tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41753799420406521432024-03-13T12:52:29.979-04:00Bryan Thomas Molloybryan thomas molloy, a fine artist/painter living in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania USA- bryanmolloyart.comAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-78733567756574108152014-07-29T01:37:00.001-04:002014-07-29T01:37:00.590-04:00Tracey and Bob Meloni wedding portrait commissionhttp://bryanmolloy-universe.tumblr.com/post/93185657462/tracey-and-bob-meloni-wedding-portrait-commissionAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comHarrisburg, Harrisburg40.27319 -76.8867tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-86433758152414007132013-10-29T19:38:00.001-04:002013-10-29T19:38:17.484-04:00Early 21st Century Nuclear PhysicsEarly 21st Century Nuclear Physics:<br />
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<br />
A Poem (from Twitter) by Bryan Molloy<br />
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Higgs Boson one of a pair; delicate flocking, quarking mare; 1of2, so<br />
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are you; all time rocking, crocking there. Faster then faster friend-<br />
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Your lightly balanced bending hair; shaft not broke, follicle stoked;<br />
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in the end lighting Pegasus' yoke; balance due, 1and2, to the end of-<br />
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Bended breath, baited heft; lonely Boson weighted breath; whilst thine<br />
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with iron piggy smelt; that on end around the bend, taking with it-<br />
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Patience(s)' friend, on the end; solid quiz for meanings' bent- which<br />
<br />
they then did divide; confuse. Tallish friend, dimension's end-<br />
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Tap thee solid like one friend- to the end, seen like a bend, twisted<br />
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in the imagination-land; 'till no more understanding lend, and we of<br />
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3-<br />
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Coursing tee; ending in the end of trees, willing thee, splitting<br />
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thence, into 8s and bits of sense; bits of light standing on end-<br />
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Terminating then found friend, as the hence, Olympus rent; the<br />
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nodding, failing, trembling fend; off and then, dimension again,<br />
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findings-<br />
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Order off thine trend; this is well, this is then, #trending motto<br />
<br />
'till the end; Alexander follows knot by chopping, lopping off-<br />
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<br />
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But sorting not.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-10137367759980197082013-04-30T17:53:00.000-04:002013-04-30T17:53:53.197-04:002013 Artist Description<br />
My work is primarily oil painting in a "Boston Impressionist" style as established by those artists influenced by Boston at the end of the 19th Century who trained in the tradition of those reclaiming the brilliance of the Renaissance while forging a new Eastern and Western globally integrated style of artistic discipline.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-61990051299234781772013-02-05T17:50:00.002-05:002015-02-12T11:41:42.729-05:00An Ancient Celtic Boy's Journey from Africa to Stonehenge<p dir="ltr">(From Twitter)</p>
<p dir="ltr">Most families went. They stayed near the shoreline for safety. And it</p>
<p dir="ltr">was easier to make rest-stops that way.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The delicate stuff they had made with their neighbors was safer too in</p>
<p dir="ltr">the calmer waters near the shoreline.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It was strapped in a big cage to the rear. Sticks were bent and tied</p>
<p dir="ltr">with reeds at even distances. Some families used animal intestines.</p>
<p dir="ltr">They dried harder and were stronger, but his father ignored the extra</p>
<p dir="ltr">security measures. No one questioned him.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He made primitive flint-lock spear-heads, his body was all scarred,</p>
<p dir="ltr">and he was the shape of a beer-barrel; and hard too.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His skin was black like everyone else's, but bluer, but not darker.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The super black skinned ones of their neighbors had a lot of blue</p>
<p dir="ltr">in the skin tones, but the lighter the skin of their children or</p>
<p dir="ltr">relatives were, the more yellow it became.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His skin was less yellow, less, blue, and lighter. He didn't look like</p>
<p dir="ltr">any others, and he didn't act like any others.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Everyone of their neighbors was very respectful to him, but he made no</p>
<p dir="ltr">speeches, dances, nor did he stop people from being angry.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Everyone seemed to be very interested in making very fine things. They</p>
<p dir="ltr">made things no one made. Sent them off around the shorelines</p>
<p dir="ltr">trading them with the people who made other fine things that no one else made.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Certain people wanted certain things, others wanted certain other</p>
<p dir="ltr">things. A shoreline trading raft would load and unload many times.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Some circled the globe, they were massive. When one saw them all green</p>
<p dir="ltr">and with barnacles passing by,</p>
<p dir="ltr">you felt as big as it was, like you were strong and could drive one</p>
<p dir="ltr">someday; its great spirit gravity force tickled the closer it got</p>
<p dir="ltr">When it passed you felt as if a 100 foot- tall giant had stooped and</p>
<p dir="ltr">whispered a cool breezy secret in your ear that gave you shivers of</p>
<p dir="ltr">power and smiles and calm. The logs it was made of were 50 or more men</p>
<p dir="ltr">tall on the cut side; you couldn't reach across even one ring.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Sometimes many animals were roped to the shore and pulled along the beach.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Roofs and fires and towns and towers poked and glimmered from its</p>
<p dir="ltr">distant topside.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His father didn't even look up that time. The memory became his son's</p>
<p dir="ltr">responsibility alone.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His mother sat very elegantly- chin high, face to the warm sea wind;</p>
<p dir="ltr">baby nursing; red blanket unfurling like a fish-tail from her hips.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His younger brother had been lulled to sleep in the shade beneath the</p>
<p dir="ltr">roof off the storage cage.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He stood by his father's wicker-braided stool that had been lashed to</p>
<p dir="ltr">the deck, as his father pulled the tiller side to side in the shallows</p>
<p dir="ltr">of the bright tourquoise and white, neverending beach. The trees would</p>
<p dir="ltr">change some, and sometimes there was more rocks than sand,</p>
<p dir="ltr">but it was always the same, soft journey to trade what his father had</p>
<p dir="ltr">taught them all to make. There was a global demand for it.</p>
<p dir="ltr">People made different things, then traded for things they didn't have.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Most people on the planet had a modest collection of the finest</p>
<p dir="ltr">things made all over the world, from the best people that made them.</p>
<p dir="ltr">If you couldn't make the best stuff- you couldn't trade it.</p>
<p dir="ltr">They called his father 'Mac'. His son stood close by in the sun and</p>
<p dir="ltr">traced the line on his father's left hand; the hand that held to the</p>
<p dir="ltr">tiller. It looked like at some point his father had dipped his hand in</p>
<p dir="ltr">black stain. His fingers and palm matched his other hand, but</p>
<p dir="ltr">a circle like a tatoo bracelet of grey/black remained and was dry, hot</p>
<p dir="ltr">and leathery to the boy's delicate soft fingertop.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His father never felt the urge or impulse to speak to anyone who was</p>
<p dir="ltr">near to him, just because they were near.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Everyone else did, even him. It felt like one had to, or else it was</p>
<p dir="ltr">rude. His father rarely even turned his head in that instance.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The soft salty shore breeze ruffled the peeling splintering log fibers</p>
<p dir="ltr">on the aft and along the binded roping of the raft.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Remnants of what had been clouds had been mushed and streaked and</p>
<p dir="ltr">scraped across the delicate blue transition;</p>
<p dir="ltr">from a blurry light blue, fading up to a deep blue-green.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The raft slid along a smooth clearwater area that followed the shape</p>
<p dir="ltr">of the coastline.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Beyond this the water was wrinkled from too much sun and striped in</p>
<p dir="ltr">white hashmarks and tourquoise slashes.</p>
<p dir="ltr">If one looked straight ahead, you saw: the green from the left, white,</p>
<p dir="ltr">then blue that got more blue.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The salty air made perspiration dry and put a microscopic layer of</p>
<p dir="ltr">finely powdered salt all over everything.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It made breathing wonderful, it made touching things feel soft, and</p>
<p dir="ltr">everything looked very crisp indeed.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The tiller swished along, curling the transparent water around it,</p>
<p dir="ltr">accompanied by a soft, hollow, wooden clunking that seemd to echo</p>
<p dir="ltr">lightly</p>
<p dir="ltr">, as if it came from inside a tiny cave. His head was feeling big and</p>
<p dir="ltr">his eyes felt pushing out around them and from behind them.</p>
<p dir="ltr">From pushing himself upright on the edge of the raft he smelled the</p>
<p dir="ltr">very salty ocean smell which faded instantly when he was upright.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The delicate brown hair on his thin honey-brown forearms blew in every</p>
<p dir="ltr">direction as he now kneeled.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His oversized head had bits of sand in it. It gave his mother a</p>
<p dir="ltr">regular excuse to rub his head.</p>
<p dir="ltr">When his mother's long, soft hand rubbed his head it gave him chills</p>
<p dir="ltr">down his shoulders and back and belly that made him feel calm and</p>
<p dir="ltr">safe and not scared of anything. His father's hand caused a similar,</p>
<p dir="ltr">sharper vibration, and felt like a stone hat on his head.</p>
<p dir="ltr">From time to time the raft pitched its corners from the opposite one</p>
<p dir="ltr">to the next. Even if nothing onboard had moved.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Everything one touched sounded like crispy dried grass and leaves. The</p>
<p dir="ltr">logs were sanded with wear and smooth and round and soft.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The neighbors would take turns traveling the old trading route up the</p>
<p dir="ltr">coast, but his family went more often.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Trading parteners were always wondering and inquiring as to innovative</p>
<p dir="ltr">new aspects of his father's glasses. Since he only taught the</p>
<p dir="ltr">neighbors how to to help him make more of them, and they were more</p>
<p dir="ltr">happy to be able to make something in such great demand, rather than</p>
<p dir="ltr">really identifying and cataloging in their own memories the</p>
<p dir="ltr">intricacies of all myriad of mystical components</p>
<p dir="ltr">He showed his son how to make the glasses, what kind of metal, what</p>
<p dir="ltr">kind of bacteria, what kind of grass reeds;</p>
<p dir="ltr">;how finely is the powder ground, how long is the fire burned, how to</p>
<p dir="ltr">use the right sand, how long to dry, how long to polish;</p>
<p dir="ltr">how to count the glass rocking, how to stop the seal cracking, when to</p>
<p dir="ltr">trust the metal springing;</p>
<p dir="ltr">how to command these tiny things with the respect of a General for a</p>
<p dir="ltr">great army, and how to never trust them; as cold-handed murderers all;</p>
<p dir="ltr">these tiny bits of grass, jelly, metal, and glass.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The groupings of them were finely wrapped in a certain worthy cloth</p>
<p dir="ltr">they traded for in the past to use to wrap them safely.</p>
<p dir="ltr">There they lay humped with so much hope, kindess, great spirit and</p>
<p dir="ltr">confidence, covered in their plaid swaddling within the security cage.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Some were different than others. Some allowed a person to see in the</p>
<p dir="ltr">dark of night.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Some allowed a person to see the pebbles on a mountaintop.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Some worked better in the fog. Some worked better in the rain. Some</p>
<p dir="ltr">were small. Some were bronze. Some were handled. Some were bright.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Jewlers liked the ones that made small things big, so it was easier to</p>
<p dir="ltr">see the patterns they would scratch into gold and silver.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Hunters liked the ones that showed heat at great distances, and made</p>
<p dir="ltr">seeing far away very much like seeing things in a room.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Cooks liked the ones that showed what else besides the surface of</p>
<p dir="ltr">their food was on the surface of their food.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Much of these fuctional specificities were aided by what his father</p>
<p dir="ltr">said were tiny plants that he carefully grew.</p>
<p dir="ltr">To his brother and him they were among the colors of poop paint that</p>
<p dir="ltr">were smeard on the walls during creative naps.</p>
<p dir="ltr">People and paths and ground color came straight from the diaper. But a</p>
<p dir="ltr">cache of hoarded canisters containing the colored jelly</p>
<p dir="ltr">served to give shape to trees and bushes and carts and clothes. It all</p>
<p dir="ltr">smelled like poop, and naptime was boring; one needed to create!</p>
<p dir="ltr">As he grew older, his insensitivity to the smell of algea and</p>
<p dir="ltr">bacteria, and poop grew. And these things became-</p>
<p dir="ltr">what they were to everyone else.</p>
<p dir="ltr">A technological revolution, a gold mine, undespensible, precious,</p>
<p dir="ltr">highly respected, worth a great deal in trade.</p>
<p dir="ltr">There were few functional necessities in their time, but in a global sense,</p>
<p dir="ltr">his father's glasses were among the top three highest grade military</p>
<p dir="ltr">secrets guarded.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Protecting the American, Austaliian, Pacific, Asian, European, and</p>
<p dir="ltr">African shoreline trading communities,</p>
<p dir="ltr">and their meager inland beneficiaries, was an easy task. Security came</p>
<p dir="ltr">in the form of trade. There was no need that trade couldn't meet.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Civilization was the beachfronts of all continents. Large animals,</p>
<p dir="ltr">irradic and violent weather patterns, disease, and other forms of</p>
<p dir="ltr">illness</p>
<p dir="ltr">made inhabiting any substantial portion of the inland of any continent</p>
<p dir="ltr">absolutely lethal.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And the coastal perimeter provided the perfect commecial transport</p>
<p dir="ltr">arena; water would displace an unlimited amount of weight.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Therefore, to provide a quaint example: A normal-sized donkey could-</p>
<p dir="ltr">tied by a rope to a barge across him in the water of the shoreline-</p>
<p dir="ltr">pull a donkey made of stone 100 times the size of the donkey pulling donkey.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His father had explained bitterly that this very principle that</p>
<p dir="ltr">brought stability and peace and convenience to billions of people,</p>
<p dir="ltr">had also timed its own demise. He said angrily, his leathery blue</p>
<p dir="ltr">black face all folded angrily, that the bigger they get,</p>
<p dir="ltr">the more they haul, the more they haul, the taller they haul, the</p>
<p dir="ltr">taller they haul, the slower they crawl,</p>
<p dir="ltr">the slower they crawl, the bigger they are, and the bigger they are,</p>
<p dir="ltr">the harder they fall.</p>
<p dir="ltr">... which explains why his father defiantly dis-acknowledged the large</p>
<p dir="ltr">giant smoking raft-city.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He knew his fate, saw the future, and had built the past.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He was angry and defiant regarding the future mess he had left to his son.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He had done too good a job.</p>
<p dir="ltr">People had had too many healthy children with plenty of food to eat.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Their children had plenty of food to eat and plenty of things to make.</p>
<p dir="ltr">These children had more things to make and more mouths to feed.</p>
<p dir="ltr">So these children built bigger rafts to raise...</p>
<p dir="ltr">All the more things for the more children they made.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His son didn't understand that he understood this far because he</p>
<p dir="ltr">hadn't gotten angry about it:</p>
