Sunday, April 17, 2011

Iron Oxide

Rust.  Like a scab, it signals decay.  Creeping out of nowhere, but announcing its presence with its earthly hues.  My hometown is full of it.  Rusty train lines, crumbling brick, fading paint.  It's slipping into decay.  The ground beneath it is hollow, drained of its precious coal, what was once the town's lifeblood.  Now the closed mines are like open sores, draining chemicals into the streams.  The stream beds are caked with chemical deposits, and Trout Run should have the word "Stocked" appended to it.  Throughout my childhood you could smell the sulfur around the water, assaulting the senses with all the repugnance of rotten eggs.  The streams are now clear, not just of their yellow coloring, but also of the life that they once supported.  The country needed coal, and the town provided it.  The country needed steel, and the area provided it.  But no longer, and my town is dying.

On some level I always knew, however part of me never wanted to believe it.  I saw my future there - some future.  But, the last time I was back, the truth hit me.  I didn't realize how much I dislike it.  How stifling it felt. How depressing, small, and disconnected it seems.  Don't misunderstand me.  I may have some misgivings about growing up there, but I am who I am because of that town.  Anywhere else and I wouldn't be me.  You grow up in a small coal town and you learn early the difference between anthracite and bituminous coal.  You get used to the large boney piles of waste coal and dirt.  Become accustomed to streets of identical company houses.  Of hearing stories about how the town used to look in its heydays.  "We used to have seven grocery stores.  Can you believe it?" "This town had three movie theaters.  Three!"  Become oblivious to the absurdity of the same family names appearing again and again; a lineage that isn't going anywhere.  Or even enamored by its quirky charm. 

Perhaps its part of the reason I held onto it for so long.  It was safe, and maybe I thought I could save it.  I never really got a chance to look at it for what it was though, until I left.  A fresh perspective.  A place where rusty train tracks and abandoned buildings aren't the norm.  From my house, you could, and can, still hear the trains that pass through.  They used to stop.  No longer.  My town is dying, and its doing it too slow and quietly for anyone to care.  It didn't quite come as a shock, I mean I've always known, but accepting it was the hard part.  For a long time, it's been a huge part of my life.  And while its helped shape me into who I am, I realize that its not all I'll be.  I held onto it to avoid having to actually question what I what out of life.  Where I want to go, and what to actually do.   A hundred, or even fifty years ago it would've been an easy call.  My soul would've been owned to the company store, while I toiled  underground.  Or I would've been drenched in sweat from the heat of the steel furnaces.  Laboring like my grandfathers and their fathers did.  However, I don't have that burden.  Mine is that of choice.  A gift.  A wonderful, wonderful, gift.  One I've been content to let gather dust - but no longer.I want more.  That much, I know. I've realized that this world is larger than I've given it credit.  I've come to realize something.  You can leave the small town, but the small town never leaves you.  Part of my soul will always be a covered with a bit of coal dust and rust.  Not as a sign of decay, but as a one of creation.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

File Under 'A'

One of the biggest boundaries to meaningful connections between people is how we usually fail to fully realize the depth of other people.  Speaking from experience, I know I have the awful habit of tagging people.   Sorting and separating, labeling.  A deeply held organizational desire, or something more malignant? To some degree, beginning interactions like this facilitates understanding and helps people generate a template of others to later cover with details.  But at a certain point, it becomes restrictive.  We're people.  We breathe, we eat, we sleep, we are unique in at least some regard.  Why should we be so surprised then to find out that the bouncer at the local bar volunteers at the homeless shelter, that the taxi cab driver has an amazing voice, or the cashier at Walmart practices law.  Our first impressions while maybe sometimes right, never reveal the whole picture.  We all have talents that we're proud of to some degree or another, and at one point in time I thought mine was drawing.
Looking back, perhaps my artistic senses were a little skewed, I mean, sure I could stay in the lines with my crayons as a child, and could draw shapes.  But much of my 'work', was most likely me copying (but not tracing, mind you) pictures from Highlights magazine, video game player's guides, or drawing books.  You could tell what 'it' was supposed to be, but something was always slightly off.  The dimensions a little skewed, the colors a little desaturated, the lines maybe just a little too squiggly.  My originality perhaps really only shone through in the amount of mazes and schematics that covered my notebooks and folders.  There are times in your life you look back and wonder "what if?"  I remember taking one of those mail-away art tests from the TV at the insistence of my parents.  A few months later I received a call asking me I'd like to take some local classes.  I declined.  Maybe I had a promising future in architecture.  I always liked the straight lines and edges of drawing buildings.  I had a mind for layouts.  I was math oriented.  A blonde Howard Roark?  Maybe not, but I can pretend, no?
However, one thing is for sure, I sure as hell wasn't no DaVinci.  To emphasize this point, let's take a look at some self portraits through the years.  However, first I'd like to take this time to thank Mrs. Pribish for thinking this was a good project, and keeping our drawings from year to year. To this day it remains one of my favorite things about elementary school. Secondly, I considered putting some copyright statement here, but honestly, if you end up making money off of a 2nd grader's self portrait, then obviously you are a marketing genius, and deserve every cent you make.

