictable but I don't think that's the case.<br />
<br />
When we remember those small interactions with people, there is often something embedded in the exchange that is important for us to have. We may not realize what the meaning is for days or even years afterwards, but in time that comes to us.<br />
<br />
We just have to be patient.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * *</div>
<br />
I HEARD STORIES about Marko quite some time before I met him, as happens with most local legends. He was at the hub of a network of new buddies my friend J.F. had made. They were all significantly younger than either of us, so J.F. was affectionately nicknamed "Mom" and she told innumerable stories of "her kids." The stories of her biggest kid were almost always delivered with laughter.<br />
<br />
Mark (I don't know where he got the "o") was an Armed Forces veteran, and he currently worked as a bartender. They had met through friends while out drinking and eventually gotten absorbed into each others' networks. J.F. adopted a lot of the group into her life and home, and Marko took up immediate squatters' rights. He often raided the refrigerator and destroyed the bathroom, and could be found at her house for Sunday dinners where he would devour the meatloaf in seconds. He <i>loved </i>fruit snacks, a fact that I personally appreciated even before we met.<br />
<br />
He also infamously rained attention on the women present, whether they wanted him to or not. Depending on your sense of humor, those stories were either funny, disturbing, or both. Along these lines, he had pretty consistent success with the ladies. What emerged from the stories was an almost mythic figure, the Statue of Arrested Puberty, who usually left people chuckling while shaking their heads.<br />
<br />
When I finally got to meet him in person, at a Christmas-time get together at J.F.'s place, it was like meeting a celebrity. He entered the house in very loud and unmistakable fashion. A few years older than most of the others - but still a good fifteen years my junior - he was obviously the center of a lot of their attention and the big brother of the kids. They all knew him. He was tall, strong, and absurdly, cartoonishly handsome. He exuded brash confidence and was at the same time incredibly childlike, even immature.<br />
<br />
He blew into the house, speaking a mile a minute, and introduced himself while grabbing a plate of food. He excitedly talked about his plans for the night, then left...then eventually returned with a pretty girl on his arm. Then he spoke of more plans, and was gone again. I left before he returned, but I presume he followed through and made the most of his night out. That seemed like the kind of person he was.<br />
<br />
Marko was everything I was warned about, to such a degree that I almost instantly forgot he was a veteran. It just didn't jibe with this public persona. He was loud and crass, full of energy and unavoidable. Maybe even borderline obnoxious. Still, you really couldn't help but like the guy: he <i>was </i>funny and very friendly. He was their resident rock star and he basked in it.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Everyone in their circle of friends loved Marko. From what I heard, he took a liking to me as well.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * *</div>
<br />
IT'S IMPORTANT TO note that I can pinpoint exactly how often Marko and I crossed paths. It was eight times. We hadn't entered the level of friendship where people lose track of how often they see each other, even taking it for granted they will see each other again soon. But all it took was our initial introduction to put us on one another's radar.<br />
<br />
We saw each other twice at parties at J.F.'s, another time for one of her well-attended Sunday dinners, four times at his workplace, and once in Lawrenceville, not far from my house, down by the 40th Street Bridge. Each instance saw a rise in his enthusiasm when he saw me, which I have to admit surprised and charmed me. I didn't consider myself much of a presence in his world, at best existing on the periphery of his friendships. That was probably still the case. Regardless, he greeted me with gusto, which seemed to just be his way, and it was impossible not to reciprocate.<br />
<br />
When I dropped by for Sunday dinner, he and several of the others were outside on the sidewalk chilling, and the second he saw me approaching he got incredibly excited. "Marcel is here!" he shouted. He pulled the screen door to the kitchen open and hollored inside, "Hey J.F., <i>Marcel </i>is here! Quick, get him a chair to sit on!" I don't embarrass easily, but it's funny to have the star of the show make a fuss over you just <i>because</i>.<br />
<br />
One evening I was invited to a happy hour social mixer at the piano bar he tended bar at. As usual, he greeted me and my girlfriend with joy and let us know he would take care of us no matter what. There was the immediate feeling he meant this when he said it. It wasn't just him being a good employee; if he knew you, he was looking out for you. "Come see me," he said, and he'd admonish you if you got drinks from another bartender or server.<br />
<br />
I watched him that night. He also loomed large over the landscape of his workplace, but in a different way than in social settings. He was a GREAT worker. He had hustle and the respect of his coworkers. That became evident as they followed him, listened to his instructions without question, and he got business taken care of. After having seen him be so incredibly silly at J.F.'s gatherings, it was refreshing to see this side of Marko. This was the adult who laid dormant beneath his facade of tomfoolery, and I developed a new respect for him that night. It changed my perception of him in an important way.<br />
<br />
The warm and sunny day I saw him in Lawrenceville, a friend and I had gone to have lunch down by the 40th Street Bridge and take advantage of the weather. When we were leaving, a parked car honked at us. I presumed it was one of my friends and just couldn't see through the windshield to make out who it was. Once I got close enough to see it was Marko and his girlfriend, I remember feeling my first buzz of true personal affection. As short and sweet as it was, this was our one encounter that wasn't anticipated or hindered by friends or work. Just two people genuinely glad to see one another.<br />
<br />
He had a helping hand in tricking me into arriving at his workplace for a surprise birthday party a couple of months ago, and he played his part perfectly. I arrived under the auspices of getting J.F.'s keys from him to bring back to her at her workplace so she and I could go to dinner. At first he seemed confused (as I found out later, he wasn't aware of all the details of the cover story) and told me to stay at the bar and he'd be right back. He returned a moment later with car keys, and asked me to follow him and he'd show me "where it was." I was confused. J.F. had mentioned nothing about a car. Where was he taking me...?<br />
<br />
He was taking me across the bar where a gathering of my friends sat around decorated tables, hidden beneath the glare of the lights. Everyone laughed, because they totally got me. Marko grabbed me by the shoulders, laughing that it had all come together so well.<br />
<br />
It looked and felt like this:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5cQfZvX09WkJ90b6951Q3ESzdS6F35BHpJrGqlP3FyJYVInrnAH3YBqmo6TCWfvlc9ntoNribpMxY75wgKN73TfjxK-fQr_y9V0CKFVzSG_laHS6zrDHa8Ck19KDBTLiPtYPZ-a1nXmw/s1600/12189970_10153714457608094_8551491412286323902_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5cQfZvX09WkJ90b6951Q3ESzdS6F35BHpJrGqlP3FyJYVInrnAH3YBqmo6TCWfvlc9ntoNribpMxY75wgKN73TfjxK-fQr_y9V0CKFVzSG_laHS6zrDHa8Ck19KDBTLiPtYPZ-a1nXmw/s320/12189970_10153714457608094_8551491412286323902_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Dave Meyers</td></tr>
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As blurry as he is shown here, this is still a perfect Marko photo. This captures his personality and humor and spontaneity just as it was. I'm incredibly happy it exists.<br />
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This is one of him, J.F. and me together that same night.</div>
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<br />
All smiles. That's how you like to remember your friends.<br />
<br />
A few months ago, he moved in with J.F. and helped strengthen the family ties that were already apparent within their circle of friends. I wasn't visiting so much, but by all accounts there was a lot of merriment and craziness - and maybe some intermittent groping - had by all. I know that he also valued J.F.'s counsel and held her in very high regard. For her part, she took pride in his baby steps toward belayed maturity.<br />
<br />
And even as I write that, I want it perfectly clear that he <i>was </i>mature when he needed to be. He did the things that everyone does. He loved and laughed and played (he played really freaking hard...they call it "getting Marko-ed!" now), but I'm sure he hurt and cried and had his troubles. I was not a close friend and am sure he wasn't perfect by any means because no one is. But people with larger-than-life personas often just keep soldiering on when they're in pain and hope no one sees it too closely.<br />
<br />
I saw him most recently at this same workplace just under three weeks ago (the guy had a lot of jobs -- he wasn't lazy) where I gathered with a small group of friends for a night out just to have something to do. He was his usual charming and busy self, and he looked fine and happy and healthy, and maybe just a little bit tired. I asked our waitress to let him know we were there and say hi for us; a short time later he magically appeared beside our table to greet us in person. He hugged me before stepping back behind the bar, and we said goodbye when we left several hours later. It was a completely inauspicious evening.<br />
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* * * * *</div>
<br />
THERE COULD ONLY be one Marko, and sadly he passed away last week at age 29.<br />
<br />
It was sudden and unexpected and painful for everyone at the epicenter of his world. I got the news from J.F.'s sister last Monday morning, and I experienced a moment of dislocation as the words filtered in. <i>She couldn't have meant the same Marko who is J.F.'s roommate, could she? The loud kid? The bartender? Not that guy. It must be someone else.</i> But it wasn't.<br />
<br />
I got to her house a little later, and she was still there, tired, saddened, and in shock. She was the one who had last spoken to him the previous day, and she was the one who discovered he had passed. She was the one who had to make all of the heartbreaking phone calls which no one should have to make. Their close friend J.R. was also there and the pain and grief between them was thick and palpable. All I could do was be present and listen. Just like that, their ever bright rock star had flickered out and dimmed forever, and nothing I said was going to change that reality.<br />
<br />
The news hadn't hit me in the same way. Frankly, I'm still more incredulous at the swiftness of his passing than anything else. That handsome, healthy, ridiculous veteran is gone and I want to ask someone, <i>are you sure?</i> It just doesn't feel right. Why here and why now? As I sat with them, I tried to think of all the times I'd seen Marko and came up with eight, a number which I could measure our abbreviated friendship by. He'd left a notable impression in the course of eight encounters, and I searched them all for a common thread of meaning. What held them all together?<br />
<br />
Then I remembered the little boy who had run up to me and handed me my umbrella a decade or more ago. A young man who is now probably in his late teens or early twenties, who possibly has no recollection of me at all...or maybe he does. Maybe he clearly remembers running after a smiling Black man after his mother told him to return the man's umbrella. I remember things from when I was that little, so it's possible he did too.<br />
<br />
It's not quantity that makes our memories of people count. It's quality. And often it involves giving something of yourself that can stand the test of time.<br />
<br />
I told J.F. and J.R. about the little boy and how I've retained those twenty seconds of interaction for years. I likewise had known Marko for only eight interactions, but there was and is no way he'll be forgotten by me. J.F. had known him about a year and shared living space with him for a couple of months, and now his spirit will be tattooed on her heart forever.<br />
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* * * * *</div>
<br />
MARKO WASN'T PERFECT, and that bears repeating. But he didn't need to be. He belonged to family and friends, and was able to turn friends into the family he needed. When it's all said and done, he got one last hug goodnight from someone who cared for him unconditionally, and went to sleep knowing he was loved.<br />
<br />
He was an adolescent of a man who had life experiences we'll never know and will now miss others it would have been nice to share with him. He's gone, just like that. But you can't have led a life as big as his and not remain in the world in the ways that matter.<br />
<br />
He is still loved. That will undoubtedly continue.<br />
<br />
I'll think of him from time to time when I tear into a pack of fruit snacks, or when I walk down by the 40th Street Bridge, and I'll make an effort to remember him on Veteran's Day. There is no telling the toll his service to our country took on him, and he probably should have been thanked more frequently for it. He provided an umbrella of protection for us; it would have been nice for him to have stayed with us long enough to give it back to him.<br />
<br />
So thanks for soldiering on as long as you did, Marko. Your service and friendship was and remains appreciated. You were a hard worker, and a good guy, and you were thoroughly ridiculous.<br />
<br />
We <i>need </i>more ridiculousness in the world.<br />
<br />
At ease, sir.<br />
<br />
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***** ***** *****</div>
<br />
In memory of loved ones who lived to serve others, we invite you to come out on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/1574963729390922/" target="_blank">Saturday, November 14th to LUVFEST</a>, an annual fundraiser benefiting the <a href="https://www.pittsburghfoodbank.org/" target="_blank">Greater Pittsburgh Community Food Bank</a>. This year's event will take place at <a href="http://mostwantedfineart.com/" target="_blank">Most Wanted Fine Art</a> on Penn Avenue. The theme is "LOTTO" because life is like a lotto -- when people care enough to support you when you need it, you've got a winning ticket!<br />
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Today more than ever we've got to live to LUV!<br />
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Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-80444643226197960062015-11-01T21:00:00.000-05:002015-11-02T02:34:00.846-05:00#Burghosphere and BoldPittsburgh.com<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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This November is National Blogging Month (which I didn't know was a real thing until someone told me, so woo-hoo!), and THOUGHT IN MIND has been asked to participate in <a href="http://mostwantedfineart.com/2014-events-at-mwfa/best-of-the-burghosphere-2015/">The Best of Burghosphere</a>, an awards event that celebrates the best of Pittsburgh-based bloggers doing what they do best. It's all the brainchild of <a href="http://mostwantedfineart.com/">Most Wanted Fine Art</a> in Bloomfield, which supports the arts locally in more ways than can be mentioned in one brief post. So we'll just have to follow up with a longer one at some point!<br />
<br />
Anyway, I was asked to designate an award for another one of the participant blogs - <a href="http://www.boldpittsburgh.com/">BoldPittsburgh.com</a> - and say why I'm nominating them for this award.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
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<i>BOLD Pittsburgh</i> is a group of young (or at least younger than <i>me</i>) Pittsburghers touting all of the best of our city - our food, our entertainment, our relationships, our events, with a little dash of snark to level things out - and my favorite page is their <a href="http://www.boldpittsburgh.com/about/">"About Us" page</a>. I'm not kidding.<br />
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Because they're freaking beautiful. Don't believe me? Go hit up that link and see. I'm thinking they aren't calling <i>enough </i>attention to themselves. It's okay, that's what I'm here for folks.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_K0GzJLcrE_rb7t4tVpFPJU7A7y79p082jhldYeo3XUHUGKTmA-PcLzDxc6vDfwAQ4o0N7rdte0YIZtXmwcHnXDTqHycrtDmPbc6qsZgAKdSmux2vq0-yaRIynYWCIaUSYnlGJ3lxxXl/s1600/BOLDlogo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_K0GzJLcrE_rb7t4tVpFPJU7A7y79p082jhldYeo3XUHUGKTmA-PcLzDxc6vDfwAQ4o0N7rdte0YIZtXmwcHnXDTqHycrtDmPbc6qsZgAKdSmux2vq0-yaRIynYWCIaUSYnlGJ3lxxXl/s1600/BOLDlogo.jpg" /></a>The rest is fun too: sharp, quick, witty and to the point. They let you know fast what's out there, what you should be experiencing, and why you should be doing so. I also liked their <a href="http://www.boldpittsburgh.com/new-blog-1/2015/9/27/emotionally-unavailable"><i>Snark Princess</i> post entitled "Emotionally Unavailable"</a> because I'm in touch with my own emotions, and I'm readily available. (Did you read that, BOLD staff? Call me. You won't regret it. ;^D )<br />
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<i>BOLD Pittsburgh</i> is hereby nominated for the "Bold & Beautiful in the Burgh!" Award. Because...<i>damn</i>. Look at them! (And read them too. Beauty is more than monitor deep.)<br />
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* * * * * *</div>
