A Work Progressing

In the last few weeks I’ve made a deep dive on Gustav Klimt, looking at sketches and paintings that are not well known, and revisiting a few old friends. I’ve been impressed with my 11×17 printer, although somewhat confused by the image staying within the size, then suddenly it blows up the center, cutting off heads and feet.

Learning to make images… from the mind, from live scenes, and from photographs. Where to start? For me, my challenge was to try to improve some things that I seem to have already shown some skill or success. But what was my weakest skill?

Looking at my images from the past it was always color. I never really studied palettes. A friend of mine said the best part of her 4 year study of art making, was developing a palette. Ha, well considering that my formal college education in art was one course in art appreciation, two courses in photography, and one course in live model sketching… Well, developing a color palette wasn’t in the curricula.

And my twenty-five year career in graphic design focused mostly on low cost B&W printing with minimum half-tones. I did have color projects, but maybe only a dozen per year. Not enough to become very proficient.

So, considering I do best on my own, I conceived a plan. Search and download classic B&W headshots from Hollywood stars from the 40s and 50s. I also threw in some early silent, and later modern. They just had to be great B&Ws, with solid range of grey scale. The professional photographers of time had also years of classic posing, so the images were generally interesting.

My challenge was to colorize, with texture, and digital effects. Generally, this meant redrawing most of the details lost in the filtering process. I must say, I learned how to save a palette, and apply it to a series of images, I spent hours in applying layer changes to bring out tones and texture.

Mostly I had a great deal of fun. I even went back recently to use some new techniques to old images.

This YouTube video is a record of my Hollywood folder of images that I’ve saved.

https://youtu.be/LqvEBPEspkQ?feature=shared

Most people know the image made by Manet. I’ve been so attached to it that I’ve drawn it many times. I know that the model was Berthe Morisot, what I didn’t know at first was that she was a painter in her own right. So I started redrawing her pieces.

It only occurred to me recently that there mayb some photographs of her on the web. They’re probably very low resolution, damaged, scratched… but what the heck, that’s what I love to repair.

I didn’t find a lot right off, but I found enough to keep me busy for a few hours.

The following is a link to a YouTube movie that I made from the folder of images that I made. I certainly won’t use most of the images, it’s just play. But a couple are pretty interesting.

A tribute work is generally based upon some other work that has been scanned, photographed, or perhaps a painting hanging on a wall.

I have used this work to make another work, not to improve it, but perhaps it has inspired me to go in another direction,

The changes that are made range from massive to major, or perhaps just filtered for color palette change and saturation. In general the filtering process wil remove fine detail, this is reasonable for the background, but causes problems where the detail is important.

Sometimes a few minutes of filtering can cause hours making layers of hand drawn details. Hair, eyes, lips, fingers, ears are generally the problem areas. Digita; artifacts also show up in random places.

Most of my efforts started with repairing old photographs found online. Often they were of low resolution quality, with cracks, chips and dust particles. Restoring old B&Ws with better resolution is very satisfying. Some of these can turn into tribute works by applying color and texture through filters.

Each image will have changes, an example of massive is that the image will sketched by hand in pen, ink, color pencil, etc. then that image will be scanned and filters applied. It can then be printed on 11×17 high quality art paper with high resolution, perhaps additional color pencil or ink is again applied. Then this is once again scanned for a final digital check.

The vast majority has not had this massive of a procedure.

Lately, I have called up past digital works and used new tools to make new images. It’s a never ending stream. I like this analogy, because you can never cross the same river twice. It’s different water!

This link is to a YouTube collection of my favorite tribute pieces.

In today’s social media, this is a phrase asked with a loud shout. When receiving a response (which is usually ‘Tony’), the shouter often retorts with explicit language from the very beginning. Why does one ask for a name? Because there is power in a name. The very first task given to humankind was naming the living creatures. Correction: God had already created the creatures and knew their names, but He brought them to Adam to hear how Adam would name them.

Afterwards, He declared that since Adam had said, so it would be. Regarding plants, scripture doesn’t specify, but thousands of years later, Shakespeare would express, ‘That which we call a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet.’

Asking for an individual’s name is a form of connection and recognition. Any future interactions are based upon this initial step. To dismiss someone’s name is to dismiss them directly.

Traditionally, an individual’s name was typically bestowed by their family, often consisting of a single word or a short combination of words. My name is John, and the problem lies in its commonality. Gather a dozen random people, and you’ll find at least two, sometimes three individuals named John.

This is where bynames became important. To distinguish individuals, there were ‘John the Bald,’ ‘John the Short,’ and ‘John the Fat.’ In larger gatherings, there would be ‘John of Lafayette’ or ‘John of New York City.’ And then perhaps, ‘John the Tailor,’ ‘John the Butcher,’ and ‘John the Miller.’

