Teuila's Grandpa

When Teuila Gerber Lavea (a former student) posted a photo of her grandfather on Facebook, I was impressed by his charismatic "movie-star" features (a little Marlin Brando, a little James Dean, a little dash of Paul Newman, maybe). And there was also a very distinct strength of character that resonated from his image, which gave me an interesting idea for a painting, the first step toward fruition of which was to contact Teuila and ask her for a copy of the photo, a suggestion to which she complied enthusiastically as I related to her that I would like to make him the subject of one of my "mousterpieces."

Most of my paintings take at least four or five days to complete; however, to my surprise, this one almost seemed to paint itself, and I completed the project in a record-breaking day and a half. From the beginning, I had an image in mind, which is not unusual, except that my images usually evolve as my projects progress. This painting, however, remained true to my original vision, the two most primary elements of which were (1) to bring Teuila into the painting, posing along side her charismatic grandfather and (2) to fuse two dramatically diverse background scenes into a single background: the Swiss Alps (since Teuila's grandfather was Swiss) and a tropical beach (since Teuila has a Polynesian heritage). And yes, there's a little bit of symbolism there.

From my initial perusal of the photo, I noticed a resemblance between grandfather and granddaughter; however, as the painting neared completion, I was struck by the depth of their familial affinity. What do you think?

Teuila and I go clear back to 1982 when she was a ninth-grade student in one of my Honors English classes at Evergreen Jr. High where, for seventeen years, one of my greatest teaching pleasures was to introduce my students to William Shakespeare, especially my male students, who invariably groaned at the prospect of having to read Shakespeare, my goal with them being to amend their "tune," once the play had been completed to at least something like, "I guess Shakespeare's not so bad after all." Usually, I was successful.

Since by school-district mandate, I was expected to teach the same play ("Romeo and Juliet") during each of the seventeen years in which I remained at Evergreen, in order to keep the project alive and fresh, I made an effort to approach the play differently each year. For some time, I had thought it would be interesting to re-create the play as a movie, but it wasn't until 1982 that I summoned the energy that such a project would require, the timing for which may also have been affected by my belief that I had an exceptionally bright group of Honor students that year, whom I was reasonably confident could bring such a complex project to fruition.

I was correct. My students embraced the idea immediately, so I took a deep breath and said something like, "Let's go for it!" And go for it we did! We didn't just slap together a thirty minute video, reminiscent of a home(made) movie, we created a full-blown, two-and-a-half-hour, mega-movie, cinematic extravaganza--I'm talking technicolor and surround sound, the whole nine Hollywood yards (actually, surround sound wasn't invented until later, but it would have had surround sound!)

Almost every student I taught that year participated in some capacity, from costume-makers, to set-builders, to assistant directors, to camera operators, to lighting technicians, and, of course, to actors (and "extras"), of which there were dozens of students selected to play the roles of Capulets, Montagues, and citizens of Verona (and Mantua).

Our production team and cast would have made Cecil B. Demille envious. We actually traveled to on-site locations to shoot scenes--rode on real horses too, our primary mode of transportation to location sites consisting of my family's "Mathis-micro-mini-mobile-motor-mansion" (that's what I used to call the little, 24 ft., underpowered somewhat claustrophobic motor-home).

Yes sir. We were stylin', which brings me back to Teuila, who was cast in the starring role as Juliet, and what a stellar performance she executed. In ninth grade, Teuila was a thoughtful, very bright young lady, and having recently been provided with the opportunity to become re-acquainted with her via "Facebook," that cyber re-uniter of people worldwide, I pleasantly observed that she has not only retained those qualities, she has continued to refine them over the years.

I like to think that every once in a while God sends down a few members of his "A Team" to show the rest of us how "nice people" are supposed to behave toward one another. Perpetually positive and ever optimistic, Teuila is almost certainly a member of that elite squad: She goes out of her way to befriend all (has a ton of Facebook friends); she is a devoted spouse to her husband (about whom she had bragged on Facebook, referencing him as "my man"); she is a proud mother to four beautiful daughters (as evidenced from her Facebook photos of them); she is an unflinching defender of humanity (as suggested by the Facebook comments she posts, i.e., "The best things in life aren't things."), and as if that weren't enough, she is a multi-talented artist who can act, sing, dance (I'm talkin' Polynesian dancing!), perform, and write poetry.

Like all artists, she has a relentless need to create and an insatiable desire to make the world a better place for others. So on behalf of your many fans, Teuila, I thank you for remaining true to yourself and your proud heritage--and for being a bright beacon in a world that can use all the light and love it can absorb.

Postscript: If you know Teuila, ask her the significance of the bell (top-left-side of painting--you may have to "click" your mouse on the painting to enlarge it enough to see the bell). It is an interesting story about a poem that Teuila wrote for the school's literary magazine, "Pen 'n' Inklings," an annual project I oversaw for 17 years. Oh, almost forgot: There's a second bell in the painting. Can you find it? It took my granddaughter about six seconds, but she's had a lot of practice finding "Waldo."

Vick and I (and Smokey)

OK, it's not really me in the photo. I swear! But I have to admit that it's pretty much what I looked like--actually pretty much exactly what I looked like when I was 24 (that was a very good year...), so much so that friends and family have stated it's either me or an identical twin about whom no one knows. It must be the latter. The picture actually came from Life Magazine, sometime in the mid 1970's I think. One of my students brought it to school more than 30 years ago and promptly accused me of being a Hell's Angel, which I thought was cool, but, alas, untrue. I hung the photo in my classroom where it remained for two or three years until it disappeared one day. Apparently, someone wanted it more than I did.

I've been looking for another copy ever since--finally found it while looking for photos of Sonny Barger, one of the founders of the Hell's Angels, whom I thought might make an interesting addition to my series of motorcycle mousterpieces (if I were a real painter, I'd call it my "motorcycle period"). Vick and I met the infamous Mr. Barger in '95 in Sturgis. Anyway, on a whim, I googled "Life Magazine, Hell's Angels," and there it was--or there I was. I amazed myself. Yeah baby, I'm getting this Google thing down.

What makes this photo even more fascinating--eerie might be a better word, is that not only does the dude on the panhead look like me, the dude on the far right looks amazingly like an old college friend, whom I haven't seen in years, John Koelsch, or "Smokey" as we used to call him. I was actually pretty proud of myself for finding this photo after thirty years, so I thought I'd press my luck and google my old friend's name "John Smokey Koelsch." Lo and behold (or in '60's slang, "far out"), I found him in Wells, Nevada. Found his email address too, so I sent an email directing him to my blog.

Don't know if he'll respond but if he does: Hey, Smokey! What's up? It's been a long time. Next time I roll through Wells on my Harley (I actually have a Harley), I'll attempt to look you up. Meanwhile, what do you think? Does the dude on the right look as much like you as the dude on the bike looks like me--actually, let me re-phrase the question. Do the two dudes in the photo look like we used to look about 35 years ago?

I will admit that I doctored the photo in one respect. I added Vicki (the only person smiling in the photo, which is pretty much a dead give away I suppose). Oh well, she is my motorcycle mama, so I figured if there was going to be a biker chick on the back of a bike I was riding (or that someone who looks like me was riding), it should be Vicki. Oh yeah, Smokey, click on the photo above. Check out the name tag on your twin's jacket...