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Please come out to <a href="http://mostwantedfineart.com/">Most Wanted Fine Art</a> and help them celebrate the art of blogging all month long! The festivities kick off on Friday, November 6th as their latest exhibit <a href="http://mostwantedfineart.com/pittsburghartgallery/november-blogger-art-and-awards/">The Art of Blogging</a> debuts during this month's Unblurred Gallery Crawl from 6-10pm. This one is free too...and you'll get to see some artwork by some of your favorite local bloggers like *cough-cough* me! The exhibit will be up throughout the month of November too, so you have no excuse not to see it.<br />
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There will be two awards ceremonies you can attend (<a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/1493137477664147/">a 21+ event on Friday the 20th</a>, and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/1022587257773465/">a family-friendly event on Sunday the 22nd</a>) where there will be refreshments, entertainment, and more for the suggested donation of $5. You can't go wrong, and if you <a href="http://burghosphere.brownpapertickets.com/">buy a shirt it's your ticket</a> to the awards!<br />
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Come on out and celebrate #Burghosphere folks. Be BOLD, Pittsburgh!</div>
Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-25861050600662691622015-07-16T08:00:00.000-04:002015-09-10T12:58:11.496-04:0036 Hours in Pittsburgh (and a Lifetime in America)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Portrait of the author <span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">as a malcontent</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">in </span><span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">the audience.</span></div>
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Let's consider this an open message to the editors of the New York Times.<br />
<br />
I'm a lifelong resident of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and currently reside in the neighborhood of Lawrenceville. I've got friends and acquaintences all over this city, and I can say with pride that I've curated a pretty eclectic, multi-faceted group. A lot of them are movers and shakers, creatives and business owners, and it was through this network I found out a few months ago you were planning to do a little travelogue-type piece on our town.<br />
<br />
I was really looking forward to it, and <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2015/07/19/travel/what-to-do-in-36-hours-in-pittsburgh.html" target="_blank">having now seen <i>36 Hours in Pittsburgh</i></a> I can say with pride that you really make a number of our local destinations shine. I've been to many of these restaurants, businesses, and art spaces and love them. Lawrenceville is (heavily) referenced, and since I live right around the corner from a lot of the places shown, I have a very personal appreciation for what you managed to showcase.<br />
<br />
Here's my question though: where are the Black people?<br />
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Seriously, in a city with a 26% Black population (that's <a href="http://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/42/4261000.html" target="_blank">a quarter of the local populace</a>, which is <a href="http://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/00000.html" target="_blank">double the national average</a>), you're going to tell me there wasn't a single place owned, operated by, or even <i>employing</i> African-Americans that merited mention? None were interviewed at all, even just to comment on the city, and only two are shown briefly onscreen (a bicyclist who flies across the screen at the 0:09 mark, and another shown later at 5:01 drinking at a bar, for a combined screen time of less than three seconds in a six-minute video). I'm pretty sure that in thirty-six hours in Pittsburgh, it's likely you would run into <i>some </i>Black people.<br />
<br />
There are nine locales featured in the video: <a href="http://www.lagourmandinebakery.com/" target="_blank">La Gourmandine</a>, <a href="http://www.saltpgh.com/" target="_blank">Salt of the Earth</a>, <a href="http://www.curepittsburgh.com/#welcome-to-cure" target="_blank">Cure</a>, <a href="http://www.bicycleheaven.org/" target="_blank">Bicycle Heaven</a>, <a href="http://cityofasylum.org/" target="_blank">City of Asylum</a>, <a href="http://www.rowhousecinema.com/" target="_blank">Rowhouse Cinema</a> & <a href="http://atlaspgh.com/" target="_blank">Atlas Bottleworks</a>, <a href="http://www.arsenalciderhouse.com/" target="_blank">Arsenal Ciderhouse</a>, <a href="http://www.grapperiapgh.com/" target="_blank">Grapperia</a>, and <a href="http://www.thelivermorepgh.com/" target="_blank">The Livermore</a>. Several more are mentioned in the accompanying article, including <a href="https://www.wiglewhiskey.com/" target="_blank">Wigle Whiskey</a>, <a href="http://breadandsaltbakery.com/" target="_blank">Bread and Salt Bakery</a>, <a href="http://pageboypgh.com/" target="_blank">Pageboy</a>, and <a href="http://www.wildcardpgh.com/" target="_blank">WildCard</a>. Going by the math, it would have been representative to showcase at least a couple of Black-centric destinations. And just so it's clear, I'm not denouncing a single business referenced in the article or video. God bless those places for getting the coverage they did. I frequent a lot of them and still will. They're a large part of our city.<br />
<br />
But once more, <i>where are the Black people?</i> <br />
<br />
Here's the reason for this blog post: The New York Times credits six people altogether with the production of the article, photos, and video. I can verify you had at least three people, presumably the writer, the photographer, and a videographer, here in Pittsburgh touring the city. How? I saw them when I was attending Row House Cinema (<a href="http://thoughtinmind.blogspot.com/2015/01/row-house-cinema-sci-fi-fest.html" target="_blank">which I LOVE, by the way!</a>) on the day that segment was shot. If you pause the video at 3:59 and look at the fuzzy, brown/black African-American head in the upper-right of the screen...that's me. I swear.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/p_XGhjwDTQA" width="560"></iframe> <br />
<br />
What's funny is that at one point during the movie, one of the visitors walked up to the top tier where I sat alone and aimed his camera directly at me for several minutes. I acted casually and continued to watch the film, but I thought I would be a lock for inclusion. Not only had they picked up on my natural photogenic looks and ease before the camera, I was the only person of color present while they were showing BOYZ 'N' THE HOOD. I was representing! They <i>had </i>to include me right?<br />
<br />
And I guess they did, <i>technically</i>. There I am, blurred out and unrecognizable. So, I suppose Black people weren't left out of this entirely. We were just obscured to the point of not being worthy of acknowledgement.<br />
<br />
If the purpose of this video was to promote Pittsburgh as a lively, viable, attractive region to the NYT's audience, the absence of people of color brings up a question: would their presence have made Pittsburgh appear less lively? Less viable? Less attractive? The other videos in the <i>36 Hours In...</i> series span the globe, making me wonder if someone from Vilnius, Lithuania or Chengdu, China or Split, Croatia or Lima, Peru - all places featured in previous segments - saw your piece on Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, would they be surprised to see how many people of color live here?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Am I right or what? Someone get this<br />
guy a modeling contract!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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For that matter, would someone from New York be surprised? Were your reporters surprised...or did they even notice we were here? If so, one could never tell by that video. At all.<br />
<br />
Come back to Pittsburgh and interact with the Black people. And the Asian people. And the Mexican people. You may or may not have intentionally excluded people of color during your 36 hours here, but we've collectively had a lifetime in America to get used to being ignored. Now we're ready to be included. You can do better than this New York Times, and you owe us all a do-over.<br />
<br />
I'm still photogenic, and I'm ready for my close-up.<br />
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Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-18722274389647014622015-03-19T16:33:00.003-04:002015-03-19T16:45:16.778-04:00Neighbors In Heaven<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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TOMORROW IS FRED ROGERS' birthday, so he's been on my mind lately. (He would have turned 87.) I was one of millions of children who were blessedly raised on his long-running show MISTER ROGERS' NEIGHBORHOOD and I was faithful. I watched that show from the time I was around five years old until into my twenties. Even now I'll catch an episode here or there as a reminder of where I came from and how much I absorbed his lessons without even realizing it. I didn't know when I was little that the show was filmed right here in my hometown of Pittsburgh. Even now, knowing that something so important to so many people for so many years originated right here where I live remains a little stunning to me.<br />
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Last summer I was up late one night when I came across episodes of his show online. I watched one that I dimly remembered where he went to buy a new pair of dress shoes. He invited us along as he took a trip to visit a friend who owned Wagner's Shoe Store, and he bought a new pair. I paused wondering if this was the same store residing only a few blocks from my house in Lawrenceville. So at 1 in the morning, I pulled on my own pair of sneakers and walked over to see if my suspicions were correct. The facade has changed a lot over the years, so I had to do some more checking online to make sure, but yes, it's the same store. I was walking on the same ground that one of my earliest heroes had walked on.<br />
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I learned a lot from him. Today it occurred to me just how much I learned.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At WAGNER'S SHOE STORE in Lawrenceville in 1982.</td></tr>
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WHILE PASSING THE time at the laundromat this morning, I saw that other people were thinking about Fred Rogers too. <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/michael-g-long/is-mister-rogers-in-heaven_b_6880448.html" target="_blank">The Huffington Post posted an article today about him</a>, conjecturing over his place in Heaven. In my mind, the fact that he would be there is a foregone conclusion, but I was curious where this would lead. They explored his beliefs about Heaven and Hell and God's role in deciding where we end up when we die. Needless to say, Mr. Rogers was pretty consistent in his words and actions, both onscreen and off. While he may have taken us repeatedly to the Neighborhood of Make Believe, he also delivered honest doses of reality in equal measure.<br />
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The article concluded that Fred Rogers would have to now be in the Heaven that he believed in. The God that he spoke of believed in the best in people, no matter how poorly they acted. Everyone embodies potential in His eyes; He is the Great Appreciator, and there is room in his Kingdom for everyone. After all, He loves us just the way we are, and Mr. Rogers always preached that gospel.<br />
<br />
I wish I was as forgiving and charitable in my opinions of humankind as he was, but I'm not. I do believe that <i>some </i>people are truly evil. They are few and far between, thankfully, but I think there are some people who can not be reached by anything other than divine intervention, and they would probably be resistant to that too. This thinking coupled with my own Christian upbringing led me to believe for the longest time that in the afterlife a good spirit would go one place and an evil spirit would go somewhere else. Those places weren't defined by anything as pedestrian as clouds and fire, but there had to be some sort of delineation between where one would go.<br />
<br />
It just didn't seem logical to me that a person who had spent their life causing pain to others would be rewarded the same way as a person who had striven to be good. Because if that were so, what's the point in being good?<br />
<br />
Then I remember having a discussion about this at work one day, years ago, and a friend said, "I don't believe there is a Heaven or a Hell. I think that wherever you go afterwards, if anywhere, it's the same place." And you need to understand, this is someone I loved and respected a lot. So her statement perplexed me. She was far too intelligent a person for me to dismiss her reasoning, but it ran contrary to everything I believed. Could there be something I wasn't considering?<br />
<br />
In time I was actually able to reconcile my own beliefs with hers. I am still a Christian, and I believe that wherever our spirits go to when our bodies die - whatever level of existence that may comprise - it's the same place for everyone, and we retain who and what we were upon arrival. Much like Fred Rogers talked about, I believe it's a place where things open up for us and we get much more perspective on everything, like an ant that's been living in a balloon all its life. The balloon is (((POPPED!))) and suddenly...there's so much more.<br />
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And that's where you get to see what the effects of how you lived your life are. If you tried your best to do right by others, you'll see the magnitude of those unfolded blessings...and that will be your Heaven. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fred_Phelps" target="_blank">If you were selfish, and showed disregard for others</a>, you'll see that too...and that will be your Hell. In both cases, it will have been of your spirit's own making.<br />
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Imagine meeting Fred Rogers in that sacred place, seeing him for the truly special person he was, seeing all the good he did in his life by helping others. Imagine you've spent the blessing of your life bringing others down, then seeing the harm you've caused, and then meeting someone who did it all as correctly as humanly possible.<br />
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That would be Hell.<br />
<br />
And I'm imperfect enough to hope a number of people are there. That said, I know that Fred Rogers has long since forgiven them, because in Heaven that's just what you do.<br />
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I'M NOT AS gentle a person as Fred Rogers was, but he taught me well and I have my moments. I remembered one this morning.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ch_8IAtnFo9WoY2hvsTklf151NkOipSWs_LKRPCJ8nZ5-GQPYToGRj-6YOW07FsgdmVn5tO07JTp9EzSUHjS4dipebhNuME8n2Md29zvqZOqSbttJfxCSzcS9F30icUGOAgS_vc0Pr8q/s1600/20080219ho_fredrogers_330.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ch_8IAtnFo9WoY2hvsTklf151NkOipSWs_LKRPCJ8nZ5-GQPYToGRj-6YOW07FsgdmVn5tO07JTp9EzSUHjS4dipebhNuME8n2Md29zvqZOqSbttJfxCSzcS9F30icUGOAgS_vc0Pr8q/s1600/20080219ho_fredrogers_330.jpg" height="293" width="320" /></a>I was teaching a series of art classes in a neighborhood middle school as part of an outreach program. Two days a week I would go into classes with the kids and explain to them how I learned to create comic-books and tried to develop some rudimentary skills with them doing the same. Overall, they were good kids and I enjoyed the classes. Some of the students were a bit of a handful, but out in the grown-up world so are adults.<br />
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One day, my supervisor from the Pittsburgh Center of the Arts came to observe me at work at the school along with a colleague visiting from out of town. They sat quietly at the back of the classroom as I began my typical <i>talk-talk-talk-talk-DRAW</i> routine, walking through the rows of seated students as I did. One student was particularly wound up. He struck me as being hyperactive, and he and the regular teacher had an antagonistic relationship. While I talked, I could see him squirming and fidgeting, but I didn't want to stop and call him out as she often did. That seemed too disruptive.<br />
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What came next was so instinctive on my part that I forgot about it until it was mentioned to me later by my supervisor. I simply walked over to the boy and touched him on his head while I kept speaking. He immediately turned around, without a fuss, and became attentive for the rest of the class. When this was brought up with admiration by the supervisor, I realized it was a common method I had developed for getting the kids' attention when they acted up, and it usually worked. But it hadn't come out of nowhere.<br />
<br />
Using patience and attention to get people to settle down and behave. Thanks for that life lesson, Mr. Rogers.<br />
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I DO BELIEVE that most people, young and old the world over, are going through life trying to do the best they can. But some people are out there as touchstones of grace, and we need as many of them as we can find. Fred Rogers is gone, but thankfully his lessons live on in every single child who watched him for a half hour a day throughout the years. And even though Wagner's Shoe Store is still in business, you don't need to purchase a pair of their sneakers to walk a mile in Mr. Rogers' shoes.<br />
<br />
Several years ago, people across the country were encouraged to don cardigan sweaters on March 20th in recognition of <a href="http://bemyneighborday.org/" target="_blank">Be My Neighbor Day</a>, and that tradition continues. I invite you all to do the same tomorrow and at some point during the day take ten seconds to think of all the many people who have loved you into being the people you are, the people who thought that <i>you are special.</i><br />
