ANT TRAINING

Yes, I have many skills. I am able to get an extra week or two out of a tube of toothpaste my kids deemed empty. I know how to fold a fitted sheet, though I choose not to. I’m also very adept at sharpening color pencils with both powered and manual hand held sharpeners. I can practically hear your “firework reactions” already. “Oooooh. Ahhhhh. WOOOOAH!”

This summer I decided to take up a new hobby. I’m now an official “Ant trainer.” This is not to be confused with “Aunt trainer,” which I was a master of at a young age. I learned very quickly how to deter some of my wonderful aunts’ desires to pinch my youthful chubby cheeks. Typically, my great speed of foot was all that was necessary, as long as I detected the pinch in advance. In the event I was distracted by a heavily frosted cake, a baseball, or a developing game of Capture the Flag with cousins, and didn’t notice a stalking aunt in time, I’d refer to my fine acting skills. Simply pretending to be nauseous and bending at the waist always did the trick. Unfortunately, it also removed my eligibility status for partaking of cake for a time.

No, this type of training, the training of insects, requires more than just acting skills. It requires patience, a plot of grass, and a brain at least twice the size of an ant. Two out of three is sufficient.

A careful eye will see a finely manicured path leading through my lawn. Like north and south going sneetches (Dr. Seuss reference), you’ll also notice ants following the path in either direction with near flawless obedience. The positive implications for this form of training should be obvious.

At this point in my training, the ants are merely transferring items that are beneficial to their own lives. Tiny edible crumbs and small fragments of dried grass for nesting are most common. Soon, a subtle transition will occur. I’ll gradually increase the size of their cargo, so as not to alert them to my grand design. If all goes as planned, these unsuspecting ants will be moving and stacking firewood for me by autumn.

As to be expected, every group seems to have a bad apple. This is the little guy that thought the path was an “optional” route across my lawn. He’s spending a brief time in isolation until his attitude is adjusted. Defiant little creature.

More than marshmallows

Yep, I love this man more than marshmallows. Toasted, roasted, dipped in dark chocolate or straight out of the bag.

This man’s presence has changed in recent years. You won’t know it, however, when he prays, jokes, or when his eyes tell you he loves you. He’s told me using words that he loves me twice in my lifetime. Funny what we remember. He’s told me with his eyes and his actions more times than I can count. If I had a choice, I’d choose actions over words, though I hold dear the memory of him telling me.

My dad has dementia. Its not ideal. I’d love to share experiences in the same way we used to. I miss recapping Tiger games with him. I’d also love to hear him preach again. I could make a list of what I know I’ll never have with him again, but realize how fortunate I am to have him at all.

I’m sure some of you know exactly how it feels to have your parents age, and have some of the roles in your relationship reversed. Others would give anything to have the chance. This doesn’t escape me. I’m lucky.

Father’s Day was wonderful. We had a feast with both my parents and many of my dad’s kids and their kids in attendance. Few things give my dad joy these days, but watching his family laugh still does the trick. Pie does too.

Perhaps my readership is wondering if this blog entry is being written by a ghost writer due to its serious tone. No apologies. I’m writing what’s on my heart in a heavy way.

To honor my dad I will share two stories with you that will give you a snapshot of his sense of humor and his competitive spirit.

As an elementary student in the Catskill Mountains, my dad found an interesting game to play with his classmates. A bees’ nest would be found and placed inside a circle drawn in the dirt. Competing students would see who could remain in the circle longest after poking the nest with a stick. My dad always won.

In college, my dad felt convicted to bring one of the guys in his dorm “out of his shell.” I’ll change the classmate’s name to protect the innocent and refer to him as “John Smith.” After making a call to the funeral home (quite certain this wouldn’t work today), a knock was heard at “John’s” door. When John answered the door, the gentleman dressed in a black suit and possessing a long cart, stated in a reverent tone, “We’ve come for the body of John Smith.”

I love this man.

Riveting Retirement

“So, how’s retirement going, Paul?” A nickel. Just one nickel for every time I’ve been asked this question. That’s all I’d need to pay off my mortgage. Don’t misunderstand. The question is asked with the kindest of intentions. People are generally happy for me, with the exception of my former colleagues who secretly wish they were in my place.

My answer is typically cordial, and informative. Who is surprised by this? It also is a bit on the lengthy side, if time allows and I have the inquisitive one trapped. Retirement can be lonely, so we retirees seek out conversation with anyone, even if they have their arms filled with bags of groceries. I actually prefer that audience because they rarely ask follow up questions.