<p dir="ltr">Like his father was.</p>
<p dir="ltr">So they journeyed on. Along the white lines to their left which were</p>
<p dir="ltr">shown by the moonlight even at night.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Those curls and rolls of foam and sea-sense.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And wide white band of reaching beachfront.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The glimmering backs of humping sandbars, lying around in the bright</p>
<p dir="ltr">specks of coral; like old lazy sacks bursting with snowflakes;</p>
<p dir="ltr">beneath the glass ceiling, of that ocean-bay inlet; in the quiet warm</p>
<p dir="ltr">night in the dark after sunset.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The boy was startled momentarily by the motion of his father's forearm</p>
<p dir="ltr">in the corner of his vision.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His interest was then distracted again by a bird on the land-side</p>
<p dir="ltr">shushing up from a tree rustling;</p>
<p dir="ltr">he had noticed the familiar glint of the metal part of the casing on</p>
<p dir="ltr">his father's glasses and so decided to remain unmoved</p>
<p dir="ltr">by that distraction- meanwhile following the flight of the bird</p>
<p dir="ltr">bursting through the illusory green balloon of this tree.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The bird had been propelled by a monkey screech apparently, as the</p>
<p dir="ltr">sound and bird's speed were of the same moment.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The gaps in the tree's solid exterior gaped like rocking jaws of a</p>
<p dir="ltr">dead animal after the fact;</p>
<p dir="ltr">as if the tree itself was a monkey who swung it's arms in defeat or</p>
<p dir="ltr">calmed menace to distract</p>
<p dir="ltr">onlookers from the shame of its failure to catch keep carry or kill;</p>
<p dir="ltr">the old 'jump and run' after a trip on the curb.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Functional superstition, as it is observed in scientific study.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Superstition gaped greenly by association with it's violent friends,</p>
<p dir="ltr">and rocked and swayed in monkey-shame in this just-after.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The raft rocked gently beneath his father's hammer-steps.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And his son turned just his head to pick up where he had left off at</p>
<p dir="ltr">the binoculars;</p>
<p dir="ltr">the tree's screaming seeming to have been resolved.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The boy's eyes stared steadily at the glinting gold rim of the glasses</p>
<p dir="ltr">his father held.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His eyes moved between his father's covered eyes, taking into account</p>
<p dir="ltr">the tilt of his father's head,</p>
<p dir="ltr">angle of his arm, and plane of his shoulders in relation to himself;</p>
<p dir="ltr">and he was aware of the angle at which he stood</p>
<p dir="ltr">in that same relationship.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And the boy the guessed what his father was looking at- quickly like</p>
<p dir="ltr">an arrow shot from a bow his head snapped in that attack-</p>
<p dir="ltr">until it froze as still as he still stood, rocking gently.</p>
<p dir="ltr">There was absolutely no way he knew what his father was looking at.</p>
<p dir="ltr">There was something very far away now.</p>
<p dir="ltr">After the calm night the bright day blew in and up along the beachline</p>
<p dir="ltr">curving inward to the left,</p>
<p dir="ltr">chased by the rough, green grass on the one side, and slapped by the</p>
<p dir="ltr">whale's tail surf on the other.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The rafting lanes were much further out from all this commotion.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Tiny birds ran about like nearly invisible rolling thistle, or balls</p>
<p dir="ltr">of dried seaweed or grass,</p>
<p dir="ltr">needling the sand like sewing machine heads escaping from their</p>
<p dir="ltr">disembodiment with utmost determination and persistence.</p>
<p dir="ltr">There was something important in the distance that did not discourage</p>
<p dir="ltr">or affect his father.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His father's movements were the same and steady as they were as he now</p>
<p dir="ltr">turned his hulking huge frame round,</p>
<p dir="ltr">drowning his son in his shadow; head down reaching for a bottle of water.</p>
<p dir="ltr">A few drops escaped the whole way to the raft like crazy diamonds</p>
<p dir="ltr">violently reflecting the light</p>
<p dir="ltr">that his father's wide, rocky form had denied them protection from.</p>
<p dir="ltr">No more escaped as the bottle swung back to its cooler safe-house.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His mother sat in the shade by the cooler and did not make sure the</p>
<p dir="ltr">lid was shut tightly.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Her movements were always slow and gentle as well, in everything she did.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His younger brother just curled up at his mother's hip as was his</p>
<p dir="ltr">customary position.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Back at the tiller, his father's bracelet tatoo attracted wayward</p>
<p dir="ltr">glances from any searching waywardly with it's steady</p>
<p dir="ltr">and deliderate back and forth motion.</p>
<p dir="ltr">One keeping an eye out for moving things might also be attracted quite</p>
<p dir="ltr">often to the quickly flailing palm ends</p>
<p dir="ltr">along the lead edge of the canopy cover in front of the glasses' flimsy crate.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The crate had a cover but it wasn't turned over.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It rarely rained on the costal perimeter.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Behind the treeline way off in the distance the sky was darker in some</p>
<p dir="ltr">places than others.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The warm rain came along and vibrated thoroughly the topside of any</p>
<p dir="ltr">flesh it encountered.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It beat out a hollow tribal growling across the wooden decking.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And a spooky grey day-mist was stirred up between the area touching</p>
<p dir="ltr">any body of water;</p>
<p dir="ltr">and up arount their raft. The waves were naught nor the wind increased.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It was a warm shower which splashed the eyeballs momentarily then and again.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It made the eyes a little stingy and bloodshot, as the water- warm and</p>
<p dir="ltr">slick as it was- was by no means slimy.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It lacked completely the lubricative properties of oil.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Squinting from the rainshower, the boy looked about with his head down</p>
<p dir="ltr">and shoulders hunched,</p>
<p dir="ltr">keeping his hands up as if he were boxing if the need be to wipe his</p>
<p dir="ltr">eyes to see.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His mother sat quietly but attentive, firstly to his siblings on her.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Then also, as the boy was, to the large form of the father's shoulders</p>
<p dir="ltr">swinging his arms back and forth up the front,</p>
<p dir="ltr">engaging as he did, the heavy dock-rope spiraling from them in the air</p>
<p dir="ltr">to breach the gap between a dock and their raftside.</p>
<p dir="ltr">As the raft neared the dock; a row of logs itself looking no different</p>
<p dir="ltr">than any other raft-form;</p>
<p dir="ltr">the father at the front corner was pulled together with another man on the dock.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The corner clunked flatly, the sound matching more closely to the high</p>
<p dir="ltr">tones in the falling water than</p>
<p dir="ltr">the heavy 'clack', 'thunk', or 'knock' of wooden object on a clear day.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The boy stood in the middle and braced himself; his little gray form</p>
<p dir="ltr">shuddered in the greyness all around shuddering everything with gray.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He stood near the middle of the raft, and had learned this moment of</p>
<p dir="ltr">action, though never confidently adjusted to it,</p>
<p dir="ltr">and had always been caught off-guard and off-balance no matter how</p>
<p dir="ltr">hard he tried in as many times.</p>
<p dir="ltr">As he looked at the shrinking pie-shape of tickled water to his left-</p>
<p dir="ltr">hissing at him-</p>
<p dir="ltr">it felt as if their speed had become increased and uncontrollable;</p>
<p dir="ltr">like they slid now wildly out of control sidesliding like</p>
<p dir="ltr">on a sheet of ice and sinking to the right as the water between</p>
<p dir="ltr">compressed and swelled to fight them away!</p>
<p dir="ltr">And... 'clunk'... the boy was inevitably tossed over onto the dock;</p>
<p dir="ltr">tripping lightly to control his balance and</p>
<p dir="ltr">regain his footing; despite the effort of the furious ubiquitous rain</p>
<p dir="ltr">and the weight of his large-melon-head to force him to his knees.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The men had already navigated the gray breakable strings of atmosphere</p>
<p dir="ltr">and had tied the things off long before the boy regained his balance.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The merchandize was safely away down the docking platform.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Protocol was followed and there was no throng of excited people,</p>
<p dir="ltr">customers or theives, jumping about excitedly as dogs greet a pack.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Two men shared a crate-bar for a handle waddling stiff-armed to meet a third.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The crest of every hill was faintly darkened by the smudge of a</p>
<p dir="ltr">cloaked perimeter guard.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The mechandize floated not across sand but along the boardwalk up to</p>
<p dir="ltr">the boardwalk proper.</p>
<p dir="ltr">There a fourth man met the assembly, now worthy of being titled a 'group'.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And that group grew blurry.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The distance became to great for the boy's entranced large eyeballs.</p>
<p dir="ltr">But his head guessed a point in the future and his eyes appeared to</p>
<p dir="ltr">address it true.</p>
<p dir="ltr">But as loyal and sincere as his sightline was, it was in its effort</p>
<p dir="ltr">deceived. He couldn't see where the men with the crate had gone.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Their shapes had been interrupted by so many vertical gray liquid</p>
<p dir="ltr">strands that at some point they ceased to be.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And he was comforted by his mother's presence, and the lump of his</p>
<p dir="ltr">brothers with her.</p>
<p dir="ltr">They were entirely dry.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The light frame of the leaf'd canopy directed the water as surely as</p>
<p dir="ltr">it wished with absolutely no effort.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The canopy was not tri-form, or pedimental, or traigular in any way,</p>
<p dir="ltr">and its shape was definitely not patterned after that of a triangular boat-hull.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Such a pattern did not exist.</p>
<p dir="ltr">A cone was to be found here and there in use. But rafting was more</p>
<p dir="ltr">practical and effective. As sure as a floating log rolls-</p>
<p dir="ltr">no human would sit in a 'capsize waiting to happen'. It just wasn't</p>
<p dir="ltr">safe. It didn't make sense.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The ocean was unpredictable and these people spent enough time on it</p>
<p dir="ltr">to learn how surely its power must be outmaneuvered</p>
<p dir="ltr">to survive for tens of thousands of generations just between the cheek and gum.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And to flourish in peace, harmony, wealth, and humility- these generations did.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The boy, still in the rain, standing as if oblivious to it, looked down,</p>
<p dir="ltr">mainly because it was easier and quite a relief from staring wide-eyed</p>
<p dir="ltr">into a driving summer downpour,</p>
<p dir="ltr">at the dock. It was the same as any raft. Logs were lined up all the</p>
<p dir="ltr">same length,</p>
<p dir="ltr">lashed together with an ever-repeating series of figure-8's. Since the</p>
<p dir="ltr">rope was flexible and the logs bouyant,</p>
<p dir="ltr">they rose and fell with each passing swell in dutiful harmony.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The perpendicular aspect of the bordwalk minor, joined of couse, at</p>
<p dir="ltr">some point in the future, with the major,</p>
<p dir="ltr">caused it to perform at once during low-tide as a boardwalk, and at</p>
<p dir="ltr">high-tide- a dock.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Now, the boy followed the swirling anchor-rope at his feet untill it</p>
<p dir="ltr">disappeared 6 inches or so beneath the agitated surface.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Normally one could see the rope softly swaying alongside the seagrass,</p>
<p dir="ltr">disco-ball light-spotted and very thick, deep and greenish blue,</p>
<p dir="ltr">a very long ways beneath the log's edges.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Today of course, it was raining heavily, so it could barely be seen at all.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He remembered his father explaining that the rope was attached to a</p>
<p dir="ltr">ring, embedded in a boulder, buried in the sand.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It could be loosened, or tightened. The dockmaster checked it daily.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The boulders, hundreds in number, were not large enough to pull the</p>
<p dir="ltr">dock under- 'in the case that the bottom drops off the world'.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The whole of every village was also a raft.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Many a huge storm and rising deluge had carried one off to sea.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Gardens, storehouses, stables, houses- all joined together as one</p>
<p dir="ltr">little, man-made island.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Like great hamster-pens, filth drained along with the rain, between</p>
<p dir="ltr">the cracks in the deck.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Some western cities had become eastern cities overnight.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Many African cities had become Austrailian cities.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Indian cities had a quaint penchant for navagating in Austrailia's direction.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Many cities on America's east coast had become cities in Europe and Africa.</p>
<p dir="ltr">All cities were coastal, floatable, portable, flexible, joinable, and</p>
<p dir="ltr">essentially based on the same traditional, tried and true design.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Each new generation of people had no need to shred and claw at the</p>
<p dir="ltr">architectural and foundational principles of the society.</p>
<p dir="ltr">There were, however, some older coagulations of certain populace.</p>
<p dir="ltr">They had been coached; manipulated to purpose.</p>
<p dir="ltr">United, forged and stacked solidly puposed, these unusual groups of</p>
<p dir="ltr">specialized force built like ants in furious symphony.</p>
<p dir="ltr">They raised armies to defence, hoarded grain in fear, and primarily</p>
<p dir="ltr">busied themselves with mining and quarrying rock and metal.</p>
<p dir="ltr">They walked on stone, ate with metal, sat on stone, killed with metal;</p>
<p dir="ltr">dwelled in stone all lined with metal.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And were wholly dependent on the trader-raftsman as they were too busy</p>
<p dir="ltr">working to cook, brew, farm, or herd.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The massive cities of solid rock and metal and glass were hot.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Sun-baked stone perfectly contained the sun's heated photon waves</p>
<p dir="ltr">and metal beams nearly glowed as if they had never left the blacksmith's forge.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And innocent glass window-panes became lethal conversion portals for</p>
<p dir="ltr">lazer-like death-rays.</p>
<p dir="ltr">No weeding was necessary in the city streets, for little weeds found</p>
<p dir="ltr">no refuge in persevereing the cracks from the relentless wicked beams.</p>
<p dir="ltr">City-dwellers lived nocturnally. The stone dwellings, so heated on the</p>
<p dir="ltr">exterior, but so cool many bricks in.</p>
<p dir="ltr">As with the traders' societies, cities spawned great and elaborate</p>
<p dir="ltr">harbor-systems; but all of stone and chain.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The boy's father, imposing and fearless as he was, avoided trading</p>
<p dir="ltr">with the builders of stone harbors.</p>
<p dir="ltr">All save one.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Their little raft pulled gently alond the coast of Ethiopia, and</p>
<p dir="ltr">rounded the familiar tip.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It never rained at this equatorial penninsula in years past, yet now</p>
<p dir="ltr">this trip would not see the drops shrink even to evaporate upon the shore.</p>
<p dir="ltr">A second rafter's trading port appeared midst the steam bath at the</p>
<p dir="ltr">lesser horn's interior curve.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Again the boy was tossed lightly with the 'thunking' in the gray.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Again the flimsy crate floated away... into the stringed gray.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And again returned swiftly through sorcerers' deceit with the bond of</p>