<br />
As one of the people I will be thinking of once said, "May God be with you."<br />
<br />
He always is...and it's such a good feeling.<br />
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Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-20355916206969107032015-03-13T16:31:00.000-04:002015-03-14T05:55:59.601-04:00MISC. Thoughts 1: Phat Man Dee, Carolyn Belefski, Julie Sokolow<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I have gotten so far behind in helping to promote some friends with their recent projects that it's embarrassing. Let's start to chip away at the mountain of information I need to share with you about some amazing things happening here (and abroad) that you can participate in. I'd seriously be remiss in my artistic duties if I didn't tell you about these things. They span the arts - music, comic-books, and film - so there's something for everyone's interests.<br />
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So let's get started, okay?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Adam Blai</td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.phatmandee.com/" target="_blank">PHAT MAN DEE</a> is a local musician and, a<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">s
those who have seen and heard her perform live will attest, she's a powerhouse of vocal talent. Hailing from Pittsburgh, she
delivers her unique brand of multilingual cosmic cabaret jazz to the
masses, and is hoping to go global in sharing her gifts with the world
at large.<br /> <br /> She currently has <a href="https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/402781557/help-phat-man-dee-get-outta-tahn-and-document-the" target="_blank">a Kickstarter campaign</a> to tour abroad for the first time and document the experience. If you <span class="text_exposed_show">are
lucky enough to call her a friend, you'll want to get in on the ground
floor of this endeavor. Man Dee is tireless in supporting her friends
and their creative causes - as I vividly remember her doing at 2013's LUVFEST fundraiser for the Greater Pittsburgh Community Food Bank - let's all give back and help put her
campaign over the top (it's <i>REALLY</i> close) so she can share the best of Pittsburgh with the
world!</span></span></span></div>
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Follow her on <a href="https://twitter.com/phatmandee" target="_blank">Twitter</a> and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/PhatManDee" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and <a href="http://phatmandee.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">her blog</a>...and go <a href="http://www.reverbnation.com/phatmandee" target="_blank">check out her music</a>! </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Joe Carabeo</td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.carolynbelefski.com/blog/2015/2/24/curls-kickstarter-is-live" target="_blank">CAROLYN BELEFSKI</a> is a ridiculously talented and industrious cartoonist, illustrator, editor, podcaster, and freelance designer *whew!* from Washington, DC. She also manages to make time for incredibly important stuff, like organizing the first "Cartoonists Draw Blood" blood drive in Washington, DC with the American Red Cross. I first met Carolyn in 2010 at the inaugural Pittsburgh Indy Comics Expo (PIX) and I was even lucky enough to eventually get her to produce a gallery drawing for HERO CORP., INT'L #2.<br />
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Her funny and quirky webcomic <a href="http://www.curls-studio.com/curls/" target="_blank">CURLS</a> (updated every Monday) has garnered attention from fans and industry professionals, and <a href="https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/carolynbelefski/curls-the-ultimate-book-collection" target="_blank">she currently has a Kickstarter campaign to collect the entire run of CURLS into a single-volume book</a>. She's getting pretty close to her goal too. That's where <i>you </i>come in, art lovers!<br />
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If you haven't heard of Carolyn yet, this is where you should. She's ferociously talented, and she offers a whole lot of great incentives, so go support a cartoonist. Follow her on <a href="https://twitter.com/carolynbelefski" target="_blank">Twitter </a>and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Curls-Studio/50763422380" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and <a href="http://www.carolynbelefski.com/blog/2015/2/24/curls-kickstarter-is-live" target="_blank">her blog</a>...and <a href="http://www.previewsworld.com/Home/1/1/71/1264?articleID=160953" target="_blank">go read an interview with her</a>. She's vastly more interesting than I am!<br />
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<a href="http://www.juliesokolow.com/filter/documentary/Aspie-Seeks-Love" target="_blank">JULIE SOKOLOW</a> is a Pittsburgh based filmmaker with a new feature-length documentary that is making the rounds all across the country and beyond. <a href="http://aspieseekslove.com/" target="_blank">ASPIE SEEKS LOVE</a> tells the story of David Matthews - a writer/artist who was diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome at age forty-one - and follows him in his quest for true love across the hills and valleys of life, Pittsburgh and the internet.<br />
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The movie has garnered praise from VICE, The Huffington Post, and SALON just for starters, and it will be making its Pittsburgh debut later this month at the <a href="http://theaters.pittsburgharts.org/" target="_blank">Regent Square Theater</a> on March 26th.You can join director/producer Julie and the subject David to screen the film and for a Q&A session afterwards.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTqr7WIvr_LAbMdLrs7ouEbZH0pIoObt9RzIksaOhySz_40HFXzK8dQ5DbHiv4l3xbXrEs6uUAsnoAnr6apw0Nateyo7zbyd-WNeLl_6uXijySfz46QGFTmU0NaG-CoVInitHSnl_jKfMB/s1600/AspieSeeksLove-poster_JimRugg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTqr7WIvr_LAbMdLrs7ouEbZH0pIoObt9RzIksaOhySz_40HFXzK8dQ5DbHiv4l3xbXrEs6uUAsnoAnr6apw0Nateyo7zbyd-WNeLl_6uXijySfz46QGFTmU0NaG-CoVInitHSnl_jKfMB/s1600/AspieSeeksLove-poster_JimRugg.jpg" height="320" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Movie poster artwork by artist Jim Rugg.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And just to point out a couple more local connections to the film, local writer <a href="http://www.wayne-wise.com/" target="_blank">Wayne Wise</a> appears in it (he is a long-time friend of David's), and local artist <a href="http://jimrugg.com/post/113275411269/i-made-a-movie-poster-for-julie-sokolows" target="_blank">Jim Rugg drew the poster artwork</a>. So you have all kinds of reasons to go see ASPIE SEEKS LOVE now. <a href="http://www.eventbrite.com/e/aspie-seeks-love-pittsburgh-premiere-tickets-16086852208" target="_blank">Go get your tickets!</a><br />
<br />
Follow Julie on <a href="https://twitter.com/juliesokolow" target="_blank">Twitter </a>and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/aspieseekslove" target="_blank">Facebook </a>and <a href="http://www.juliesokolow.com/" target="_blank">her website</a>...and <a href="http://www.autismdailynewscast.com/film-documentary-aspie-seeks-love-documents-twenty-years-searching-true-love/22961/joworgan/2/" target="_blank">go read an interview with her</a>.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * *</div>
<br />
That's all for right now, but I have more fun things to share with you all very, very soon. Stay tuned, be good, and since tomorrow is Saint Patrick's Day (one of the reasons I wanted to get this posted, since everyone will be drinking tomorrow) please be safe. I'll catch you back here next week.<br />
<br />
Mondo love, friends!</div>
Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-42752795494417752622015-03-12T16:55:00.000-04:002018-09-05T02:21:42.019-04:00My Prince Setlist<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7TRYDx0iCeze2dlnvziEojG9_RKleDl90wczbFXpWfIh2Uyh8SlcqY7y2Ybbdoj1LDCUu7ij0wae_QIgWnrY_Xq2oLXXlF1Nx26B0Oo4H2DhZnS3b5ki9ws1lZou696Y9NnKFBmR5hGnE/s1600/2015-03-12_Prince_SMALL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7TRYDx0iCeze2dlnvziEojG9_RKleDl90wczbFXpWfIh2Uyh8SlcqY7y2Ybbdoj1LDCUu7ij0wae_QIgWnrY_Xq2oLXXlF1Nx26B0Oo4H2DhZnS3b5ki9ws1lZou696Y9NnKFBmR5hGnE/s1600/2015-03-12_Prince_SMALL.jpg" width="270" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCxoJzvxTnX_jAiwM0mDN8MDTiODKGRHsIeUBIUXW3TYhpmt01kl8nR41vmzz3Jkh9AXvn6dpKiYHhPVYc__ijphTtCBwOURj9RORkIJ2PKm0MOrES3vLGK0t1jm-O9JbjBkj7-WY7WSSj/s1600/RockRollHallofFame3-15-04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>It was brought to my attention a couple of days ago via a post on my Facebook wall that <a href="http://consequenceofsound.net/2015/03/prince-will-perform-spontaneous-concerts-across-the-us-beginning-next-week/" target="_blank">Prince will be performing a series of "pop-up" concerts in the United States this year, under the banner of his "Hit and Run Tour"</a>. And you know, that's pretty doggone cool. I haven't seen him live since 2004, and the notion that he might end up back here in Pittsburgh is something to look forward to.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.wayne-wise.com/" target="_blank">Wayne</a> made a joke about Prince performing in our living room, then asked me what songs would I include on the set-list if I had the opportunity to host such an event? I have to admit, the question gave me pause because I do loves me some Prince. I was a child of the 1980s, and vividly remember the buildup to his domination of the pop landscape of 1984. He has remained on my radar since, through highs and lows, and he's still in the game. His recent performance on Saturday Night Live (not to mention <a href="http://consequenceofsound.net/2015/02/snls-40th-anniversary-after-party-lasted-till-4am-featured-prince-paul-mccartney-and-taylor-swift-as-the-house-band/" target="_blank">his already fabled after-party performance following their 40th anniversary show</a>) cemented his reputation as a must-watch live entertainer.<br />
<br />
There is only one Prince. He's the only person on Earth over twelve years old allowed to use letters and numbers instead of words in his writing who I will still take seriously. So what if he <i>did </i>perform a concert in my living room? Quantum mechanics suggests the possibility of innumerable dimensions branching off from one another where anything that you could possibly conceive of as a reality exists. Therefore it is theoretically possible - I would even suggest it is likely - that a dimension and universe exist where Prince will be playing a short concert in my living room. That means I should be prepared if it turns out to be this one.<br />
<br />
I asked Wayne how long such a show would be, and he said one hour. Assuming I have a little latitude for applause time, encores and such, here's what I came up with. (I even created <a href="http://open.spotify.com/user/marcelwalker/playlist/2WzobLurTr1mXrRKSQYKuL" target="_blank">a playlist on Spotify</a>, if any of you are so inclined to listen along.) This doesn't reflect what I consider to be the Ultimate Prince Songs or even my Favorite Prince Songs (and trust me, I left off notable ones), but just what I think would be the most fun, eclectic mix to hear. I should also mention that I'm a bit of a control freak, and given a chance would even suggest orchestration and arrangements.<br />
<br />
Hey, this ain't Paisley Park. This is <i>my </i>house party and I'll rock it how I choose!<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwUG9osBi3Oc-br6vLIUjK39iDvqBD6mpLzUhrUHu5tj6MXh7-rTzrhGOVS-XK9Oeq3YzEXe_lfZ23lk2IlLGsSnwXcoVEnOpiwSms8HpQdf9vGoxXaEB3uiU-5sr-qryjivI2-IGNYIy5/s1600/PRINCE_SNLafterparty2015-02-16-at-9-08-39-am.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><i><b>MY NAME IS PRINCE (LOVE SYMBOL, 1992):</b></i> Prince’s early ‘90s retort to the bravado of gangsta rap still serves as a perfect opening performance salvo and personal purple mission statement. We wouldn't need the entire song either, because once declaration of the intent to funk has been made, it will be known that His Royal Badness has come to play and make us say his name.<br />
<br />
<i><b>LET'S GO CRAZY (PURPLE RAIN, 1984):</b></i> This. Is. The. JAM! If you are at all like me, you recognize the opening organ keynotes of this song instantly. Prince's effortlessly cool spoken sermon intro is like the Preamble to the Constitution of <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwUG9osBi3Oc-br6vLIUjK39iDvqBD6mpLzUhrUHu5tj6MXh7-rTzrhGOVS-XK9Oeq3YzEXe_lfZ23lk2IlLGsSnwXcoVEnOpiwSms8HpQdf9vGoxXaEB3uiU-5sr-qryjivI2-IGNYIy5/s1600/PRINCE_SNLafterparty2015-02-16-at-9-08-39-am.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Funk & Rock. Do I actually want to find his Purple Banana? Probably not...but oh no, let's go!<br />
<br />
<i><b>WHY YOU WANNA TREAT ME SO BAD (PRINCE, 1979):</b></i> For some reason when folks go and treat Prince so bad, he ends up treating us to some of his best music. This song has a wonderful early guitar solo that signals the decades of Minneapolis cool he would unleash on his adoring subjects. It also ends with another whirling guitar solo that would serve to spiral perfectly into the opening chords of the next song...<br />
<br />
<i><b>GUITAR (PLANET EARTH, 2007):</b></i> Probably the most sincere love note Prince has ever composed. It should be noted though that just because he loves his guitar, that doesn't mean he hasn't made it cry on occasion, as evidenced by the next song on the playlist. (See? I'm so clever!)<br />
<br />
<i><b>WHILE MY GUITAR GENTLY WEEPS (ROCK & ROLL HALL OF FAME, 2004): </b></i>Prince may be a tiny guy, but he towered over other rock luminaries at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Awards with his shimmering guitar work during this live performance. You could see they didn't even mind being upstaged. Anyone who had taken his musical prowess for granted over the years was hereby reminded that Prince can shred with the best of them. His guitar was likely weeping tears of joy by the end. For the sake of expedience, all he has to deliver for my concert is the solo.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/7INsVaR-S-w" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
<i><b>KISS (PARADE, 1986):</b></i> "You don't have to be beautiful to turn me on," Prince declares at the outset of this tune. If you've paid even the slightest bit of attention to his companions over the years, from Vanity to Anna Fantastic, you know this is hypocrisy to the highest degree. But in his defense, I can personally attest to an instance when someone beautiful did not merit a kiss from a charming Prince: when he performed this song in Pittsburgh in 2004, a parade of pretty local ladies were brought onstage to dance with him. As he pranced between them all, one determined gal motioned to try and get him to kiss her on the cheek.<br />
<br />
Lesser men would have certainly agreed. Prince however just smiled, wagged a finger and danced away, all the while still singing. I remember thinking, "Ouch! She just got dissed <i>onstage </i>by PRINCE!"<br />
<br />
Any ladies attending the concert in our living room will be restricted from such folly though. We aren't insured if your lips or feelings get burned.<br />
<br />
<i><b>7 (LOVE SYMBOL, 1992):</b></i> It would seem rude to invite Prince
to my house to perform a set and not include songs he would enjoy
playing. He loves to beckon audiences to sing along, and this one seems
designed for that express purpose -- he even kicks it off by going over
the infectious refrain for us, not once but twice. (He <i>really </i>wants
us to sing it!) With ample room to groove, I can’t imagine Prince not
having fun performing this. This Indian-tinged vision of Paradise will leave a smile on everyone's faces. And if Prince is happy, then we’ll all be
happy.<br />
<br />
<i>7</i> is also the seventh song in the set. I'm a perfectionist, so this makes me happy. <br />
<i><b><br />EROTIC CITY (B-SIDE, 1984):</b></i> In many respects, the unedited version of this song isn't as dirty as a lot of what is considered mainstream pop these days. Blunt? You bet, but it's also a pretty direct extension of Prince's image and libido at the time. That's not to say the royal wunderkind shouldn't have had his mouth washed out with soap for this. It's just so nasty it's great.<br />
<br />
<i><b>SHE'S ALWAYS IN MY HAIR (B-SIDE, 1985):</b></i> It's the lyrics that make this song so great. Listen to how resigned Prince is, even as he admits the titular love interest is, you know, <i>always </i>there. His tone is at once appreciative and annoyed, bemused while he muses. Maybe he should stay with her - heck she's along for the ride anyway no matter what - or maybe he should run away as fast as his high heels will carry him. You've got me. Normally applauding such emotional indecisiveness would be ill-advised, but in this case it's worth listening to him comb through his feelings.<br />
<br />
<i><b>PARTYMAN (BATMAN, 1989):</b></i> Even though it rarely is mentioned as a part of his discography these days, the incredibly successful BATMAN soundtrack album was hailed at the time as a “comeback” effort. In truth, Prince had never gone anywhere. I suspect audiences mostly liked his return to
straightforward Minneapolis-infused pop. This was really the track that
rocked the whole world – North, East and South – and if Candy Dulfer’s
horn comes blowin’ in from the West, then it really will be a party,