My answer to the “How’s retirement?” question is this. “I’m not retired from the work force, just retired from teaching, at least in its previous form. I may very well choose to teach private lessons, or night classes, at some point in the future. I’m VERY happy in my ability to focus more on my art business, and am also enjoying house painting during normal hours, rather than the after school shift. I miss working with kids big time. I miss making them laugh (sometimes on purpose), watching in awe at the things they’d create, and yelling at them when they run in the hall. I do NOT miss witnessing projectile vomit, nose picking, butt scratching, and tattling.”

As a visual artist, I adhere STRONGLY to the “A picture paints a thousand words” doctrine. Since I’m quite the techie, I often step it up and employ the “Moving pictures paint MORE than a thousand words” philosophy. “Moving Pictures” also happens to be Rush’s best album. That’s not open to debate, though your comments of agreement are welcome. Speaking of “comments,” since it relates to what I was writing about, and I’m a stickler for staying on point, they ARE welcome and even encouraged, especially if they’re glowing in nature.

The number of readers addicted to my ingenious and thoughtful blogs has been growing at an alarming rate. The number of comments, however, is not. My manager just told me I’m starting to run on a little long with my sentences and am coming DANGEROUSLY close to veering off point. Personally, I think she’s just a little grumpy this morning. She also requests I not use “all caps” so often. It uses more ink, and money is a little tight in the day6art account. In the words of Steve Martin, “WELL EXCUUUUUUUUSE ME!!!!!!!” I feel better now.

Please enjoy the video. The sci fi clip from my previous blog was such a hit I decided I’d try and capture the electricity of my “retirement” experience thus far in a short film. It’s a bit more “family friendly” than the previous footage, so feel free to gather the kids around your laptop for an evening of enjoyment. Don’t forget the popcorn!

HIGH TECH, SFX, SCI FI THRILLER. WARNING! VIDEO MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN

You never know when the opportunity may arise to capture a moment of intense drama. I found myself in the parking lot of my local Speedway, where I had just procured a healthy snack. When approaching my vehicle I noticed this imposing neon green creature. Thankfully I, like most people over the age of four on our fine planet, now have a fairly high quality digital camera on my person at all times. Were I NOT to have the ability to film this event, who would have believed me?

You’ve undoubtedly viewed this gripping short film multiple times by this point. Let me put your mind at ease. The risk of severe bodily harm to my person was kept to a minimum, thanks to the fact I happened to be wearing a shirt made with material bearing the pattern of a brick wall, which PERFECTLY matched the exterior wall of Speedway. Yes, it's an attractive shirt, brings out the color of my eyes, doesn’t make me look fat, and is NOT available in stores. More importantly, in this instance, it may have been a lifesaver. I was able to stand motionless against the gas station wall so as not to be seen by the massive creature.

I also want to assure you that at no time was any animal mistreated or injured in the making of this film. More importantly, the green beast was unable to obtain the 20 oz. bottle of heaven's sweetest nectar nestled in the cup holder of my automobile.

Needless to say, I’m grateful for my iphone, my local Speedway and my brick patterned shirt.

Be safe, people.

Whys, Hows, and Other Lofty Considerations That Can Distract

If you’ve invested any time in looking at my artwork in any analytical manner, you’ve no doubt drawn a few conclusions, or possibly formulated a few questions. When having the privilege of speaking about my work to an audience, I’ve come to expect certain questions. “How do you come up with the concepts for your work?” “Are these really drawn using color pencil?” “Will you accept more than your asking price?” “Do you now, or have you ever used drugs?” “Were you dropped as a child?” It is possible one of these questions has yet to be asked, but I can dream.

One of the most-asked questions regards the time it takes to create my drawings. The answer is, “a LOT of time.” My drawing titled, “A Game Of Cat And Mouse,” for instance, took 350 hours. Patience, a love of the process, a good drawing table with a comfortable stool, and a complete disregard for a social life are all requirements for being a color pencil artist.

I’ve noticed how easily I can become distracted when trying to get my pencils in motion. Often deep questions will occupy my mind. This time of year, I spend a great deal of time considering the lilac. Not very masculine of me, I know. Don’t judge. My question, which I’ll ask God in person one day, is “Why does it only bloom once a year, and keep so poorly in a vase?” I LOVE the smell of these beauties. They even make mowing enjoyable. If anyone has advice as to how I can get this scent more readily available I welcome your assistance.

I also wonder “If hens can produce such colorful eggs as these, why do we let the white egg producing hens still have work?”

Or, “How did this natural wonder occur, and how hard would I have to push the upper half to make it fall.... and would I regret doing so if I decided to find out?”

Sometimes, I recall memories from my teaching career. Like the time I was working in my classroom and had my door to the outside open for fresh air, or for my son to deliver a Mountain Dew. Suddenly, I noticed I had a little visitor come see if I was working.

Instead of drawing, I might wonder how my little friend is doing today? I still find it disappointing that I was unable to lure the rodent into the hallway, where he could have added a bit of excitement to the school day.

Time to draw...