I call this mousterpece "Black Beauty." It's my "real ride," an '02 Heritage Springer, accessorized to create a very nostalgic look, reminiscent of Harleys from the late '40's and early '50's.

The Miracle of Life

I call this piece "Three, Six, Nine (and doin' just fine)." Don't forget to click on the paintings to enlarge them...

This one is called "The Miracle of Life," a topic which has been on my mind of late because my youngest daughter, Jessi, is eight months and two weeks pregnant. Yup. It could happen any day. My miracle baby is about to have a miracle baby of her own. And she shall be called Lillian Pearl Sadler or Lilly for short. Yes, a baby is growing inside of Brandon's wife. He's giving it love and Jessi, well, she's giving it life. And so there are three hearts where once there were two as two loving parents stand waiting for you. And your grandma and grandpa can't wait to touch you, Lilly, to see if you're real, although we've already felt your hiccups.

And here she is! On this, the 26th day of August, 2009, I proudly present Lillian Pearl Sadler, my sixth grandchild. To say that the miracle of birth is among the most magical events in the universe is an understatement. And I have found the births of my grandchildren to be even more profound than the births of my children since the births of my children were always tempered by the weight of responsibility (and a sense of inadequacy) which I always felt the moment I first held them in my arms, but holding my grandchidren, just moments after their birth, those are experiences beyond all comprehension--tempered only by love, and even though, during those moments, my eyes are always blurred with tears of happiness, they are moments, more than any others, when I glimpse the purpose of existence and absorb the energy of the universe with a clarity that exceeds perception.

"How Bad Do You Want It?"

Something I've learned being a businessman, a vocation in which I have engaged for 25 years as a means of supporting my teaching habit: Sometimes, you have to decide how badly you want the gold at the end of your rainbow, or in this case, the treasure chest beneath your sea, because reward is seldom realized without risk. It's a good idea, however, to calculate the risk before "going (diving) for it." If the odds were one to one (one shark, one diver), I think I'd still bet against the diver in the foreground, whose impatient preoccupation with the treasure chest may be clouding his perception of the situation (his back is to the sharks), but eight sharks and four divers? I'd say this one is a no-brainer: Sharks four, divers zip! Moral to the mousterpiece: Plan carefully; keep one eye on the prize and the other on the obstacles (sharks) in your way. You'll live longer, be happier, have more time to enjoy the prize and, hopefully, you'll be inclined to utilize much of that time to engage in activities more satisfying than the prize itself: That of sharing the prize with others and assisting those less fortunate. Aside: I usually don't moralize, which is what this comment sounds like. Sorry. I prefer to leave moralizing to others, although, at times, I've been known to dispense take-it-or-leave-it advice, which is a little less presumptuous than moralizing.

This is a painting of my art instructor at Le Blanc, the resort at which we stayed this year in Cancun, Mexico. She gave me my first lesson in painting with water colors. She was a pretty good Spanish instructor as well.

Time Warp

I call this piece "Time Warp." It's the corner of Haight and Ashbury in San Francisco. You probably noticed that Vicki and I (lower left) are a bit younger in this painting than we are today. I like that! It's fun to recall what we looked like when we were 21--not 61 (or three months away from 62 in my case)! Wow! We're younger than the boys of Bliss, who look pretty good standing on the corner of Haight and Ashbury. OK. Let's test your rock and roll knowledge. Name all ten rockers in this art piece: five from the past, five from the present. Note: The fact that four out of five of the rockers looking out of windows are dead (died in their prime) is not so much a coincidence as it is a sign of that time, the moral of which is: Drugs and fame can be lethal, so stay away from drugs and keep a level head if you're famous! Bonus question: Name the most famous concert venue in the Haight/Ashbury district of San Francisco during the 60's and 70's (hint: two words, second word is "auditorium." Still don't have it? The first word is also the name of a city in Utah). Well?

If you named all of the rockers from the 60's (Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, John Lennon, Bob Dylan, and Janis Joplin) and you named all five of the rockers on the verge of stardom today (Neal, Taylor, Jake, Chris, and Tommy), then, woo hoo, you're pretty good. If you also named the venue (The Filmore Auditorium in San Francisco), then, double woo hoo, you're probably as old as I am or you're a pretty good rock historian--so, if you answered all questions correctly, I dub you "Rock Historian (or Hippie) for a Day."

Note: Navigate to the second page by clicking "older posts" at the bottom of this page to see other blog entries having to do with "Royal Bliss" and each of the band members.

My Tribute to David Olson, my brother-in-law and friend: 1943-2009

This tribute to my brother-in-law is probably one of the most emotional entries I've done. I hope you like it. Dozens of people have viewed this entry and commented to me via email (i.e., Dave's former work associates at PCS, friends who knew Dave, strangers who happened onto my blog).

If you knew Dave, please leave a comment at the conclusion of this blog entry, and if you enjoy the entry, please share it with others who knew and loved Dave by providing them with the url: "retiredteach.blogspot.com." (Note: Don't type "www" in the url box).

Thanks,
Wes

I call this painting "Heavenly Bird." It depicts my brother-in-law, David Olson. Dave had an affinity to hummingbirds. They had little fear of him. One time at our condo in Park City, he had several of them simultaneously perched on his index finger. It was really quite amazing. Symbolism notwithstanding, the thing to remember about sunsets and death is that both are relative and subject to perspective. For instance, as soon as the sun sets from one point of view, it rises from the point of view of someone on the other side of planet earth--and no sooner than someone utters the words, "He has passed," others may proclaim, "Welcome home!"

If humor is medicine for the soul, then, this is a heavy dose of soul medicine, because it is so funny. When I first saw the expressions on all four of the faces in the photo, I was compelled immediately to insert the thought bubbles.

You never know what emotions hide behind a smile, particularly, a smile not elicited by anything funny or because one just felt like smiling, which is always the best reason to smile--I'm talking about smiles elicited at the specific urging of a photographer who exclaims, "Everybody say cheese!" at which time, the smile freezes for as long as it takes the photographer to snap the shutter.

Personally, I prefer photos taken without instructions to smile, because the smiles caught during those moments are likely to be real, and real smiles are the ones you want to preserve on a piece of photographic paper. Anyway, having given in to the tradition of urging everyone to smile for the camera, I took the picture.

Later, I looked at the photo and thought, "That's a staged picture if I ever saw one!" but then, I found myself beginning to laugh. Out of the blue, it hit me. It was as if I were reading the four minds in tandem and the thoughts (the ones hidden behind the smiles) were speaking to me like telepathic signals. As fast as I could type, I inserted the thought bubbles.

I don't know, of course, what thoughts were actually playing in their heads as the shutter snapped, probably something mundane like, "When is he going to snap the damn picture? My facial muscles are beginning to hurt?" Who knows? I doubt that even they could remember what they were thinking at that moment since a new thought flashes through our minds at the rate of a one per three seconds, which means..........................right about........................now, you're thinking of something else.