man!<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih-dmG8bjzpqQwbsupSO8D44s1tklqwrj6HKKSyX_q1ps1-ZuEQh5DOKAg4p2Vi4pl8pDFz45SfwMiVonw79EsNehcF6I6VkhKL5nG4kPBA-vflvb-lf95Qr_7LrWHuFyxR8CbebsoFmPz/s1600/Prince_TheMuppetShow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih-dmG8bjzpqQwbsupSO8D44s1tklqwrj6HKKSyX_q1ps1-ZuEQh5DOKAg4p2Vi4pl8pDFz45SfwMiVonw79EsNehcF6I6VkhKL5nG4kPBA-vflvb-lf95Qr_7LrWHuFyxR8CbebsoFmPz/s1600/Prince_TheMuppetShow.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, there was even a Prince muppet!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><b>STARFISH AND COFFEE (SIGN O' THE TIMES, 1987):</b></i> The polar opposite of <i>Erotic City</i>, <i>Starfish & Coffee</i> is such a sweet nursery rhyme of a song that one reviewer said it was fit to be performed on Sesame Street…and someone at Jim Henson's studios must have been inspired by the suggestion, because years later he did indeed perform the song <a href="http://s186.photobucket.com/user/PrinceRogersNelson7/media/Prince%20Videos/P_-_Starfish___Coffee_-_Muppets_Ton.mp4.html" target="_blank">on the revamped MUPPET SHOW</a>. My inner child always wants to sing along to this one in person.<br />
<br />
<i><b>17 DAYS (B-SIDE, 1984):</b></i> I possibly loved this track more than its famous A-side sibling <i>When Doves Cry</i>. The rolling guitar work echoes the refrain, "So, let the rain come down." Patience, loyal subjects, patience. We're almost there.<br />
<br />
<i><b>VENUS DE MILO (PARADE, 1986):</b></i> This short, under-appreciated instrumental would serve as a perfect chaser before reaching the *<i>ahem</i>* climax of the evening. The arrangement would lend itself nicely to a piano introduction into the next piece (hint-hint)…<br />
<br />
<i><b>PURPLE RAIN (PURPLE RAIN, 1984):</b></i> …In the movie, there’s a brief scene where Prince privately plays the opening chords of this on a piano prior to the full version onstage with the band. Because of that short moment, I have longed for a piano version of <i>Purple Rain</i> for years. I'm a child of the 1980s, and this was his ultimate song -- I couldn’t live knowing he didn’t play this in my house if the opportunity arose.<br />
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<blockquote cite="/raphael.deas/videos/10204220943833961/">
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Here is the original live recording of "Purple Rain" at 1st Ave!!<br />
Posted by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/raphael.deas">Raphael Deas</a> on Wednesday, July 2, 2014</blockquote>
</div>
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<br />
<br />
Now, assuming Prince indulges me with an encore (because I'm such a gracious host, of course), here's what I'd love to hear...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwUG9osBi3Oc-br6vLIUjK39iDvqBD6mpLzUhrUHu5tj6MXh7-rTzrhGOVS-XK9Oeq3YzEXe_lfZ23lk2IlLGsSnwXcoVEnOpiwSms8HpQdf9vGoxXaEB3uiU-5sr-qryjivI2-IGNYIy5/s1600/PRINCE_SNLafterparty2015-02-16-at-9-08-39-am.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwUG9osBi3Oc-br6vLIUjK39iDvqBD6mpLzUhrUHu5tj6MXh7-rTzrhGOVS-XK9Oeq3YzEXe_lfZ23lk2IlLGsSnwXcoVEnOpiwSms8HpQdf9vGoxXaEB3uiU-5sr-qryjivI2-IGNYIy5/s1600/PRINCE_SNLafterparty2015-02-16-at-9-08-39-am.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE 40 after-party<br />
with Jimmy Fallon.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i><b>A MILLION DAYS (MUSICOLOGY, 2004):</b></i> I really like Forlorn Prince. A lot. If it were the holiday season, I would make him perform <i>Another Lonely Christmas</i> ad nauseum, and that's about the only song in his oeuvre that sounds like he needs to get laid. Yeah, I like him pretty much defeated. <i>A Million Days</i> is great because it sounds like he screwed up and he knows it, and is begging for one more chance. I often loop this song, maybe hoping he'll be forgiven. Alas, Prince is always left a pauper at love.<br />
<br />
<i><b>DIAMONDS AND PEARLS (DIAMONDS & PEARLS, 1991):</b></i> For the most part, the songs on my chosen set-list are uptempo. If there is a thread of narrative to be found - someone out there has been treating Prince bad, making his guitar weep, getting into his hair, not answering his phone calls, etc. - I like to think of this song as the redemption to the affair where they KISS(!) and make up. The inimitable Rosie Gaines shares vocal duties with Prince on this song and it soars at its crescendo.<br />
<br />
<i><b>I COULD NEVER TAKE THE PLACE OF YOUR MAN (SIGN O' THE TIMES, 1987):</b></i> This is just me being greedy, but I love this song. At 10:35 on a lonely Friday night, the narrator is actively avoiding a one-night stand with a pretty hot mess, and it sounds like some pretty good judgment. Still, when you hear about the <i>last </i>guy this gal was with, I think Prince would measure up even without his heels. You don't have to take another man's place, Your Funky Highness <i>-- you are </i>the Man.<br />
<br />
So there you have it, folks. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to stop regaling you with purple prose and get to cleaning the house. If Prince decides to drop in unannounced while on tour, we'll need more room to accommodate him. Otherwise, we'll probably end up with a <i>Housequake</i>, and I don't want the neighbors pounding on the walls. I can practically hear them now...<br />
<br />
"Shut up already!" <i>DAMN!</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCxoJzvxTnX_jAiwM0mDN8MDTiODKGRHsIeUBIUXW3TYhpmt01kl8nR41vmzz3Jkh9AXvn6dpKiYHhPVYc__ijphTtCBwOURj9RORkIJ2PKm0MOrES3vLGK0t1jm-O9JbjBkj7-WY7WSSj/s1600/RockRollHallofFame3-15-04.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCxoJzvxTnX_jAiwM0mDN8MDTiODKGRHsIeUBIUXW3TYhpmt01kl8nR41vmzz3Jkh9AXvn6dpKiYHhPVYc__ijphTtCBwOURj9RORkIJ2PKm0MOrES3vLGK0t1jm-O9JbjBkj7-WY7WSSj/s1600/RockRollHallofFame3-15-04.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nothing compares 2 U, Prince. May U live 2 see the Dawn</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i> </i></div>
Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-9872510453817826962015-01-29T13:47:00.003-05:002015-01-30T09:06:49.955-05:00Row House Cinema: Sci-Fi Fest!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0HRpP9aMnz3iNfJvCMC96TmqHb037XQmiNAMxeCAa3tD2g0X9P39beuMSNk5Ec76pbQTUOu3V0H3FBPKBP-O4ZWAhAkk7VmrOnZHnHQVGgGKsIr0_vvGaR2ECHg3TCmKvi4_w9ZaaOXr/s1600/bg15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0HRpP9aMnz3iNfJvCMC96TmqHb037XQmiNAMxeCAa3tD2g0X9P39beuMSNk5Ec76pbQTUOu3V0H3FBPKBP-O4ZWAhAkk7VmrOnZHnHQVGgGKsIr0_vvGaR2ECHg3TCmKvi4_w9ZaaOXr/s1600/bg15.jpg" height="132" width="400" /></a>I live in Lawrenceville, right around the corner from <a href="http://www.rowhousecinema.com/" target="_blank">Row House Cinema</a>, so close in fact that if friends wanted me to join them there for a last-minute movie, all they need to do is shout my name from the front doors. They've been here for about a year, and I'm in love with this place. It's probably safe to say that I'm one of their "Norms" (as in, when I walk through the doors the staff usually greets me with "Marcel!"), which has its perks. Just like Norm, I have a favorite seat (if you've been there with me, you know which one), and just like Norm, the staff puts up with me lingering around when I should probably be doing other productive, constructive things.<br />
<br />
That last part is a joke. I fully consider time spent at Row House to be productive and constructive, and it definitely fuels me being creative at the drawing board. Case in point...<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Last October at the suggestion of numerous patrons, Row House had a
Robin Williams tribute week. I decided to make them a promotional poster
just <i>because</i>, which I gave them several days before that run of movies started. I didn't even necessarily expect them to use it, since they hadn't asked for one. Then the
first day that theme week began, <a href="http://www.wayne-wise.com/" target="_blank">Wayne (author, comic-book scholar, book & music critic, and all-around well-loved guy) Wise</a> sent me a photo of a fleet of posters
adorning the wall outside of their theater. I don't usually see my artwork displayed like that publicly, and it was a nice moment.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWGqO7INanYkXbUSSB4f3p6rNL34wODIEvgqQCX8_pNi5tC2XJVq1YsoLUEXfrw9CIUeSrHFsdx8utK5fbakJxHeb77CxAz5b9xtDhK1CW0RWa4RILz8VEBfwhy3iDiDgj3amWp74kMg75/s1600/DSC02569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWGqO7INanYkXbUSSB4f3p6rNL34wODIEvgqQCX8_pNi5tC2XJVq1YsoLUEXfrw9CIUeSrHFsdx8utK5fbakJxHeb77CxAz5b9xtDhK1CW0RWa4RILz8VEBfwhy3iDiDgj3amWp74kMg75/s1600/DSC02569.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They had to keep replacing these because folks kept taking them!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I told Brian, Row House's owner, to hit me up if they needed more original promotional art and he said they would. Brian is a very friendly and busy guy, so I didn't want to bug him about it. (It's a very narrow boundary between being the resident Norm Peterson and the resident Cliff Clavin.) But whenever I would look at their upcoming theme weeks it always inspired new ideas for posters. Given enough time and resources, I'd draw posters for them every week.<br />
<br />
Fast forward to last week. I was over there for a showing of SINGING IN THE RAIN when I bumped into Brian at the adjoining <a href="http://atlaspgh.com/" target="_blank">Atlas Bottle Works</a>. In a rush as always, he asked if I could draw them something for their upcoming SCI-FI FEST, which I'd just seen listed on their website. The catch was they needed it in only a few days for printing and distribution. Honestly, I always seem to have a ton of stuff to work on so it's not like I wasn't busy, but I also like a challenge. And I adore Row House. And the movies...BLADE RUNNER, CHILDREN OF MEN, THE IRON GIANT (which I absolutely love), PLAN 9 FROM OUTER SPACE, and TERMINATOR 2: JUDGMENT DAY...yeah, I had to do a poster.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVoDC69X0g7dMyyJpPAM5DNET1gvx0-WMXsTBKFsrBCRZiugbSHPwtQS6aQUorrsnwGIN4bWgbPQXeJPaTVgiMMSKvVW9UBo1xT5luhBx6bI9R1qLWy5yP4JIOf19w1pPN4F6qPZuQGPHm/s1600/FrankKellyFreas_NewsOfTheWorld_1977_GatefoldExterior.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVoDC69X0g7dMyyJpPAM5DNET1gvx0-WMXsTBKFsrBCRZiugbSHPwtQS6aQUorrsnwGIN4bWgbPQXeJPaTVgiMMSKvVW9UBo1xT5luhBx6bI9R1qLWy5yP4JIOf19w1pPN4F6qPZuQGPHm/s1600/FrankKellyFreas_NewsOfTheWorld_1977_GatefoldExterior.jpg" height="320" width="159" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art: Frank Kelly Freas</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I can't say I was stuck for an idea, but coming up with a good concept was still tricky. Unlike drawing a single person featured in a group of films, this needed to be broader in scope. The selection of movies was also so diverse that none was fully representative of the rest. I personally favored THE IRON GIANT, but didn't want to create art that might give the impression these were all animated films. While brainstorming with Wayne, he said the magic words (as he often does), "Oh! The cover for Queen's NEWS OF THE WORLD album!" and like being struck by creative lightning, I knew how the poster needed to look.<br />
<br />
The album cover artwork by <a href="http://www.kellyfreas.com/" target="_blank">Frank Kelly Freas</a> was based on an earlier painting he did in 1953 for <i>Astounding Science Fiction</i> magazine. It depicts a giant robot who has, apparently, busted through a domed building and accidentally killed the members of the band. I loved this idea, because the Iron Giant would perfectly substitute for the robot, and the characters from the other films would take the place of the band. Row House Cinema itself would be left in the rubble below. Perfect!<br />
<br />
If people knew about the album cover, my hope was this poster would make them go, "Heeeeeey...!" and nod in approval. If they weren't familiar with the album, hopefully they would still appreciate the quirkiness of the image.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I envisioned the piece so clearly, a rough sketch wasn't even necessary (a step I didn't realize I'd skipped until it was completed). I also hoped that Brian would be cool with the concept, because there wasn't time to check in for approval. In short order, first came the pencils, then the inks...</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipjJsCU-ekAmXD5LB4BVwJAI582DsC9zFD3WenUdI45KLzC5omOI3zVX1zrhK5W41pRRI1W-0dALWKEQ3XZv8uQl-mTDxPpkVtBhP-0FuTzS3WNNllMHTJfXHaybTP33GhlJ_9UqTEjZeS/s1600/Pencils-and-Inks_SMALL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="SCI-Fi FEST Poster" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipjJsCU-ekAmXD5LB4BVwJAI582DsC9zFD3WenUdI45KLzC5omOI3zVX1zrhK5W41pRRI1W-0dALWKEQ3XZv8uQl-mTDxPpkVtBhP-0FuTzS3WNNllMHTJfXHaybTP33GhlJ_9UqTEjZeS/s1600/Pencils-and-Inks_SMALL.jpg" height="412" title="Row House Cinema Poster" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">l: Pencil Art; r: Inked Art</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
...then I added the graytones, logos and text. Unlike the Freas piece, I envisioned this poster in black-and-white-and-gray from the start, which helped with the turnaround time as well.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
What's funny is upon completion I was able to look at it objectively <i>really </i>quickly, which may be because it was created with so much momentum. Wayne's suggestion was brilliant, and I was very pleased with the end result.</div>
<br />
I emailed the file to Brian and later that night he sent me his very short response:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkdVXDYCPBxO6CcVX1Zw2n0RCQ0s1WdKSpVmdjpIfHv5HFKP6gxVcRohvfk_gZ5P1l70y5ZtRbmh-Ii3J0xClUODU8yrmt71k9vn8cM3X2Q7S8du1O_pSe7TIBG00INRc0pb8JAGZJJeou/s1600/2015-01-26_ROWHOUSE_SciFiFest-Poster-01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkdVXDYCPBxO6CcVX1Zw2n0RCQ0s1WdKSpVmdjpIfHv5HFKP6gxVcRohvfk_gZ5P1l70y5ZtRbmh-Ii3J0xClUODU8yrmt71k9vn8cM3X2Q7S8du1O_pSe7TIBG00INRc0pb8JAGZJJeou/s1600/2015-01-26_ROWHOUSE_SciFiFest-Poster-01.jpg" height="640" width="494" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
"god damn you are good. I f----- love it!"<br />
<br />
So, that's how Row House Cinema got it's poster for SCI-FI FEST, which starts tomorrow and runs from January 30th - February 5th. Come on out with some friends and grab one of the 83 seats (minus my favorite, which is unofficially reserved) and some popcorn, and a beer or cider and check out a movie. You work hard. You deserve it.<br />
<br />
And if you need company, just shout out "Marcel!" when you arrive at the front doors. I want to go where everyone knows my name.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_DFqUhdHQAYj_589EpHpAmlPGsSELBCsMvItMjUCtT1s_pY6uKmVzly_WD3xTzH7j-YK7frVLS8S1xS5ib5MFUNAtgNrUQ-IXTQHd0OPPCfYvwqft-CGlhCBvMSJOBbx7iUXLh2ahOUAu/s1600/mainlogo.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_DFqUhdHQAYj_589EpHpAmlPGsSELBCsMvItMjUCtT1s_pY6uKmVzly_WD3xTzH7j-YK7frVLS8S1xS5ib5MFUNAtgNrUQ-IXTQHd0OPPCfYvwqft-CGlhCBvMSJOBbx7iUXLh2ahOUAu/s1600/mainlogo.gif" height="165" width="200" /></a></div>
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<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2tMqJ3fvYfM" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-83390816714220741962015-01-19T13:53:00.002-05:002016-01-18T09:57:12.787-05:00Grammar School<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYkPA5JYRgGrnV0iRNkB2f7SDSUM4riKZuBoBTQJC2JbYI59mzPp7I9A_LiLA8t678IxzqRRXw3qQgKHi6IjzY0Shq6MCu5ijzaKn1_Ubwwsj6h4pOQfrItEIgnPWlXJW6BdyXrgBkSIKl/s1600/2015-01-19_MLK-Day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYkPA5JYRgGrnV0iRNkB2f7SDSUM4riKZuBoBTQJC2JbYI59mzPp7I9A_LiLA8t678IxzqRRXw3qQgKHi6IjzY0Shq6MCu5ijzaKn1_Ubwwsj6h4pOQfrItEIgnPWlXJW6BdyXrgBkSIKl/s1600/2015-01-19_MLK-Day.jpg" width="297" /></a>I was born two and a half years into a post-Martin Luther King, Jr. world, and my childhood existed blissfully within the good Doctor’s dreamscape. By the time I started attending the grade school bearing his name on Pittsburgh’s North Side a substantial part of my worldview had already been forged. The students there were Black, White and a myriad of shades in-between, and for the most part I considered this immaterial. I chose friends – along with favorite school teachers, entertainers, comic-book characters<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7643102715873304921#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">[1]</span></span></span></span></a>, etc. – based
not on aesthetics or anything topical, but instead according to the simple
criteria of how likable they were. That was usually the only distinction
necessary and nothing else mattered.<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Yes, there were definitely social differences
between my schoolmates I was aware of, and sometimes they were stark. In my
immediate neighborhood most of the other families were also Black and the general
income level was modest at best. The houses and lifestyles in the late 1970s that
I was surrounded by were decidedly “brown collar”, meaning no one had any extra
money to spare. Also, the grammar used among my family and friends was very
specific, and I learned early on not to expect most of my friends who were one
color to use certain words, phrases, and slang that friends of the other color
used, and vice-versa. It wasn’t hard to draw the distinction: as many have
noted before me, it’s like being fluent in two languages. Or to use the cliché stand-up
comedian’s routine, black people spoke like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this…</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
*insert exaggerated street accent*</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
…and white people spoke like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this</i>…</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
*insert overly-pronounced uptight accent*.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
That’s a ridiculously oversimplified joke, but there
was absolutely some truth to it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
This verbal boundary was most sharply drawn
directly between the syllables of my first name. Without fail, when my
Caucasian friends wanted to shorten my name into a nickname it became “Mar”,
yet when my African-American friends did the same, they always addressed me as “Cel”.