The most wonderful time of the year -- day or night

Before pontificating on the merits of spring, let’s take a moment to absorb the beauty of my landscaping masterpiece.

Because this picture is taken at night, one can enjoy the rich, deep shades of gray provided by my skillfully sealed black top. You can hardly tell I used a cheap product from Menard’s. Or, that I didn’t mix together ALL of the 5-gallon cans to provide for a consistent hue, OR that it rained soon after the sealant was applied. The forecast contained no mention of any precipitation, for the record; yet there I was, mere minutes after completing the application, standing in centerfield, ready to spring in any direction to run down a softball for the benefit of my team, when I felt a drop or two. As luck would have it, the occasional drip crescendoed into a lovely downpour. I live just 3 miles from the softball field, so I was fairly certain the effort and expense I put in to protecting my lengthy driveway were in vain. Thus, the benefit of taking this photo at night.

A 5” concrete border separates the rich blacktop from the carefully placed (by a professional, not the current homeowner) brick mosaic that leads to my front door. But let’s not jump so hastily to the front door. Beautifully and lovingly positioned around the perimeter of the foliage is a rectangular shape made up of field stones of various shapes, sizes and colors. I made it look easy.

Nestled inside, and occasionally creeping over the fieldstones, is a bed of myrtle. Fun fact, myrtle is my favorite ground cover. I’m guessing many guys don’t have a favorite. Myrtle is fairly forgiving, doesn’t climb siding or trees, produces bright little purple flowers in the spring, and multiplies for FREE!

Of course, the fieldstone is merely the frame, and the myrtle a matte, for the 8’ Weeping Cherry tree. Like the myrtle, the weeper is crying for attention this time of year. If I were intending to place my house on the market, I’d use photos of my house during this short-lived explosion of color. It seems like the window of opportunity is about an hour and a half. Either a heatwave melts the blossoms to the ground, or heavy winds and torrential rains wash them away.

Lucky for all of us, I took the delightful picture above at JUST the right time. You’re very welcome.

It IS the most wonderful time of the year. No disrespect to winter, but seriously, it’s amazing. Color everywhere. Less layers of clothing required when outdoors. And mowing beats snow blowing EVERY day of the week, and only needs to be done once a week.

IT’S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR (DAY OR NIGHT)

Spring has sprung!!!

SPPTOS

I’m in severe multitask mode on a dreary spring morning. Let me begin by justifying the inclusion of the spooky picture above. I am a self proclaimed pathetic taker of selfies, SPPTOS for short. Pronunciation: “sp-pa-tos.” Rolls off the tongue rather easily, doesn’t it?

I’m not sure of the reason I can’t take a flattering picture of myself, but have narrowed it down to two theories. Either cameras are not as precise as they were 40 years ago, or my arms are too short. Regardless, I’m not buying a new phone just to get a better camera, and I REFUSE to buy a selfie stick.

I actually posted this pic on FB a while ago to get advice regarding my beard. I do not enjoy having facial hair. It's itchy, requires extra maintenance, occasionally captures food, AND in my case, makes me look like I had bad aim with a powdered donut.

Most of the FB comments I received were kind, helpful and to the point. One, however, completely strayed from topic. A college buddy of mine, who now lives in Laos, took the opportunity to criticize my shower curtain instead of simply critiquing my facial hair presentation. I took his comment in stride and convinced myself the curtain was fine; that is, until now. As it turns out, my friend and his son are spending the night in my home this weekend. While I wasn’t willing to splurge on the purchase of a new curtain, I did think a good washing of the old one was in order, probably a decade ago. The careful eye can see the removal of the curtain is no easy task. DOZENS of little tie things (that’s the technical term) had to be untied before removing the curtain. Tightly tied knots made this a difficult job, but the respect of my friend made it worth the effort. After removing the curtain and gathering the little tie things, I headed to my tidy laundry room (a room NO one is allowed to see). I noticed a green cotton blanket carefully placed on my spotless laundry room floor and decided I’d save water, soap and time by putting the blanket in with the curtain and little tie things. Willing to go the extra mile to regain the respect of my friend, I even adjusted the washer dial to “soak mode,” so as to get the fabric extra clean. I’m currently recalling my manager’s advice to keep my blogs short. I’ll bet she’s REALLY proud of me right now. I think I also imagine her wishing I’d begin a new paragraph at this time.

After the wash cycle was complete I opened the door and observed a somewhat unexpected result. The blanket looked like I anticipated, but the curtain was now a delightful shade of green. Since my bathroom is also a shade of green, it matches. While my intent was to just have a clean curtain, I now feel like I have a new one! It cost me nothing but a little time and effort. Please don’t try this at home. It worked out great for me due to my uncanny ability to color coordinate my oversights. Your results may vary.