Anyway, what makes this photo special is not the painted smiles (or the shocked look on Diane's face, possibly elicited by my snapping of the photo before she was ready). No, what makes this photo amazing is that, somehow, I caught all four of them with expressions that were completely synergistic to each other and could not have been staged more realistically or timed more perfectly by an Academy-Award-winning director coaching four "A-list"actors engaged in the Academy-Award-winning performances of their lives, and I caught it in the snap of a shutter button. In director language, it was a "perfect take."

But the very best thing about the story line (the practical joke), the imagery of which has Dave purportedly pinching Diane's butt, is that it fits Dave to a tee. I can picture Dave perpetrating such a practical joke.

Personally, I am sense-of-humor challenged. I can never remember a joke, which is moot anyway since when I try to recall one, I mutilate the joke by delivering the punch line badly, but Dave, now that's a different story. He could rattle off one-liners, two-liners, and ten-liners all day long, never run out, and always have people in stitches.

In fact, Dave used to frustrate me at times, because I'd hear a joke, go out of my way to write it down (the only way I can remember a joke), practice it a few times, and then attempt to deliver the joke to Dave, only to have Dave beat me to the punch line, followed with, "Yup, I've heard that one before." Without doubt, in the telling of jokes and the making of people laugh, Dave was the master. And his trademark laugh, well, everyone who knew him will attest that it was not only immediately recognizable but very infectious as well.

Dave may not have been the best singer in the world (although he did a pretty damn good Ray Charles), but he was an undisputed expert at brightening up a room, making people feel welcome and important, and want to smile, sometimes with nothing more than his presence, sometimes with his wit and sometimes with his sense of humor, which was rarely politically correct, but that didn't matter--and sometimes, of course, with that machine-gun-like-rat-a-tat sound of his laugh, which was at least as distinctive as the laughs of Bugs Bunny, Woody Woodpecker or John Wayne.

And now, I find myself despairing (eyes watering), because who will now tell us the jokes? Who will now make us laugh? Who will now create nicknames for everyone? Who will brighten up our day with a phone call that starts out, "You sure look nice today"? Who will motivate and inspire us to "do something well if we're going to do it at all"? Who will routinely remind me to change the oil in my Harley and check my tires for proper inflation? I don't know, bro'. I don't know...

Here's to ya Bro'...

My brother-in-law, Dave Olson, passed away from lung cancer (if you smoke, quit!!) last week. In the top picture, Dave's kickin' back with a cup of brew on the deck of our Park City condo. Below that picture, Dave is pictured with my wife, Vicki, and above, he's ready to ride with his best friend, lover, soul mate, and wife of 46 years, Diane.

Dave was an amazing person: A friend to all and somebody around whom everyone was comfortable. He brightened up a room with his presence. Without him, I would have acquired no interest in motorcycles, something that has since become one of my passions (can a person have too many passions?), although I must say that riding motorcycles won't be the same without Dave. He was the unofficial leader of our "Over the Hill Motorcycle Gang." He will be missed.

Through his example, Dave taught me many things over the years, but I have yet to master two of his greatest virtues: First, patience. You've heard the saying, "If you do something, do it right." I think Dave coined it. He didn't rush his way through anything, sought no shortcuts, always took his time. To him, "a job well done" was not an option. It was a requirement.

The second of his many virtues which I've yet to master is the "art of organization." Controlled chaos is as close as I'll ever get to organization. I try though. Sometimes, when the chaos gets less controlled, I say to myself, "What would Dave do?"

And "patience"? Unfortunately, I don't see myself ever mastering that virtue. They say angels help us (mortals) out, but you'll have to be a damned good angel, Dave, to assist me in becoming a patient person--in fact, I better hurry up with this blog entry because I have things to do, people to see, places to go, music to write, guitars to play, paintings (and essays) to create, a dog to pet...and I can't drive fifty-five!

My father passed away a couple of weeks before Dave died. It hasn't been a good year in terms of loved ones lost, but I won't dwell on that here except to say that, during the dedication of my father's grave, my uncle Van (a very cool, mentally sharp, and healthy age 85), who has a great sense of humor, commented to me that he enjoyed funerals because everyone says such nice things about the departed. The unfortunate part, however, according to my uncle, was that he would miss the opportunity to hear anyone say nice things about him since he would miss being alive to attend his own funeral by three or four days.

I laughed and said something like, "That may be one of the great down-sides to funerals." Truth be known, however, in my vast experience (Aside: We all have vast experience at a vast number of things--just thought I'd add that), having assumed the role over the past forty years of my family's unofficially-designated "funeral speaker" (and quite often the unofficially-designated "funeral singer" as well), I have always entertained the notion that God would grant permission to those departed to hang around long enough to look down, peak around the corner, peer through the window, or whatever, on the occasion of his or her funeral or in Dave's case, the occasion of his Celebration of Life. Dave's was my first Celebration of Life, by the way. It was very cool. I think I prefer them to formal funerals.

If my theory rings true, then, the opportunity for those passed away to audit their own funerals amounts to a nice "send off" prior to their having to catch their one-way "flight" to Heaven. The only thing missing, however, is the opportunity for the "guest of honor" to participate (i.e., say a final goodbye, thank those who attended, in Dave's case, crack a joke or two, or say "I love you" one last time to a spouse left behind).

I attempted through the song I composed for Dave's Celebration to correct this inequity by incorporating an unconventional hook: The song is shaped as a conversation between Dave and me. I do all of the speaking during the first half; Dave takes over during the second half. During the composition of the song, which I titled (most fittingly for Dave), "Motorcycles in Heaven," I tried to envision what a post-mortal conversation with Dave might actually be like. The result not only worked for me in that whenever I sing the song, I feel as if I am speaking to (and listening to) Dave but apparently it worked for others who attended his Celebration of Life as well since several attendees commented that they felt as if Dave were speaking to them, just the effect I sought.

Since I personalized the song in every respect to fit Dave and the kinds of things that may have been on his mind as he peered down upon the Celebration prepared in his honor, unless you knew Dave, you won't understand everything (for instance, the significance of "Bugga Bugga" or the phrase "You sure look nice today"), but the song should give you a pretty good idea of who Dave was, even if you were not fortunate enough to have known him.

For reference, I have copied the lyrics to the song below. (Another aside: In some instances, it's the melody that dominates a song; in other songs, it's the lyrics that dominate). This song definitely derives its emotion from the lyrics, which are meaningful and real (at least, I think so).

