Office Rearrangement
Visit to the Huntington
Today, I ventured to the Huntington Library, only to be confronted by an enormous red modernist metal sculpture—an eyesore that immediately assaulted my sensibilities. One can scarcely fathom the logistical gymnastics involved in its creation and installation. The grounds remain marred by ceaseless construction, a Sisyphean endeavor that appears destined to persist indefinitely.
My pilgrimage was prompted by an exhibition of the works of Celia Paul, a British painter previously relegated to the periphery of my artistic awareness. Paul’s oeuvre is an introspective exploration of self-portraits, familial bonds, and the relentless, indifferent sea. Her mother’s death seems to haunt these canvases, with Paul claiming to sense her mother’s spirit in the ocean’s depths. Her art is suffused with an ineffable melancholy, a somberness that permeates each brushstroke, evoking an almost palpable sense of sorrow and introspection.
Graduation 2019
I had the honor of reading the names of the graduates of Sonora High School class of 2019. At the end, I captured this short clip of the graduates tossing their caps into the air.
Dancing to American Bandstand – 1958
This is a clip from a trove of 8mm home movies I inherited from my parents. This one is from 1958 and features my twin brother and me, along with our sister, dancing to American Bandstand on the television.
The Case of the Ancient Astronauts
Erich Von Däniken’s Chariots of the Gods – a book that’s more like a spaced-out jam session than a scholarly thesis. Von Däniken’s riff? Cosmic journeymen moonlighting as ancient architects. He’s laying down tracks about spacemen sprucing up our planet with pyramid power and Easter Island headshots. But here’s the rub – Von Däniken’s solo is all over the fretboard, missing the chords of credibility and the rhythm of reason.
Dude’s got a knack for spinning a yarn that could hook the most skeptical of skeptics, I’ll give him that. He strings together ancient wonders like a conspiracy theorist’s dream playlist, but when you crank up the volume on his evidence, it’s just white noise and static. He’s like a DJ mixing myths with a backbeat of pseudo-science, hoping we’re too dazzled by the light show to notice the lack of substance.
His leaps in logic? Olympic gold-worthy. His connection of dots? More like throwing darts in the dark, hoping to hit a bullseye in the cosmic canvas. Erich Von Däniken has this way of bending unrelated facts into a space-time pretzel that’s more entertaining than enlightening. His narrative is a high-octane, no-brakes ride that’s a thrill for sure, but when you get off, you realize you’ve gone full circle and ended up just where you started – nowhere new.
“Chariots of the Gods” is a head trip, alright, but it’s not taking you on the journey to truth-town. For those digging a blend of ancient mystery and sci-fi spice, it’s a trip. But if you’re after the facts, you’ll find this rocket’s running on empty – a flashy launch with no landing.
David Hockney’s “Henry Geldzahler and Christopher Scott”
David Hockney’s double portrait “Henry Geldzahler and Christopher Scott” (1969) is a striking example of his mastery in capturing personal relationships and individual character through art. This portrait features Henry Geldzahler, the influential New York City-based curator, alongside his partner, painter Christopher Scott. The painting is celebrated for its intimate portrayal and its significant role in chronicling the lives of those within Hockney’s social circle during a transformative period in art and society.
The composition of the painting is both casual and deeply telling. Geldzahler is depicted seated on a lavish, red sofa, engrossed in what appears to be a thoughtful, perhaps even critical, examination of a book or a catalog. His posture and expression convey a sense of intellectual engagement and perhaps a touch of weariness. In contrast, Scott stands at the periphery of the canvas, somewhat distanced from Geldzahler, looking out towards the viewer with an expression that mixes contemplation with a hint of detachment. This spatial and emotional gap between the two figures subtly hints at the dynamics of their relationship.
Hockney’s use of color in this portrait is particularly noteworthy. The vibrant reds of the sofa and the muted background both highlight and contrast the figures, drawing attention to their expressions and the psychological space between them. His style, with clean, precise lines and a clarity of form, enhances the visual impact of the portrait, making the personal narrative strikingly vivid.
