Like a thud.

There are times when we all make a comment, or share something we enjoy and it come first like a graceful bird from our lips.... that upon contact with open air bloats to a dodo and greets the ground with an enthusiasm of ground meat.  Splop.  I have these sort of things all the time.  I think other people do as well, how could they not, but mine are mine, precious and unique in the abject embarrassment they give.

So why talk about them now?  Is it because I've mostly grown out of those comments?  No.  Is it because I no longer care as much?  Probably.  Is it just because I derailed something at work?  Definitely.

Woo. Go me...

St Paddy's 2015

We've done our St Patrick's already.  The parade was held on the Saturday past, fine times were had by all provided you didn't need the men's room.  We went home and had our corned beef and cabbie and it was good.  We wore our green and had our family time.  We then on Sunday had corned beef and cabbie again w'me fam.  It was good but I thought the rolls we had on Saturday were better.

Something of note, the wee new bae, Boo, took to the pipebands fine.  She held to her mommy but she didn't fuss.  The lad was much more interested in the parade this year, pointing at things I should take pictures of.  He pet unfamiliar wolfhounds, waved at the numerous pols that use the parade to... well, parade.  It was good.

I think I would probably feel different if we had something more to do this evening to celebrate.  I think I should make the time for something.  Art, perhaps.  I need more art.

Times a changing they are.

I remember back in the day when I was on a dial-up modem trying desperately to get a song from online.  I would occupy the line for three hours to get one song, usually a 3 megabyte mp3 of a ska tune or somesuch.  That and you couldn't play it until it was finished so you don't know if it was even a good copy or not.

So it goes.

Nowadays I have a Spotify account.  Just today I've listened to about five albums from several different artists and if I don't like what I am listening to I can just choose something else and it plays immediately.  Younger me would have a conniption fit.  Older me laughs and laughs...

So it goes.

Remember the small stuff kids, it gives perspective.

Radio Silence

Blogs die.  Simple truth, aye?  I've seen many go that I've enjoy reading.  Wherein the author states I will write a post with (x) frequency and then other projects come along, the blog dies and the internet gets another abandoned building.

Others simply stop for a while and then come back in a new form or they are still the same but with an added maturity.  Others don't learn from the past and are abandoned again and again like a smoker that is trying to quit again and again.

I think my blog, this thing here is more like the last bit.  A smoker who cannot quit.

In the time that I last wrote in this blog I've had an artistic revelation of sorts.

Dennis Sheehan, Day's End.

The painting above was painted using a two color pallet.  Two. 

I recently watched a couple of videos of Mr Sheehan doing his thing and in each he used a burnt umber and a dark green.  The tools used were a three inch wide paintbrush like what you get at Home Despot, linquin oil  and paper towels.

I've read about people using a limited pallet before to great effect but it didn't sink in until I watched it happen in front of me.  I want to try it out for myself and if I do I will be sure to document it and put it up here.

The Sphinx

I've stumbled upon another painting.  Not something that is as striking to me as yesterday's Lady Violet but nevertheless interesting.

oh hai.

Sphinx in the Desert, Marcus Waterman 1872

Looks a little different from the ol cat that we know now.  This is a prime example of Artistic License.  About 21% of people, myself included up until recently are under the impression that Napoleon shot the nose off of the Sphinx.  Target practice if you will.  This is false.  The nose has apparently been missing since around 1378 where a person by the name of Muhammad Sa'im al-Dahr broke it off because he found locals offering tributes to the Sphinx hoping for a better harvest.  He broke it off and was hung for his monumental rhinoplasty.

This means that when Marcus painted this picture it was more a flight of fancy than a representation of an actual observable figure.  However we have to take into account what we actually see in the painting.  There is nothing in there that says that it was supposed to be a current representation.  Yes, the Sphinx was covered in sand up to the neck in 1870, there are plenty of photos backing that up but presumably, since it has been around for thousands of years I imagine there are several periods of history where it has just been a head sticking out of the sand.

I doubt Marcus had heard of al-Dahr though when he painted this.

Lady Violet

Every once and a while I run across something that causes pause.  This portrait is one of them.

Goodness

This is Lady Violet, The Duchess of Rutland  painted by Sir James Jebusa Shannon in 1896.  This morning I had no idea this painting existed.  I can't say exactly what about it grabbed me but it did.  Apparently Shannon painted her three times but looking at the other portraits I would have to say I like this one the most.  His other works can be found here.

One day I think I'd like to paint something like that.

5&1/2 Minute Hallway

My tastes in books, art or music tend to trend towards the content hinting at the inexplicable.  Either there is a larger and more fantastic mystery in the story or there is a narrative that is... disconcerting in the picture or there is a heart of sadness in the songs respectively.  Some of my favorite things are media that point to something larger.  Maybe it will be explained but I am perfectly happy 90% of the time if it is not.

One of my favorite books is called House of  Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski.  A short synopsis: The narrator receives a trunk full of papers from an old man, Zampano, which tell the tale of a family that moves into a house that, after a time starts to change.  The physical dimensions of the house grow, hallways appear along with mysterious doors.  The father of the family is a film maker and he documents the events.  The narrator finds records of these, but nothing physical.  It points towards being elaborate fiction but it has the side effect of making him paranoid beyond belief.  The end of the book leaves it so that the events either were real and forgotten or completely made up by a mad old man.

The only reason this book came into my radar is thanks to his sister, Poe.  Her album Haunted was written as a companion to his book... or vice versa and both were in a sense made to deal with the passing of their father.  Both are... lonely and larger than they seem.  There are hints towards sadness and loss and coming to terms with those feelings in both.  Moreover they have that feeling of mystery.

Of course the album has to be considered in a different way.  Not all songs fit the narrative, this is not a rock opera or a concept album.  Songs like Not a Virgin, Control or Lemon Meringue don't provide the same atmosphere but act as catharsis.  Control in particular is a good song to play quite loud as you... I dunno, flip off an old job or something.

Now if she could only release a new album, its only been 14 (!) years since the last one.