Following the lyrics, you will find a slide-show video I made of "Motorcycles in Heaven." You may enjoy viewing it. (Yet another aside: Music, first and foremost, is my medium of choice--and the most expressive means at my disposal to pay personal tribute to someone for whom I had great respect, admiration, and love). So Dave, this is for you, bro'. It comes straight from the heart:

Motorcycles in Heaven

(WES:)

Did you catch the Starship to Heaven?
One-way ticket, first class
A cold Black Russian in a big, tall glass

Or did you miss your flight?
Waitin' for the red-eye tonight
Or maybe you're flying standby
'Cause you're just not ready to say goodbye

If you're hangin' 'round, my brother
Would you give us a hand?
Would you help us to understand?
Would you teach us to be kind?
Maybe you could give us a sign
"Bugga Bugga" would be fine

When hope has gone astray
And dreams fade away
Here's what angels say

They say life and love don't end
And broken hearts they mend
And true love won't pretend
And we all should be friends

So if we listen with our hearts
We just might hear you bro'
And I'm pretty sure I know
Just what you might say:

(DAVE:)

Hey sports' fans! What's shakin'?
You sure look nice today

I heard an old biker say

They got motorcycles up in Heaven

And you might like to know
That angels don't have wings
And we don't wear frilly things
And they don't make us sing

But they got motorcycles up in Heaven
I'm gonna ride one every day
Feel the wind on my face
Heaven is a big ol' place

I'll tell you two more things about Heaven
There is no word for sad
And angels don't get mad
But I wish I could have stayed
To keep the plans we made
And I miss my family

And God, I miss Diane
But I know she understands
She was the best thing in my life
My friend, my love, my heart, my wife
Hey bro', before you go
Did you know

That I fought the best fight I could
And I never once gave up
So everything is good
And please don't be sad
Cuz' I squeezed out every single solitary

Ounce of life I had

And that's what angels help us do
No more, no less,
I have no regrets
Except to stay the hell away from cigarettes

If you keep me, baby*, in your heart
When daylight has grown dim
And night has settled in
You won't be alone
We won't be apart

And so, before I go

I'd like to share a toast

(with my friends, my family, and my wife, Diane)
So raise your glasses high
Let 'em kiss the sky

May you give your life your very best

And let (us) angels do the rest

Oh, May you give your life your very best

And let us angels do the rest

Here's mud in your eye, bro

Bye Bye...

Your bro', Wes

*Diane

Note: An alternative to viewing the video is to go to "youtube" and in the "search" box, type in "Motorcycles in Heaven." The video should then come up and can be viewed in a large video format.

Epilogue: Thanks for taking the time to read this blog entry about my brother-in-law, Dave Olson. If you are so inclined and have some spare time, please feel free to read other entries I've posted as well. Note: When you have reached the bottom of a page, you may navigate to a previously posted page by clicking on "older posts." Final request: If you have time, I would also appreciate any comments you may feel like making relative to this other articles I have written in this blog.

Seascapes and Beach Girls......

"Beach Girl" (Jessi Pearl) Jessi was a swimsuit model for Hawaiian Tropic and a number of other organizations and enterprises, including MTV. She didn't lose many competitions, and the painting makes it pretty easy to see why... "Royal Bliss" rocks but Jessi rules!

"The Perfect Storm" --maybe I should have called it "The Perfect 'Pink' Storm." Watch our for pink storms. They trick you into thinking they're nothing--big mistake as you can see by the skull in the middle of all that pink... Yes, regardless of what you may be inclined to think, never mess with pink!

I call this mousterpiece "Seaside Rodeo." Ride those dolphins, cowgirls (I mean dolphin girls). Actually, dolphins have the same evolutionary ancestors as cows (I think it was cows--may have been hippos) before they decided they liked the ocean better than dry land, returning to the sea from whence they (and all life) originated. I guess it's pretty obvious, looking at the seascapes in this collection, that I like dolphins--a lot..., except for the Miami Dolphins. When it comes to football, I prefer the Denver Broncos, the University of Utah and anybody who is playing BYU. Nothing personal against B-Y-Boo (that's what my brother-in-law, Dave, used to call them--not me), but I am a Utah Man--yes, a Utah man am I...

This is one of my more recent digital paintings. I call it "A Mermaid's Tale." Is that a cool sky or what? It took me a good three hours to re-create what the sun does each night without any effort at all!

As you can see, the mother dolphin is proffering the distraught Mermaid some counsel. You've heard of Charles Dickens' "A Tale of Two Cities?" Well, this is more like "A Tale of a Mermaid and a Dolphin" or "A Tale of a Mermaid and a Sailor" or "A Tale of a Mermaid and a Dolphin and a Sailor" or "A Tale of a Mermaid and... (something yet unimagined--something that's begging to get out of your head, something as yet unsaid).

Want to have some fun? Exercise your imagination, which is always fun and often quite liberating. So here's the deal: Fill in the two blanks in this dialogue: "The distraught mermaid said, '.......' The wise Mother dolphin replied, '......'"

Hint: One might expect the dialogue to involve one or more of the elements in the painting (i.e., the ship and/or its crew, the frolicking dolphins, etc.)--No pressure though! You write whatever you want to write. Here, let me warm you up a bit. Pretend that you are a fly on the mermaid's wall (in this case, a minnow in the mermaid's ocean) and you just happened to overhear the conversation between Mother Dolphin and the teary little Mermaid. What did the Mermaid say to the Dolphin? And what was the sage advice of Mother Dolphin? Write your response as a comment to this blog entry.

More ideas: Why is the mermaid upset? What does it have to do with the ship? Is the Mermaid in a relationship with the Dolphin that is "playing" by himself (i.e., dolphins almost always play in "pairs")? If so, is there a "lovers spat" going on? If so, does it have anything to do with the ship? Why are all of the dolphins in pairs except for one?

Here's an interesting fact: According to my I-phone application called "Unusual Facts," to which I've become addicted (i.e., you're supposed to read one unusual fact per day. I read more like twenty a day), the only two mammals that engage in intimacy for recreational purposes, not just procreation are human beings and dolphins. Interesting, huh? I believe it. Think about it. If you've been to "Sea World," you've probably seen dolphins making out with each other: "Eskimo kissing" (rubbing noses), necking. In fact, Eskimo kissing their trainers is part of every show. I'm just saying think about it. That's all. Nothing gross. By the way, if you check out the painting with a magnifying glass or you can enlarge it on your computer, you will notice that the ship is named the "S.S. Dolphin." Coincidence? I think not.

It's also true that dolphins typically mate for life. So, if we have two animals who are practitioners of monogamy (most humans and all dolphins), it seems to me that jealousy could easily be lurking just round the corner, usually in the shadows--or perhaps, the depths of the sea. I've often said that one can't really know love without knowing the other end of the spectrum: hate (i.e., no "yin" without "yang") Contrast creates perspective. That sort of thing. You're probably familiar with the school-yard, "jump-rope" sing-along that goes "First comes love. Then comes marriage. Nine months later comes the baby carriage" (or something like that). Perhaps, a more accurate rendition might be, "First comes love. Then comes marriage. Next comes jealousy to make us disparage!" I doubt that the new version will fly in the schoolyard; however, since "disparage" is a bit beyond the vocabulary of most hopscotchers and jump-ropers.

I never got into hopscotch myself. Marbles was my game. That and yo-yo's were my claims to school-yard fame. Aside: I love language and words and iambic pentameter, timing my rhyming with thoughts that come after, like what makes us sad and what renders laughter, and what we must do to live (happily) ever-after, and what, at the end of the day, really matters.


OK. So I can rhyme. Big deal! Now, back to my story-writing contest. As my son Jared always says, "You can do it!" I'm not asking for a novel, just a little dialogue. Let yourself be creative. You may surprise yourself. And it will be fun to read the responses from everyone. It's amazing what a person's creative interpretation of a visual image can reveal about the person--including whether or not the person is self-conscious about a little thing like stimulating his or her creativity--quite sadly, a mindset entertained by far too many adults who lost their ability to be magical somewhere along their journey to adulthood. One of the things I love most about children is not only their inability to pronounce the term self-consciousness but their refusal to let destructive emotions invented by adults interfere with their exploration of life and their environment, a frontier where, in the beginning, everything was a mystery. How cool would that be?--Unless one is an adult, in which case, the unknown sometimes breeds paranoia, another one of those pesky, non-productive, adult emotions. Did I hit a nerve yet? Good! OK. Don't peek at someone else's response until you've written your own.