I found it amusing how this happened without any prompting, and it has held
true with remarkable consistency to this day. This may have been the first
cultural element I encountered which made me consider directly how others
perceived me as filtered through their own backgrounds.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
My own social filter was rather rose-colored throughout
grammar school and beyond. Since both nicknames were used out of fondness and
familiarity, and I didn’t have a preference,
there was no problem. Nothing about this coincidence struck me as complicated.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;">
*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Skip ahead about ten years to the late 1980s, and
I was the youngest student in my class at the Art Institute of Pittsburgh. Free
at last from the strictures of traditional school, these were the years where I
really came into my own as a person and became stirred into the Great American
Melting Pot. Most of my classmates here were at least a couple of years older
than me, and they all seemed far more worldly and sophisticated. I had retained
a lot of my childlike outlook on the world, upbeat and cheerful, made all the
more pronounced because I was living the dream of being in art school. I viewed
most of my new classmates as potential friends and that’s exactly what they
became. Eager to fit in, I became something of a social butterfly, and flitted
easily between social groups. We all spoke the language of visual art, some
more fluently than others, so it felt like we were all on the same page.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Then I remember the day one of my White friends
referred to a Black classmate as a nigger.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
It happened in casual conversation while several of
us were just hanging out between classes. The other boys talked among
themselves about students who they lived with at the Allegheny Center
apartments. This was an area I was very familiar with, as it was just a block
or so away from Martin Luther King, Jr. Elementary School, and even though my
family now lived in Squirrel Hill, I visited these new friends on the North
Side frequently. All manner of drama unfolded within those dorm-like apartments,
so it was fun to visit but I never wanted to live there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
One boy named P. was complaining about another
student and A.C. resident named L., and it was obvious that the former (who was White) was at least sub-consciously jealous of the latter (who was Black) being
so popular with the girls. P. was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i>
kid, mouthy, insulting to the point you often wanted to smack him, over-confident,
obnoxious, and yet still somehow entertaining because of it. And I was raised
to like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everyone</i>, so I tended to be
very Pollyana-esque and accepting even of the most grating personalities. Still,
P. got tiresome after a point, and because what he was discussing didn’t
pertain to me in the slightest, I had zoned out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Conversely, L. was very popular in a much more
easygoing way, and I was closer to him by far. He would have easily been
elected class president if we had such things. If you’ve ever seen the movie <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chronicle_%28film%29">CHRONICLE</a>, the
character Steve has a lot of L.’s swagger.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
So P. ranted about how one gal in particular was so
smitten with L., and he said, “I don’t know what she likes so much about that
nigger,” about as casually as you’d lament getting passed over for a promotion
you didn’t really deserve. And apparently he’d slipped pretty comfortably into
his own zone while complaining, because he had completely forgotten I was standing
right there. The other boys’ eyes widened while it dawned on me what P. had just
said. It whizzed by so quickly, so unexpectedly, I didn’t even have time to be
mad. I wasn’t prepared to be mad. There was nothing to quantify this against.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I must admit, it’s entirely possible that I’ve
encountered far more racism in my life than I’m aware of. It’s not something I
grew up being taught to be on the lookout for, and maybe I should have been. I
just remember my mother telling me stories about how, when she worked at Pitt
University in the 1960s, she was the only Black woman in the secretarial pool,
and none of her White coworkers were held to the same standards of
accountability that she was. They polished their nails and took extended lunch
breaks, and did sub-par work, all of which my mother couldn’t and frankly didn’t
want to do. On the whole, Mom said she liked her job, and remembered a lot of
the professors with fondness. But she knew that she was often treated
differently. My mom isn’t Pollyana-esque – she’s like an African-American June
Cleaver. Her stories, and those of her siblings, weren’t told to boast. They
were very matter-of-fact. This was just how things were back then.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Far too often in their experiences, White people
acted like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this</i>, and Black people
acted like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this</i>. There was truth to
it, but those experiences were in the past. They were not my own. My world had
been different up until this moment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
So it took a few seconds to dawn on me that I’d
actually heard a White person I knew casually use the word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nigger</i> to insult a Black person I also knew (and who wasn’t
present, otherwise, the response would have been immediate and unforgettable). In
the year 1988. Directly in front of me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Before I could even think to get a word out, P. flushed
a deep shade of magenta, cupped my face in his hands and apologized profusely.
The wind was so knocked out of my sails, I just…let it go. The intended target
wasn’t there to hear it, and these were just words. Words couldn’t hurt me,
right? This dumb boy had misspoken and it didn’t matter. He was a fool and I
would turn the other cheek. I didn’t know how to do anything else. Violence was
not in my arsenal of tools. I was an artist. Pencils, pens and brushes were my terrible
swift swords.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
But still, I never forgot those words.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;">
*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I can’t remember if it was before or after this
incident, but that same dumb boy had once told me, in the middle of class after
I’d spoken about something, that I sounded “really <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Black</i>” when I talked. He said it with a mixture of confusion,
condescension, and amusement. Right around that same time, I had attended a party
with some of my relatives (who, I need to mention, are also Black) and was
talking to one of their friends (who was Black), when she made a point of
commenting on how I sounded “really <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">White</i>”.
I brushed off both comments, as I would learn to continue doing over the following
decades, but I was admittedly confused.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
The White person said I sounded Black, and the
Black person said I sounded White. So, which was it, and what was the need for
me to sound any certain way at all? As long as I knew how to communicate with
other people easily, why did this matter so much? I wasn’t really conflicted
about it internally, but more externally. When did this become a problem, and
why was it so complicated?</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
It’s apparently always been a problem. As to why
that’s the case, I honestly still don’t know.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
The friend who had been insulted in absentia, L.,
was also the subject of another classmate’s off-handed insult. When I spoke of
him with another Black classmate one afternoon, she said that she basically considered
him to be White, because of his circle of friends and how he carried himself. I
never told L. about either of these comments. It was enough for me to know that
it wasn’t just me dealing with this issue or perception; L. was likewise too
Black for some White people, and too White for some Black people. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I think of all the times White and Black friends
have commented on others “being White” and wonder if any of them have ever
stopped to consider what they are actually soliciting laughs at the expense of.
Since when does being well-spoken and eloquent equate to “being White”? Do any
of them ever stop to listen to their own fractured grammar?</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;">
*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Dreams, like memories, are made of gossamer, and
any attempt to recall them with words will be elusive at best. We experience
them alone, and can only meagerly attempt to share them. When Mahalia Jackson
entreated a Nobel Prize winning pastor from Alabama to “Tell them about the
dream!” he probably still felt his words were inadequate to the task. But it
says something about the magnificence of his dream that his words still
resonate so clearly here and now, bridging the gap between his lifetime and the
better world he helped to bring about. Not perfect by far, but better.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
The good Doctor understood the importance of words
articulating intentions and noble dreams. We should too.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
When it comes to how we interact with one another,
it’s best to be as cautious with one’s grammar as school-kids about to take an
English test. This has nothing to do with political correctness, and everything
to do with moral correctness. Words hurled like stones may not break bones, but
the damage they can do is far more than skin deep, discoloring character
instead of pigment, and sometimes sticking all the way down to the soul. We
have to remain diligent about polishing the Golden Rule, so it doesn’t become
tarnished by careless tongues and misspoken words. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
We are encouraged by our own history not to form a
perfect union, but a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">more</i> perfect
union. Instead of being quick to hurl insults or <a href="http://blog.contexts.org/2015/01/08/the-shame-game/">turn our backs in
protest when someone says something we dislike</a>, we need to get better at
expanding our minds and vocabularies to engage in thoughtful discourse. And
when discourse must turn to protest – and sometimes it absolutely must – we
still need to watch our words and raise our awareness even as we lift our
voices. With so many outlets today for even the smallest of us to speak out we
should remember that what we say and write today will be how history measures
us when we are gone, both in the micro and macro senses. Be careful what you say
to those you know and don’t know. Watch what you post on Facebook or Twitter or
Instagram…or on your blog.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Consider the impact of your grammar.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
What is viewed as dissent today may be hailed as
revolutionary and evolutionary tomorrow. I may have been born into a post-MLK
world, but I continue to see relevance in his words and actions. It’s taking a
long time to get to glory from the mountaintop, and it’s a tiring journey
sometimes. There’s a trail of blood stretching back centuries beneath our feet,
from slaveships to bombed out churches and voter recruiting buses to unarmed citizens
choked dead in the streets by those who should be protecting them. There are
blisters on our feet, and maybe that’s why some of us put on the most expensive
athletic shoes we can afford, in order to forget. Maybe we’re tired of asking “are
we there yet?” and complacent to settle down where we are right now. It’s
tempting to try and run away from it all, even if we’re just running in place.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
But we can’t and shouldn’t run. I live in a
post-MLK world, and that’s okay. 2015 may not necessarily be a brighter place
than it was in 1968, but it is filled with infinitely more hues of vibrance. I
have friends of many colors and ethnicities and backgrounds, and wouldn’t want
it any other way. My roommate is White and we have a tighter friendship with
each other than we probably do with our own siblings. Our relationship would
have been impossible in most of America in a pre-MLK world, so I will always
owe a debt of thanks to everyone who made this all possible. Everyone who bled, everyone who died, everyone who protested an imbalance of power at the risk of their own safety.
Everyone who made things <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">more</i>
perfect.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I’ll always vote. I’ll always obey the law when
the law is just. I’ll try to pay attention to the world around me and speak to
others with dignity and grace, but also with passion and resolve.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I’ll try to regard you as royalty too, because that’s how
we should all see ourselves. Not as niggers, or people who should speak this
way or that way based on the color of our skins (as beautiful as that skin is!),
but as something that God saw fit to create full of majesty.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Inside of every one of us there is a queen. Inside of every one of us, there is a King.