In summary, my opening sentence made reference to “multitasking,” yet it had no relevance to the blog. The author can grow a white beard, but prefers not to. Said author also reportedly has a laundry room to be envied and he’s lucky it wasn’t a red blanket he found on the floor in route to the washing machine.

Eat your hearts out.

Blog Clog

For those of you who have been sitting patiently in front of your laptop in anticipation of my next blog entry, I apologize for the delay. You have just enough time to take a quick shower, brush your teeth, let your dog out and water a few plants before my next entry is posted.

I’d like to tell you I’ve been spending the past month trying to make the Detroit Tiger roster as a centerfielder. Obviously that’s not true, and you’d quickly recognize it. The MLB regular season is 6 months in length. Half of the games are on the road, so who would mow my lawn? Crabgrass doesn’t look good without regular attention.

I also suspect I won’t get away with blaming my writing negligence on a focus on Spring cleaning. While I make an effort to keep clean and tidy the areas of my home people actually see, the occasional dust bunny -- or more accurately, dust hippo -- can be found in hiding.

Perhaps you’ll believe this explanation. I’m exercising a strategy I witnessed used in music and cinema. The Eagles took 14 years off and reunited to treat the world to new hits such as “Get Over It” and “Love Will Keep Us Alive.” Singing them in your head already, aren’t you?

George Lucas, on the other hand, used the force to force his fans to wait 16 years between the release of “The Return of The Jedi,” and “Phantom Menace.” The last I checked, Star Wars films are still showing a profit.

I can’t WAIT to see the impact day6art will receive from the implementation of this proven game plan.

Actually, my lame excuse for keeping my massive audience in wait, is a simply matter of “blog clog.” I’m sure you can understand how difficult it must be for me to release, on a weekly basis, genius insights to what I see in the world that surrounds us.

The good news is, I just finished a new blog! I realize it was nothing more then a few paragraphs about next to nothing, but it DID put a few smiles on my face, and maybe yours. Hopefully that’s what blogs are supposed to accomplish. If not, blame it on the Eagles!

STICKY AND FISHY BUSINESS

The author of the book for which this illustration is designed casted a great idea into the rivers of my mind. I occasionally rely on others for germs of creativity, so I took the bait. Besides selling prints of the drawing, Kirk suggested a way to turn my artwork into a new income stream. Thanks to Kirk, my creation is now traveling in car windows across the best state in the country.

How great is Michigan? It's surrounded by Great Lakes, and is so full of unmatched wild wonderfulness, it had to be divided in to TWO peninsuli! That’s the plural form of “peninsula,” as far as you know. Due to its flawless fantasticness, it was not difficult to reel in multiple points of inspiration from its beauty, and then incorporate them into the drawing.

While the intent of my blog posts is not for the site to become a market place, in this instance I would like to make an exception, and lure you into visiting www.clamriverclassics.com.

Here you will find access to these fishy stickies, tagged at a mere $7 a piece. At that price you’ll want to fill a stringer of these window ornamentations.

So, don’t miss the boat. Instead, be the first in your neighborhood to have the BRAND stinkin’ new sticky. They’re sure to be keepers!

Good Mourning!

As a child, I remember wondering why my parents and grandparents never slept in. They had no one forcing them out of bed. They called the shots, yet even on vacation, with nothing on the agenda they were usually “up and at it” before the sun rose.

I have four brothers. I’m in the middle, where perfected child raising occurs. First born are like boot camp for parents. Lots of trial and error happens in this stage. Final children are raised when parents have lost interest and energy. I’m the third out of five. I mention this because it relates to the topic. By now, you certainly know I’m very disciplined as a writer and never veer off topic. “LOOK, A CARDINAL!”

I chose to raise just two children. This way I could ensure I’d not have a middle child. I’d also avoid the impossible challenge my parents had, of not displaying favoritism toward their middle child.... me.

I love my kids equally. Exactly the same. It never waivers. Boot camp with my daughter, and exhaustion with my son. Easy peasy. No one in the middle. I also missed out on the battle my mother faced each morning as she tried to herd FIVE boys out of bed, feed them and get them ready for school. I admire her greatly. Once my brothers and I became physically stronger than my mom her task became far more difficult. Mom moved to phase 2. At this point, when arriving at the breakfast table, we were able to select our seats on a first come, first served basis. A glass of juice was placed at each setting. Four of the glasses contained delicious grape juice. One glass was filled with prune juice. Mom won, lazy boys lost. Lazy boys also had potty issues later that day.

Now that I have more flexibility as a self employed painter/artist I find myself waking BEFORE my alarm goes off. I love this. It might confuse my dog, but a bowl of chow helps her adjust.

Time for breakfast.... GRAPE JUICE EVERY MORNING!

WANNA SEE MY MUSSELS?