Oh, and no! The mermaid in my painting is not the little mermaid in the animated film by Disney! For one thing, that mermaid wore a bikini top! Come on! Who ever heard of a real live mermaid wearing a bikini top! Where would a mermaid get a bikini top? From "Nordstrom's Beneath the Sea"? That's just not right!

Then again, it may not be wrong, because if we focus on what's right and not what's wrong, maybe we'll learn to get along. Second verse, same as the first: If we focus on what's right, not what's wrong, maybe we'll learn to get along. What a wonderful world it would be if we all just got along...Don't you think?

A Video Tribute to the Victims of Hurricane Katrina

I put together the video you will find below this commentary following the tragedy of Hurricane Katrina, the most destructive hurricane to ever strike the Gulf Coast. It includes news footage at the beginning, assembled by another individual who created a pretty amazing tribute video to the victims of Hurricane Katrina. I can't find the original of that video, so I am unable to properly give credit to its talented creator. The rest of the video consists of still pictures shown against the audio backdrop of a ballad that I wrote entitled "She Was Somebody's Baby." At the end of the ballad is an amazing video with Celine Dion, singing a most moving rendition of "Ave Maria."

As I watched the coverage of Hurricane Katrina, I was taken back by the matter-0f-fact manner in which the media covered stories about the victims--and we, the general public--including me, responded to those stories. For instance, scenes like the following played out in my household and I'm pretty sure the scene was replicated in millions of other households:

My family and I are sitting around the table, eating dinner when a newscaster's voice catches our attention. "The body of an eight-year-old, Black female was found, floating down Church Street, face down this morning," to which I respond, "That's so sad. Please pass the salt."

It's not that I intended to be insensitive, but I didn't know the little girl and New Orleans (and Katrina's devastation) were 1500 miles away from my kitchen table in Draper, Utah. Our defense mechanisms prevent us from shouldering the burdens of the world, a weight no mortal could bear. So on an emotional scale of 1 to 10, we relegate the emotion we feel toward others' tragedies to a 2 or 3, saving the 9's and 10's for the Katrinas that impact us personally. Sometimes, however, I think we need to crank up our emotional reactions to the tragedies of others.

Thus, I shaped my tribute to the victims of Hurricane Katrina in the imagery of a ballad, eulogizing a single victim: A beautiful, Black child from the French Quarter in New Orleans, for whom the Preacher said during her funeral, "It was her time to go," but then again, there might be things the Preacher doesn't know. And what neither you nor I nor the Preacher may know became the subject matter of the ballad, starting with the most important fact: "She was somebody's little baby, somebody's little girl--she was SOMEBODY in somebody's world." And once she laid her fear aside, as the ballad suggests, her final thoughts may well have drifted to the Cajun lullaby, "When the levee breaks, take me in your arms. When the levee breaks, shelter me from harm."

I think it's important to connect emotionally to victims of misfortune, because, in so doing, we demonstrate our humanity and gain strength from empathy--strength that we will need to call on during the twists of fate that transform us into victims, as fate surely will do, more than once, during the course of our lives.

The photos, by the way, most of which came from the Internet, bring out the personal tragedy of Katrina at least as poignantly if not more so than the lyrics and and melody of my ballad--they are truly amazing photos! You need to see them. Really. And leave a comment if you wouldn't mind.

Note: Click on the icon "older posts" to navigate to the next page of blog entries. Some of my better blogs are on that page...

Vicki and I

This photo was taken last year on our annual aniversary trip to Cancun, Mexico. It was our fortieth wedding anniversary. We were mere children when we were wed, which makes our relationship even more special because we literally grew up together. There was no need for us to seek out mates with whom we shared commonalities. We created our mutual interests together and they have contnued to grow in depth and dimension to this very day as has our love. See it in the photo? Try the eyes.

Mi Familia

This is a picture of part of my family during a "villa inspection" trip to Playa BLanca, in the state of Baja, Mexico, the location of our villa-to-be, at least hopefully. Left to right: mi nina, Jessi, my esposa, vicki, mi madre-in-law, Gloria, my nino Jared, y mi nino-in-law, Brandon. (I know; I need to look up that word in-law in Spanish).

Vick and I are looking forward to spending several months a year at our Mexicano Norte beach retreat. Sadly, construction of the villa remains a year behind schedule--it is definitely being built on manana time, but that's OK. That's why we love Mexico and its people.

Vick and I have always lead a pedal-to-metal, never-slow-to-fifty-five lifestyle, where naps were out of the question and sleep was an inconvenient necessity. But we made a rule: When we hit sixty, we get to go Mexican--all the way, not just on weekends, I'm talkin' seven days a week. I'm not just talking Taco Bell; I'm talking the whole enchilada, total adoption of the laid-back, "no problemo," have-another-margarita-if-we-want lifestyle for which we have envied our hermanos y hermanas to the south. They know how to appreciate life, something about which we, Americans, seem to get confused.

"There is a season (turn, turn, etc.), and a time to every purpose unto Heaven," and it's our time to kick back, make the most important task of the day that of watching the sun set, content to surrender ourselves to the glory of nature, ready to place our humanity in a less magnanimous perspective, looking forward to luxuriating in open-ended acts of reflection. Yeah baby!

When we turned sixty, for the first time in our lives, we became content to drive fifty-five (even on my Harley)--well, maybe sixty is more accurate. Consequently, when our Mexicano amigos finish building the villa (on manana time), we will begin enjoying it (on manana time). So don't be surprised if you get an email or phone call from us one of these days that simply says, "Hasta manana mis amigos." And for several months a year, intermingled with commutes to Utah for grandchildren and mountain fixes, it will be tortillas and coffee for breakfast, tortillas and moonlight strolls on the beach in the late evening, tortillas and all-you-can-eat lobsters-for-twenty-bucks at a little fishing village down the road called Puerto Nuevo, and margaritas and tortillas on the balcony of our villa at sunset. I might even engage in book-a-day marathons when I get the urge, in between playing one of my Spanish guitars and painting mousterpieces, of course. Won't that be something?

And if we're lucky, we'll have lots of visits from children, grandchildren, family, and friends with whom we'll happily share the sunsets, the dolphins, and, of course, the warm tortillas.

And I have to tell you, the sunsets in Northern Baja are beyond spectacular. Few of nature's extravaganzas surpass the splendor of a mind-mending ocean sunset. Yes indeed, we plan to make attending that show a nightly ritual--one in which we will engage with the sanctity of a religious experience, sitting on our cushioned beach chairs as the sun takes center stage.