This is no dream. This is for real.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
And we'll get to the promised land eventually. Just remember, this isn't a race.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
It's a march.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
</div>
<div style="mso-element: footnote-list;">
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/nOYuhLNwh3A" width="560"></iframe><br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEzCijBI-2z3iaSanKeHfs0eLX0i7O9-JGRQU1RHBJP2iyUo1OyzoM8j3REVS9DwL0EZsFbO-5no9tCUvw_QXHmPbdyt6gHsX-YODBQk-fQFmft7FwRYo5PjzN2S5bWIRJiZGeprWBY34/s1600/selma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEzCijBI-2z3iaSanKeHfs0eLX0i7O9-JGRQU1RHBJP2iyUo1OyzoM8j3REVS9DwL0EZsFbO-5no9tCUvw_QXHmPbdyt6gHsX-YODBQk-fQFmft7FwRYo5PjzN2S5bWIRJiZGeprWBY34/s1600/selma.jpg" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This movie is beautiful. Be sure to see it!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="mso-element: footnote-list;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7643102715873304921#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.3333px;">[1]</span></span></span></span></a> Okay, maybe aesthetics with the comic-book characters a little bit. That’s a future blog entry.</div>
</div>
Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-11350311312240487132015-01-16T13:30:00.001-05:002015-03-17T18:05:59.973-04:00WHO'S THE BEST?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvZ_y1957sFoEumSgiG_Dpjw10DILid-lHwtY4sfvMG-BYd_7zL2SmvAN5KVwlnezN2ZtNE_ZVT9bMjBqCTuGpY8rcL93G47M-HUHoLWlMzf4b2AFkxvNwbVwqvT8QQWlCiPl4dDo7Jt-e/s1600/2015-01-16_MountSupermore_SMALL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvZ_y1957sFoEumSgiG_Dpjw10DILid-lHwtY4sfvMG-BYd_7zL2SmvAN5KVwlnezN2ZtNE_ZVT9bMjBqCTuGpY8rcL93G47M-HUHoLWlMzf4b2AFkxvNwbVwqvT8QQWlCiPl4dDo7Jt-e/s1600/2015-01-16_MountSupermore_SMALL.jpg" height="260" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why this doesn't exist already is beyond me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When my buddy Dan Greenwald recently asked if I would join him again as a guest on his podcast <a href="http://cbpitt.blogspot.com/2015/01/181-whos-best.html" target="_blank">THE COMIC-BOOK PITT</a>,
I was happy to oblige. He graciously accepted my suggestion of a theme
for the episode, which was discussing "Best of..." comic-book character
lists. The topic has been on my mind since I came across two such compilations in the last couple of months which had some intriguing similarities worthy of exploring.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
The first was <a href="http://www.pastemagazine.com/blogs/lists/2014/05/the-100-best-comic-book-characters.html?a=1" target="_blank">The 100 Greatest Comic-Book Characters of All Time</a>, with selections ranging across the decades. There were a lot of super-heroes and American characters represented on the list, but it was far from exclusive. Entries like Archie Andrews, Lone Wolf and Cub, Asterix, Michonne (from THE WALKING DEAD) and Marv (from SIN CITY) made for an incredibly eclectic group snapshot of the media's stars. I didn't agree with a number of their entries or rankings - heck, I didn't even know who some of these characters were - and feel that several of their selections are far too recent to merit inclusion in a <i>"</i>greatest of all time<i>"</i> list. (Because, you know, it takes some <i>time </i>to see if you really are an all-time great.) That said, it was a fun read, a lot of their choices were perfect, and their top three picks were exactly what they needed to be.<br />
<br />
The second list was <a href="http://bamsmackpow.com/2014/12/18/50-greatest-super-heroes-in-comic-book-history/1/" target="_blank">The 50 Greatest Super-Heroes in Comic-Book History</a>, and while I didn't agree with all of their inclusions or rankings either (for instance, I'm surprised that The Punisher wasn't included, but Deadpool was), the editors acknowledged that this is the kind of list of which there can be no definitive version. Most of their conclusions were solid though, and they even used a unique point-system to try and level the playing field. The top three choices here were the same as on the previous list, which I again considered to be the only proper choices. But this got me to thinking...<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxvocUyXDItCWjutT2AVb91ogXeKLVgqpNy5cUtpy4g9MBTfE2qWlanw9iLUmde_9KvSEBQVYcB2S-feGVrkKIh5MH2jiZ4mnnVAFyPdDM0V0tiWYsvO0QCyc3AXL8VPnONx9XwtNhkQUV/s1600/CBPlogo200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxvocUyXDItCWjutT2AVb91ogXeKLVgqpNy5cUtpy4g9MBTfE2qWlanw9iLUmde_9KvSEBQVYcB2S-feGVrkKIh5MH2jiZ4mnnVAFyPdDM0V0tiWYsvO0QCyc3AXL8VPnONx9XwtNhkQUV/s1600/CBPlogo200.jpg" /></a>In <a href="http://www.ign.com/top/comic-book-heroes" target="_blank">list</a> after <a href="http://www.watchmojo.com/video/id/12703/" target="_blank">list</a> after <a href="http://www.comicvine.com/profile/the_poet/lists/cvs-top-100-superhero-list-2012/41978/" target="_blank">list</a>, we always come down to these same three characters, in different orders, but that part is debatable and almost unimportant. They are the Big Three, and their faces should be on the Mount Rushmore of Super-Heroes (along with two others who should always round out the Top Five, in my opinion.) -- so what about them is so special? Why them? Why are they so consistently considered by fans, creators and critics to be the best of the best?<br />
<br />
Dan and I explored the various criteria which we feel should be used when evaluating comic-book characters, and gave our thoughts on some of the selections from both lists. Listen to our discussion and let us know what you think. And then go listen to Dan's tremendous archive of CBP podcasts. It's good stuff!<br />
<br /></div>
<a href="http://tindeck.com/listen/kcta" title="free MP3 hosting"><img border="0" src="http://tindeck.com/image/kcta/stats.png" /></a></div>
Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-39111187535609289782015-01-05T14:48:00.002-05:002015-03-17T18:04:39.584-04:00The Time of My Childhood<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have a friend who is particularly fond of my writing, and
she has been vocal in her appreciation of my previous blog entries, among other
works to be found here and there. It is this same friend that I found myself
exchanging texts with mere minutes into the New Year of 2015, enough that it
became obvious the conversation needed to transition into a phone call. When I
dialed her digits however, the call stubbornly refused to go through. Angrily, my
phone disconnected instantly from each attempt to call, yet would allow texts
to come through and be sent. This felt just shy of being passive-aggressive,
and for a moment I despaired at the thought of beginning the year needing to
replace my stupid smart phone.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thought about calling someone else to see if this was
limited to only the one number, but this proved a challenge: who else wouldn’t
mind the call at that hour? Yes, lots of friends were likely still up for New
Year’s, but we’re all at an age where more and more of us are going to bed at
earlier hours, even on holidays. My own body clock is just horrific when it
comes to such things (which I blame on both a genetic predisposition toward
staying up late, and many years working late and overnight shifts), but normal
human beings tend to go to sleep at normal hours. It wouldn’t have been fair to
wake anyone else up just to test my cell phone. And anyone else who was already
up was probably partying too hard to answer. I was stuck.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then it hit me: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">call
the time.</i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It had probably been years since I’d last used the number, but I
was sure it was still operable. I had dialed it so frequently when I was a
child, long before the emergence of cell phones and memory dial buttons, there
was no chance it would ever be forgotten. The voice on the other end of the
line was like a dispassionate friend, always there, patient, never judgmental,
dispensing curt yet useful information each time. And so I poked at the familiar
digits for the first time possibly in years, managed to get a ring tone, and
then was greeted by an old, familiar voice…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Good morning. Today is Thursday, January First. The time is
one-forty-four ay-emm. Current temperature: 42 degrees.”</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…and I was rocketed back to my childhood. It was the exact
same voice it has been throughout my entire life, a human voice, with the same
inflections and intonations and cadence. Not one element was different. I
called the friend again, got disconnected (who knows what was going on with
that) and texted her to ask her to call me back, which worked fine. When we
spoke, I told her in amazement of the voice which told the time, and how it was
such a constant in my life. The more I thought about it over the next day, the
more my amazement grew.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How many things stay constant in our lives in this day and
age? To put a fine point on the question, how many <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">people</i> stay constant in our lives? People grow and change, and
usually they move on, all of which is normal. But having touchstones is
important and when you’re a kid, having something you can count on is all-important.
Having things you can rely on gives you hope that everything you encounter isn’t
ephemeral, that you can leave an impression and that will last.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was about five years old, that’s when I discovered
Superman, and he was a constant. Superman was always noble and selfless, always
caring, always there to save the day. When my home life went all out of whack, I
didn’t know when or where to expect to see my mother or sisters again. That was
always in flux. But Superman? He was always the same, and I needed that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s also around the same time I discovered Fred Rogers,
and he was another constant. Mr. Rogers was always graceful and gentle, always
thoughtful, always there to coax me into tomorrow. When trouble came knocking,
I didn’t yet have the life-experience to explain to myself what was going on. But
Mr. Rogers? He liked me just the way I was, and he told me so, and I needed
that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And as silly as it might sound to some, just being able to
dial seven digits (no area codes needed in those days) and get the same
reassuring voice on the line any time of day or night, and have that voice give
me some miniscule sense of where I was in the universe, that was a sort of
magic. I knew it was just a recording. That didn’t matter. What mattered was I
wanted to know the time, and that information was provided without fail again
and again and again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because of it, I can honestly say that there is at least one
voice that has always provided me with exactly what I needed to know throughout
my entire life, has never been wrong, and has always been available. A literal human
voice, right here on planet Earth with me every single day. And when I went
years and years without bothering to call to see if the voice was still there,
it waited patiently for the day I would remember.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was there when my short, inarticulate adolescent fingers
spun the rotary wheel to a full stop, and it’s still here when I tap fingers now
occasionally lanced with arthritis across a touchscreen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Someone stepped in front of a microphone once years ago and
recorded every single minute of the day, and every conceivable temperature. They
may not have been able to imagine it possible, but we can still hear that
person’s voice today in the year 2015.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You can hear it right now if you want. Go on and dial it.
412-391-9500.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And remember when you do, you’re listening to the past and the
present all happening at the same time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You’re listening to the time of my childhood.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Happy New Year.</div>
</div>
Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643102715873304921.post-1714927829577385132014-08-13T15:46:00.005-04:002021-11-19T01:28:38.024-05:00CHUTZ-POW!: Preparing for Print (Episode 3 of 3)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlOzHj6g1YNGPS2bVMP9REnhGlJnYy5gnWVH-eH1KJrQL3YMuiKXHF7-i62JLAlZc-AMdo71Q3Lv1nIwRp0BTF4i5_DdyBFFd2P3fGT4_wFcR_ldFlPWP4zAhWP_oYzEJgfDKiOIdJ8yI/s1600/CHUTZ-POW_Logo.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlOzHj6g1YNGPS2bVMP9REnhGlJnYy5gnWVH-eH1KJrQL3YMuiKXHF7-i62JLAlZc-AMdo71Q3Lv1nIwRp0BTF4i5_DdyBFFd2P3fGT4_wFcR_ldFlPWP4zAhWP_oYzEJgfDKiOIdJ8yI/s1600/CHUTZ-POW_Logo.png" width="320" /></a>In my <a href="http://thoughtinmind.blogspot.com/2014/08/chutz-pow-barans-story-episode-2-of-3.html" target="_blank">previous blog entry</a>, I discussed the visual development of the story I drew for <b><i>CHUTZ-POW! Superheroes of the Holocaust</i></b>, which features the Holocaust experiences of Malka and Moshe Baran. In this last of three installments, I'm going to discuss my post-production role with the comic-book after the story was completed, and what was needed to get the artwork into print.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
Most mainstream comic-books are produced by a team of contributors, and while their roles may vary and overlap, there is a general breakdown of duties that stays consistent. Most teams include a writer, a penciler (the lead artist who draws the script in pencil), an inker (who finishes the artwork in ink), a letterer (who puts the actual words on the pages of artwork), a colorist, and an editor who oversees the production. One person may do more than one thing on a book, so you will find writers who sometimes pencil their own stories. Some pencillers ink their work. There are inkers who color and colorists who write. Just as with super-heroes and their powers, there is no one set combination of abilities to possess.<br />
<br />
(For those interested, I should also mention, the roles to be found in comic-book production have changed over time, as production methods and technology have changed. Sometimes there is a layout artist apart from the penciller, and some books now don’t get inked, and instead go straight to the colorist. “Digital inking” could mean reworking the pencil art for the addition of color, or literally going back over pencil artwork in digital fashion the way it has typically been done with actual ink. But for the most part, the above described duties are still usually present in some form.)<br />
<br />
For our comic-book, the duties were initially pretty straightforward: <a href="http://www.wayne-wise.com/">Wayne Wise (who has been writing about his <b><i>CHUTZ-POW!</i></b> experiences on his blog NOTES FROM THE PLAYGROUND)</a> was tasked with researching and writing the scripts for the four stories, and each story was in turn given to a separate artist to complete in full. Only the cover – which I produced – would be in color, so that cleared a step for everyone. A page count was defined early on, so the steering committee had a very real sense of what the final product might turn out like even while we worked on it.<br />
<br />
Because the UpStanders’ stories took place over various time periods prior to, during, and following World War Two, it was decided to present their stories in the first volume in alphabetical order. So the first story featured is Les Banos’, with art and lettering by the ever-so-talented <a href="http://www.houseofzing.com/">Mark Zingarelli.</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXXp6ALiPh3CL6qEsafw0WOh3y4tFyTgfhpR1STBPbeogKlULZcdFHWNXDV9s0Yc0f_RGkKPl0gjqelj5aSfkNHR4aAgN4DKLD0kk8jyf7WYVfxW7EU-jMpllZx6ISE-T87QPZXPstQEB9/s1600/Banos1.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXXp6ALiPh3CL6qEsafw0WOh3y4tFyTgfhpR1STBPbeogKlULZcdFHWNXDV9s0Yc0f_RGkKPl0gjqelj5aSfkNHR4aAgN4DKLD0kk8jyf7WYVfxW7EU-jMpllZx6ISE-T87QPZXPstQEB9/s1600/Banos1.jpg" width="264" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art: Mark Zingarelli; Script: Wayne Wise</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