<p dir="ltr">laden truths; the fulfillment of their traveled quest.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Amber, glass, various chemical powders, bits of gold, aluminum, and</p>
<p dir="ltr">red quicksilver;</p>
<p dir="ltr">carried by the brawney black and blue men;</p>
<p dir="ltr">bowls and jugs of the most exquisite design and manufacture, inlaid</p>
<p dir="ltr">with polish and cloisonee;</p>
<p dir="ltr">abalone, blended melted amber and jeweled mosaic;</p>
<p dir="ltr">enamel so meticulous in its layering that it was as if dipped in</p>
<p dir="ltr">glass; gold flakes and specks suspended,</p>
<p dir="ltr">rioting with delicate beauty in the reflected shimmer of and light</p>
<p dir="ltr">trapped in with it.</p>
<p dir="ltr">There was a baby sippy-cup studded with split pearls showing their</p>
<p dir="ltr">rings, smoothed and inset with flat diamond studs.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The boy knew who this was for, but no jealous glance betrayed his</p>
<p dir="ltr">knowledge of it.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Their were bolts of fabric of silk and wool and spider web;</p>
<p dir="ltr">bold blues, quiet yellows, and seemly reds.</p>
<p dir="ltr">They received lotions and soaps and spices and books.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Potions and salves and rare jellies and spreads.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Tumeric, paprika, pumpkin and such.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Jerkies of mammoth, buffalo and shark.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Yogurts of animals from here to the arctic.</p>
<p dir="ltr">But by far the most exciting acquisition for the boy, was the hard</p>
<p dir="ltr">cheeses from the north of the bay.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It was hard as a rock, salty and sweet; had all the flavors for all</p>
<p dir="ltr">sides of the mouth.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Beneath the canopy and out of the pour, he knelt quickly with a pick</p>
<p dir="ltr">and tack-hammer and chipped off a bit and placed it in his cheek.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He would scrape it against the outside of his teeth for hours and</p>
<p dir="ltr">hours without chewing at all.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The flavor was intense, tart, and neverendingly satisfying and entertaining.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The boy didn't care much for fabric, he hated wearing shirts. He</p>
<p dir="ltr">didn't care about jewels and fancy table-settings.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He hated spicy things that burned one's tongue and complicated</p>
<p dir="ltr">mixtures and confusing flavors.</p>
<p dir="ltr">But he loved that cheese.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His father gestured him over. It was time for his lesson- a strange</p>
<p dir="ltr">obsession of his father's, it was uncommon to any family he knew.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His father made primitive flint arrowheads like he was addicted. He</p>
<p dir="ltr">was very serious about it- never explained why, just how.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And he made sure his son was a master primitive arrowhead maker. He</p>
<p dir="ltr">was forced to wear his handymanship in his belt- visibly so.</p>
<p dir="ltr">In the one hand with the tattoo bracelet that faded up in towards his</p>
<p dir="ltr">fingers he held the white rock.</p>
<p dir="ltr">In the other hand, he held down the shiny flintstone firmly between</p>
<p dir="ltr">two fingers, braced with the other fingers hard on a flat rock.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He glanced up; his gentle order to pay close attention; and counted as</p>
<p dir="ltr">he aimed two practice hacks.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And then a third sharp whack which whittled in violent fracture, bits</p>
<p dir="ltr">of deadly glass-shard flint fragments,</p>
<p dir="ltr">containted masterfully with kinetic direct control as if the sphere of</p>
<p dir="ltr">a force-field directed from his mind alone had allowed the shards</p>
<p dir="ltr">to fall gently and stick like an Olympic Gymnast their landing.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Neither the father or the boy had any thought of bits of microscopic</p>
<p dir="ltr">flint shredding their eyeball lenses.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The force of the boy's concentration was weaker, but it was there, and</p>
<p dir="ltr">the father was not concerned,</p>
<p dir="ltr">for their combined generated Gamma-radiation and magnetic fields of</p>
<p dir="ltr">their focused concentration</p>
<p dir="ltr">were sufficient to physically deter the force of any errant bits.</p>
<p dir="ltr">This followed along whacking on by whacking off in three strokes those</p>
<p dir="ltr">little bits by both men.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And there raft rocked along quietly amidst the sharp whip cracks they</p>
<p dir="ltr">battled between them in the atmosphere they shared.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Father and son battled it out for volume supremacy; father gently</p>
<p dir="ltr">encouraging the child's confidence by undetectable gesture and</p>
<p dir="ltr">modulation.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Building in his son those violent urges and the subtle control of that</p>
<p dir="ltr">innate bloodlust of the animal spirit of life-force extant in all life.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Both upon finishing their focused craft of primitive mastery removed</p>
<p dir="ltr">the point previously made from their belt-loop,</p>
<p dir="ltr">Threw it in unison; their black arms agaisnst the fetid gray glow of</p>
<p dir="ltr">sunset were darkly illuminated as the brightest of blackness;</p>
<p dir="ltr">like stork-necked crows frozen in the arc of the throw;</p>
<p dir="ltr">they were replacing the new shard in the belt loop with the same</p>
<p dir="ltr">synthesis of movement.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And they rinsed the log-deck of their work area on the raft nextly,</p>
<p dir="ltr">flushing through the cracks all the back bits of chipped flint;</p>
<p dir="ltr">so many little bugs of pestilent form, irresistable to the splashing</p>
<p dir="ltr">attraction of the seawater's own form.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Were lost in the slight swirling of that seawater's foam.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Beneath the wood rolls, ropes pulled, and green glow, which lit the</p>
<p dir="ltr">boys arms from beneath and between,</p>
<p dir="ltr">in soft green stripes, reflect'd of that light in the rippling echoes below.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Their raft tolled on, rocking oddly like a bell.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It seemed monsoon rains became the norm. The rain only let up for a</p>
<p dir="ltr">few hours in the clear, cool hours of the twighlight and early</p>
<p dir="ltr">evening.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His father mentioned an explanation which was meant to seem incomplete</p>
<p dir="ltr">in conversation with their mother:</p>
<p dir="ltr">He said something about the particular Nile Coast City Region being</p>
<p dir="ltr">nearly completley saturated; that they must get some local bread.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Their mother responded that when the continental shelf of Egypt fills</p>
<p dir="ltr">in and the Nile becomes a proper river, it will be like a desert.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The father agreed with emphasis on his, "YA, as if his response had</p>
<p dir="ltr">been squeezed out of him by a higher power with increased foresight.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Right now the whole of the North African and its closely Neighboring</p>
<p dir="ltr">Indian plate was the densest, most fertile region in the whole globe.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Egyptian bread would be a thing for millenia.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The boy's favorite part of the journey was to come. His father pulled</p>
<p dir="ltr">the till in the rain as he had for weeks and days and hours.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The swishing and screaching of a pack of dolphins alerted his heart to</p>
<p dir="ltr">a level of glee usually reserved for northern hard cheese.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His little brother, who rarely unclutched himself from hugging his</p>
<p dir="ltr">mother's sides was standing on the raft's side patting his chubby</p>
<p dir="ltr">little</p>
<p dir="ltr">hands together awkwardly and frantically like he was trying to rejoin</p>
<p dir="ltr">two magnetically charged fried chicken bits with opposite charges.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The cherub of chubs squeeked along with the dolphins, and they clearly</p>
<p dir="ltr">understood eachother.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The little guy waved his chicken wings and knew they would turn to</p>
<p dir="ltr">fish; motioning the dolphins near</p>
<p dir="ltr">with crazy symphony conducter phrenetics. The dolphins agreed and</p>
<p dir="ltr">believed him that they would, and desired it so.</p>
<p dir="ltr">They formed a slow pinwheel together, which brought the one at the top</p>
<p dir="ltr">cresting the surface by about a foot,</p>
<p dir="ltr">and sliding the tiny splayed-fingered mini-potato along their backs,</p>
<p dir="ltr">one after the other, round and round,</p>
<p dir="ltr">so that the small boy was petting their shiny, slick, machine-wheel</p>
<p dir="ltr">continuously with no effort of his own.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The hissing swish of the dolphin pinwheel was complimented and</p>
<p dir="ltr">conducted in apparently to the new symphonic delight,</p>
<p dir="ltr">a new hissing brief and steady, by the father letting the pressure</p>
<p dir="ltr">valve vent on the pressureized fish bucket.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The tiny fishes were chilled by compressing the air around them to</p>
<p dir="ltr">preserve them for when the dolphins and seaturtles came to visit.</p>
<p dir="ltr">As the father gestured to the older boy, his eyes squinted and face</p>
<p dir="ltr">crunched in a half-smile like it was made of stone; his expression;</p>
<p dir="ltr">his face burst not, from pride and happiness at the sight of his</p>
<p dir="ltr">little boy's joy,</p>
<p dir="ltr">The lidded coffer pulled off with a 'pop', and the father's crouch</p>
<p dir="ltr">swiveled laterally to hand off the bucket over to the boy, who, in</p>
<p dir="ltr">turn,</p>
<p dir="ltr">squealed with delight at the inevitable prospect of feeding the dolphins.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Two looped leads lay hanged beneath the raft's flat bow.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The small boy roughly grasped at the frozen slippery fish with little</p>
<p dir="ltr">mallet hands. He held one up as if offering it to the rain-veiled sun.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And he threw it away from the dolphin pinwheel with subtle surety of</p>
<p dir="ltr">slight command as a drunken monk would, into the water at the front.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The pinwheel immediately broke in elegant parsing of smooth gray forms</p>
<p dir="ltr">into folding florets of seawater and the front edge of the raft jerk-</p>
<p dir="ltr">ed gently downward. A thin film of clear water was quietly expressed</p>
<p dir="ltr">through the soft rounded openings between raft's structures, and</p>
<p dir="ltr">welled</p>
<p dir="ltr">smoothly before revealing the rough texture of the wood and bark again.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The increase in speed threw not one of the ancient family off guard or balance.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The raft lurched to attention and sped up to a motorized elegance as</p>
<p dir="ltr">the dolphins happily harnessed themselves like Poseidon's sea-horses;</p>
<p dir="ltr">floating the sun itself determitatedly in it's holy triumphant arch</p>
<p dir="ltr">across a level horizon in a flattened world; a mottled, ungilt</p>
<p dir="ltr">chariot,</p>
<p dir="ltr">rolling on thickened wind, above the underworld</p>
<p dir="ltr">As more fish awkwardly pelt the water surface above the pulling</p>
<p dir="ltr">dolphins' blowholes, other loop-harnesses were filled,</p>
<p dir="ltr">as they hung beneath the length of the raft's full length and breadth.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Tiny frozen fishes plopped between the contrastingly delicate</p>
<p dir="ltr">raindrops, and the raft surged ahead to Atlantis.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Before the Pyramids of Egypt housed the bejeweled murdered corpses of</p>
<p dir="ltr">Pharaohs gone wild, they stood as foundation-blocks;</p>
<p dir="ltr">great mechanized lotus blossoms; ancient power-plants, generating</p>
<p dir="ltr">quite a bit more than mere electrical current.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Before the great pyramids, pyramid-structures abound about the</p>
<p dir="ltr">Egyptian continental shoulder. The boy's father had explained in</p>
<p dir="ltr">detail.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The women there wore the lotus blossom tatooed on their shoulder-blade.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The great pyramids spotted the shores of the shoulder's plate like</p>
<p dir="ltr">fantastic blazing blooms. At night, in the rain, as their raft pulled</p>
<p dir="ltr">to,</p>
<p dir="ltr">their glimmering metallic bulk, sliced elegantly through the sheeting</p>
<p dir="ltr">rainwater, upward and curvaesiously, like so many liberty torches.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Jagged yet smooth, the folded gigantic petals mimicked the action of</p>
<p dir="ltr">an actual flower in the absence of the sun.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The boy recalled the last trip here. It was daytime then. The Great</p>
<p dir="ltr">Lotus were open to the chariot crossing,</p>
<p dir="ltr">and the air crackled and sparked with errant escaped electrons. He</p>
<p dir="ltr">could feel his neck-hairs tickling.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The rain was so thick. They could barely see the docks. The boy stood</p>
<p dir="ltr">in the drops at the bow to watch the dolphins retreat.</p>
<p dir="ltr">They were just silver slashes and streaks that slid away to the right</p>
<p dir="ltr">and around and underneath, flitting with a curl and gone.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The harder he squinted, the more he blinked. The heavy water droplets</p>
<p dir="ltr">hit his eyelashes like feathers over a shaking duckfeather.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The more he blinked, the easier it was for the drops to invade. The</p>
<p dir="ltr">rainwater was a chill to his warm eyeballs and they absorbed them;</p>
<p dir="ltr">sponging the water in to blur his vision all the more</p>
<p dir="ltr">The docks here were of logs despite the insitance of the large ancient</p>
<p dir="ltr">generator structures which were of an obvious permanent nature.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Although protocol was observed, there were many more people bustling</p>
<p dir="ltr">about here and there. This was a very wealthy city; soon to be empire.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He remembered the last visit, relieved to do so in the cool rain. When</p>
<p dir="ltr">the arrived last, it was too hot. Then he was just as wet with sweat.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He had hung off the raft to wash and cool. The great lotus blooms were</p>
<p dir="ltr">full open, prostrate to the sun.</p>
<p dir="ltr">As with the sun, one could not look at them directly. They were far</p>
<p dir="ltr">too bright and burned the eye sockets in full on view.</p>
<p dir="ltr">If one looke at some point in the sky above them, a great yellowish</p>
<p dir="ltr">arc could be seen; more of an oblong hairy ring of fire and current</p>
<p dir="ltr">and</p>
<p dir="ltr">ozone and smoke. The lotus drew the lightening and heat of the sun. A</p>
<p dir="ltr">few days open would see lightening on a clear cloudless day.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The heat was tremendous. The whole area was an oven until the</p>
<p dir="ltr">atmosphere could no longer bear the radiant heat of the flowers,</p>
<p dir="ltr">and they drew in the clouds like a black hole sun.</p>
<p dir="ltr">A man-made storm, the heat ventured too far and heated, and drew a</p>
<p dir="ltr">ring of storm clouds to rush in wanting.</p>
<p dir="ltr">They brought riots of lightning bolts, nearly non-stop; and so loudly</p>
<p dir="ltr">they screached and thundered.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Everyone there spoke loudly, not for competeing with the thunderbolts,</p>
<p dir="ltr">but to hear over the tinny ring in their ears.</p>
<p dir="ltr">One could not compete with Zeus' crash, and would not fool a try.</p>
<p dir="ltr">This stop they would stay at for a few days at least. The hotels were</p>
<p dir="ltr">grand indeed. The stone-walk streets were laid smoothly and true.</p>
<p dir="ltr">A mixture of melted amber and gold and mineral conducters was melted</p>
<p dir="ltr">and poured over the stone.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The electricity from the lotus was channeled through it; and indeed in</p>
<p dir="ltr">varying degrees of voltage throughout the entire city.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Every surface was amber-coated, inside and out. Elaborate decorative</p>
<p dir="ltr">patterns and painted symbols, shapes and representative things, from</p>
<p dir="ltr">people, to places and distant lands animals decorated every wall, walk</p>
<p dir="ltr">and signpost.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Varying hues of luminescent pink green and blue hovered in the mind's</p>
<p dir="ltr">eye with delight long after their short stay.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Beneath layers of amber, raised and lowered upon the surface,</p>