And we'll also keep a keen eye out for dolphins, who appear to share our infatuation with the sun's nightly rite as they frolic five hundred yards off shore, engaged in a friendly game of "Who Can Get the Most Air?" with their closest friends, launching themselves like flying fish, suspending momentarily before gravity brings them home again, leaving no trace of their aerial performance--unless I happen to have been fast enough to capture it on my digital camera. And then, thirty yards north or south of the exhibition, they repeat their sacramental rite again and again, in celebration of new beginnings, new life, new days to seize--or maybe the other way around. Side bar: For me, "Carpe Diem" used to be synonymous in meaning to my favorite Dylan quote, "If you're not busy being born, you're busy dying." In my first lives, those in which I made a distinction between being young and old, instead of being "forever young," I interpreted those famous phrases to mean that, if I slowed down (to fifty-five), failed to grasp every moment with the urgency of a child on an Easter egg hunt, then, I was engaging in wasteful, even terminal behavior.

Today, I don't merely perceive those quotes differently--I perceive them to be antonymous to my original perception, and I have a feeling that others of my generation, now in their sixties, all products of the "sixties" (which includes Bob Dylan, incidentally) can relate to my freshly attained perception. Praise God and the sun, who, in their infinite wisdom, have permitted us to see the light, soak it in, become converted with the enthusiasm of "Born-Again Christians" to a philosophy that suggests we stop seizing the day and begin letting the day seize us, that we stop trying to bake more tortillas than we could ever eat and allow ourselves to smell them for a change as they emerge from an open-hearth oven. I now believe that if we start smelling warm tortillas with the regularity of a sunset that we will remain engaged in miracle of being born, and, therefore, have no time for dying. Sorry, I love dolphins, Dylan, and freshly-baked tortillas.

Back to my sunset vision. Close your eyes. We'll sip our drinks, kick back, and watch the sun melt into the horizon, as the light wanes, morphing slowly through every color in a rainbow: reds along the edge of the watery horizon melting into yellows and oranges above, which blur their way into purples while purples fade to soft blues and soft blues dissipate, fog-like into grays out toward the edge of the sunset where light finally fades to black, causing even the ocean to appear to have vanished, except for the rhythmic reminder of waves rolling onto the beach, like clockwork, night after night, a fresh cast of colors with each performance of its one-act play, the stage of which is the horizon, providing evidence of God and goodness, my wife, Vicki, of course, at my side, sharing these moments, not hoarding them or even trying to maximize them. It doesn't get better than that. We're ready. Maybe our Mexican villa builders could hurry just a little though.

I guess I could have just painted a picture since this is my art blog, but, in this case, I think a thousand words might have been better.

"Love is Endless"

This music video is called "Love is Endless." I wrote the song in memory of my mother. She was an amazing lady. I miss her very much. The video is a collection of pictures of my mother and other photos I pulled from the Internet. The song is arranged quite simply: guitars, synthesizer, vocals. I recorded it at my home studio. As usual, it's me, playing all parts, mainly because it's difficult to get my musician friends together to record with me...

I still fantasize though about recording one of my songs with "Royal Bliss."--not a Capital Record recording or anything like that, mind you, just a little recording on my home recording system to be part of the collection of CD's I've recorded over the years, which I print a few copies of and all of which have the same title, "Just For My Friends."

No, I'm not looking for fame and fortune--way too much work for an old man of sixty-one, although I'm having fun watching "Royal Bliss' climb to the top. I just like to write songs for my friends every once in a while--remind them of who I used to be, who I am, and who I'm becoming. That's what songs are for you know. They tell others who we are, which is a good thing for me, because I don't communicate very well during the course of conversation or other forms of personal, human interaction. Music is my medium and my confessional, transgressions and all. It's when I let it all hang out--well, then and whenever I'm in front of a classroom, being the other thing I love, a teacher. Anyway, as busy (and famous) as "Royal Bliss" is becoming, it's unlikely they'll be making a cameo appearance in any of my music videos any time soon, but you never know. Less likely things have happened. Wouldn't that be cool?...

Oh deer, what can the matter be? (just being silly)

I looked out the window of my home office last winter and this beautiful animal was staring at me. I jumped. He ran. I grabbed my camera and snapped a couple pictures. People ask me why I painted a picture of a deer's butt. The answer is simple. That's what was in my camera lens.

"Lennon"

John Lennon: 1940-1980. He died on December 8th. I wrote a song called "Love Piece/Love Peace" a few hours later. I still play it, mostly on December 8th. Many of my songs evolve as I continue to grow older. However, few of my songs actually grow in length. This one is the exception. It has already grown from a chimpanzee to a guerilla. For example, in the year 2000, I added a verse that starts out "Twenty years ago today"--that verse was a no-brainer.

Since the song is both a "love piece" and a song about "loving peace," the two themes that permeated Lennon's music--and since the poison of hatred (and misunderstanding), which clouds vision, blurs sanity, and leads us too often to war (and death) is always countered by a return to clarity and a focus on peace (and love), at least until the next time and the time after that, there will always be new verses to write, new wrongs to right, fresh opportunities to see the light.

Meanwhile, my mother-of-all-songs-about-Lennon song just gets longer and longer (i.e., it's already nine minutes long) with verses about the tragedy of student verses student at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado, the tragedy of American verses American at Oklahoma City and Waco, Texas, the tragedy of airline passenger verses airline passenger flying over New York City and Washington D.C., the tragedy of an American president verses an Iraqi president in Iraq, the tragedy of homeland verses homeland among Israelis and Palestinians in the West Bank, the tragedy of Utahn verses Utahn at Trolley Square--and "the beat goes on" as Sonny and Cher once sang.

Unfortunately, the song may never be finished. Someday, I'll post a video of the song. The ultimate tragedy of all of the tragedies described above is the fact that the warriors who engaged in these tragedies, invariably, were young men and woman, some of whom knew what they were getting into, having already experienced the heart of darkness and others, who merely wanted "green hats" and didn't realize there was a heart of darkness until it was too late (see my blog entry: "An Assortment of Paintings and Collages..."; find the painting entitled, "Green Machine." See the commentary under that painting--it's a true story).

"McKenna Gloria" & "Dakota Ann"

This montage of Dakota features her amazing hair, which has always turned heads. At one point, it trailed below her waist. It's a little shorter now.

"Dakota Ann"

This is a painting of Dakota Ann, my second-oldest granddaughter. In addition to being beautiful, she is brilliant. She could read the newspaper at age four, really!

This a painting of my amazing granddaughter, McKenna. She's six years old...She's very smart too and very athletic, definitely a "Tom boy."

Joplin & Middleton (The imaginary duet of two power rockers (plus Hendrix, Morrison, and "Royal Bliss")

Neal and 'the Pearl,' Janis Joplin--a duet of two power rockers

The painting above "Pearl" is a kind of "Where's Waldo?" collage--which could evoke a response like, "Holy sh..! Has he got the kitchen sink in there too?!" You're going to have to study this one for a while, maybe with a magnifying glass, to find all of the past and present rockers in this painting.

I guess you could say that I was inspired to create this piece of digital art during the composition of my "Royal Bliss" blog entry (right underneath this entry) wherein I compared Neal Middleton's voice to that of Janis Joplin (a.k.a. "The Pearl").