First Grade

I sorry ma'am, but it seems your son has a giraffe neck. Also jaundice.
I think this is good for a first grader, I'm actually kind of amazed by my attention to detail.  It may be hard to see, but I actually colored my tear ducts, however, I obviously know nothing of human anatomy, because they are on the wrong side of my eyes.  Or maybe I had that medically corrected as a child.  However, I am slightly concerned with my mouth.  Do I have lockjaw?  Did I forget to color my mouth?  Do I have one gigantic tooth?  The world may never know.  Even at this young age I was contemplating the dichotomy between happiness and sadness, represented here by a lemon-yellow sun and an ashen cloud.  Also, to people that don't remember or didn't know me as child, at one point in my life I had male pattern baldness and wore a bright yellow toupee.
Second Grade

I honestly have no idea.
 Yeah.  Uhhh, would you believe me if I said I became really interested in Picasso?  No, well it was worth a shot.  I'm not sure if this is a self portrait, or some kind of drawing about people with heads shaped like potatoes.  I'm sure if I had brought this home, my parents would've thrown out our fridge, just so they'd never have to come with an excuse as to why they wouldn't shame  our kitchen with this monstrosity.  I'm sure if I ever brought this home and asked to put it on the fridge I would've been out on the street.  I mean, that's only rational thing to do when your firstborn comes home believing this is something they should be proud of.  One final thought,  what's with the ominous 9 in the background (sky)?  Let's just move on, this picture is really starting to creep me out.

Third Grade

I think this picture sums up the next 13 years of my life: "Hello, my name is JR, and I like video games"
 Apparently for some time during my childhood I didn't see another person's head for at least two years, and thought it was shaped like all sorts of weird things.  Here we can see I was experimenting with cubism; which is maybe perhaps slightly better than the offense I committed against the art world in 2nd grade.  I don't know why I was so scared to use any of the paper in this drawing.  Maybe I was unaware the upper half of the paper actually existed, or maybe I was trying not to draw attention to the fact that even thought my head is shaped like a square, the sides still aren't even straight.  I'm not sure what's happening with my eyes in this picture.  I didn't have to wear glasses as a child, but it seems I didn't know this fact at the time.  Also, my nose looks like it belongs on Beavis and Butthead.  Maybe I do have a shot at this art thing after all, does anyone know if Mike Judge needs any animators for the new episodes?  One final note:  I never owned a NY Jets jersey, I just liked the color green.  And video games, if that isn't clear, and I'm very good at them too.  I mean look.   I'm not even looking at the TV!  I probably got the high score and put in "ASS" as the initials. Just kidding, I probably used "JRK".  Isn't it cool, my initials tell so much about me!

Fourth Grade

I'm completely serious.
 Okay.  I don't think I could run out of things to say about this picture.  Apparently  I thought I had become the lesbian captain of the high school football team on vacation in the Rockies or something. While I have a striking jaw line, there's just something unsettling and feminine about this one.  I am however glad to see that my bleach blonde hair hadn't taken on the darker hue it now has.  My eyebrows on the other hand....  Sadly, I think this is one of the best out of all these self-portraits.  The head shape may be slightly off, but it's fairly accurate, or at least it is for a version of me 11 years older than when this was drawn.  The ears may be too high too, and my skin looks like some kind of wax statue, and there's no shading to speak of, it's pretty much downhill from here.  See, maybe it's probably a good thing I had a back up plan, I don't think I could survive on what an artist makes, especially when your best work occurs before you have run out of fingers upon which to count your age.

Fifth Grade

Don't be fooled by the green hockey stick and basketball, he's a nerd.
I told you I like green, right?  Like, a lot?  I think I used no less than 4 different green crayons for this drawing.  I also thought it would be good to save in pictorial for all future generations what I looked like with braces.  I'm stealing some elements my earlier works at this point, it's clear I've hit my peak as  an artist.  So I've brought back my 1st grade giraffe neck, although now it's cleverly disguised with a shirt with a collar right out of a Dr. Suess book.  And the Mr.Potato head ears from 2nd grade are making their triumphant return.  While I think the white stuff in my eye is supposed to be a reflection on my eyes, it makes it look like I'm looking creepily to the upper left corner.  Oh well, there's always next year I suppose.  

Sixth Grade

As per state and federal law, I'm required to tell you . . . 
This has to be the result of me getting lazy and describing myself to a sleepy police sketch artist who happened to be there for career day.  I refused to believe anything else.  Notice how the artist took the time to render each and every ridge around the edge of my shirt, and my hair is halfway decent.  However, he must have ran out of time before he had to give this picture some depth, or maybe he wore down his pencils  drawing my house in the background.  Whatever the situation, it sure was nice of him to take some time out of his busy schedule to entertain some 6th grader.

Seventh Grade
Why yes,  I have seen a person before, why do you keep asking that?
I never quite mastered ears.  Or noses.  Or where eyes go.  Or how not to make a person look like a lifeless mannequin.  But there is color in this one!  It seems without the help of that sketch artist, I fell back into the habit of drawing people with straw hay for hair.  And the collar on this shirt has gone into full overdrive mode.  For every that's going wrong in this picture, the lips don't seem to be completely horrible, so I guess that's something.  I feel like there's a lot of promise here, but something went horribly wrong in the execution of this drawing.  Maybe I skipped breakfast.  And did I tell you how I like green?  Just in case you didn't notice.

Well, that concludes the series of self portraits through elementary and middle school.  As you can see, the world is clearly a worse off place because I'm not sharing my artistic skills with it.  I'm sure there are hundreds, literally hundreds of dollars worth of commissions waiting for me.  Better get in line now, because now that these have hit the internet I'm sure everyone's gonna want an original 'Koban' over their fireplace.  Please, cash or check only, no money orders.

Honorable Mentions: Summer 2010
Meh.
So, thinking back on this series, I decided how I'd render myself now.  Yeah, make of it what you will.  Moving on.

First Grade Collage

That's glue.
MOMMY, I MAKE ART WITH GLUE AND CUT PAPER!  WHY YOU RUN AWAY?  YOU NO PUT ON FRIDGE?

Photoshop Render: 2008

The key to Photoshop is to use more layers.   No, even more.  More.  And stop.
Fourth Grade, yeah, the future called, it wants that 'JR's Best Art Award' now.