<p dir="ltr">paintings of beautiful things shown through and were illuminated.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The boy followed his family after the raft was secured at moor. His</p>
<p dir="ltr">feet tingled as he felt the smooth paving through his toes.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His head was down in fascination and frustration at the glowing,</p>
<p dir="ltr">glittering street and bowed from the opressive, cooling rain.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The family strode and tottered and skulked along the welcome road.</p>
<p dir="ltr">All the tiny hairs on one's body stood erect and tickly.</p>
<p dir="ltr">They passed a glowing pink house beside a glowing blue house beside a</p>
<p dir="ltr">glowing green house;</p>
<p dir="ltr">flowers of such beauty lay beneath the walls' surfaces as if trapped</p>
<p dir="ltr">in some liquid, irredescent paradise.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Woemen with beautiful glowing eyes, men rippling with strength,</p>
<p dir="ltr">fighting to please them,</p>
<p dir="ltr">were trapped shallowly like the bee in the amber stone- almost living preserved.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The surface of the amber was moulded in low-releif so that an arm,</p>
<p dir="ltr">fist, shoulder and hip jutted out from here and there.</p>
<p dir="ltr">A mammoth's tail, a lion's paw, a hunter's bow- these things jutted</p>
<p dir="ltr">smoothly from the undulating, polished surface of the architecture.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Flower petals curled towards you. One bore no sympathy for the trapped</p>
<p dir="ltr">creatures and things, they so rapturously endured one's love,</p>
<p dir="ltr">that one could no more resent them than one's own mother for not</p>
<p dir="ltr">confining a creature to her womb.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Certain elements clouded certain elements. A leaf had a mineral</p>
<p dir="ltr">component of metallic compound which glowed green and a bit more</p>
<p dir="ltr">opaque than</p>
<p dir="ltr">another leaf, petal or stem, so that this added another layer of</p>
<p dir="ltr">transparency to the #art and lay in more layers to the glowing</p>
<p dir="ltr">spectre.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The family sloshed on, lit with the ambient glow from around and below.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The boy turned his head in the sounds of the rain and all the people</p>
<p dir="ltr">saying his father's name, 'Mac', 'Mac', 'Mac'.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His eyes met Boticelli's grace, those black-ringed eyes of noble, glazing blue.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Startled but impressed, he glanced away quick. The woman was trapped</p>
<p dir="ltr">and burned with St Elmo's fire, she, offended not, stared on in</p>
<p dir="ltr">The group wove their way through the spotty, wet crowd in that ancient</p>
<p dir="ltr">neon-bright Las Vegas city.</p>
<p dir="ltr">They arrived at their hotel, a small, three-room, one-story, slightly</p>
<p dir="ltr">sunken building.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The building was not sunken literally, it just was low to the ground.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The mud-brick foundation was excavated to the interior a few feet</p>
<p dir="ltr">deep, making the walls look quite short from the outside.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The boy followed the family, stepping down into that magical space.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His father laid a hand flat on the wall as they entered.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The textured amber sent a ring of light vibrating outward.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It was followed by a few others more faint as the walls' lit softly</p>
<p dir="ltr">and grew in intensity and lumino'city.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Like ripples from a stone lobbed in a pool, the light fed itself from</p>
<p dir="ltr">the father's hand and soon the room was lit from every walls' surface.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The room glowed softly and steadily, flikering gently like a</p>
<p dir="ltr">battery-powered candle here and again.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Softly hued, gold and blues; mauves and browns all center-back-lit.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Purple, silver, orange spent, and even here- a little bit of reds.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The beauty and calm was outrageous in its union.</p>
<p dir="ltr">A small pathway amid their cusioned lair allowed them the path of a</p>
<p dir="ltr">cross in each room. The corners- all pillowed- advanced on the center.</p>
<p dir="ltr">In the center of each room was a circled clearing around a circular</p>
<p dir="ltr">low-set table. It's height could be adjusted.</p>
<p dir="ltr">One might stand to make use of it, or one might grab a pillow off the</p>
<p dir="ltr">great beds around in an easy reach, and sit upon it low.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The cross-path, table, walls and ceilint were all aglow. The beds were not.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The fine fabrics and upolstery shimmered in certain areas of metallic</p>
<p dir="ltr">thread embroidery and multi-textured fabric combinations.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It did not look like a middle eastern Sheik's tent.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The patters sewn into the fabric did not compete in horrid cacauphony</p>
<p dir="ltr">with the art'ed walls; they were in no way Oriental or Islamic.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The patterns sewn into the lusxurious fabrics did not display strage,</p>
<p dir="ltr">complex versions of spotted, writhing paisley.</p>
<p dir="ltr">They did not trace curved 'x's or diamonds throughout.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Gold thread was not embroidered into swirling lattice mini-roads that</p>
<p dir="ltr">jumped and leapt,</p>
<p dir="ltr">curling from under and dissapearing on a pillow's round.</p>
<p dir="ltr">There were not pairs of prurple silk pillows embroidered with silver</p>
<p dir="ltr">threaded garlands, hiccupping allong like frozen, sparkly</p>
<p dir="ltr">waves-crests.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And there were no velvet maroon blankets with golden silk hems.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The patterns were dynamic and dimensional. They were like Japanese</p>
<p dir="ltr">natural formation artwork.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The tones were earthen, violent, and harmonious.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Each pillow did not volley for one's singular attention.</p>
<p dir="ltr">But each was unique, lovingly handmade, and brilliant.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His mother made him towel off. But then he jumped and flew, arms</p>
<p dir="ltr">outstretched, and faceplanted into the flower-smelling bed closest to</p>
<p dir="ltr">His mother did not chide him immediately for jumping on the bed. She</p>
<p dir="ltr">wasn't disturbed at all by the swift action.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The fabric was cool and soft; silkier than silk; smoother than butter.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He remembered his father telling him about the man who developed the</p>
<p dir="ltr">formula and method for weaving spider's webbing into cloth.</p>
<p dir="ltr">His cheek and eyelid were caressed so softly and comfortingly by the</p>
<p dir="ltr">sheeted pillow-tops,</p>
<p dir="ltr">that wonderful calming chills and shivers galloped like tiny</p>
<p dir="ltr">fairy-horses across his neck and down his sides.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Maggots on rotten flesh were bred, the meat was marinated in metallic</p>
<p dir="ltr">compounds which bonded and altered the iron and magnesium;</p>
<p dir="ltr">causing certain chemical reactions in the fetid blood brood as they fed.</p>
<p dir="ltr">These compounds were metabolized by the maggots and turned them bright red.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Upon the subsequent metabolic explosion and conversion of the larvae</p>
<p dir="ltr">from their gory Michelin state,</p>
<p dir="ltr">the genetically altered worms calcium expansion entwined these new</p>
<p dir="ltr">metallic compounds into the belly juices of the baby flies.</p>
<p dir="ltr">When born the flies were fed honey slightly diluted with ammonia and</p>
<p dir="ltr">ground silica.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Born blind, fatly fed, the flies flew up and straight into the webs.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The fabric on his face was smoother than silk, cooler than cotton,</p>
<p dir="ltr">softer than velvet, stronger than broadcloth; delicate as tissue.</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-61506602111350125532012-07-17T03:16:00.000-04:002012-07-17T03:16:12.707-04:00<i>I flatter myself that enough hath been say'd to convince all that are open to conviction, that the ancient British language (now called Welsh) was one and the same in the main with that of ancient Gaul, now France... </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>JLhvyd</i> and <i>Pexron</i>, those prodigies of <i>Celtic</i> knowledge, and Boast of <i>British </i>Antiquaries,<i> </i>had not then appeared on the stage of Literature. The <i>former </i>of these, by his <i>Comparative Entymology</i> which makes a part of his celebrated <i>Archceologia Britannica</i>, hath pointed out a method of, and laid down very easy rules for, reducing all the ancient and modern tongues of Europe to one general source and common origin. The <i>latter</i>; in his <i>Antiquite de la Langue et de la Nation de Celtes</i>, hath proved, by his amazing skill in languages and history, that<span style="color: #cc0000;"> this <i>common origin</i> of the European tongues, was no other than the <i>ancient Celtic</i>; and <i>that</i> again derived from the <i>Gotnarian</i> and<i> Iaonian</i> or<i> Ionic</i>, the languages of<i> Gomer</i> and <i>Javan</i> the sons of<i> Japhet</i> after the confusion at <i>Babel</i>: that the <i>Celtic</i> was the language of the<i> Titans</i>,</span> a great and warlike nation, who spread themselves not only over all the<i> Loner Asia</i>, but also over the greatest part<i> of Europe</i>, and under their princes, <i>Acmon, Uranus, Saturn, Jupiter, Mars,</i> &c. erected a vast empire, and made their language universal; of which language the <i>Greek, Latin, Teutonic, Gaulish, British, Irish, Welsh, French</i> &c. are but different dialects, somewhat disguised and altered by mutual intermixtures, by the different pronunciation of different countries and the polishing refinement of Grammarians. In the course of his researches, this learned <i>Armorican</i> has given the entymologies <i>of proper names</i>, of<i> rivers, towns, mountains,</i> &c. in the countries over which the <i>Titan</i> empire extended itself, as also those formerly inhabited by the<i> Gauls</i>, the descendants of the <i>Titans</i>. And these, most of them at least, so naturally resolve themselves into Celtic, i.e. British, etymons, that, they seem to me to carry conviction along with them that they are derived from that alone, and from no other language.<br />
<br />
<i>...the exquisitely learned and amazingly industrious M. Bulle, who in his 'Memoirs sur la langue Celtique', "appears to have made some progress," as a professed Critic expresses it, "in all the languages of the earth." This Gentleman has run the same course as Perzon, but has outstript him in the race, and advanced so far beyond him as to make the Celtic to be a dialect of the original language communicated by the Creator to the first Parents of mankind. And admitting the primitive languages to have been the Hebrew, which, I fancy, very few will dispute, he is not singular in his opinion; for a very learned person of our own Nation, in his Enquires concerning the first inhabitants, Language, &c. of Europe, published about the same time, supposes the Celtic a sister-dialect of the Hebrew...</i><br />
<i> [An English and Welsh Vocabulary, or, an Easy Guide to the Ancient British Language: pg.29 copyright 2011 www.general-books.net]</i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-25693238819186737802011-11-30T20:03:00.001-05:002011-11-30T20:04:27.043-05:00Hilarious Email with Local DesignerGood Evening Bryan, First of all, let me start by saying that I am sorry you felt the need to respond in the manner in which you did. My email to you was meant as a kind follow-up to our prior email correspondence, and therefore, your response in return was unmerited and a bit shocking.Second, let me also say that I am sorry for the misspelling of your name. As I'm sure you can understand, we are all human and this was a simple mistake.Anyway, as I said above, I was simply emailing you to touch base about the potential working relationship that we had discussed previously. Yes, I am aware that the correspondence occurred a few months ago, and I am happy to apologize again for the delay; but if you'll re-read my last email, you'll note that I had already cordially done so. I think it is also important to mention that after our last correspondence regarding the rentable artwork, I did not feel that you were awaiting an immediate response from me. I had mentioned that I would be happy to review the information regarding your works and pricing once I received the material and then look forward to working with you in the future - hence my follow-up email to you today.While I had reached out to you at that time, preparing for potentially needing art rental services, I have consequently not needed the art rental services during these past couple months. That is just sometimes how client projects go. I am unclear on how you cannot understand that.As far as your statement on pricing goes, I did not misconstrue your statement of "Since I am new to this, pricing would, I imagine to be whatever gets the job done within your budget." into something else. My statement of "I am unsure if your costs will be feasible for my (and my client's) needs, but I do appreciate you willing to discuss." was my own determination based on the information you had given me and my own analysis of my client projects and my business. My statement on pricing was meant exactly as it was written, but I will clarify it for you again in the following sentences so you can try to understand what I was saying - 'I am not sure if your artwork that has "a fair-market value of about $1500.00" should be considered for an artwork rental situation where artwork is typically rented on a monthly basis anywhere from $8-$20 a month. Instead, I think perhaps the costs at which your artwork (which is more highly-valued than I would expect of artwork to be used for these type of projects) would need to be rented for - for a number of reasons including the liability of possible damage - would be too much for the artwork rental budget on most of my typical home staging client projects.' Despite that conclusion, however, I understood your statement of "whatever gets the job done", and therefore I added a second part to my sentence that read "but I do appreciate you willing to discuss". To clarify what I meant here, I have included the following sentence - 'I am glad that you are happy to work with us to determine the pricing on your artwork for rent, and I look forward to having a conversation about it and see if we can come up with some numbers and go from there.'Now, I hope my exaggeration on the clarification of that one sentence counters your exaggerated response of it! Regardless, Bryan, the discussion about renting your artwork is mute at this point. After your extremely rude and highly unprofessional response this evening, I will not be giving my business to you. I do not appreciate the profanity and abusive nature in which you have chosen to communicate with me and feel very sorry for you and for those who must deal with you.Your statements about me and my business are unfounded and, in fact, very ignorant - you know very little, if anything, about me or my business. In truth, my business is quite successful and I have a strong client base of whom I treat, just like all of my contacts, with respect, communication and professionalism; which is more than you can say for yourself. And straight from the mouths of our valued clients and contacts, we have a lot going for us and, therefore, we will remain constant in our mission to continue bringing quality services and great client care to the residents of central PA to improve this city and its vicinity - contrary to your outlook, which is simply disheartening. Lastly, as a small business in the city of Harrisburg, I would never denigrate another fellow business, but instead encourage and support them. I find your email response to me very telling of the person and "professional" that you are, and I feel thankful that our working relationship ended before it began. Good luck in the future.Valerie--Valerie BetzStudioVB :: Interior Design218 Verbeke StreetHarrisburg, PA 17102717.884.8243<a href="http://www.studiovbdesign.com/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow">www.studiovbdesign.com</a><br />On Wed, Nov 30, 2011 at 4:47 PM, Bryan Molloy <<a href="mailto:molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com" target="_blank" rel="nofollow" ymailto="mailto:molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com">molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com</a>> wrote:<br />Is this a form response? Glad you received the material, but I'm a little confused how my only mention of pricing:<br /><br />"Since I am new to this, pricing would, I imagine to be whatever gets the job done within your budget."<br /><br />... is construed by you into:<br /><br />"I am unsure if your costs will be feasible for my (and my client's) needs, but I do appreciate you willing to discuss."<br /><br />Also, along with the immesurate delay, the misspelling of my name, and the fact that all of this information is posted below in this very email, the only thing you have going for you is that you are a local small business owner. I am too, and even worse, we're part of the same industry. If you are smoking too much pot that's cool, but otherwise... get your shit together because we need to save this city and you are making us look bad. You had better regard your clients better than this...