I first saw Janis perform live at the Terrace Ballroom in Salt Lake City, I believe in 1967 (though I could be mistaken about the date). She was lead singer for "Big Brother and the Holden Company." I still enjoy crankin' up "A Piece of My Heart" and "Oh Lord, Won't You Buy Me...." But standing there, maybe twenty feet away, as she sang those songs "live" was an experience that can't be replicated by a CD, as evidenced by the fact that 40 years later, I can still feel the power of her voice shaking the glass chandeliers in the Terrace Ballroom.The question that struck my feeling-no-pain brain as I stood there mesmerized that night (the Terrace had no chairs to sit on) was, "How could such a tiny little thing with the petite little laugh of a school girl belt out songs with the power of a train blasting its horn through an intersection?" And even more amazing was how Joplin managed to kill an entire fifth of Southern Comfort during the performance and still remain standing. Maybe it was a prop filled with water? No, I don't think so. It was one of those "won't-forget-that" experiences--which brings me to Neal Middleton, lead singer, spiritual advisor, motivator, tour bus driver, Mom--no Dad (Linzie's the Mom) for "Royal Bliss."If you've seen "Royal Bliss" in concert, you know what I'm talking about as I describe one of their crescendos when the band is kicking it, bringing the crowd to a climax, and then, at the peak of a refrain, guitars and bass blazing, Neal over-powers them and goes into one of his patented decibel-bending controlled screams, head thrown back, long hair flying in a frenzie suggestive of what might have resulted from sticking one's finger in a light socket, an expression on his face that combines the agony of "I just pushed my voice to the frigging limit" with the ecstasy of "I'm giving you everything I've got," and the result is one of those transcendental moments similar to that which I experienced at the Terrace Ballroom 40 years ago.

And I'm willing to bet (although I won't be around to collect on it because I'm 61 right now and there's no way I'm going to live to be 101) that 40 years from now, somebody will be talking to somebody about a magical concert moment he or she experienced 40 years earlier while groovin' to "Royal Bliss" when Neal and the boys were belting out "Save Me" or some other hit (they're going to have a lot of them), giving it everything, and then, the magical moment occurs when Neal hits one of his lung-bursting power notes, causing the audience to collectively conclude: "Oh my God. That guy can sing!"

Unfortunately, we'll never be able to hear a duet between Joplin and Neal, backed by "Royal Bliss," so I thought it would be interesting to do a collage piece with both rockers engaged in a dueling duet. OK, I got carried away with the "Where's Waldo" theme! But a cool thing about a very busy collage is that you can come back to it time after time and still find something new, especially if you're in a special frame of mind--no what I mean?

On a final note: I didn't realize that Linzie (Royal Bliss' Mom) was a Joplin fan until she expressed such in a comment she wrote about my "Royal Bliss" entry, going so far as to say that she planned to name her daughter Joplin. OK, is there something you haven't told us yet, Linzie? No matter. I dedicate the second painting, which I call "Pearl," to you and little Joplin, even if she is still just a gleam in Neal's eye.

Note: For additional blogs on "Royal Bliss" and other interesting topics, click on the icon "older posts" below to navigate to the next page of entries.

Thoughts on and Images of "Royal Bliss"

The images in this blog entry are digital art pieces I created, all having to do with my favorite band, "Royal Bliss. "

"Neal and the Pearl" (Janis Joplin) -a duel of two power rockers...

"The painting above is of Neal Middleton (front man and leader of the band), his beautiful wife, Linzie, and their amazing one-year-old son, Reiley. Although this is not exactly a "band painting," I included it because I believe that much of Neal's inspiration derives from his love for Linzie and Reiley and theirs for him.With love, all things are possible--without it, life itself is an obstacle, along with deal-makin', label-shakin', stalemate-breakin', risk-takin', peacemakin', intoxicatin', musicmakin', forni-oops, and a dozen other '....katin's.

Without love to fill them with hope and persistence, "Royal Bliss" may long ago have raised a white flag, surrendered to naysayers and devils, folded their cards, punted a few inches short of making ten yards--so thank God for angels and folks who pray, have a little faith. At least, that's what I say!"

Royal Bliss" may be a classic example of the power of love. All we need is love..Love sweet love. Look closely at this painting and you will see the love this family has for one another other. It emanates from the painting. See it? "Yeah......, yeah......, yeah......., whoo..ooh yeah"--(Neal, if you're reading this, stop and sing that line--cool!). Oh, yeah!....it's all about love, the love Neal has for Linzie and Reiley--and the love he has for his extended family: his brothers in "Bliss." Love ya.

The digital art piece above is one I did of Neal, who, a dozen years ago, was a reticent, soft-spoken, bright-eyed, high-school student in my English class. And now, he sings with more feeling than any singer and has more stage charisma than I've ever heard, well, except for Janis Joplin. It's close though--and actually it's apples and oranges, because Janis was an alto who could reach to high soprano and Neal, well, Neal's more of a deep baritone with a set of vocal cords that can stretch a mile in both directions and bend notes like pretzels. There's no doubt about it. Neal could easily pass for a male reincarnation of Janis Joplin, and I get goose bumps when, in my imagination, I picture them dueling it out (in Janis' case, with a fifth of Southern Comfort in one hand to keep her voice lubricated), singing "I was drunk and I was loud! I was invincible and I was proud..." It's too bad Janis is gone, but the lyrics of "I Was Drunk" would have required a slight revision, however: "Ten thousand beers in twenty-seven years," the point at which both ends of her blazing candle flickered out. How unfortunate. A duet with Neal and Janis would have blown the world away, sold 50 million copies. That would have been something. Some things weren't meant to be.

Digression over. Back to high school: I have long believed that the greatest accolade a teacher can ever achieve is to have had the privilege of teaching students who eventually surpassed the teacher in his field of expertise. Isn't that what teaching is all about? Neal never got into the zen of diagramming an English sentence, at least not as well as I, myself, can still diagram a sentence--with or without zen. In a far more important and significantly more influential display of personal talent, however, that of composing meaningful, concise, rhythmic, powerful, and memorable lyrics--and the music to give those lyrics life, Neal surpassed the teacher, blew right on by--and that is more than just cool. And my tribute is not lightly given since I have written poetry, lyrics, and music for at least fifty of my sixty-one years, in addition to having taught creative writing for 27 years. And throughout that time, although I have always been a cheerleader to my students and an advocate of pursuing their talent, I have also been objective in the advice I dispensed to students who may have aspired to become lyricists and composers.

I am proud to have played a small (very small) role in Neal's transformation from the student I first met when he was fifteen: a shy, perpetually-smiling, sophomore with sparkling, happy eyes, who now has evolved into a song writer--no, a composer of superlative renown, a silver-voiced entertainer, a rock-n-roller, exuding enough stage charisma to cause the females in his audiences to swoon and the males to chant in unison, "Royal Bliss, Royal Bliss" for minutes on end. And so the teacher now has the privilege of partaking from the cup of wisdom handed him by the student. You see, life is a cycle that always comes 'round, because cycles are circles and circles have no beginning and, therefore, no end. And so, I thank Neal for remembering me as kindly as he has done, but mostly, I praise him for the wisdom he'll pass on to others as the cycle of life continues its perpetual rotation.