I love eating seafood. If it swam... swum.... swimmed... did some swimming at some point in its life, there’s a good chance I’ll at least try it.

Thanks to a drumming gig at a club on Hilton Head island the summer after I graduated from college, I’ve been treated to a plethora of seafood eating experiences. Part of my contract included three of the following: a private suite with an attached swimming pool; a $1,200 weekly clothing allowance; two meals per day at an incredible seafood restaurant; a bright red 1972 Porsche; and free golf on some of the finest courses in the country (I’m not a golfer, so I have to rely on friends’ opinions on this matter. Feel free to fact check. I don’t want to be accused of spreading fake news. It could have a massive negative impact on my viewership. Is this too much information to include parenthetically? Did I ask JUST so I could use the word parenthetically? And you were all still impressed with my earlier use of the word “plethora.” Spelled correctly too. Thanks to spell check).

New paragraph, because it feels like it's appropriate. Obviously, the provision of seafood for lunch and dinner each day was one of the inclusions in my contract. If you knew me, you’d understand I couldn’t spend $1,200 on clothing in a year, not to mention per week -- even at today’s prices. While the Porsche would have been spectacular, it wasn’t part of the agreement, either. Everything else was included. You’ll undoubtedly observe the similarities in my contract to one of Bono’s.

Eating shrimp in more forms than those Bubba listed in “Forrest Gump,” having crabs (that sounds bad) of many sizes, shapes and colors, and trying exotic fish like swordfish, blue marlin and shark, are some of the dining highlights from that summer. While I appreciate the education I received regarding seafood, the euphoria of consuming splendidly prepared dwellers of the high sea ruined my enjoyment of Long John Silver’s for life.

I’ve decided 2017 should include a return to the gourmandization of various oceanic delectables. It's only mid January and I’ve already had Alaskan King Crab, Alligator (twice), three forms of shrimp, frog legs (don’t judge -- they were dead), blue gill and, yes, mussels. I realize the obtaining of mussels is a predictable New Year’s resolution but I couldn’t resist. It also took MUCH less time than people seem to believe.

Sea you later alligator, in awhile crocodile!

SNOW (Sand) CRANES

I love the Christmas season for a variety of reasons. Since I was a four year old, the Christmas season has meant a break from school. As a Christian, it obviously has spiritual significance for me as well. The usual gift exchanging, Christmas cookies, Christmas music, parties, and caroling all fill my memories of this time of year.

When it's a white Christmas, activities in the snow are also an option. This year I celebrated the completion of my latest drawing, “Sand Cranes,” by making a “snow crane.” Its an ingenious adaption of the popular “Snow Angel.” Thanks to the professional choreography you’ll undoubtedly identify the convincing portrayal of a sand crane in my video. Months of physical training was necessary to allow me to perform this maneuver. I suggest you not try this without your doctor assuring your heart is healthy enough for this activity. I also recommend sparing no expense when carefully selecting your “Snow Crane” costume. Understand in advance, you’ll not find a more suitable outfit than the one I’m wearing in the video. Also, expect a lot of trial and error to occur during the practicing of your own creation of a snow crane.

Once you’ve successfully created your first crane in the snow, you’ll be tempted to fill your yard with cranes. GO FOR IT! You’ll delight children and adults alike. You’ll also notice your neighbors looking proudly from their windows. Don’t misunderstand their furrowed brows. They aren’t bewildered or concerned. They are merely calculating the rapid increase in the value of their home thanks to your artistry.

Here is what Sand Cranes look like when drawn with color pencil. Even though the color pencil version took a few more hours to create, I’m sure you’ll agree the drawing is almost identical to the version I created in the snow.

If you are one of those who prefer artwork that is less surreal, perhaps you’ll enjoy “Sand Cranes” on a wall in your home. If you ask me, and you haven’t, you deserve a little gift to yourself. I’m offering full size (18x24”), signed limited edition giclee prints of this drawing for an “after Christmas chaos” price of $275. The sale runs through January 31, 2017.  Purchase the print here, and check out my other available drawings by clicking on "shop" at the top of this page. 

Thanks for reading, and Happy New Year!

ANGELS IN THE MIX

For those who don’t recognize the instrument I’m playing in the video, its a hammer dulcimer. At least that’s what most people call it. I refer to it as a piano for drummers.

I took a few piano lessons as a 6-year-old son of a church organist. I have very few memories of this short-lived experiment. I can only remember one thing about my instructor: She had a distinct aroma that resembled rotten cabbage. Not only did she possess this scent, but it coated the keys of the piano, the bench I sat on, and even the candy dish that sat atop the piano. I had to sit on the bench, I had to press the keys, and I HAD to help myself to a piece of candy. Thankfully, the candies were wrapped.