Mark is an accomplished artist with years of professional experience working for clients such as <i>TIME, Entertainment Weekly, Esquire,</i> and others. His pages have a pronounced solidity, and the linework is bold and full of textures, but not overwrought with fine lines or unnecessary detail. In short, he provided the perfect introductory story for the anthology.<br />
<br />
Next was the story I illustrated, which was actually two stories in one, featuring Malka and Moshe Baran. (<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><span id="goog_2118295296"></span>Read my previous blog entry to learn more about it.<span id="goog_2118295297"></span></a>) At the time, I had some concern about working at a level comparable to the other artists on the book, and when their layout art started to come in, my concerns heightened. When it was all said and done though, my style works well to tell the story that it does. There is a transition that takes place from Mark’s bolder line work to my more fine brush lines which subtly changes the mood of <b><i>CHUTZ-POW!</i></b>; I think this works in the book’s favor.<br />
<br />
Next was Dora Iwler’s story, drawn by <a href="http://davewachter.tumblr.com/">Dave Wachter</a>.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW8bVh0vnPprisXO-S7JdyxCGq1GM92w6sposrwzsuthVERb3wE1OxAUgfp8owKJbxCS_LcRBeQZQhEdG2ncYaXX8P2g3EQdxzMe9naHJdT2B5rqV3jQjbk8PFg1MCgu8zuDwJwHkgVkHd/s1600/Dora-Iwler_Pg001_Lettered.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW8bVh0vnPprisXO-S7JdyxCGq1GM92w6sposrwzsuthVERb3wE1OxAUgfp8owKJbxCS_LcRBeQZQhEdG2ncYaXX8P2g3EQdxzMe9naHJdT2B5rqV3jQjbk8PFg1MCgu8zuDwJwHkgVkHd/s1600/Dora-Iwler_Pg001_Lettered.jpg" width="207" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and lettering by M.L.Walker!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin6z4OAjAJpyub3s6C0u7mYOOmSE7l2Q-xVzoXQoFO8IdF4Nhz-Su1I_pBBKCk8dzoqlo-7g6A8K23aCyBvnAQfPjm_t-0Oil5jagxhi2IdkeQj6d2F1XiWesQ1vng0JuWvGocfF7ZYW6B/s1600/Dora_Iwler_Pg001.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin6z4OAjAJpyub3s6C0u7mYOOmSE7l2Q-xVzoXQoFO8IdF4Nhz-Su1I_pBBKCk8dzoqlo-7g6A8K23aCyBvnAQfPjm_t-0Oil5jagxhi2IdkeQj6d2F1XiWesQ1vng0JuWvGocfF7ZYW6B/s1600/Dora_Iwler_Pg001.jpg" width="210" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art: Dave Wachter; Script: Wayne Wise</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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Two things of note with Dave’s story: because of schedule limitations – Dave was heavily involved in finishing his book <a href="http://www.darkhorse.com/Books/23-746/The-Guns-of-Shadow-Valley-HC">THE GUNS OF SHADOW VALLEY (on sale today from Dark Horse Comics!) </a> and preparing for his next project working on <a href="http://multiversitycomics.com/interviews/idw-announces-godzilla-cataclysm-miniseries-from-bunn-and-wachter-exclusive/">GODZILLA for IDW</a> (yes, Dave is at that level) – I volunteered to do the lettering on his story, which was the first time I’d ever done that with anyone’s artwork aside from my own. Also, by the time his art came in, it was agreed that I would provide the layout and graphic design of the book for printing. Dave’s final artwork featured full bleeds (art which extends to the edge of the page) which I hadn’t even considered. He gave me an “Okaaaay…That’s right. We do <i>that </i>in comic-books now!” moment.<br />
<br />
Dave also used gray tones in his artwork that again shifted the mood of the book. If you look at Mark’s and Dave’s artwork side-by-side, you see that they have very different styles, the former’s being more graphic and with far greater contrast, the latter’s being more naturalistic and tonal. This gave the book a nice range, and there was more still to come.<br />
<br />
Closing out the book was Fritz Ottenheimer’s story, as rendered and lettered by <a href="http://www.moellerillustrations.com/">Chris Moeller.</a><br />
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyrzjfOxBGXlKdZmWNiH6NMSjrJU9Nfp9TQKZAf1f1Ny4lfuOgpx3LeWgwNyIqQkoBHZ4pCmNl63WoK2GxKhIKLqF-FfHsHV3sjy5VV_n_TIr0tNbTo6keFlWyHsfJv1LJofl5XkG7TFja/s1600/Ottenheimer1.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyrzjfOxBGXlKdZmWNiH6NMSjrJU9Nfp9TQKZAf1f1Ny4lfuOgpx3LeWgwNyIqQkoBHZ4pCmNl63WoK2GxKhIKLqF-FfHsHV3sjy5VV_n_TIr0tNbTo6keFlWyHsfJv1LJofl5XkG7TFja/s1600/Ottenheimer1.jpg" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art: Chris Moeller; Script: Wayne Wise</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
Chris has worked for numerous publishers – <a href="http://www.comicbookresources.com/news/preview.php?image=solicits/dc022003/big/LuciferCVR35.jpg">DC COMICS</a>, MARVEL, IDW, Topps, White Wolf Games, and more – so having him on board was a privilege. Like Dave immediately before him, Chris also used bleeds and painted gray tones in his artwork. That’s where the similarities end though. Chris’ style is rawer, and he did some interesting things with perspective that give his work flourish. If you compare the first page of <b><i>CHUTZ-POW!</i></b> to the final page, you might think that they come from different books. The mood is just that different.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR137DAFhRFmERLr2mzhegEdGENb2V3a0AsuwEpR55PEEpocamZ9XRSQ-NzVQe1Q9Vb9RYUYEHIAXXd28Hsz8XabZD2uyqRVdNxqRoOHIMi3C8niIGrAQ79VGWly3j1FldV5WiuHUoDBCG/s1600/IMG_7583.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFVfmBZcVxToiGUrJ-wRRps7XGf1zJgs29YUFbuU4uIly7Qa6uAWcnlXbZI7-EIMUgpu3HrmTeZ0MWPq-Fn4vgemeUViiK-oJVQmOi8-Y7sDNJbT8zssfk-jAMs0ftqSUMG2UhzwR54QWu/s1600/DSC01971_RETOUCHED.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<div>
* * * * *<br />
<br />
With all of the artwork in, there was still one last round of proof reading that had to take place. While that was going on I began getting everything together that we knew wouldn’t change. The actual print file was composed of all sorts of things that needed to be kept track of: artwork, logos, notes from members of the steering committee, the author, and one notable local figure who gave the project a special endorsement, and more. (You’ll have to buy the book to learn who it is!) <span style="color: white;">*It's Franco Harris!</span></div>
<br />
I was given a lot of latitude with the design elements – a good bit of the text on the back cover is mine too - but it was still a job, and The Holocaust Center and I were in frequent contact to ensure that everything they needed to be in place was there too. We went over the wording of every aspect of the book, and caught some things at the very last minute. It doesn’t matter how thorough you are, there is always something that might get overlooked. I’ve heard it said that both God and the Devil are in the details, and I can assure you that they both have a time-share on that property.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuaHv7T8zrmVK4Z_2kNQziZYYGE96HzwZVqr2cOiM5L3drXMYo8USWUbUShvyXZhyphenhyphenJmX2CXk0xd_JVSy5Chd4ZFPH3RMuO_XOjVE6Db760tdJ9U2Xv06mZOkaCqW7VJHkIQiiwtFtxce-V/s1600/DSC01949_RETOUCHED.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuaHv7T8zrmVK4Z_2kNQziZYYGE96HzwZVqr2cOiM5L3drXMYo8USWUbUShvyXZhyphenhyphenJmX2CXk0xd_JVSy5Chd4ZFPH3RMuO_XOjVE6Db760tdJ9U2Xv06mZOkaCqW7VJHkIQiiwtFtxce-V/s1600/DSC01949_RETOUCHED.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ink on the Heidelberg Press.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our project liaison and co-researcher Zach Zafris put me in touch with a representative from the chosen printer, so we could further discuss what they would need to get started. Amy Riley, the Business Relationship Specialist at <a href="https://kreiderprinting.com/">J.B. Kreider Printing </a>was as enthusiastic and helpful as a human being is capable of being. She helped us navigate through the maze of formalities to get everything ready to print. She facilitated quotes, delivered sample proofs, explained the printing processes, and basically let us know that the team at Kreider was taking this job seriously. The help at this stage meant a <i>lot </i>to us.<br />
<br />
Once proofs of the artwork were OK’d , Zach and I were invited to the Kreider printhouse on Pittsburgh’s North Side to see the official printing get started. I worked in print services for years, at two different companies here in Pittsburgh, but I never experienced anything like what they have set up at Kreider. Their place is enormous! The big Heidelberg press that they were running <b><i>CHUTZ-POW!</i></b> on is longer than some rooms I’ve lived in (and probably as expensive as most of the houses). It was an impressive sight to see the cover artwork ganged-up for print on oversized sheets of 100lb gloss text paper. It humbled almost two decades worth of work in print services out of me instantly.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFVfmBZcVxToiGUrJ-wRRps7XGf1zJgs29YUFbuU4uIly7Qa6uAWcnlXbZI7-EIMUgpu3HrmTeZ0MWPq-Fn4vgemeUViiK-oJVQmOi8-Y7sDNJbT8zssfk-jAMs0ftqSUMG2UhzwR54QWu/s1600/DSC01971_RETOUCHED.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFVfmBZcVxToiGUrJ-wRRps7XGf1zJgs29YUFbuU4uIly7Qa6uAWcnlXbZI7-EIMUgpu3HrmTeZ0MWPq-Fn4vgemeUViiK-oJVQmOi8-Y7sDNJbT8zssfk-jAMs0ftqSUMG2UhzwR54QWu/s1600/DSC01971_RETOUCHED.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">l-r: Kreider Printing Owner & Lead Press Man Mike Paranzino,<br />
Kreider Business Relationship Specialist Amy Riley,<br />
and <b><i>CHUTZ-POW!</i></b> Researcher & Liaison Zach Zafris.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Owner and Lead Press Man Mike Paranzino – who is a seasoned veteran in the business – personally adjusted the colors for the cover while we were there, and he probably has a better eye for fine color than anyone I’ve ever met, myself definitely included. Zach and I got to give the official thumbs-up for them to start running, and then we watched the Heidelberg pass paper over roll drums, beneath printing plates, and through CMYK ink in a race to our deadline.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1nhtP1xwtmzGyEjBK5BLGDGxyj7liv-mgLEnGWZQ1XfNg9KBFOE2kqW8_U5dMiizjf4tzCSzdzCqWNo4USrSOyIHJcjPih2pn0zDcPu0bKFQ7XF-Vfc5KC41nr_U2_7B3jqOmTIdctVgc/s1600/DSC01964_RETOUCHED.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1nhtP1xwtmzGyEjBK5BLGDGxyj7liv-mgLEnGWZQ1XfNg9KBFOE2kqW8_U5dMiizjf4tzCSzdzCqWNo4USrSOyIHJcjPih2pn0zDcPu0bKFQ7XF-Vfc5KC41nr_U2_7B3jqOmTIdctVgc/s1600/DSC01964_RETOUCHED.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The black-and-white printing plates for<br />
the interior pages of the comic-book.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * *</div>
<br />
For the first half of 2014, friends and family have heard me speak about this project, so there has been a lot of personal anticipation for it. The interest swelled when the art exhibit opened at the Three Rivers Arts Festival. However, there is nothing, and I mean absolutely <i>nothing </i>like having something – anything – begin its life as an idea, and then watching it take shape, bit by bit, until it is finally tangible. Everything with <b><i>CHUTZ-POW!</i></b> hasn’t been easy by a long shot, and there were times we all felt like we might never see the comic-book come to fruition.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<br />
But then at the end of last week, a delivery truck pulled up to the Holocaust Center and unloaded dozens of boxes, they were opened, and Zach sent me this photo…</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR137DAFhRFmERLr2mzhegEdGENb2V3a0AsuwEpR55PEEpocamZ9XRSQ-NzVQe1Q9Vb9RYUYEHIAXXd28Hsz8XabZD2uyqRVdNxqRoOHIMi3C8niIGrAQ79VGWly3j1FldV5WiuHUoDBCG/s1600/IMG_7583.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR137DAFhRFmERLr2mzhegEdGENb2V3a0AsuwEpR55PEEpocamZ9XRSQ-NzVQe1Q9Vb9RYUYEHIAXXd28Hsz8XabZD2uyqRVdNxqRoOHIMi3C8niIGrAQ79VGWly3j1FldV5WiuHUoDBCG/s1600/IMG_7583.jpg" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Volume One</i></b> printed and in hand!<br />
Photo: Zach Zafris</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
...and we could see with our own eyes that yes, it was all for real. We did it!</div>
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<br /></div>
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When I used to work in print services, I often remarked that I wasn’t really in the business of printing or copying – I was actually in the business of communication. I still consider that the common thread throughout my professions. The noblest part about communicating is that it can’t happen in isolation. You must take a thought or idea or concept, or in this case a life lesson, and transfer that from one person to another. It’s a mighty responsibility, and one none of us took lightly. <br />
<br />
Now that the book has been printed, there is one last step to take with Volume One, and that is getting it out there and into the hands of readers. I hope that everyone reading this blog will make a point of finding this comic-book. The plan is to get this into comic-book stores, as well as in front of educators and their students, across the country. If you’ve never read comics before, it’s a great place to start. If you do read them, but are partial to super-heroes, give this book a try anyway. Our <i>UpStanders</i> may not have flashy costumes, but they all rose to the challenge of representing the best of the human spirit. <br />
<br />
Special thanks to Drew Goldstein, Chair of <i>CHUTZ-POW! Superheroes of the Holocaust;</i> Joy Braunstein, Director of The Holocaust Center of the Jewish Federation of Greater Pittsburgh; Joe Wos, Founder and Executive Director of The ToonSeum; Zach Zafris, Researcher, Co-Editor and Project Liaison; Wayne Wise, Writer and Co-Editor of <i style="font-weight: bold;">CHUTZ-POW!</i>; and all of the other great people who had hands in making this great book a reality. <br />
<br />
Extra special thanks to our UpStanders and their families for sharing their stories with us. <b><i>Volume One</i></b> may be slim by page count, but it’s got tremendous heart…and sometimes just a few pages can speak volumes.<br />
<br />
<br />
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* * * * *</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCaUOD478dM6abOao9Q3Jr-3xq85Ad87UPHt-fylHSJ6POkF4WAzDuKK3amd8hrfTW4ErPgxA0UiBfADR9jYGvwfwaY4XhT1vKLHyzREMLH2krRdrNoXFpnP6zvZTQILAaqBeYYIvmj18/s1600/POSTER_001_ForScreen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCaUOD478dM6abOao9Q3Jr-3xq85Ad87UPHt-fylHSJ6POkF4WAzDuKK3amd8hrfTW4ErPgxA0UiBfADR9jYGvwfwaY4XhT1vKLHyzREMLH2krRdrNoXFpnP6zvZTQILAaqBeYYIvmj18/s1600/POSTER_001_ForScreen.jpg" width="414" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://pittsburgh.secure-fedweb.jewishfederations.org/page/contribute/ChutzPowLaunchParty" target="_blank">Come join us at the <b>CHUTZ-POW! Superheroes of the Holocaust</b> Launch Party</a></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<i><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://pittsburgh.secure-fedweb.jewishfederations.org/page/contribute/ChutzPowLaunchParty" target="_blank">on Thursday, August 14th at the ToonSeum!</a></span></i></div>
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</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlOzHj6g1YNGPS2bVMP9REnhGlJnYy5gnWVH-eH1KJrQL3YMuiKXHF7-i62JLAlZc-AMdo71Q3Lv1nIwRp0BTF4i5_DdyBFFd2P3fGT4_wFcR_ldFlPWP4zAhWP_oYzEJgfDKiOIdJ8yI/s1600/CHUTZ-POW_Logo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlOzHj6g1YNGPS2bVMP9REnhGlJnYy5gnWVH-eH1KJrQL3YMuiKXHF7-i62JLAlZc-AMdo71Q3Lv1nIwRp0BTF4i5_DdyBFFd2P3fGT4_wFcR_ldFlPWP4zAhWP_oYzEJgfDKiOIdJ8yI/s1600/CHUTZ-POW_Logo.png" width="320" /></a>In <a href="http://thoughtinmind.blogspot.com/2014/07/chutz-pow-covering-artwork-episode-1-of.html" target="_blank">my previous blog entry</a>, I discussed the origins of <b><i>CHUTZ-POW! Superheroes of the Holocaust</i></b>, how I became involved as an artist on both the exhibit and comic-book parts of the project, and how the cover artwork for the comic-book was developed. In this second of three installments, I'm going to discuss what went into creating the artwork for the story that I illustrated in the book.<br />
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Picking art to include in this installment has been more of a chore than I first thought it would be. I’m all about maintaining mystery whenever possible, and I want everyone reading this to buy a copy of the book and experience the stories firsthand. But how can I tell you about creating the artwork without actually showing you some of the artwork? What follows is my attempt to show-and-tell without showing or telling too much. So, let’s start this off straightaway with the first page of the story, which will hopefully get you curious, but still give you an idea of what all the fuss is about.</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbf4zYd9wGowlz7VD9WO6BNmppXII96rE0hajKj4cQxLX2EocEEnDA_hD_tC8FnrYp3GMYOPIv40hrLIYA3YOR_4OAgePz0vYqAnVjVLQVvnIYKHiYN1n21SD0zAtaE737iSxAiOWELAE/s1600/WALKER_BaransStory-Pg001_Lettered_SMALL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbf4zYd9wGowlz7VD9WO6BNmppXII96rE0hajKj4cQxLX2EocEEnDA_hD_tC8FnrYp3GMYOPIv40hrLIYA3YOR_4OAgePz0vYqAnVjVLQVvnIYKHiYN1n21SD0zAtaE737iSxAiOWELAE/s1600/WALKER_BaransStory-Pg001_Lettered_SMALL.jpg" width="412" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The first page of PARALLEL CHOICES (art by me; script by Wayne Wise) from<br />