<br /><br />Most Humbly,<br /><br />Bryan Thomas Molloy<a href="http://bryanmolloyart.com/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow">bryanmolloyart.com</a><br />From: Valerie Betz <<a href="mailto:valerie@studiovbdesign.com" target="_blank" rel="nofollow" ymailto="mailto:valerie@studiovbdesign.com">valerie@studiovbdesign.com</a>>To: Bryan Molloy <<a href="mailto:molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com" target="_blank" rel="nofollow" ymailto="mailto:molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com">molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com</a>> Sent: Wednesday, November 30, 2011 2:10 PMSubject: Re: Rentable Art?<br />Hi Brian, I apologize that it has been a few weeks since we've communicated, but I have been quite busy and we had decided on a different solution for the project that I had contacted you about regarding the rented art. Nonetheless, I did receive your mailer with images of your rentable artwork. So, thank you! I will keep those on hand and be in contact should I be interested in using your artwork for a future client project. I am unsure if your costs will be feasible for my (and my client's) needs, but I do appreciate you willing to discuss. Again, I will be in contact as needed.Thanks again, Valerie--Valerie BetzStudioVB :: Interior Design218 Verbeke StreetHarrisburg, PA 17102<a rel="nofollow">717.884.8243</a><a href="http://www.studiovbdesign.com/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow">www.studiovbdesign.com</a><br />On Wed, Aug 31, 2011 at 4:49 PM, Bryan Molloy <<a href="mailto:molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com" target="_blank" rel="nofollow" ymailto="mailto:molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com">molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com</a>> wrote:<br />Hi Valerie,<br /><br />A great many of my best framed pieces are on display @ <a href="mailto:Gallery@Second" target="_blank" rel="nofollow" ymailto="mailto:Gallery@Second">Gallery@Second</a>, untill 9/10, right downtown next to the Firehouse restaurant on second st.. Others I have in my studio, near Costco on Jonestown road. All of the framed pieces except the bulk of those on display, are on my website, any that are framed are pictured in their frames. I am definitely open to renting work for public display in a professionally staged environment! I would appreciate if you could snap a few photos of each job that I might use (with credit and link to you) for promo. too!<br /><br />Since I am new to this, pricing would, I imagine to be whatever gets the job done within your budget. My only consideration is that you accept liability for any damages that occur, within reason. My work has appreciated to a fair-market value of about $1500.00/appox. 30"x40", and increasing or declining from that on a size-based slide.<br /><br />Please peruse the website and perhaps check out my show on second street in the meantime. Let me know of any thoughts on specific works for specific upcoming projects or definitely usable, universally acceptable works so that I can get anything I might need to ready for you.<br /><br />I work part-time in the evenings at the Art Association of Harrisburg mon.-thurs. 4-9p if you would like to talk in person.<br /><br />Thanks again,<br /><br />Bryan Thomas Molloy<a href="http://bryanmolloyart.com/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow">bryanmolloyart.com</a><br />From: Valerie Betz <<a href="mailto:valerie@studiovbdesign.com" target="_blank" rel="nofollow" ymailto="mailto:valerie@studiovbdesign.com">valerie@studiovbdesign.com</a>>To: Bryan Molloy <<a href="mailto:molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com" target="_blank" rel="nofollow" ymailto="mailto:molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com">molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com</a>>Sent: Wednesday, August 31, 2011 4:23 PMSubject: Re: Rentable Art?<br />Hi Bryan, Thanks for your quick reply! Yeah, I've been surprised at the difficulty finding artwork for rent!Anyway, I'm excited that you seem to be open to renting artwork for this purpose. I would love to have your complete listing and images of your framed works (including their frames) that would be ready and available for rent. This would be hugely helpful in the quick selection of appropriate art for certain projects. The dimensions of the pieces would also be greatly beneficial. Then, I am happy to select the works from that listing and inquire about frame options if need be.Also, just so you know, for home staging, the artwork I'm looking for would be subject matter that is universal and appealing to a wide range of viewers, so something like landscapes, botanical, abstract, scenic, still life, architectural, etc. You are welcome to send over the listing and photographs by email, but if the files are too large, snail mail is fine as well. In the meantime, can you give me a ballpark on pricing. Like I mentioned, I typically rent items for staging on a monthly basis, so I am hoping to do the same for artwork rental. So, let me know what you are thinking for a monthly rental fee. I'd like to know if this service is feasible for my client budgets.Also, in addition to having a listing of your available works, do you have an actual physical location that I could peruse the art in person, if need be? Just curious.Thanks so much. I am looking forward to seeing the artwork and hopefully working with you in the near future!Valerie--Valerie BetzStudioVB :: Interior Design218 Verbeke StreetHarrisburg, PA 17102<a rel="nofollow">717.884.8243</a><a href="http://www.studiovbdesign.com/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow">www.studiovbdesign.com</a><br />On Wed, Aug 31, 2011 at 4:03 PM, Bryan Molloy <<a href="mailto:molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com" target="_blank" rel="nofollow" ymailto="mailto:molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com">molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com</a>> wrote:<br />Hi Valerie,<br />Thanks for the message. I can rent artwork. It isn't something I've had many requests for, but it is a great idea, and I always wondered why more artists didn't do it. I have many works framed and ready for display. I would also suggest canvas prints that can be printed on demand and even retouched, of certain sold or specific works. I have many frames on standby, but this may be a specific consideration to you, as a designer; as far as matching works to decor. I can give you a complete listing of all the framed works, along with pictures of their respective frames for you to reference. I will mail you a digital and hard copy brochure to the address on your email. Choose the works you require and send me an email for the rates and other details.<br /><br />Thanks for your interest,<br /><br />Bryan Thomas Molloy<a href="http://bryanmolloyart.com/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow">bryanmolloyart.com</a><br />From: Valerie Betz <<a href="mailto:valerie@studiovbdesign.com" target="_blank" rel="nofollow" ymailto="mailto:valerie@studiovbdesign.com">valerie@studiovbdesign.com</a>>To: <a href="mailto:molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com" target="_blank" rel="nofollow" ymailto="mailto:molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com">molloy.bryan1@yahoo.com</a>Sent: Wednesday, August 31, 2011 3:22 PMSubject: Rentable Art?<br />Good Afternoon, I had come across your website sometime in the past and had bookmarked it as a source for rentable artwork. However, when coming back to your website today, I was unable to find any information on artwork that might be available for rent.I own and operate an interior design and home staging studio and would be interested in the possibility of renting artwork for some of my home staging clients. This would entail selecting and then renting appropriate artwork, on a monthly basis, to utilize in the design and staging of homes for sale. I'm not sure if this would be a service you could provide. If you could please respond at your earliest convenience, I would greatly appreciate it.Thank you, Valerie--Valerie BetzStudioVB :: Interior Design218 Verbeke StreetHarrisburg, PA 17102<a rel="nofollow">717.884.8243</a><a href="http://www.studiovbdesign.com/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow">www.studiovbdesign.com</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-5635102713330800682010-05-19T01:05:00.004-04:002010-05-19T01:22:35.036-04:00Ben Franklin on the Paxton Indian Massacre<div>"That agreeable to the command of the prophet, they have "fought for their bretheren, their sons, their daughters, their wives and their houses."-That in this contest, many of them have lost their dearest relatives; their houses, their lands, their all; and from a plentiful independent people have been reduced to misery and want.</div> <div> </div> <div>That they have been treated as aliens of the commonwealth, and denied a just and proportionable share in legislation: for that out of 36 members which the eight counties in the province send to the assembly, the three counties of Philadelphia, Chester, and Berks, where the Quakers are chiefly settled, return 26 of that number; while the 5 remaining counties, where these LORDLY RULERS could have no chance of getting elected, are suffered to fend but the other ten.</div> <div> </div> <div>That by this iniquitious policy, the inhabitants of these five frontier counties, altho' a great majority, have been rendered unable to act in defence of their lives and properties; and therefore have lain for above eight years at the mercy of a cruel savage enemy and an unrelenting Quaker faction: Whereas had they been justly represented in Legislation, instead of presenting PACIFICK ADDRESSES to the Assembly, telling them that "the raising large sums of money, and putting them into the hands of COMMITTEES, who might apply them to purposes inconsistent with their PEACEABLE TESTIMONY, was in its consequences destructive of RELIGIOUS LIBERTY. Instead of doing this I say, -the first great Law of Nature, that of SELF-DEFENCE, would have been administered to the people upon the first alarm of danger, and the hands of the HARDY AND BRAVE would have been felt at Liberty, 'til they had taken ample Vengence of their MURDERES. That they have often, in the most supllient manner, laid their grievances before the Assembly; and instead of being redress'd, have been abused, insulted, and even by some members of that <em>venerable House</em>, deem'd as unworthy of protection, as "A Pack of insignificant SCOTCH-IRISH, who if they were all <em>killed</em>, could well enough be spared.""</div> <div> </div> <div><b> -</b><i><b>The Conduct of the Paxton Men, by Ben Franklin</b>; signed, "-Dated from my farmhouse, March 17th, 1764; A day dedicated to LIBERTY and ST. PATRICK"</i></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-39953609854094882752010-05-17T01:54:00.000-04:002010-05-17T01:55:12.808-04:00letter to William Hunt of Tinnitus Foundation<div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">I have written a lot in my blog and on my websites. I have methodology on the magazine site, and lengthy descriptions on the gallery site. </span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span> </div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">Thanks for the interest... in art. I have discovered the same in my life, experientially, and at great cost, and learned in an academic, logical sense as well; that art is life's purpose. It's true that all of us are not artists, and that there is a real dichotomy for you to envy from within. Medical science does not give us enough time for all of us to develop into artists. We all have the potential... just not enough time, unfortunately. Another interesting dilemma is that not all artists are easily found as myself, some paint, some row boats, and some shuffle papers. Thankfully, technology has made it possible for hundreds more to become artists of some kind; while we demean modern convienience in favor of some nostalgic hippie -natural dream.</span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span> </div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">I worked many different jobs I was not thankful as most to have, because my heart had another duty. I used to draw everything I saw drawn. At the time, the Sunday comics mostly. Through imitation I arrived here. I feel I am at the top, living a dream. A strange compulsion was placed before me, and, guided by the most intense shame, I copied the world and all of creation. I had to remake the world, in most thorough deception; with little colored marks. I wonder what was wrong with taking a picture? </span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span> </div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">I've discovered also that my duty to this lie is part of the most longstanding instinctive past-time. My suspicion is that it is humanity's first word past a grunt and a howl; on our way to a future home run. We as people learn, to place appropriate chemical levels in their appropriate categories. As we re-embrace primitive impulses in the modern age, we re-learn the mistakes that leave art in the past and future. Art then becomes as confusing as love and anger; and rolls with the beast in the filth, forever attempting to squash the biting flies. </span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span> </div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">We would all do well to feel as you do. Art would have prevented tinnitus, and the war that causes it. One day we will no longer run from that old beast within, but will sit quietly and breathe. Our goal, seeming boring and dull today; ridiculous and slow, will be to smell the trees and feel the sun, again and again. And maybe paint...</span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span> </div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">Bryan </span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-33819450149816377812010-05-04T19:08:00.000-04:002010-05-04T19:09:22.726-04:00painpain is the echo of a very serious memoryAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-13490780517754506162010-05-04T18:41:00.001-04:002010-05-04T18:44:34.193-04:00recent conversation with autistic philip moore on facebook<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />hi<br />5:39pmMe<br />hi<br />5:39pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />how is our project?<br />the book<br />5:40pmMe<br />good, i'll work on it more tonight<br />5:40pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />have you been doing any painting?<br />5:41pmMe<br />not in the last couple days, my meds ran out so i haven't had them till today<br />5:42pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />meds ? it nice to know I am not the only one who needs them<br />5:42pmMe<br />yeah there nice to have when one needs to concentrate<br />5:43pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />that good mine are supposed to help me not do that so much<br />5:43pmMe<br />different strokes...<br />5:43pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />different fliks<br />folks<br />5:44pmMe<br />ha!<br />5:45pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />mn alive did I cause an uphevel on my girl friends face book<br />I annouced we were and item then she did she must gotten at least twent responces<br />5:45pmMe<br />you have to be careful w/facebook, its like tattoo-ing time<br />5:45pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />?<br />5:46pmMe<br />its permanent<br />5:46pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />hopfully so are we<br />5:46pmMe<br />hope is the opposite of tattoo-ing time<br /><a onmousedown="UntrustedLink.bootstrap(this, '14bdef08416b3731753c2130d20db169', event)" href="http://www.facebook.com/PennStateHersheyResearch" target="_blank" rel="nofollow">http://www.facebook.com/PennStateHersheyResearch</a><br />dddmag.com<br />5:48pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />ok I have faith but your right once the realtionship is establised it is no longer hoped for its either thought for or dreadeded<br />5:48pmMe<br />you mean fought for or bedded<br />5:48pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />I dont know why you keep send ing me here<br />5:48pmMe<br />where do you mean?<br />5:49pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />dreaded if you end up in a bad realtionship you dread comming home<br />5:49pmMe<br />i just meant you should become a fan of penn state research<br />5:50pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />I'm not sure what it has to do with me ?<br />5:50pmMe<br />autism research<br />5:51pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />I'm not sure I'm up to that the word Chilanton comes to mind that just sound like pure quackery<br />5:52pmMe<br />what is chilatin?<br />you don't like autism research/<br />5:52pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />it some prosses that is supposed to make<br />5:52pmMe<br />make what?<br />5:53pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />take the mucury out of the blood and it depends on what it is if they art out<br />cure us forget it I like who I am<br />5:53pmMe<br />autism has nothing to do with mercury<br />autism is the effect of tyranny on evolution<br />human behavior affecting global processes<br />5:54pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />I know but there is the God auful theory that one causes of autsm is a mucry adetive to inolulations<br />5:54pmMe<br />like global warming<br />thats nonsense<br />5:55pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />i AGREE<br />But I dont go as far as to say it is evelutionary either<br />5:55pmMe<br />you would know, you live with it every day<br />5:56pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />it hereditary<br />5:56pmMe<br />like a mutant x-men<br />evolution is hereditary<br />5:56pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />so of we do be come fire ball we are angry<br />no<br />5:56pmMe<br />worse, much worse<br />5:56pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />autism is<br />true my brother used to yell at the top of his lungs and hit him self in the face<br />5:57pmMe<br />autism is the next evolutionary step of humanity as relates to the current path humanity is on<br />5:58pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />I dont agree there is to much negetive to think it is somthing intirly positivehe had his fase covered with a hand<br />when he hit it<br />5:58pmMe<br />a path rutted deep with tyrrany and fear manipulation<br />5:58pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />mincomph?