It wasn’t the aromatic nature of the lessons that brought a swift end to my piano studies. Instead, it was the fact that my little 6-year-old hands couldn’t reach a full octave on the keyboard. So the lessons ceased and my musical career was delayed until I signed on to being a trumpet player in the school band. While I enjoyed playing in the band, primarily because of how beautiful many of the flute players were, I had an increasingly strong desire to play the drums. Pots and pans, counter tops and dashboards fell victim to this developing obsession.

Fast forward to November 8, 1977. That was the day my life changed forever. I purchased a jet black, 4 piece Slingerland drum set. It was also the day I moved to another state with my family. It was my senior year in high school and I caught my dad in a moment of weakness. Feeling guilty about relocating during my senior year, he had no choice but to give me the okay to buy the drums. As the moving van was already packed, the drums were transported to their new home via my 1973, 2-door hatchback Ford Pinto, with rear defrost as its lone bell and whistle.

Upon arrival in my new home in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, I unpacked the drums first. Surprisingly, none of my brothers chose to share a bedroom with me and my drum set. I handled the drums like fine china, and set them up in the proper positions, to the best of my ability.

From the 8th of November through the end of May, when I moved back to Michigan, I played as often as possible. I averaged 7 hours per day of teaching myself to play the drums. I butchered Boston, Eagles, Styx and Aerosmith songs on a daily basis.

I recently inherited my mother’s piano, and still fumble away on it when I feel a little too good about myself. Drums, on the other hand, have been a significant part of my life. I learned how to play them, sold hundreds of drum sets for a Michigan company, gave lessons to over a hundred students, played on buckets in four countries on mission trips, and played in four bands. It strikes me how a seemingly insignificant act such as purchasing a musical instrument can have such an impact on one’s life. I’ve had several of these moments in my life, haven’t you? I believe we all have, and as we rise each morning to receive the gift of another day, it’s possible a life altering moment awaits us. Perhaps something we do will have an everlasting impact on someone we come in contact with. Hmmmmmm. Time to get out of bed, I suppose.

O TenInchBaum

The tree is up! I did it myself, too. I live one block from a multibillionaire. Don’t be misled; I’m aiming for becoming a multithousandaire. My point is, I have to do my own decorating, and local expectations are high.

I share my 3-bedroom, 1.5-story mansion with my maid. She’s not very helpful. She’s also not an example of what our society deems physically attractive in a female. She has very bushy eyebrows and a lot of facial hair. She’ll also eat ANYTHING, whether it hits the floor or not. Her name is Sadie, and she’s either 9 years old or 63, depending on how you do the math. Sadie is German, but doesn’t speak a lick of it.

As you may have guessed, Sadie is a Miniature Schnauzer. While she doesn’t do much in the way of housework, she is a very enthusiastic hostess.

Do you have ANY idea where this blog is going, or is it just me?

This is the way my life actually goes now. After being in a school as either a student or teacher for 52 years, I’ve been trained by Pavlov to respond to bells. I’ve also trained THOUSANDS of students to react likewise. I received a mantel clock from my school district when I retired. It chimes on the hour, and continues to serve as a reminder of this new chapter in my life. When I’m away from home, house painting, running errands... I’m BELL FREE!

So, back to my point, or the search for one.

No longer having a “school schedule” to dictate my itinerary, I’m now the school board, superintendent, and principal of how my days are shaped.

Since I’m not retired, and need to still be a member of the working force, I have to keep a fairly full docket. Much of my income now comes from house painting, but I have aspirations for breaking all rules in regard to making a career out of producing fine art. This forces me to perform a bit of a balancing act. Which paint jobs do I take on? Do I draw today, investigate galleries my work might show well in, or do I write a blog that has a severe lack of continuity?

Today is an art day. It’s almost noon, and I’ve got my Christmas tree up, made cinnamon rolls, painted a wind vane for a friend, read the paper, filled the bird feeders, thought about shaving and decided against it, and now I’ve finished a pointless blog! All without a bit of help from Sadie.

Thanks for reading, mom.

Time to draw.

I Voted!!!

I’ll do anything for a sticker. I’ve even given blood. In this instance, I only needed to plug my nose. While I won’t reveal who I voted for this election, I WILL tell my readers it required writing. I’m sure this revelation will create quite the buzz among my readership.

Speaking of readerships, sincere congratulations are in order... to me. As a result of the valuable insights, colorful commentary of current events, occasionally accurate punctuation, as well as the sheer entertainment value found in my blogs, my musings are now read from coast to coast! My staff is shocked at this development, and the fact that it occurred in a matter of weeks! Who would have thought I could so quickly have readers on not only the west coast, but also the EAST coast of Ottawa County? I blush.