Some cultures used a combination of adjectives, verbs, and nouns: “Swift Fox,” “Bright Morning Star,” “Salvation,” and “Sitting Bull.” Oddly enough, I’ve found indigenous tribes of the Americas and the Hebrew naming traditions were very similar.

Bynames were based on appearance, location, and vocation. It’s possible that if there were too many Johns, you might encounter ‘John the bald teacher of Lafayette.’ Thank God surnames were invented.

Initially, surnames may have been inherited place names or attributed to illustrious ancestors. The Scandinavian tradition is to credit the father, as in Peter, John’s son, or Peter Johnson. Girls would also be named for their fathers, as in Helen, John’s daughter, or Helen Johnsdotter.

In ancient Rome, individuals typically used only about two dozen praenomen (first names), possibly another praenomen from the same list for a middle name, and finally a cognomen (family name) for the last name. In the modern world, that naming pattern remains the most common.

I have mentioned before that I have dabbled in genealogy; I have slightly more than 50,000 individuals in my database. One of the wonderful pleasures is collecting the additional naming of some of my ancestors.

I am fortunate to have dozens with the epithet “the Great” added after their first name. Admittedly, some may have added that to themselves, but most had it added later as history recalled their accomplishments.

I don’t want to be disrespectful, but finding another “the Great” is not as exciting as the odd epithet that pops up. “Krum the Horrible” is an example. All of his neighbors called him “Krum the Horrible”; his own people called him “Krum the Brave.”

Then there was the medieval minor noble called “Godefroi ‘the Captive’ Lothringen,” who lived around 1000 AD. It seems that he had a small domain with about 500 men at arms. He also seemed to be very poor at picking the winning side. He would always ally himself with the losing side; his men at arms were killed or sold into slavery, and the few knights and himself were captured and held for ransom. This was the practice of the times, but you only had so much wealth to pay for only a few losses. Godefroi lost a lot of battles and stayed longer and longer in the dungeons before the ransom was paid. Within his lifetime, and for hundreds of years later, he would be known as “the Captive.”

You might not know this, but William was known as “William the Bastard” for more than a hundred years before historians called him “William the Conqueror.” “Eric the Good” wasn’t all that good, but “Louis the Fat” was indeed corpulent. King Louis VI of France tried hard to be known as “Louis the Fighter,” but he was just too big.

The epithet tradition has faded somewhat; President Reagan was called “the Gipper,” John Wayne was “the Duke,” and Elvis Presley was “the King.” As my days are getting longer, I am thinking about what my future epithet might be… “John, the Reluctant?” Or “John the Napper?.

The poem website “www.voetica.com”, where I have recorded some poetry, was hacked by Russians. David, who started ithe site, had contacted me and asked if every thing was okay with the recordings I did.. Usually it was at least 15 poems by each poet.

I think it was Richard Brautigan, Leonard Cohen, Annie Dillard, Bob Dylan, Ferlinghetti, David Gray, Rod McKuen, Paul Simon, and of course John Diestler. At least this what I remember doing. All seem to be there and sounding amazing!

Please go there to read and listen to some amazing poets!

Anyway, it took awhile to check all those places!!! What did I find?

On the one poet, Annie Dillard, I had recorded a few things from her book “Pilgrim on Tinker Creek”, and in the credit line it had been changed to “Pinker on Tinker Creek”.

The hackers had left behind a little rhyme

The Cosmic Dining Dilemma

From time to time, I like to check the visitors to this humble blog of mine, just to see what’s trending. I must confess, it’s a rather amusing exercise given that the trending numbers are often in the single digits—serious single digits.

This week, however, something curious happened. A solitary visitor from the far reaches of Finland, Japan, or even Canada stumbled upon a blog post I wrote about “Trophes.” It’s a term I’ve been dwelling on ever since I discovered that, in a somewhat brutish-sounding way, humans are heterotrophs—meaning we exist by consuming other living things. It’s a sobering concept if you take it out of context, almost like fish surviving by preying on one another in the vast ocean of life.

Contemplating the intricacies of existence, I began to wonder if intelligence must inherently align with either the heterotroph or autotroph category. Is there room for something beyond, something more complex and nuanced than these life-consuming modes of existence?

Then, in a moment of unexpected inspiration, it hit me like a bolt of cosmic lightning: this is why UFOs haven’t been landing on Earth. They’re absolutely terrified of being turned into dinner! Imagine this scenario: you have new neighbors moving in next door. They’re highly intelligent, multilingual university professors. Everything seems splendid, except for one tiny detail—they happen to be lions!

It’s not easy to attend a dinner party when you’re both the guest and the potential entrée. So, while the universe may be teeming with intelligent life, perhaps the universal fear of becoming someone else’s cuisine is keeping the intergalactic welcome parties at bay.