Side note: If you're into transcendental meditation, check out my blog entry (below this blog entry) called "Genesis." It's heavy if you want it to be heavy and light if you want it to be light. Actually, the commentary that accompanies the painting is a satire poking gentle humor toward those who have heard me elaborate on the symbolism within the digital art piece I call "Genesis" (the most elaborate painting I have ever done) and recommended that I compose a commentary explaining the symbols embedded throughout the painting, and so, in satirical fashion, the commentary contains both truths and exaggerations. In other words, feel free to choose the portions of the commentary with which you may concur and equally free to reject the rest.

This is a recent painting I did of Taylor Richards, a.k.a., "Doc Tay," the lead guitarist for "Royal Bliss" and a musician of incredible range and skill. I did not teach Taylor to play guitar, nor do I know who his teacher was, but the teacher should be commended, because in Taylor's case, I'm certain that Taylor is yet another example of the student having successfully surpassed the teacher in artistry and talent. Not only is Taylor an amazing musician, he's a pretty awesome dude, kind-hearted , gentle by nature, the sort of person whom one would immediately wish to befriend upon meeting, a person who attracts no enemies, has no time for that. Life is too short. Rock on "Doc Tay." You rule!

I call this one "Doc Tay-Graffiti Style." It portrays "Doc Tay" doing what he does best, rockin' out with his Gibson Les Paul...

"The Faces of Doc Tay"

This is a "re-do" of a painting I gave to the band's rhythm guitarist, Chris Harding, whom I have affectionately dubbed "Slow-hand Harding" after one of my favorite guitarists "Slow-hand Clapton." Chris is an incredible guitarist whose power chords and strumming give the band much of its intensity and sheer energy, which is kind of amazing (perhaps ironic), because, on stage, Chris exudes a sense of serenity. He works hard but makes it look effortless as only skilled musicians can do. I'm thinking he must be kind of like a duck on a pond, moving gracefully across the water, without ruffling a feather, but paddling like hell beneath the surface, because the sounds from Chris' guitar exude an energy that has to be coming from somewhere inside, an invisible force, like electricity, flowing right out through his fingertips, into his guitar and out through the speakers.

If you see Chris, tell him that I have re-done my painting of him in a way that I think he will like more than the original version. I hope soon to "swap" paintings with Chris if he'll permit me to do so.

The above painting began as an experiment. It is of Tommy, the band's bassist. I wanted the painting to have a psychedelic flavor (that's a hippie word) where color and abstraction, not concrete images, dominated the canvas (since Tommy is a kind of hippie--not a real hippie, mind you, just a kind of hippie, because to be a real hippie, you had to be around in the 60's and that was considerably before Tommy's time). Had he been born 30 years earlier, however, he would have fit in like a glove on a hand, a roach on a clip. He would have been the hippest of the hippies, 'cause nobody has dreads like Tommy, except Bob Marley, of course.

Although the painting achieved the color dominance I was looking for, unfortunately, Tommy lost a bit of recognizibility in the process (sorry Tommy). I like the way the painting turned out, however, and if you use your imagination, you may still see Tommy inside the abstraction--And if you do, you'll see a musician who has truly mastered his instrument. I actually get the feeling, when I watch Tommy play, that his upright bass has somehow become an extension of his body, a third arm or a second heart.

What I like best about Tommy, however, is the manner in which he gets into it, feels it, moves it, grooves it, especially his fingers and hands, which dance around the neck of his bass in a way that is mesmerizing to observe. I actually think that a deaf person who locked his eyes onto the musical sign language emanating from Tommy's hands would be rocking to the silent beat, saying, "Far out." Tommy is like a hippie after my own heart, reminding old farts (old hippie farts) like me of the amazing decade of the 60's and early 70's when peace and love were the mantras of an entire generation, who may not always have had its act together but who still managed to re-define American culture in ways that resulted in change for the better. Your dreads are far out, Tommy. Peace, brother.... Did you really major in anthropology? I can dig it.

"The Tommy Gun" --Bass Player Extraordinaire! The painting does not do justice to Tommy's "dreads," which are amazing. Sorry, Tommy. I'm working on how to paint more realistic-looking dreads.


The two paintings above feature Jake, the drummer for "Royal Bliss." I call the second one (directly above), "Heart of the Band," because that's what a drummer is, and the first one I call "Jake and Fans," because I included an abundance of (female) fans in the painting.

Jake is a formidable drummer, who has achieved a level of perfection that few drummers reach. Good rock & roll drummers are conductors, their drumsticks doubling as batons. They set the pace, keep the band together, make it tight, a skill that goes far beyond merely keeping the beat. Yes, Jake's the heart of "Royal Bliss," without which the rest of the band could display no soul--He takes the band on a journey and brings it home. He's a conduit for his mates, orchestrating the band's emotion. He knows when to soften it and when to kick it. Rock and Roll has always been all about rhythm. As the great Huey Lewis put it "the heart of rock and roll is the beat." I truly believe the drummer makes or breaks a band. In Jake's case, he makes it.

Side note: Until I bought a drum set to "play" with, nothing more, I never appreciated how hard drummers work. There's a reason why the drummer in a band tends to be the most physically fit member of the band. He has to be. If you don't believe me, try pounding on a set of drums for five minutes, let alone a non-stop, one-hour set. Unless you're a marathon runner with forearms like Popeye's--you'll find yourself exhausted. I have the deepest respect for good drummers--and drummers don't get any better than Jake.

I call this mousterpiece "The Machine Gun Tommy Gang"

This final painting is of "Royal Bliss" in concert. It's a painting of five men who began their journey as boys and not only became men along the way but also became gifted musicians, who learned many life lessons while chasing the dream. And at least part of the bond they share has to do with the fact that whatever they endured along the way, whatever land-mines they stumbled onto, whatever boulders knocked them down as they climbed the mountain they set out to conquer, they endured, overcame, fought on, etc. and when that happens, you learn a lot about each other. Bonds are formed that can not be severed.

Together and individually, they fell down a thousand times but got back up, never gave up, kept looking up (I sound like Mohammad Ali, who floats like a butterfly, stings like a bee), each helping the other, brothers in spirit, comrades of the same heart. As you study the painting, permit yourself to contemplate the challenges they overcame--I think you will see glimpses of who they really are, how strong they have become, how loyal they remain to one another. They aren't just five guys in a rock-n-roll band. They are "Royal Bliss"! Rock on "Royal Bliss." Keep inspiring those of us who need a fix of inspiration. That's what music is all about. You are the music men. I've never met anyone quite like you...

Final note: If you know "Royal Bliss," please leave a comment. I'd like to hear of your own experiences with the band and/or its members. If you don't know "Royal Bliss," discover them: http://www.royalbliss.com/. Then, come back and tell me how blown away you were if you are a serious fan of rock & roll.

...Wes Mathis ("Teach")

The Boys of Bliss Gang! Back row, left to right: Neal, Taylor (Doc Tay), Chris. Front row: Vick, Jake, an unidentified female, and Tommy (Tommy Gun). I told them the other day: If the rock and roll thing doesn't work out, they could always join the Hell's Angels. I love that Panhead! Can't see it, but I'm sure it has the suicide clutch. I like my ride though: An '02 Heritage Springer, definitely a nostalgic bike, ape-hangers and all (in the first or second to oldes blog entry, there's a picture of it. Sweet!