Back to the sticker story. As I stared at the names printed on my ballot, I pinched myself, very hard, and rubbed my eyes one final time. Could these REALLY be the two nominees representing the major parties in our enormous country? Apparently so. Having predetermined I couldn’t get myself to vote for either, the crook or the clown. (You can determine which was which. I found the roles seemed to switch on a daily basis.) I now had an enormous field from which to choose the lucky recipient of this highly influential blogger’s 2016 Presidential vote.

I quickly narrowed the massive list down to the two most obvious choices. Should it be Bill Murray or Steve Carell? Now please don’t call me a sexist. I just believe Kristen Wiig is still a little too young for the position. She’ll get my vote next sticker, I mean election. It’s inarguable that my finalists are ready immediately to hold the highest office in the land. I just needed to determine which was most deserving.

I think, due to height, Bill would certainly look more presidential. Steve, on the other hand, already has experience in Office and is a slightly snappier dresser. I considered their words. Both are frequently quoted. My golf friends know every Bill Murray line from Caddy Shack. “It’s in the hole. It’s in the hole.” Or from the best movie of all time, What About Bob? “Faye, is this corn hand shucked?”

When it comes to The Office references, my daughter can rip off Michael Scott lines at the drop of a hat. “I’m not superstitious, but I am a little stitious.” Or, who can forget “I DECLARE BANKRUPTCY!”

Since voting is supposed to be confidential, I fear I’ve already said too much. Therefore, I’ll leave the masses in suspense as to whose name I eventually penciled in.

If you’re celebrating the results of the election, congrats. If you’re in mourning, stop your whining and get those Kristen Wiig posters made! There are only four years until the next presidential sticker give away!

Fall Back

Time, time, time. Surrealist painter Salvador Dali seemed to have a warped view of it. Musical artists including Heart, Steve Miller, Boston, Jim Croce, Alan Parsons and Cyndi Lauper sang about it. Fans of sport live and die by it, unless they’re watching baseball. Time can fly or stand still.

In the past two weeks the United States found the time to elect a new president; the baseball gods determined Cub fans’ time had finally come. Kitchens have timers, and some have “time out” chairs. Laborers work part time, full time, over time... Time can be short, or it can be of the essence. Popular music is typically in 3/4 or 4/4 time.

Speaking of music, I went back in time this week to enjoy live performances from members of the band Yes, as well as the band Kansas. That was an excellent use of my time.

And, every spring and autumn we mess with it.

Being a wild and crazy guy, I celebrate time changes by watching to see how my phone reacts at 2:00 in the morning. Actually, I haven’t been celebrating in the Spring because the “Spring ahead” usually meant my school’s spring break was shortened by SIXTY MINUTES!

Time can be measured in many ways. I used to measure time with anniversaries. I just celebrated my 39th year of being a drummer. I should be better by now. Then I observed time by monitoring how old my children were. Now I simply calculate years by the increase in the surface area of my forehead. In appreciation for 33 years of teaching, my school district gave me a clock that chimes on the hour. Every 60 minutes, I’m reminded of my new chapter in life.

This year’s “Fall back” happened to occur at the same time as the ending of the Muskegon Museum of Arts’ Studio Brew exhibit, which I was fortunate to participate in. In light of this coincidental timing, I decided it was “time” to release my latest drawing, Hop n Stance.

Signed limited edition giclee prints of Hop n Stance will be sold in full, half and proof sizes. The framed original is also available for sale. Interested parties may click on the word "shop" above, or click on www.day6art.com/shop for details.

A Christmas miracle!

Thank you to my many readers for taking the time to vote on the title of my latest drawing. Votes came in many forms, as could be expected when considering the impressive imaginations my readers possess.

Out of convenience, a few voters simply used the comment section of my blog. Kudos to you and your display of efficient time management. A convoy of individuals wanted to hand-deliver their selection and visited headquarters via automobile, horse and buggy, helicopter, skateboard and motorcycle. I’m glad I happened to be outdoors at the time one from the electorate cast his vote using an airplane streamer. Of course, the more predictable techniques were also incorporated. I had several paper sailboats drift down stream in time to be counted, and a vote written in crayon was dropped off by a red-tailed hawk.

While the creativity used in voting was indeed impressive, you can see how the actual tallying of these votes was cumbersome. The staff worked into the wee hours of the night to have the winning title determined in time for a Friday a.m. announcement.

It is with great pride I give you the title for my highly anticipated, by no one, drawing: Bathing Beauty (Giraffa Egocentrica)!

Now settle down, everybody. I distinctly remember you all promising to accept the results of this election, no matter which title won. “But the winner wasn’t even an actual option,” you scream? While the winning title did not appear in its current form, it was there in part. Regardless, “Bathing Beauty (Giraffa Egocentrica)” was a write-in candidate entered by somewhere between 2 and 1,759 voters! Its popularity is undeniable.