This double portrait not only documents a personal moment between Geldzahler and Scott but also serves as a reflection on the era it represents—an era characterized by a burgeoning openness in discussing and depicting homosexual relationships in art. Hockney’s work, through its honest and unapologetic portrayal of his friends and their lives, breaks down barriers and invites a deeper understanding of intimacy and identity. This painting remains a powerful testament to Hockney’s ability to weave complex human emotions into the fabric of visual art.
Pittsburgh Poet Recites Positive Poems
Billie Nardozzi writes poems every week for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. It’s for love, not money: He pays for the privilege of getting them into print.
Sandy and I at Barnes and Noble
Sandy and I had a fun trip to Barnes and Noble today, where we mostly browsed through the sales aisle.
Three Soldiers by John Dos Passos
Hailed as a masterpiece on its original publication in 1921, Three Soldiers is a gripping exploration of fear and ambition, conformity and rebellion, desertion and violence.
Part of the generation that produced Ernest Hemingway and Ford Madox Ford, John Dos Passos wrote one of the most grimly honest portraits of World War I. Three Soldiers portrays the lives of a trio of army privates: Fuselli, an Italian American store clerk from San Francisco; Chrisfield, a farm boy from Indiana; and Andrews, a musically gifted Harvard graduate from New York. Hailed as a masterpiece on its original publication in 1921, the novel is a gripping exploration of fear and ambition, conformity and rebellion, desertion and violence, and the brutal and dehumanizing effects of a regimented war machine on ordinary soldiers.
In Three Soldiers, he introduces readers to a Harvard aesthete who joins the army out of idealism and his two buddies. Their illusions crumble under the tyranny, red tape, and boredom of the military one by one. The soldiers’ reactions range from bitterness to rage, and—for one—murder, in this vivid portrayal of the human spirit caught in the grip of war.
A Writer’s Room
Thomas Fasano is an old-fashioned guy, and stepping into his home office is like stepping back in time, perhaps like visiting an old C.P.A. who still uses ledgers and adding machines. The office is in the back of the home where he has lived with his wife, Sandy, for the past eleven years. Among his most cherished items are a wooden desk (he built it himself from his own design), a wooden file cabinet, an antique typewriter table with an IBM Selectric II typewriter sitting atop it, several wooden bookcases (he built these too), and a huge corkboard on which he outlines his writing by pinning and arranging index cards. Here Fasano writes the old-fashioned way: in longhand with a fountain pen, on legal pads. Later, he types up his drafts on the IBM. The first few drafts of his writing never see a computer.
Years ago I realized I needed something more, that I had something more to give. That’s why I started writing. After all, I teach writing. Shouldn’t I write too?
—Thomas Fasano
We at Coyote Canyon Press will soon be publishing a fairly comprehensive grammar book by Mr. Fasano, English Grammar Review: a Handbook for Writers. “It’s a look at the traditional model of grammar,” says Fasano on a recent Sunday afternoon. “I’m a teacher, and most of the teachers I know who teach grammar teach the traditional model, which isn’t a modern grammar at all, that’s for sure, but it’s what everyone teaches. So I thought I’d write a book that explored this antiquated approach and codified it in some useful way.”
When asked about the book’s intended audience, “Writers,” he says, picking up one of his many fountain pens and turning up the volume on a Beethoven piano sonata. “Just what the subtitle says — “I teach writing. Shouldn’t I write too? — especially student writers. They’re the ones who will benefit most from a handbook like this. I wish I had a book like it when I was a student. It would’ve clarified several aspects of language for me. You must be able to understand the shape of all the pieces in order to fit them together.”
As for future projects, he doesn’t like to talk too much about them for fear of jinxing them. “But you can bet,” he says, “what I’m working on now is a book aimed at students. As you know, I’m a teacher, and I think a lot about my job and how to reach as many students as possible. It’s too easy to get locked into the same old classroom, teaching the some old classes, dealing with the same thing day in and day out. Years ago I realized I needed something more, that I had something more to give. That’s why I started writing. After all, I teach writing. Shouldn’t I write too?”