<br />5:58pmMe<br />x-men is neither positive or negative, it just is<br />5:59pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />lol<br />It a comic book<br />5:59pmMe<br />what is mincomph<br />you mean hitler's book?<br />6:00pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />yes<br />6:00pmMe<br />my struggle<br />there is no struggle<br />6:00pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />i was joke about the path rutted in teriny<br />6:00pmMe<br />only life<br />6:00pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />the struggle is th fun part<br />6:00pmMe<br />and x-men comics<br />6:01pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />is are and story with a litll myth<br />6:01pmMe<br />fun struggle is not struggle by definition of struggle<br />6:01pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />is art and story with a litlle myth<br />have ever seen an action or comedy were the struggle for the character was easy no but for our point of though it is fun<br />it wasn't fun for them but we get in joy it<br />6:02pmMe<br />art is fun and art is life<br />6:03pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />agreed<br />6:03pmMe<br />sadistic bastard<br />6:03pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />it help me write you will se quite abit of it in the book you are editing<br />6:03pmMe<br />autix-men<br />6:04pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />not friday the 13th<br />autx-men?<br />6:09pmMe<br />yes autism is the real form of what the x-men comic describes<br />6:10pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />like I siad I don't belive in evelution I just think people awired different<br />6:10pmMe<br />art imitates life and sometimes introduces life's performances<br />6:10pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />we all have to act out every so often<br />6:10pmMe<br />not evolution in contrast to creation<br />6:10pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />?<br />6:11pmMe<br />you look like your mother and father<br />6:11pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />more mom then dad<br />6:11pmMe<br />so it is of all the generations of your family for all time<br />thats what i mean as evolution<br />6:12pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />genetics<br />ya I get you<br />6:12pmMe<br />eventually those changes can be manipulated on a grand scale and become permanent mutations<br />6:13pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />all it take is one person who dosent have the proble to stop the problem<br />6:13pmMe<br />YOUR head is full of religious conflict and its affecting how you understand in this case<br />again its neither good nor bad<br />6:14pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />if some one has down sindrom or croter willies it can be bad<br />6:14pmMe<br />no problem no struggle, just art<br />6:15pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />somtimes you lose me<br />life is art<br />6:15pmMe<br />no theyre good people, theres nothing wrong with them<br />yes life is art no good or bad<br />6:16pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />I never siad they were bad but the defect can stop them from having kids<br />there for bad for evelution<br />6:16pmMe<br />maybe this is a genetic response to overpopulation<br />6:16pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />maybe war is a genetic responce to over population<br />6:16pmMe<br />humanity isnt essential, only optional for humans<br />6:17pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />you still lost me<br />6:17pmMe<br />war is a deliberate decision not a natural response<br />people decide what to keep and what to throw away<br />6:18pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />if some were to try to take somthing of your it is a natural non christian ot fight to keep it<br />6:18pmMe<br />they keep things they like and throw away things they dont<br />6:18pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />like abortion<br />6:19pmMe<br />like disabled people who are called bad or need to be fixed to people who think theres something wrong with them<br />we decide to war, and to keep or throw away<br />we decide to throw away by defining things as BAD<br />6:21pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />I have never falt like some one going to through me away I do think people people over reackt<br />6:21pmMe<br />SPACE TRAVE IS THE ALTERNATIVE TO WAR<br />6:21pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />it alot more expensive<br />6:21pmMe<br />oops caps lock still on<br />war is more expensive<br />6:21pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />no prob<br />6:22pmMe<br />humanity creates value by work and ability<br />6:22pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />how? we have tecnolegy for war<br />6:22pmMe<br />when humans die, always less value added to earth<br />6:22pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />the psience isnt there for space<br />plus the fact that the bone damge for exposure is deadly<br />6:23pmMe<br />less humans from war, less scientists<br />6:24pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />most psience used in war has gone toward space<br />rockets were a war thin before that shot rockets<br />6:24pmMe<br />all the material to teeraform are here to be found and genetically mutated to adapt to space as we have adapted to war by mutating to autism<br />rockets are stupid ancient chinese crap<br />so is fire<br />6:25pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />bryan I think of you like a brother but some what you say sounds a little lsd<br />6:25pmMe<br />combustion is stupid<br />we could use many other things to get through the atmosphere<br />youre a mutant caused by generations of war<br />6:26pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />I need to go I have to clean my room I will talk to again somtime<br />6:26pmMe<br />ha!<br />don't throw yourself away<br />6:27pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />its not lie I am getting on bus<br />6:27pmMe<br />love you man, by<br />6:27pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />friday<br />love you to bryan<br />injoy the book by the way were are you on it?<br />6:28pmMe<br />havent got to it yet busy talking to you<br />6:28pm<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000690716184">Philip</a><br />sorry scul8r<br />6:29pmMe<br />coolAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-91288039241886487462010-04-07T23:22:00.007-04:002010-04-08T23:30:14.981-04:00Background Research for John Harris Project<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"> T</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">he Iroquois, having absorbed several tribes to constantly combat several different European forces; and different combinations of which, depending on the year; had longstanding trade dependencies: first with the Dutch, who had arrived early to the New World, and then with France. This odd alliance was made easy by the English presence in Canada, as the Iroquois were from that northern and Great Lakes region. After trading with the Dutch for a long while, the Iroquois Nation -as they were sometimes called, began supporting the Dutch -perhaps forced or provoked by them, in a subtle campaign against the British; probably in exchange for usage of formerly-owned lands in New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio. Years earlier, major constituents of the Iroquois Nation, the Lenape, had been driven from there and dissolved. New York being the Lenape's original homeland, during this period called New Amsterdam, was then controlled by the Dutch. The Dutch, of course, supported any reduction of British presence in the New World, as the British sat in the middle of the trade routes from the south and west of the eastern seaboard, and some ways inland, of the North American continent. This placed the British in a middleman position, enabling them to control the trade with New York, and inevitably driving up the cost of the goods en route to European markets. </span></span></div> <div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span></span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"> U</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">pon the start of the French and Indian Wars, the Iroquois, or Five Nations, as they were also known, made a public alliance with the English. This was made easy by the English presence in Canada many years hence, but was essentially determined by Dutch influence. When the Dutch gained control of England; disguised as inner-family religious conflict by the British Monarchy, called, the Glorious Revolution; they also gained control of the southern and western trade routes. As a result, the cost of American goods, especially furs, dropped in Europe. This would on the one hand stimulate the European economy, but on the other, would cost the English their sovereign and independent rule of England. </span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The English, in order to establish this alliance, had apparently convinced the Iroquois Nation that the threat from France was greater than the threat from the Dutch. Since the Indian looked naturally for an opportunity to take vengeance of any European, the British/Dutch forces then had the benefit of all the native armies to fight the French. Though Spain was the overarching Indian concern, the lucrative fur trade with the Dutch in New York harbor seemed to be the immediate incentive for the Indians to fight in Queen Anne's Wars -as the bulk of this conflict is called. This seems to be true for all parties involved. The Rum trade was extremely popular as well, and may have also been a major factor deciding involvement, for all parties mentioned. </span></span></div> <div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"> T</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">he Spanish were feared by the Indian, because Indian traders from the south and north, regularly interacted with vestiges in their former homeland; after having moved south and westward, especially in poor growing seasons; and were well aware of the Spanish dominance on the American continent @ large. Fearing stories of brutality @ the hands of the Spanish, Catholic symbols and clothing styles also became an important element in coagulating the Iroquois Nation and mobilizing them against the French in the northeast region of North America. Catholic nations were easily recognized by native forces because of the severity of the effects of the ongoing Inquisition in Europe. Most troops had @ least one Priest with them and individuals in common, wore as many Catholic symbols as they could afford, to show their loyalty to the Catholic Church. Even down to the length of the sleeve, or shape of an officer's cape, the Native could easily identify a Catholic from a considerable distance.</span></span></div> <div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"> T</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">his public Iroquois alliance, however, did not deter the Iroquois from attacking the English and harassing them in general and regularly; especially as they most probably were continually encouraged by the Dutch to do so. This was done in secret for the most part, the Iroquois used modern-day ( 2012 ) guerrilla warfare -or night raids, as their standard military tactic. The Dutch, constantly threatened by all Europe; especially seen most evident in the Anglo-Dutch Wars consistently raging on the European continent; were, at this point of issue, just prior to 1702 when Queen Anne's reign began, finally victorious against the British, and had recently gained control of English trade. This was accomplished by the Glorious Revolution, which removed the recently-late-convert-Catholic, King James II, and placed King William of the Netherlands, and Queen Mary, James' daughter, on the throne of England. </span></span></div> <div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"> T</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">he English were made aware of this conflict with the Dutch, in spite of the royal combination of William and Mary. The assumed, the intended, and expected, public cooperation between the two European powers did not disguise, apparently, this regular guerrilla behavior of the Iroquois. This knowledge helped Queen Anne quickly resolve the Dutch situation in England with her brother-in-law William, precisely because of that knowledge of the Iroquois conduct, passed on from the New World -possibly through non-conformist religious circles in Yorkshire, England. </span></span></div> <div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> The English also defended themselves against the Iroquois peacefully, without the destruction of their public alliance with the Indian nation, and maintained their relationship with the Dutch against the French and Spanish, precisely because of their good relations with the vestige tribes like the Shawanese, in spite of great difficulty caused by the radical behavior of Englishmen Nathanial Bacon and Governor </span><a title="William Berkeley" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Berkeley" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="color:#002bb8;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">William Berkeley</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">, in Jamestown, Virginia. Bacon's Rebellion, like the John Harris event, also involved alcohol as the inciting influence -not the English Rum from Boston however; the French Brandy was used to lubricate Bacon's Rebellion. </span></span></div> <div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"> T</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">he event which is @ this point of argument, took place along the Susquehanna River in what was to become Harrisburg, a city named in memorial of that bond, carefully cultivated with the friendly Shawanese Indian Tribe. Shawanese was the term referring to a Central Pennsylvanian native tribe, originally met by John Smith, and referred to as the Susquehannock Tribe, shortly after he had successfully re-founded the colony of Jamestown. The Susquehannock had first traded with the Dutch as the Iroquois had, and as a result, had been killed off almost entirely, by smallpox. The French then began influencing the trade routes in that region and the surviving group became known as the Shawanese. They had most likely absorbed some Lenape and other wounded, fractionate tribes, as the Iroquois had, before they were pushed to Ohio. They began to be called the Shawnee in Ohio, before the new American government, much later, relocated most to reservations in Oklahoma. The Sawanese had been long-time enemies of the Iroquois, even though they both spoke a similar Algonquin-dialect. Harrisburg lies within that tract of land acquired by William Penn, from the previously mentioned Lenape native group, some time after they had been driven from New York by the Dutch, and before they ceased to be referred to as a major influence in the north east of the North American continent.</span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> This positive relationship with the Shawanese tribe, was carefully maintained by Englishmen like John Harris. John Harris had moved from Philadelphia, where he laid roads in the young city, to what was to become Harrisburg, and ran a ferry-crossing and trading outpost on the opposite side of the Susquehanna River from the Shawanese. This was slightly inland, and directly in the path, of the Indian trade route along the east coast of North America, between the Dutch in the north, and the furs coming up from the south and west, in Pennsylvania. Pennsylvania and Ohio were a hotly contested region by the Europeans, as it had been for centuries by the Indians. Even though all the native Indian tribes still favored the Ohio River Valley as hunting grounds, the beaver and other fur-animals had been vastly depleted from the region and the majority of any massive quantities of fur came from further away and inland. The Iroquois had claimed this region from the Shawanese with the Europeans' help by this time, even though most remaining Indians used it as a hunting ground.