So, the drawing is now titled and will soon be for sale. I have no doubt it will be a hot seller now that it possesses such an ingenious title.

Thank you all for your assistance. Those who voted can contact the Day6art headquarters for information regarding a discount on signed, limited edition prints of “Bathing Beauty (Giraffa Egocentrica)” which will be available in time for Christmas. It’s a Christmas miracle!

EnTitled

As promised in my last blog, I’m soliciting the input of my many readers to select the title of my current drawing. If all five of you vote, a tie is unlikely; but in the event there is a deadlock, the president of the organization will cast the deciding vote. So wipe your sleepy eyes and gaze at my latest drawing. Absorb every detail, consider the breathtaking content, ignore the flaws, and ponder the following title options:

1. Bathing Beauty

2. Sandwitch

3. Giraffa Arrogata

I will not be explaining the rationale for any of the choices. I believe they are self-explanatory. Nor will I be campaigning in any form. No billboards, television ads, or yard signs can be expected. Despite your many requests, I will not be subjecting the candidates to a televised debate, either.

Perhaps some of you find the list insufficient. Maybe you’ve come up with a title or two of your own that you deem superior to those provided. The day6art team has determined, after much deliberation, to accept suggestions under the following conditions:

• Suggestions must be submitted in person to the day6art headquarters by October 1, 2016.
• Titles must be handwritten in calligraphy, using indigo blue ink, by a 1st century Catholic monk.
• Five name-brand canned goods must accompany each entry.

A staff member will be on hand to receive your suggestions on even days between noon and 10:45 a.m. Parking is limited, so please plan to arrive early.

What’s in a title?

One of the interesting facets of creating a piece of art is the naming of the work. It reminds me of the naming of my children. Since my name, Paul, can actually be pronounced while yawning, I wanted to give my kids more intriguing names. Their mother agreed.

Adding a title to my drawings has proven to be more of a challenge. There are no books entitled “Popular Names For Your Drawing.” This in no way means I am alone in the process. I once had a good friend stop his lawn mowing to race to his phone with a title he was sure I’d love for the drawing I was about to finish. He was devastated when I informed him I had a different direction in mind.

On occasion, the title of my drawing provides the impetus for my work. “Walking On Eggshells” would be an example of this, as would “Badger The Witness.” My favorite title came near the end of the creation of “Bad Hare Day.”

My current drawing is nearing completion, and I have three options in consideration. In my next blog, I’ll be providing an image of the drawing and an opportunity for you to vote for your preference. I realize that my telling you this in advance will undoubtedly cost you some sleep. Take a deep breath. Its not like you’re trying to choose between two classy candidates for president. THAT would be tricky.

Nectar of the gods

It’s true. I have an addiction. It rhymes with “Fountain Blue.” Despite the fact the drink includes a generous portion of orange juice, it also contains a few less healthy ingredients. Some I can’t pronounce, don’t know what they are, and aren’t sure what they contribute. Would the taste not be as delicious if they eliminated Erythorbic Acid or Sodium Citrate? I’m pretty certain the reason I covet this beverage is “dew” to the inclusion of caffeine and possibly sugar.

I’ve pondered how this nectar of the gods is created. How do you get 14 ounces of sugar into a 12 ounce can? What does caffeine look like? If the yellow dye # 5 weren’t added, what color would it be?

I hear other addictions are associated with certain places or activities, making it difficult to quit unless you avoid those things. My addiction is the same. I know which restaurants have the sweet nectar, and which fountain machines are best at producing the proper blending of syrup and carbonation. Taco Bell- YEA, KFC- BOO! I know that Styrofoam cups not only keep the drink at the desired temperature longer, but they also maintain the best flavor. I know how long an opened 2-liter will survive before going flat. Tipping the bottle before returning it to the refrigerator will buy you a couple additional hours of carbonation. I know the Detroit Tigers switched from Coke products to Pepsi in the year 2000. Burger King did the reverse in May of 1990. The restaurant BARELY survived my 12-month boycott. I now stop at Speedway for my beverage before hitting the BK drive through. I secretly hope the window attendant notices my enormous foam cup in the cup holder as she hands me my Whopper, certain she will tell management, who will pass the information up until it gets to the owner of the company. BK will rue that fateful day they caved in 1990.

As far as the activities I associate with my beverage of choice, they include, but are not limited to, the following: Driving, watching sports, listening to sports, hanging out with my son, lunch, dinner, the time between lunch and dinner, occasionally breakfast, teaching, painting, drawing, drumming, fishing, breathing...

I know my addiction is not a healthy one. I still aim to quit for the last time again soon. I just need to eliminate the activities I associate with enjoying a nice, cold Mountain Dew. Until then, my mom, and a few brave friends, will remind me of the need to end my affair with MD. They may even resort to sending a caterpillar to get in my way.