<i><b>CHUTZ-POW! Superheroes of the Holocaust, Volume 1: The UpStanders</b></i></td></tr>
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As one of four artists drawing stories for this initial installment of <b><i>CHUTZ-POW!</i></b>, I essentially faced three main challenges: the first was that of brevity, the second was of historical accuracy and faithfulness to the UpStanders’ experiences, and the third was of personal ability. The last of these wouldn’t have measurable <i>is-or-isn’t</i> results like the other two, but it proved just as daunting a hurdle to overcome. In ways, it was the toughest challenge of them all.</div>
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The subtitle of the first issue of the comic-book is <b><i>Volume One: The UpStanders</i></b>, in reference to the term used to describe our five real-life protagonists. Because two of these UpStanders, Moshe and Malka Baran, met and married after their respective Holocaust experiences, the decision was made to tell their stories in a combined installment. Since the page count for the book was fixed, there would be a total of eight pages allotted for the Barans’s stories, four pages per person. Just as with the stories being told of the other three UpStanders, the challenge here was one of brevity. Trying to put together a narrative so short which even suggested the breadth of their experiences would be a daunting task for any creator.</div>
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To say that I was intimidated at this prospect is an understatement, but fortunately I wasn’t alone in making it happen. Wayne Wise had been tapped to write the scripts for all four stories in the book, and to that end he delved into a mountain of historical and biographical reference materials. (You can read his description of the development of the script on his own blog, <a href="http://www.wayne-wise.com/2014/08/chutz-pow-comic-book-moshe-and-malka.html" target="_blank"><i>NOTES FROM THE PLAYGROUND</i></a>.) He was aided in his studies by the staff of <a href="http://holocaustcenterpgh.org/ChutzPow.aspx" target="_blank">The Pittsburgh Holocaust Center</a>, including researcher and project liaison Zachary Zafris, who was another pivotal figure in the development of <b><i>CHUTZ-POW!</i></b>. During this busy period, as Zach provided reference materials, Wayne made copious notes and wrote scripts, and I focused on creating the cover artwork, we all started to get an initial sense of what the final comic-book would be like. Even at this early stage, it was galvanizing to think of what we were hoping to accomplish.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFez_8IrKn1R8OlARao_Byd49TvWFq7PDac4IG-7PWI7B4zJ5SGDilfZ73_Il7rOeGF5GghynrP7ZDCmEvhFxE7LNrRgEBV60QCCFzs2ELvtBNRUTHwPxm0ZDtlfO2IB-Ngtai1oaE8nU/s1600/CoverDetail_Moshe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFez_8IrKn1R8OlARao_Byd49TvWFq7PDac4IG-7PWI7B4zJ5SGDilfZ73_Il7rOeGF5GghynrP7ZDCmEvhFxE7LNrRgEBV60QCCFzs2ELvtBNRUTHwPxm0ZDtlfO2IB-Ngtai1oaE8nU/s1600/CoverDetail_Moshe.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Detail of Moshe Baran from cover art.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqSPFTaiqBYIx7IFFrQBVTcChJQcF4DS1MmCxj10SIScHxn_65b0DOkp34DTBCMD8-INiOJV6vD_Q3Ye3ua0t0Zq59rN4-_dhpwK06WaQoel9cLblTRjPUqy-s3KFo5TOduuugq7clGJQ/s1600/CoverDetail_Malka.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqSPFTaiqBYIx7IFFrQBVTcChJQcF4DS1MmCxj10SIScHxn_65b0DOkp34DTBCMD8-INiOJV6vD_Q3Ye3ua0t0Zq59rN4-_dhpwK06WaQoel9cLblTRjPUqy-s3KFo5TOduuugq7clGJQ/s1600/CoverDetail_Malka.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Detail of Malka Baran from cover art.</td></tr>
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It was also at this time I became keenly aware that my cover art depiction of the Barans would also serve as my model for how to render them during most of the sequences in their combined story. Aside from more contemporary photographs of the couple (Malka passed away in 2007, but I had numerous photos and footage of her and Moshe together), there was a specific photo of them as newlyweds in the early 1950s that I revisited constantly. During online searches, I found it on <a href="http://boazmunro.com/2012/05/" target="_blank">a blog post written about them by their grandson, Boaz Munro</a>, and it was an invaluable resource. I basically used it to reverse-engineer how they might have looked during the war. Once their likenesses were defined to a degree that I could draw and redraw them consistently, it was time to move along to the script.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-QYwW5Xi3_TIyV6N4OJ9JvsxzN0urWWa5_YHLsqWXdIHMP2btMaSU0NTFMxAelHtqP2IDroiFZbKVvWIbkgreScNPUPQAENzDoj-ow_ZxeQ5Fo2kF9kK7tx31WZzQwhus-0wG6NOO5-k/s1600/Malka-and-Moshe-Baran.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-QYwW5Xi3_TIyV6N4OJ9JvsxzN0urWWa5_YHLsqWXdIHMP2btMaSU0NTFMxAelHtqP2IDroiFZbKVvWIbkgreScNPUPQAENzDoj-ow_ZxeQ5Fo2kF9kK7tx31WZzQwhus-0wG6NOO5-k/s1600/Malka-and-Moshe-Baran.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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While he chides himself for over-writing, Wayne’s script for the Barans’ story solidly cleared the hurdle of brevity. He had managed to distill two massive personal journeys down to roughly four pages each in a way that made sense to me. That was important because I make no pretense of being an historical scholar <i>at all</i>. If I could understand what was happening, I could depict that for the readers. Their stories were told in mostly linear fashion, so after rereading the script and getting clarification on some historical points, it became a matter of finding the best way to tell the tales concurrently.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhILTwxa2L8PTvdXkyKiQ58Id6DGlQLbaBRllr291tcIbje9p6TRhb4Cpw1PIAGJ2PuYDrm0kBxjGJC6SQfl_HSSE5HAgc0A56xUleeKjiVA2Xj2RzI10LEazSHvQcXSgIbksFhjqDwebk/s1600/DSC01976_RETOUCHED.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhILTwxa2L8PTvdXkyKiQ58Id6DGlQLbaBRllr291tcIbje9p6TRhb4Cpw1PIAGJ2PuYDrm0kBxjGJC6SQfl_HSSE5HAgc0A56xUleeKjiVA2Xj2RzI10LEazSHvQcXSgIbksFhjqDwebk/s1600/DSC01976_RETOUCHED.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Layout scroll on the floor of my studio.</td></tr>
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Being methodical by nature, I love the layout process of comic-book stories. Typically, I’ll lay a scroll of paper on the floor of my studio and attack it with colored markers while going through the script. It’s an organic way of working where everything is fluid and loose, and yet everything is also physically taking shape. Prior to the layout, everything is conceptual; afterwards, things are literal. So this stream-of-consciousness-like stage represents that middle ground where comic-books feel the most like jazz music to me. It’s where I really get to play.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWoy-HEISX1d7F3m26KqHfoYYw40CoybfhEWvlatIACAYHKb8mFRZ502E7glsmfGZEEDCwTLs_wSSmEwRQOF_cR9iIkRcrIwEY-KCBWQzLgIt8qypPB1ZaUdA_OLcHeslaSLvGszVZnIE/s1600/WALKER_BaransStory_Thumbnails_Pg001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWoy-HEISX1d7F3m26KqHfoYYw40CoybfhEWvlatIACAYHKb8mFRZ502E7glsmfGZEEDCwTLs_wSSmEwRQOF_cR9iIkRcrIwEY-KCBWQzLgIt8qypPB1ZaUdA_OLcHeslaSLvGszVZnIE/s1600/WALKER_BaransStory_Thumbnails_Pg001.jpg" width="207" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Detail of Page One from<br />
the layout scroll.</td></tr>
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One of the things that the scroll approach affords me is the chance to see the entirety of a story all at once. Because of this, there are often opportunities to include visual foreshadowing or callbacks that might otherwise be overlooked. There is a short sequence in Moshe’s story where he finally escapes from one place to another, and I realized that it mirrored a moment several pages later in Malka’s story. I decided to make the composition of his two panels and her two panels identical, even though they occur in different places. The delivery is subtle, but it satisfied my sense of balance between their stories.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL_9Uu2-a36BEQpgt5LQGLCGF5mCPNHpGUV7XJmr6ye8TLWvOpg9uM4cy50qfVvv9pXwGQQTg3d56tYuaYzVqnLSJXtE1nvCV-PgofkbgSByLjhQrgYnJw2lh5ruUPhrK5CTzURFyM_LY/s1600/WALKER_Moshe_Malka_LookingAtSun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL_9Uu2-a36BEQpgt5LQGLCGF5mCPNHpGUV7XJmr6ye8TLWvOpg9uM4cy50qfVvv9pXwGQQTg3d56tYuaYzVqnLSJXtE1nvCV-PgofkbgSByLjhQrgYnJw2lh5ruUPhrK5CTzURFyM_LY/s1600/WALKER_Moshe_Malka_LookingAtSun.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Side-by-side comparison of panels from<br />
Moshe's and Malka's stories.</td></tr>
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Wayne actually has a knack for providing no more text or suggested imagery than is needed to further a narrative. That said, there were some places where I took liberties with the script’s emphasis on certain points, while there were other “fixed” points that felt key to the integrity of the overall story. Originally Moshe and Malka, as narrators of their respective histories, had individual introductory pages, and Malka’s main story was slightly shorter than Moshe’s. However, I felt like there was a beat missing that we needed to open things up to make room to depict.</div>
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By combining the Barans’ introductions into a single page which began both of their stories, we gained back a page which freed me up to depict the sequence I feel is the emotional centerpiece of <b><i>CHUTZ-POW!</i></b>. It contains what I consider to be the single most important panel of sequential art I’ve drawn in my career to date. That realization, coupled with the knowledge that I was depicting such a powerful moment in the lives of real people, struck me late one night while I was inking, and my brush hand shook briefly. I’ve never been moved by something I’ve worked on so directly, and it cemented in my mind how potent <b><i>CHUTZ-POW!</i></b> could be.</div>
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There was a later panel that called for me to depict Moshe’s experience encountering the US Army in 1945 near Hamburg, Germany, mostly to show they were both there at that time and place. I was stuck for exactly how to render it, and left the panel blank, hoping inspiration – or necessity – would strike when I got to it. Wayne then had a request for me: he asked if I could draw his father Keith - who’s own Army unit had been there at the same time as Moshe’s, in that panel.</div>
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It was a perfect idea. While it is highly unlikely that Keith and Moshe personally interacted while in Hamburg, this panel now would literally convey worlds drawn closer. For most readers who will never know who this American soldier is, it won’t detract from their engagement in the story. But for those of us who do know, it represents yet one more person who now has an important part of his history documented for the ages.</div>
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The call for historical accuracy demanded that I do my work in amassing visual references to make everything believable. In my own comic book, <b><i><a href="http://www.herocorp.biz/">HERO CORP, INTERNATIONAL</a></i></b>, I have a lot of autonomy in depicting real life people (most of whom I personally know) in a fictional setting. For <b><i>CHUTZ-POW!</i></b>, there would be no cheating my way around making things look correct. This made me nervous at the outset because, frankly, I’m very squeamish, and if you’re seeking visual references on the Holocaust, you will be encountering some of the worst imagery you could ever see. I don’t want to say that I became desensitized to it, but I did start expecting it and bracing for it. Since the Barans’ story focuses far more on survival than death, my final photos were much more bearable to look at than what I initially thought they would be.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7n5bn_V-KsNO2uYCb8nMAPPgNQ5vWvOjN0FEBNdMglWBbIaA9jlXYv0ItvVV9B0XXrfh7q4H_yT0-UVQwz_7haKSufIg7z55ndUL50Aaf_V3r92z68dkMFTVBi4ze9V4G5A-B86DWSaI/s1600/Moshe_Pg002_Panel006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7n5bn_V-KsNO2uYCb8nMAPPgNQ5vWvOjN0FEBNdMglWBbIaA9jlXYv0ItvVV9B0XXrfh7q4H_yT0-UVQwz_7haKSufIg7z55ndUL50Aaf_V3r92z68dkMFTVBi4ze9V4G5A-B86DWSaI/s1600/Moshe_Pg002_Panel006.jpg" width="219" /></a>The last challenge for me was a personal one: knowing that I was working on a book alongside professional artists Mark Zingarelli, Dave Wachter, and Chris Moeller was almost scary. All of them have impressive credentials in a way that I don’t (although <a href="http://www.tms.org/comictanium/themes.aspx" target="_blank">I’m getting there!</a>), so it was essential that I brought my A-game to this project. I tried not to get too psyched out when their preliminary roughs came in, followed by their final artwork. It was beautiful stuff, produced quickly, all of it very different than mine. At times it was humbling to see, and there were a few moments where I thought, “Oh my God – why am I putting my work next to <i>theirs</i> again?!?” In the end, everything is complimentary, and each story has its own place in the anthology. The four separate art styles work much like songs on a concept album, flowing from mood to mood. I think my interpretation of the Barans’ story provides the movement we need at just the right spot.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz5AuvtGI4YScKNw0u05REXjbBL9mp7n9p0mJPkEVZzC55b9EgTP2mK1nkshJdwShA9T1fn5KrHt8vIzTSY6JLrJlTtLC7lYpnqmw-yUECyqiCGhBGWudcXyXbcYqhSu8JvvbyWWVn1dI/s1600/Malka_Pg003_Panel003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz5AuvtGI4YScKNw0u05REXjbBL9mp7n9p0mJPkEVZzC55b9EgTP2mK1nkshJdwShA9T1fn5KrHt8vIzTSY6JLrJlTtLC7lYpnqmw-yUECyqiCGhBGWudcXyXbcYqhSu8JvvbyWWVn1dI/s1600/Malka_Pg003_Panel003.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
Malka Baran chose after the war to pursue a career in childrens’ education. I also spent a number of years teaching kids, and I like to think that she would especially be pleased with the educational goals of the <b><i>CHUTZ-POW!</i></b> project. I’m honored to have been allowed the chance to put my skills to use in order to share the message of their parallel choices to not succumb to hatred. There are no politics when it comes down to right and wrong, and the spirit of this book is decidedly very, very right. That’s due in large measure to Malka and Moshe. Thank you to the Baran family for allowing us to explore your history.</div>
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Thanks as well to <a href="http://holocaustcenterpgh.org/ChutzPow.aspx" target="_blank">The Holocaust Center</a> and <a href="http://www.toonseum.org/" target="_blank">TheToonSeum</a> for asking me to participate, mad props to Wayne for his great script (go read more of his musings on superheroes on <a href="http://masksblog.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">his other blog, <i>MASKS</i></a>), and a salute to Zach for his astounding diplomacy. I hope the response to <b><i>CHUTZPOW!</i></b> is kind and sustained, and we get the opportunity to tell the stories of even more UpStanders.</div>
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They all still have a lot to teach us.<br />
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Next Entry: <a href="http://thoughtinmind.blogspot.com/2014/08/chutz-pow-preparing-for-print-episode-3.html" target="_blank">PREPARING FOR PRINT</a></div>
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<i><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://pittsburgh.secure-fedweb.jewishfederations.org/page/contribute/ChutzPowLaunchParty" target="_blank">Come join us at the <b>CHUTZ-POW! Superheroes of the Holocaust</b> Launch Party</a></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://pittsburgh.secure-fedweb.jewishfederations.org/page/contribute/ChutzPowLaunchParty" target="_blank">on Thursday, August 14th at the ToonSeum!</a></span></i></div>
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Marcelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11532253196796057294noreply@blogger.com0