And as I glanced back at my trending single digits, I had to wonder if somewhere out there in the great expanse, there might be another blog pondering whether Earthlings are friends or food.

I’m stepping out of my comfort zone. I don’t often suggest that I actually know something. Okay, maybe I do, but I generally don’t believe it in my inner being.

Here it goes, the UK musician/artist Ren is on to something important.

The “reaction” influencers on the net speak of going down the “Ren Rabbithole”. For the last week I’ve been down there.

Yes, it’s dark, and maybe a lot of sadness, but it is also hopeful. This young guy from Wales is crafting some important messages through musicianship and masterful story telling.

I’m not a fortune teller, but I’m thinking that there are tipping points in history where things are way different from one side of an occurrence to the other side. Ren might be that occurrence. And if not, then we have missed something.

Three links, not in creation order, but the order that I think is best to understand Ren, and what’s behind his music.

1. Hi Ren

2. Tale of Jenny and Screech

3. For Joe

My 30th great grandfather was not a barbarian, he was Conan I ‘le Tort’ de Rennes, duc de Bretagne. ‘Le Tort’, meaning ‘the crooked’. I’m assuming he had some sort of physical deformity.

Like most nobles with castles, he had a company of fighting men that he would lead if required by his liege lord. If not, then he would lead his own men on various attempts to gain more land by fighting other nearby castles.

Conan decided to fight his brother-in-law, Fulk III, of Anjou. Conan was laying seige to the city of Nantes, and Fulk was rushing his men to counter Conan.

Conan decided to retreat back to his castle to fight Fulk, but could not get away from Fulk, so he stopped and prepared the battlefield with some surprises.

Conan had pits dug, filled with water and covered with branches. When Fulk came up, Conan lured his men towards the traps. The ruse worked and Conan should have won the battle.

Unfortunately Conan was feeling pretty confident so he stopped, it was a hot day, so he paused to take off his armor. A few men in Fulk’s company happened to see thus and attacked Conan, then killed him.

The rest of Conan’s men fled back to the castle, and then surrendered to Fulk.

Conan had to foresight to endow Mont. St. Michael, and after his death he was buried there. Within the next few hundred years it became the incredible place we see today.

The Curious Case of the Speed Bumps

Allow me to regale you with a tale of “special knowledge” that revolves around the design and implementation of the now-famous barriers that grace the streets of Berkeley. I know the person who conceived, designed, and implemented the system. He was a genuine nice person.

If you’ve been a long-time resident, you might recall the era when the grid system of the neighborhood roads provided a convenient escape from the main thoroughfares during the chaos of major commutes. A simple drop down a few blocks, and you could journey north, east, west, or south without a hitch.

For Berkeley residents, these barriers might be viewed with favor, as they bring about safer streets and slower-moving cars. However, for those seeking to outmaneuver traffic jams, these barriers are nothing short of a labyrinth, forcing one to memorize a convoluted web of routes that bypass these roadblocks.

A few years ago, one of my neighbors embarked on a quest to address the issue of speeding cars in our residential areas. Signs alone didn’t seem to do the trick, and even the acquisition of miniature plastic figurines brandishing warning flags failed to deter speedsters.

Then, like a beacon of inspiration, someone resurrected the age-old saying, “Watch out for the speed bumps of life.” Ah, speed bumps, the solution seemed clear—install them on every long, straight road where drivers had a tendency to accelerate, and serenity would prevail.

Of course, such a plan came with its own set of challenges, primarily the cost. The actual speed bump wasn’t exorbitant, but the warning signs were another matter entirely. There were dual signs on both sides of the road—one forewarning the impending bump and the other declaring its immediate presence. That meant a minimum of four signs for each bump, not to mention the generous application of paint to make sure no one missed the bump.

Nevertheless, the neighborhood embraced the plan. Local drivers slowed down and navigated the bumps with finesse. As for those who either failed to read the signs or simply disregarded them, they would hit the bumps at 25 miles per hour or more, producing resounding noises that echoed for blocks. I confess to remaining somewhat befuddled about the exact placement of these bumps.

Then, a curious revelation surfaced thanks to my daughter. At first, she suspected a typo, but upon closer inspection, it became evident that all the signs echoed the same phrase: “Speed Humps.”

“What signs? What typo?” I inquired.

“The speed bump warning signs,” she explained, “They say ‘Speed Humps.'”

“Speed Humps?” I repeated in bewilderment. “Since when did the Department of Transportation become involved with…rapid dating?”

Suddenly, the local birth rates took on a whole new perspective. Perhaps it wasn’t the COVID lockdown that was responsible. Perhaps it was the signs that nobody truly reads—working their magic in the subconscious. Or could it be that a hump is simply a larger bump? The mysteries of the local speed “humps” persist.

I just looked it up on a transportation web site. A bump is bigger than a hump! Who would have thought?