</span></span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span></span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"> I</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">t is easy therefore, to think of the Iroquois as the agressors in the John Harris event. One might imagine then, after a miserable hunting party, these Iroquois, made more and more unsuccessful because of the voracious European appetite for furs; with memories of their conquered homeland, paid and goaded by those same Dutch neighbors to venture a little ways down the Susquehanna to the south, in hopes of driving the English out by harassment and provoking a fight with their long-time enemies, the Shawanese. The Indian were often used to induce conflict, willing participants or not, for the Europeans; such as in the Boston Tea Party, when white terrorists dressed as Indians to attack British trade goods. So these Iroquois came willingly or not, to trade; what for them must have been a miserable bounty; for what they would inevitably determine; regardless of the fair-market-value, or quality of payment in exchange; to be far less than their perceived worth -that fur they had brought to trade for Rum. It would be then only another short step to the think of the Indians becoming enraged after drinking Rum. Tired, resentful, and looking for a fight, these bullying Iroquois, wanting to humiliate this white shop-keep, tied him to a tree and taunting his Indian protectors, easily in sight across the river, they started a fire beneath him. </span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">John Harris greatly played up the story of his potential burning @ the hands of these Iroquois -even going as far as being buried beneath the very Mulberry tree, upon that very spot, so as to re-enforce both the longstanding relationship with the Shawanese, and also to downplay Bacon's Rebellion in favor of John Smith's original trade with the Susquehannok peoples. This legend was an effective effort by the English to control the fur trade route and, "divide their forces" to the Indian perception. The English became both be ally and enemy, a tactic used often by the Indian, especially the Iroquois from the north, forced by their dependency on the Dutch, and resentment of all Europeans. This strange guerrilla tactic was adopted, almost immediately by the colonialists during the American Revolutionary Period, without it, they could not have gained freedom from Britian. </span></span></div> <div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"> I</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">t is worth mentioning again, the obvious relevance of both John Harris and Queen Anne, being originally from Yorkshire, England. Queen Anne ruled England and held great influence in France, and Italy, as well as the Netherlands. Pope Clement XI; who had grown up near Tuscany as a wealthy landowner in Urbino, in northern Italy; had developed an unexpected alliance with Queen Anne against Spain and France in The War of Spanish Succession 1701-1714. This was merely four years before the Harris' event, said to have taken place in about 1718. This war in Europe was fought to prevent Philip V from obtaining the Spanish throne. This was an attempt by France of a union and absorption of Spain by France's Louis XIV by Royal appointment of Philip V. Philip V was the son of the Dauphin and the same family as Louis XIV. Spain, which had become an increasing threat to Papal territory as a result of their ruthless behavior in the New World and absorption of wealth from there, was well on their way to continuing expansion eastward, and was an immediate threat to the Papal territory, all of Europe, as well as the Pope's own family in Albania; and moreso if they had combined with France. The Iroquois were obviously unaware of the role of the Catholic church as an ally against the French in European conflicts of the day, and neither they nor the British seemed to let their guard down against the 'papists' ( the French and Spanish in the New World ), as they were insultingly referred to in the colonial outposts and by the Quaker leadership in Philadelphia. Britain had recently removed Catholic rule from it's shoulders in the Glorious Revolution,( 1688 ), and the resulting removal of James II, ( who was both Queen Anne and Queen Mary's father ). With the predictable death of all twenty or so of Mary's children ( most in the womb, and others near a decade alive ), her own death by smallpox infection in 1694, and William III's death on March 8, 1702, Queen Anne rid England of both Dutch rule, and Catholic influence, while obtaining control of Dutch trade in the New World, in one fell swoop, on April 23rd, 1702. The Iroquois however, were simply aware that the Spanish and French were Catholic because of their manner of dress, Priests that traveled with them, and symbols worn by the faithful. Therefore, the Catholic was the greatest threat to them. They may have otherwise been less willing to accept the Dutch and English, and the outcome of Queen Anne's Wars may have been quite different without their help in the fight. The severity of the Catholic Inquisition, in spite of the Pope's siding with the NonConformists against the Catholic forces of France and Spain, therefore prevented those forces from dominating, or even uniting in common goal. As a result, "An Attempt to Burn John Harris", becomes extremely important to the balance of power in Europe. John Harris insisted on being buried under that mulberry tree to mark an extremely important occasion in history. He sacrificed himself in death, to be a martyr in the grave, for English goodwill and purpose, to ensure that memory not be simply a myth or silly story, but to mark a true event that secured English power in North America. His family was not impressed and fought his decision to be buried, not in a proper cemetery, but under a tree, along the river. After his death, for years successive generations of his family tried to dig him up and move him. </span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span></span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span></span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"> T</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">hus, the efforts of a mere ferry-crossing, patiently and quietly maintained by John Harris, was of extreme importance to world commerce @ the time of his alleged harassment in 1718. This event, involving a few natives and some Rum, determined the balance of power for all of Europe in the 18th century. The information maintained ( evidence against the fraudulent Iroquois and Dutch alliance ), and passed along through channels of trust of commonality ( namely the NonConformist religious sect and Yorkshire birthrights ), enabled the English rulers to accurately identify enemies and threats to the security of modern economic structure and commerce. If this scuffle for 'a quick dizzy' had not taken place, the American Revolution would not have been possible. It becomes obvious, that John Harris was </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">in fact</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> an important political agent when viewed from this perspective, and that his birth in Yorkshire was no coincidence or irrelevancy. That an Indian faction, which was probably Iroquois, allegedly stopped to harass John Harris was not an isolated event, or even an unlikely mythical retelling. The significance of his being buried @ the very spot also, from this same perspective, is discovered, a much more internationally-politically significant event, and much less a trite monument to subjective, singular colonial frontier life experience and it's hazards, than has previously been awarded to it. This event is therefore, one of the most important memorials in the formation of the United States of America in the pre-Revolutionary period. </span></span></div></span></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-69676676754297943952010-02-02T02:27:00.001-05:002010-02-02T02:27:33.066-05:00how can one paint what is, without painting what is notAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-33824568961081720612009-11-02T21:25:00.005-05:002009-11-03T21:36:19.705-05:00My Dad DiedMy Father Died. We could only afford a viewing and a military burial. I have the triangle flag. I have to get a triangle frame for it. I spoke to him fifteen minutes before he died. I was reassuring. He said he missed his family. I said most people, like animals, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">instinctively</span> feel more comfortable being alone when they die. I said that he wanted to be different his whole life and that my being an artist was obvious proof of that. I said, "You just say that 'cause on the news on T.V. when Ted Kennedy died, they said he died, 'surrounded by family'. " I said vehemently, "We're not the Kennedy's! Fuck the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Kennedys</span>! They're all dead anyway! "<br /><br />He said, "Yeah, I guess."<br /><br />His friend Wayne, from Virginia said it the best. He said, "Your father was a really nice guy. He was just really, really nice. He used to bring toys over for my kids, one was a little '57 Chevy model. My kids put it together and were playing with it, because they liked to play with stuff, and they liked to take things apart and were always taking the wheels off it. I'd get mad @ them because it was a nice car, like a collectors' item too, not just a toy. Your dad would help me with my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">business</span> and in all kinds of ways, never charge me anything, just wanted to help. He was even out there trying to do the actual power-washing recently, I said I didn't know if I should let him, because of his health, you know. He said a lot of things to me that really stuck. He really helped me out in life. He was a great guy. I have to say of all my friends that I've had in my life, that he was the best friend I ever had." I swear I heard him tear up a little on the phone there.<br /><br />The last thing my dad said, literally minutes before going, was "All right, I guess I'll let you go then. I have to go to the bathroom. Goodnight. I love you Bink."<br /><br />Thomas Patrick <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Molloy</span> Junior died Monday, October nineteenth @ approximately seven o'clock PM, eastern standard time. He was sixty-one years' old. Like every father, he was my hero and I loved him.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-51301908475340730332009-09-05T01:16:00.004-04:002009-09-11T00:07:26.612-04:00New Paintings<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I've been working more with glazes. The Hudson River School is the inspiration for the sunset.</span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"First Family</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> </span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Memorial Garden" 24" x 36". This is an exploration into some more classic techniques and took quite a bit of time.</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> </span></span></span><div><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> </span></span></span></div> <div><span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I remember Charlie the Boston Cop I used to work with said he thought of "cleaning his gun sometimes" but he couldn't leave this life 'cause he'd miss the beauty in the sunsets and couldn't bear to never see them again of his own accord... so this one's for Charlie. It's on display @ </span></span></span><a href="http://walkersframing.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Walker's Framing</span></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">, 25 South 3rd St. , HBG, PA, Sunday from 11am-6pm Sept.13th...</span></span></span></span></span></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-38318080576294182472009-05-26T02:53:00.004-04:002009-05-26T18:19:14.944-04:00Gift Shop SiteI've just finished a gift shop web site. I think it's a good idea, as paintings are expensive. This is a way people can enjoy the image of the painting for a much more affordable price. Since my Mother and Grandmother have been encouraging me to do greeting cards and postcards and such ever since I first began drawing, I thought it might be a good idea to finally get around to it! I used one of the site names I registered, <a href="http://bryanmolloyart.biz/">bryanmolloyart.BIZ</a>, of course. I found some cool stuff that my paintings would look good on and not be totally useless. like coffee mugs, t-shirts, keychains, all the usuals. But then I found some companies that do some interesting things like marble coasters, sandstone, and wooden coasters too... puzzles, which I thought might be fun, mousepads, and even porcelain collectable plates, nice ones with ornate 22K silver and gold boarders...I thought that was pretty awesome.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-36628439569696405632009-05-05T02:53:00.004-04:002009-05-26T03:43:42.765-04:00New Studio Directory SiteI've uploaded the latest addition in my internet marketing strategy. <a href="http://bryanmolloyart.net/">Bryanmolloyart<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">.us</span></a> . It is a simple, very traditional web site. Intended to imitate the bright, welcoming standard layout people have come to expect from a website, it is patterned after <a href="http://www.ipohome.com/">Rennaisance Capital's</a> site. It is a simple portal menu to my bio site(<a href="http://bryanmolloyart.com/">bryanmolloyart.com</a>), my gallery site(<a href="http://bryanmolloyart.org/">bryanmolloyart.org</a>) and my gift shop site(<a href="http://bryanmolloyart.biz/">bryanmolloyart.biz</a>).<br /><br />Meant to be an extremely communicative site, I've begun to integrate an international flavor. This is evident in the bryanmolloyart.US, address (.us is the future standard for websites in the United States). Also, when you mouseover the colored squares that link to the different sites, a translation of each site heading in 20 or so of the world's languages, including swahili and afrikaans, of the often not included; in common online translators; African languages. Hopefully it will be welcoming to an international audience, in the most inclusive sense.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-14290771967692013402009-04-14T02:22:00.004-04:002009-04-14T03:11:42.838-04:00PA Turnpike #4The newest painting in the Turnpike series is completed and I'm very pleased with it. It is an odd scene from the modern Pennsylvanian landscape depicting a strange dichotomy in the natural topography supported by the composition as well as the weather conditions of the particular day I took the picture in the fall of 2008. I painted the electrical station and wires running across the front with a rough, imposing motion. This imposing motion highlights the station, with the cloud-cover supporting this feeling, by breaking just at that point where the station sits on the mountain-side and leaving the wires and trees in the foreground brilliantly lit by direct sunlight. The background is shadowed by the clouds and causes the interesting, rainbow-like color transition, from the bottom to the top of the piece.<br /><br />The electric station seems to impose on the landscape as I painted it because of our nation's new interest in "green" technology. When it was built it was probably described in this light as a "shining jewel" of progress. In this new "green" modern perspective, it may be described as destructive of a large swath of the mountainside foliage. When lit as it is, it burns darkly, a scarring reminder of the wasteful, arrogant destruction, lack of creative discipline and environmental consideration in our methods used in technological development of the existing power grid.<br /><br />In this painting I was fascinated by this composition and the beauty of the subject matter. The composition and supporting symbolism celebrates the beauty of the Pennsylvania landscape as it appears at the time it represents. It is a typical scene one might see driving along the Pennsylvania Turnpike across the unfathomably beautiful State of Pennsylvania. Please take a ride, see it for yourself, and perhaps you'll see this very sight. Take a picture and interpret it in your own way.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-33008987870861982812009-03-28T00:36:00.000-04:002009-04-14T00:40:44.558-04:00New Gallery WebsiteI've just finished <a href="http://bryanmolloyart.org/">bryanmolloyart.org</a>. It's the newest work, in series. Only the most personal, most recent work I'm concentrating on. The site is designed like a gallery. Please take a look and sign the guestbook as if you were visiting a traditional physical gallery.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-18954558218182195742009-01-29T20:53:00.001-05:002009-04-14T03:09:29.086-04:00PA Turnpike Series #2I'm working, albeit slowly on account of my web site, on the second and third in a Pennsylvania landscape series. I have been really looking forward to doing some rural landscapes. In Virginia, when I lived there, I always wanted to, yet never did. So when I moved to PA, I was equally as anticipatory regarding the notion of farmland and undeveloped country and quite desirous of romanticizing and appreciating it.<br /><br />A professor said that the brain activity of an artist responding to visual stimuli is the same as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">another's</span></span> under the influence of the drug mescaline. When I paint a sky, and visually translate it, a person may love some detail or exaggeration of it. I would hope that it may add to their enjoyment of a glance at it during some frustrating moment, that they might see it in the sky before them then.<br /><br />I'm not sure why farmland. I've always been drawn to the Hudson River School, and the Impressionists. I think that before all the incendiary wars(WWI, WWII, Korea, Vietnam, Middle East I&II, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Kosovo</span></span>, South American, Terror, non-American, etc....), artists were working to <span style="font-style: italic;">some common goal</span>, I suspect. I hope. This goal involved tradition, technique and discipline. Beginning with cooperative, then individual, photographic(reflective), then sensory interpretive, it resulted in the combination of studio techniques with on location sketching. The wars brought psycho-interpretive, angst-reflective, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">decontructivist</span></span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">itellectualizational</span></span> rending and spiritual burning and killing of all things valued. Before then a building process was taking place where technical methods were being developed and applied to painting. Specifically, the interpretation was becoming quite sophisticated. In a way the ancient Chinese Literati had developed Eastern Style to a certain refined point, so too the Western Style was being developed- and developing, influenced by the Eastern Style at this time I refer to: just prior to the turn of the century: circa. 1850's.<br /><br />The Arts and Crafts movement failed to combine quality with production. Technology produced photography (which I use to capture scenes as the Impressionist's mind would, in unison with the brush, @ that instant). Before photography, the studio artist brought the moment captured (the Impressionist's finished product) back to the studio <span style="font-style: italic;">but only had labor to confuse the time between completion and initial memory</span>.<br /><br />I think I am seeing some lost tradition which I must recapture, and sure it hasn't been. The tradition uses the technology to remember; to remember both a moment, but also to keep it present while it is translated; and to remember what we (as artists throughout time) were attempting to do, at any point in the process, at any point in history. I'm not sure what it is but I have identified a moment in stylistic methodology just before all the burning and exploding... just before the popcorn began popping. A moment to pick up where we left off, if we haven't been truly deafened and distracted for good. There was a discipline and foundation here somewhere... Academic, Impressionistic.... The virtuosity and finesse that translates for all mankind the look of what we are, how we see, and the way that looks on record.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I for one believe</span>, and will continue to translate, if only for me. I will produce these odd attempts through process, which to the untrained eye, for all the world, are bits of colored grease... smeared on cloth.