A Gentleman's C-

A rare example of my artwork.  Rare because most of it has been long since tossed.

 

Sometimes Junior High takes you down some bad roads.  Places you'll know you'll never go again.

Yes, Junior High is a place where many's personalities are set.  Will you be a good person?  A bad person?  Study or party? Athlete or scholar? Bully or nerd?

This is not about that.

This is about THE TOUR.  I don't know if schools do this anymore, but I sure had to go through it.  THE TOUR was a whirlwind exposition, where you spent several weeks in one class and then were put into another.  And these were not academic classes, strictly speaking. No, they were designed to introduce you to activities you may eventually want to take up, ones that could lead to satisfying hobbies, even careers.

THE TOUR I most remember involved three classes - Art, Shop & Home Economics.

I shined at none of these.  

In Shop, everything I tried to make turned into a messy glob.  The shop teacher would look at my mess and say, "Well, let's just call it an ashtray."  I told him no one in my family smoked.  "Candy dish, then."  We had a lot of candy dishes that year, none of which stood the test of time.  I also built a bookshelf that I had to put in my closet - it had to be supported by the back and side walls, or it would collapse.

In Home Economics, I sewed together a stuffed alligator.  It dribbled stuffing from its hindquarters, no matter what I did to stem its outward flow.  It looked ghastly, and I kept it for years as a reminder that even ugly things had a kind of beauty.

But the one that broke my heart was Art.  In my fantasy world, I dreamed that maybe someday I could be an artist - draw pictures of anthropomorphic fruit or draw for comic books.

That illusion was quickly shattered.

The first major project was a plaster of paris pig.  I want you to know that I did the assignment.  I turned something in.  But I got an F.  The same grade as if I hadn't done it all.

Discouraged and humiliated, I was determined not to give up.  The next assignment was to produce a cartoon panel.  Wow!  Now, this was up my alley!

I worked as hard as I've ever worked on anything in my life.  I combined two comic strips popular at the time, Eek & Meek, two mice, and Frank & Ernest, two down on their luck men.

I pictured one of the mice throwing a brick at the Frank & Ernest characters, which actually traced back to an earlier comic strip called Krazy Kat.

I didn't draw these examples - they are original Art, but you get what I'm going for.

I can't remember the captions, but I thought the whole thing was clever, and I drew my little heart out.

I turned it in, brimming with pride.

She gave ma a C-.

I was stunned! I asked, "Why do you give me a C-? I worked really hard!"

She looked at me.  "I know you did.  And that's why I gave you a C-."

Teachers can have much influence, both good and bad.  I never did much Art after that.  Never took another class.  Didn't really draw much even for me anymore. 

If I worked hard and made it my life's mission, could I have developed the skills to be an artist?  Hard to say.  I'm guessing...not.  It may be just the way my mind is wired.

After a brief break, while COVID raged, I've returned to my first love - community theatre.  I'm playing Thurston Howell in Gilligan's Island: The Musical.  In it, I'm challenging my theatre motto - I can act with the best of them, I can sing with the rest of them, and I can dance if everyone closes their eyes and pretends.

I have two dance numbers with Mrs. Howell, and I am doing a credible job.  I'm not outstanding, but it fits the character and the circumstances.

There was another dance number that involved a lot of group choreography, where I would need to do steps and movements simultaneously as everyone else.  For me, that was a real challenge.  I don't know my right from my left, my reactions were slow, and I cannot count in my head.

If it was what the Director wanted, I was determined to do everything I could to do my best.

But the reality was that I was not going to come up to snuff in the time that we had.

The Director rightfully understood this, and I was switched to be on the sidelines to observe the dance rather than perform it.

It hurt.  It stung.  But it was the right call.

Oh, I would have given it my all.  I would watch the videos and practice, practice, practice.

And I'm sure I would have improved.

And I'm also sure that by the time of the performance, the best grade I would get was a Gentleman's C-.  And that wasn't going to cut it.  Not for this show.  It's a great number, and I don't need to be a distraction in it.

Interestingly, as I was dancing more, rather than hurt my feet and knees, it actually made things better.  It was exactly the right kind of exercise I needed!

So, who knows?  Maybe I'll take up dancing as a hobby.  Find a ballroom class or something. Get one of those dancing exercise tapes.  And since it's not on stage, who cares how good I am, as long as I'm getting exercise and having fun?

Speaking of which, maybe it's time to end my exile from drawing.  As  I get more time in retirement, it might be kinda fun.  Yeah, you won't be seeing my stuff in the Louvre, but it might be fun nonetheless.

When you're doing it for yourself, a Gentleman's C- is a lovely grade.

Who knows?  Maybe with effort and practice, I can pull it up to a C+!

The Curious Artistic Life of T. M. Strait

I like art.

At one time, I even liked to draw.

My parents had a great art book that I would look through, even as a toddler.  I was struck particularly by a painting of St. George slaying a dragon.  My earliest dreams that I remember, when I was only three or four was of being a knight rescuing a princess from a dragon.