<br /><br />The point of all that rant, was that the technique I am using in these next little landscapes, so far, is an <span style="font-style: italic;">academic foundation</span> of a thin layer of burnt sienna, reddish-brown. Then, atop this I painted a more <span style="font-style: italic;">impressionistic description</span> of the tree-line and mountains. Of course the brush is used to 'draw' in the <span style="font-style: italic;">adaptation of the Eastern Style,</span> although it isn't really drawing in the strict sense of extended point delineation. The interesting thing is that I'm employing a glazing technique, thin layers of blue that are really deepening the perspective. It's a <span style="font-style: italic;">studio technique combined with an impressionistic technique</span> in a way that has really stirred up this previous suspicion of recapturing this development in the artistic process and breaking free from this incredibly irritating and confusing, nay debilitating, purposeless, lack of resolution in the Modern Arts free fall.<br /><br />I think this 'Impressionism' was an absorption of the Eastern Style. Impressionists, loosely used at this point, began incorporating abstraction and abstract methods increasingly before the wars. Academics had long embraced abstract methods to support the development of their photo-reflective goals. But here, the Eastern Style methods were understood, and appreciated as philosophies that were incorporated purposefully, as <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">recognised</span> adaptations and imitations of Eastern Style that were also purposefully conjoined to Academic European fine artisan decorative paneling traditions.<br /><br />Eastern Style developed and combined with Academic traditions to become Western Style and has been developing as a unified World Style <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">un</span>-recognised for some time due to the confusing <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">mis</span>-inclusion of primitive warlike styles by confused <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">mis</span>-directed war-torn, traumatized, demented war-generations.<br /><br />In, short, these next in this PA Turnpike Series are coming along well.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-61291650051965530012009-01-24T14:29:00.000-05:002009-04-14T00:38:48.697-04:00Nude CommentaryI am working @ this moment @ the front desk @ the Art Association of Harrisburg. This month's exhibit is a figure show, a members' show with the human figure as the theme, called 'Figuratively Speaking'. It is a well-established annual feature which has drawn record numbers of member entries this year. The Curator had to clear out the permanent collection hallway to make room.<br /><br />Since it is Saturday, there are children's art classes held in the building.<br /><br />A little girl leaving with her father took the time to give commentary. As she walked by, she was pointing continuously @ the nude women in her path saying, "Eeew, eeew, eeew, eeew...", to communicate her visceral reflexive reaction to each piece she saw. She spoke with definitive disdain in her voice, controlling her obvious shock and continuing realization that the whole wall, room, and building was, no doubt, filled, one after the other in place with these, in her opinion, yucky, icky, ucky classic nudes in familiar classic nude poses. And she listed her reaction to each with a very matter-of-fact tone, unable to find the time to reformulate another word of description or lower her pointed finger, first extended in haste to point out a possible horrible wrong, left extended to defend her sensibilities. I'll continue with a colonial-style poem, I hope Hawthorn will be proud.<br /><br />I think artists themselves with this most pure judgment must agree (at-heart honestly); else how more flattering and pleasant our unclothed selves would (most likely) be; to that young sensibility! As for me, the girl's opinion-an untarnished reflection-(more likely) must be.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-45891285298492654062008-11-03T19:22:00.000-05:002009-04-14T00:37:13.505-04:00Pumpkins for Palin<span style="font-family:arial;">Here's a cool thing that happened: I was called late last Wednesday night, October the twenty-ninth, by people working with the Republican National Committee, out of Arlington, VA. They were in York, PA organizing a rally for Alaskan Governor Sarah <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Palin</span></span> and they called the Art Association. Earlier that day, they had talked to the Director, who gave them my name curtly, then abruptly hung up on the partisan fellow. He was looking for an artist to hand-paint a pumpkin on an area larger that forty-square feet. Since they obviously had no knowledge of Fine Arts materials and processes, when they called back later that evening, I recommended a smaller area as I was concerned about my arms falling off after finishing a painting that large in one afternoon. He (whose name was Josh) conferred with his supervisor and then agreed that perhaps twenty by twenty feet would be more reasonable. I asked what their budget was and they said [xx] dollars. I did some calculations on the calculator and figured that canvas that size would cost at least [xx] dollars. Since this was for a good cause and they seemed in a bind, (they admitted that they had misplaced their own campaign posters) I was happy to agree to a price far below most painters. I knew I could paint a twenty foot canvas in less than twelve hours, but I was unsure of where I would get material to paint on that large for free or @ a very reduced price. I told Josh that I would call him back. Then I called Rick Walker from Walker's Framing, who has helped me in more than a few massively unrealistic, last minute, low paying jobs. Fortunately, Rick had acquired a large roll of canvas left over from the restoration of the Pennsylvania State Capitol building and twenty feet in one direction was no problem. Twenty feet in the other however, was a problem. Rick said he would do the job for [xx] dollars but it would have to be nine feet in one of the directions. I called the Josh guy back and relayed this information and Josh said this was fine, 20'x9' for $[xx]. He said he would call the next morning @ 7:30am and that they may want two. I met Rick @ Walker's that night and we coordinated things we would need and made a quick trip to Home Depot. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Rick said that we should meet @ his shop @ 6:30am. I went home and worked on my web page 'till 6am, made a thermos full of coffee, kissed Andrea goodbye and drove downtown. Rick called a few minutes past seven. We went in to the shop, and measured and cut and gathered. While we were cutting the 2'x4's' ends into 45 degree angles I missed Josh's call. I called him back and we agreed to meet @ the York Fairgrounds when we could. We loaded everything into Rick's truck, tied it down, put an orange plastic bag on the overhanging end of the wood as a flag, and drove to York, PA. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We called Josh when we arrived and he met us out front of the Convention Center. We shook hands and Josh swatted my shoulder aggressively and made a joke about the difference between twenty feet and forty feet. I laughed and we went in and talked for a while about the design and I said that I brought some dried corn for a second composition in case they should want two. He was talking rapidly and forcefully, playing 'bad cop' and lying through his teeth, about how fortunate we were that they now definitely wanted two and that because they had originally wanted a twenty by twenty, not a twenty by nine piece that it seemed quite reasonable to ask us to do two, twenty by nine pieces, for $[xx]. Rick said that since his material costs were $[xx], that he would lower that to $[xx] and do two of the same size pieces 2 for [xx] dollars, which reduced my take. Since apparently all of the sudden when we had already made the trip and begun work my fee of $[xx] was no longer separate from the equipment and framing costs, which according to the original agreement would have brought the total to [xx] dollars, Josh asked me if that was O.K. with me if I got only [xx] dollars for two twenty by nine paintings and assured me that it was still about six dollars a square foot, and added some inflammatory comment about who's paying who/who's in charge to pit me against Rick. He was asking me if it was fine with me if I got less that half to do twice the amount of work. I thought maybe Josh was angry about being unaware of the costs associated with such a project and unappeased by our attempts to drastically lower those costs and donate a large part of our services to help the American political process and the local reputation of the community of York and central Pennsylvania as our abilities and standards of ethics dictate we should. This was not just a poster, or some half-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">assed</span></span> copy shop print-job, we were giving this last-minute gig the same attention that Rick and I give all of our work, high-end Fine Art and Framing. I think maybe the campaign people thought they called a lesser quality 80 year-old gallery and 50 year-old third generation framer. Our business ethics were not sullied by these base tactics and we agreed to divide the costs equally, 50/50 and do our best to complete the job to our usual highest of standards.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We finished stretching this <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Moby</span></span> Dick and leaned it up against the far wall and I began assembling my paints and brushes. Rick left to get the stenciling for the letters, which was being donated by a sign maker friend of his, and also to get more wood for the now requested second painting. Seth, Josh's supervisor, and 'good cop', came over and said that he was surprised that twenty feet was so large and said that one would be plenty and that we shouldn't do two after all. I called Rick and told him that he wouldn't need to get more wood because they now only wanted the one. Rick, exasperated yet sounding a bit relieved, asked if they were going to pay us the original cost. Of course not, they knocked [xx] dollars off the original quote we gave them.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I painted the pumpkins. I talked to the union guys setting up the stage and bleachers. One of them was an artist but didn't have the time to pursue it seriously. They were all very encouraging and comforting. They had the luxury of a union to prevent them from having to deal with people making their jobs many times more difficult, holding their needs hostage, eating dogs in their dog eat dog world, destroying business, building <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">bureaucracy</span>, growing government and poverty and desperation, anxiety and ill-will. Without a gold standard, consumer confidence, trust and goodwill now back the dollar in the place of gold... I felt a tap on my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">shoulder</span> which shocked me out of my artistic trance. A woman and a man with a camera wanted me to do an interview for Fox Local News. I had my hand covered in red paint like a bloody maniac sticking out of a can of red paint, as I had been throwing paint around in a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">spattery</span></span>, Jackson Pollack way. Of course I would do an interview! The camera-guy apologized as he stuck his hand up the back of my sweaty back and dropped a microphone down my collar and clipped it in place. I apologized that I was a fat sweaty mess that he should have to do that. The woman asked me my name and what the purpose of the painting was. I explained that it was a backdrop for the rally that the organizers had wanted to have a regional stress to. I explained that I had used an expressionistic style in the brushwork as an homage to Li <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Hidley</span></span>, the former Curator of the Art Association of Harrisburg, where I work part-time as a Gallery Assistant. I said that I was just happy to support the American Political Process, and that it was excellent. This last part is what aired. They showed me throwing paint on the canvas with my bare hand. When I watched it later that night on the ten o'clock news I laughed well into the next day. I spoke in a nervous, slightly sarcastic, over-eager, over-tired, over-<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">caffeinated</span></span>, chubby, twitchy, endearingly genuine way. My wide eyes and double chin emphatically encouraging my sincerity and how fun politics really is. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The camera went off to explore the rest of the large room and half-constructed steel-polls of the bleachers. As I was finishing the last delicate touches on the largest pumpkin ever, Josh was tossing around and punting a football with some of the other organizers. I recognized that they were playing with a football because of the sound. Both my father and I had both punted for our High School football teams, he for four years earning national records on his Varsity high school team, Chelsea High, and myself, on the Junior Varsity team, for one year with records for the furthest shoe flinging off my foot while punting, and fewest penalties for playing without a chinstrap. He complimented the painting, asked if I did this for a living, said it was obvious and that the painting looked great.<br />Rick returned with the stencils. Then Rick left an open utility knife on top of the ladder in haste to make an appointment and when it teetered and rocked upon his descent, it fell, blade first, on his thumb to the bone. The blood formed a fast little ball on his open hand. I continued to work on the lettering while Rick's friend from York who lived nearby and stopped over after work, who makes Stealth Bomber parts for the military, helped him bandage his hand. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I left that night and called Rick Saturday afternoon because I slept through the rally, he missed it too. Here's a link to the footage of the rally, scroll to the video box and play it. You can see in one of the camera pans the painting in the background: </span><a href="http://ydr.inyork.com/ci_10865066" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1225766687_0">http://ydr.inyork.com/ci_10865066</span></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-12559565082663195132008-10-28T18:37:00.000-04:002009-04-14T00:34:55.204-04:00Crazy Dream Last Night<span style="font-family:arial;">Last night/early today I was dreaming about international banking. I was so worked up I was shaking. The interesting thing is, the concept, an isolationist banking strategy, is not something I think about normally, or have discussed at any point in my life. I can't say I have ever addressed banking in my thoughts throughout the day... international trade and manufacturing I think about and have strong opinions regarding, but banking... not really. Some concerns about foreign ownership of U.S. land and companies, but definitely not yelling @ Tom Daschle about foreign bank influence in the American banking system. I was yelling, "National banking is national and should be confined and regulated by the boarders of the nation!" And I was trying to get through to him and whoever else was there and yelling 'till I shook and my voice quavered.<br />Maybe it's a valid point, It made sense to my dream-state.<br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4175379942040652143.post-68214044406180902562008-09-29T20:57:00.000-04:002009-04-14T00:36:29.675-04:00My BirthdayMy birthday this year was exceptional. The Governor of Pennsylvania hosted a private reception for the Art Association @ the Governor's Residence downtown Harrisburg. The day before my actual birthday happened to be the date of the reception. While the Governor himself wasn't there, he left some excellent cheese for us. The entire first floor was open for us to view the art & artifacts housed there in the mansion. I have seen beautiful houses and wonderful classic American silver-ware, but as I followed Andrea through the different rooms, I studying the paintings on the walls and she, remembering her grandmother's dining room (which had been decorated just like the parlor room); I noticed next to the main entry, sitting quite humbly above a chair, a portrait of George Washington. I thought as I approached, 'how nice... they have a copy of Rembrandt Peale's portrait of Washington' next to a grandfather clock made in Harrisburg (which was written on it's face). And then followed Andrea to the Parlor in question where she had been reading a book about Van Gogh. We discussed the decor being very similar to her grandmother's dining room in Illinois when she was a little girl. The room was all turquoise with mural-print wallpaper of Indians and rivers. There were oriental vases all around with a lot of turquoise in them. The lamps also stuck strictly to this design motif without protest of the slightest kind. I looked to the end of the room, and again tucked quite modestly on small walls aside the fireplace mantle, were two portraits that reminded me of one artist whose work I studied for hours, standing @ the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston when I lived there. I stood transfixed for many hours for many days on end, so I was pretty sure the style was after Sir Joshua Reynolds. As I had done when I drew near enough to read the inscription on the plaque on the frame of the portrait of Washington in the Great Hall with the parquet floor like the Boston Garden from my childhood; even though it said clearly Sir Joshua Reynolds, as the other had said Rembrandt Peale; I had it in my mind that they were copies or something, and assumed so confidently. When we were looking @ something else (Tom Ridge's solid metal cutout of the United States in map style with Pennsylvania shooting out the face like Superman lettering probably), the Governor's Secretary, the nicest woman, of course came around to see if we were enjoying ourselves. We were, and I pointed to Washington well-preserved in the shadows above the Butler's Chair, by the grandfather clock next to the Main Entry, and I said, "that isn't..." and she said, "it IS!" And I doubled about and guffawed and squealed and made some more disbelieving expressions, being the fool all the while! It and the two others were in fact original paintings by the original artists. This is the purpose of this blog entry, to express my amazement and wonderment and gratitude. And to say that that was a great thing to see and a great way to see it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18207595385308997632noreply@blogger.com0