Before I started Kindergarten, I would go to the grocery store with my mother.  She would leave me by the magazines (yes, this was in an age where you didn't worry so much about such things) and there I discovered the amazing world of comic books.  The combination of words and pictures to tell amazing stories.  I convinced my mother to let us buy a copy of Snow White from the Classics Illustrated Jr. line, and eagerly read it over and over again (yes, my mother taught me to read even before Kindergarten began). There was an order form on the back, with dozens you could buy and have mailed to you, for the whopping price of fifteen cents apiece.  I carefully picked out three, including The Dancing Princess and The Frog and the Princess - anything about princesses and being rescued were the ones I wanted.  Waiting the six weeks or so for those to arrive in our mail was the longest wait of my young life.

As I got a few years older, I continued to love comics, branching more into super heroes.  But it wasn't enough just to read.  I wanted to create my own stories.  So I created my own comic books, a whole line centered around Superboy and Krypto, the Legion of Super Heroes, and Plant Lad (the star of my line).  It was starting to dawn on me that my drawing skills were somewhat suspect.  I liked scenes in front of a bank.  I would draw a straight line down the panel, stick a rectangle out front and write the word BANK.  Wahh laah!  I tried to sell a few to friends, but remember this was before copy machines, and I didn't prepare them on mimeograph paper.  So each issue sold was individually hand drawn!  I may have sold less that a half dozen in my entire career, making a sum total of about thirteen cents.

By 7th grade, I was beginning to realize I was more of a writer than an artist.  This was confirmed by my first real "Art" class that year.  One of our projects was to create a pig out of plaster of Paris.  Mine was a true misshapen monstrosity   I got an F for my efforts, a truly humiliating grade for somebody who had at least TRIED to do the assignment.

 But I did not give up.  The next assignment was to draw a picture using other characters from popular culture.  I created a cartoon that combined two popular newspaper comic strips of the time, Eek and Meek (two fierce little mice) and Frank and Earnest (kind of everyman sad sacks).  Eek was throwing something at Frank.  I worked very, very hard on this picture.  I very carefully crafted the images of the four, and set my humorous scene.  It looked good to me.  I was so ready to present to the teacher and get my grade!

She looked at it carefully, and then marked her grade.  C+.  I was mortified!  I told her, "B-but I worked so hard on it!!!"  She looked at me sympathetically, like you might look at one who had flatulence but just medically couldn't help it, and said, "I know you did.  That's why I gave you a C+."

My heart was broken.  And thus died my dreams of combining art and story.  All my efforts since have been concentrated on the word aspect.

But sometimes in my mind, in the deep recesses of my imagination, I still see my stories as explosively illustrated, with me being able to draw more than banks and stick figures with capes.

Who knows?  Maybe someday, with enough time and discipline.  One never knows.  One can always dream!

Celebrity Preservation

In the media circus that surrounds Michael Jackson's funeral, it is hard to reach out and grab what is significant, if anything. It is easy to condemn all the hoopla surrounding it, and I have not been shy in my disapproval of a rubbernecking media. I have no idea what Michael Jackson was or wasn't in his personal life, but I am sure, like Elvis and Marilyn before him, these sordid details will consume many for years to come.

Even that, is an ephemeral concern. There was a show I saw recently on The History Channel called The Secrets of the Founding Fathers. It was interesting, and may have shed some light on some things, but in the long run, it is not what the Founding Fathers are known for. They are known for the documents that shaped this country's destiny.

So, in a hundred years, what will Michael Jackson be known for? What makes any celebrity endure? It is their works that endure, not their lifestyle, not even their performances. Will anybody be singing his songs a hundred years from now? Will they be considered "Michael Jackson" songs? Will we remember him, like we do Shakespeare, Beethoven and Mark Twain? Historians and others may be able to preserve the colorful personalities for us, but it is by their works they shall be known.

In this regard, one of the harsh realizations I have come to, is how ephemeral the acting profession is. You would think with the advent of film, certain actors and actresses would be watched and adored for generations to come. But I fear that is not the case. Footage and effects look old, remakes supersede the original, there is less interest in actors you cannot fantasize about really meeting.

I'm open to discussion, and here's the question...what artistic performers and creators from the last half of the 20th century do you think will still be watched and appreciated in the last half of the 21st century? And remember, it's the general public I'm talking about, not just historians and enthusiasts. Please, please comment.

Oh Lonesome Tree!

For the first time in many, many years I bought a painting. And I believe it is the first time I have purchased one directly from the artist. I love it's quality and haunting simplicity. It looks like a place I've been to in my mind many times. The artist is Kayti Jeffords, a local artist here in Waycross, Georgia. She painted this at 15! She is now a year or two older and just getting better and better! They are displayed sometimes at the Okefenokee Heritage Arts Center in Waycross. I am going to research as to where else these may be found on the web and then update this post with the results.