Here we were on Route 414, just south of Lodi between Seneca and Cayuga Lakes, with a carload full of pea pods.
Leave a commentClosed Sunday
Going Clear
According to our neighbor, Jared, his wife is suffering from postpartum depression after releasing the Monarch butterfly she had nurtured from the caterpillar stage. For years my mother-in-law gave us a subscription to National Geographic. We have a whole yellow spine shelf and I really should know the Monarch story. Maybe it just has to be real for me to learn. I thought they migrated from Mexico to Canada and back and they do as a group but individually they don’t live long long enough to make the journey. They go through three or four life cycles on the way.
Milkweeds are key to the butterflies existence. They lay their eggs on the blossom. The caterpillars eat the milkweed leaves and the crawl inside themselves to create a chrysalis which eventually turns transparent before the Monarch emerges. It is all rather mind-blowing.
1 CommentState Of The City
This art installation stopped us dead in our tracks. The unlikely setting a Wegmans parking lot. The tipped over shopping carts and the yellow caution tape surrounding the bent pole were all rather alarming. Was this a crime scene being preserved? We asked one of the orange-suited “helping Hands” and he told us a guy was doing about fifty in the parking lot and he slammed into the Handicapped sign.
1 CommentShrooming
With a little bit to a lot of rain everyday we have perfect mushroom growing conditions. Our walk in the woods last evening was interrupted by samples of several species. I think we finally spotted the Chanterelles that we were looking for last week. We were told they grow near the Coral mushrooms and that’s right where we found them. They are supposed to be delicious.
We spotted the one above in a clearing and took this shot with a flash. I sent it to my father and he identified it from one of his many resource books as a Yellow Amanita Muscaria. It’s poisonous but it has some serious Psychoactive properties. There is so much mushroom lore to sift through. I found this description on Shroomery.org. “Used correctly, it is pleasurable at its worst and limitlessly creative, intensely ecstatic, universally beneficial and incredibly healing at its best! You’ll probably puke all over the place, so be prepared!” And this from erowid.org “the experience I was having was a simulation of Jesus Christ’s crucifixion. I understood that I had to keep pounding these nails out of an invisible cross which I was nailed to. I would be free once the task was completed.”
We buy our mushrooms at Wegmans.
2 CommentsDe Kooning, Bacon and Gorky
Every time we see Jim and Gail Thomas, at art openings or Little Theater gigs, we talk about getting together. We bought one of Jim’s pieces, a near life-size figurative charcoal drawing, at Gallery 15, which at the time (2001) was the best gallery in the city. Jim and Gail ran the place and had one memorable show after the other of local art stars’ work. We moved to a new home/studio around the same time they were building a new home/studio and we would compare notes when we met. It is easy to get Jim going when you talk art. And is there really any better topic? He taught at RIT for 31 years and knows his stuff. Jim has a keen eye and has bought some beautiful pieces of work from others.
From light sculptures to big oil paintings and pastel still life abstractions, Jim’s work is always derived from the figure. He says he is influenced by De Kooning, Bacon and Gorky. That is enough to chew on. It was such a pleasure to see their place and talk over lunch. Jim plays tuba in the New Horizons Band and has work at the R Gallery in their current group show.
3 CommentsUnlocking The Truth
The next generation is secured.
Leave a commentSound Sculpture
Summer First Fridays in Rochester, like art scenes everywhere this time of year, are low gear affairs. The warm nights are more suited to watching low riders than stretching your mind. We started with that fantastic, red lentil, sweet potato dish at Good Luck. A monster thunderstorm rolled in and out before we finished. Fela Kuti was playing on the sound system in the bathroom. If this is what the kitchen staff are running on, that would explain why the food is so good.
So attendance was down at the galleries but that is not necessarily a bad thing. We were able to engage with the artists at every stop.
Nathan Lyons steals the show over at Spectrum Gallery with his color photos. If you are able to call up his images you’ll note they are usually black and white. At first encounter you read the photos literally. Funny signs, odd situations and crazy juxtapositions of elements that define our time. All are important elements but the compositions are painterly strokes of brilliance.
Jim Thomas had a mini retrospective next door at r Gallery, everything from his light sculptures to charcoal figure studies and abstracted stones in oil pastel. The exhibition featured the work of friends and colleagues associated with RIT so Judd Williams and Bill Keyser were featured as well. We chatted with Scott McCarney and Bo Poulin and headed over to RoCo for their annual State of the City show. Bleu appointed Peggi and me as this month’s “First Friday Fanatics.” I tried to refuse but the honor comes with a gift certificate to Victoire so we reconsidered. We really liked this show. A video performance group captures the outsider/insider take on Detroit. You can walk under a wild assortment of objects found on the streets of Manhattan by Laura Quattrocchi and then marvel at Ron Klein’s beautiful wall installation of both natural and man-made found objects. It is something you’ll have to immerse yourself in before the summer is over.
We parked over on Scio Street and on the wall to the car we heard indestinguishable music bouncing off the downtown buildings. It was either coming from the Puerto Rican Festival or the outdoor Donna the Buffalo concert. It was so abstract it sounded like one of Eno’s soundtracks or perhaps a sound sculpture for First Friday.
1 CommentJohnny Harmonica
An older man who lives about a block away was out near the road when we peddled by on our bikes. He had an armload of sticks that had fallen in the rain. (We had four inches according to Jared’s rainometer.) He asked if we needed any sticks, a question meant to be funny, but one we both considered. We collect our own sticks and keep them in barrels. We use them as kindling to get fires in our wood stove going in the winter months. He asked, “What are your names again?” as if we had been introduced but we have only waved to one another over the years.
He told us his name was John and some people call him “Johnny Harmonica” because he plays the instrument in a band. In fact they had a gig that afternoon at Saint Ann’s Home. He said he doesn’t do his own lawn anymore, hadn’t mowed it himself in five years, and the service he has charges him extra if they have to pick up sticks. Johnny said his lawn is mostly weed grass now and he doesn’t care. He’s ninety-four and says, “I used to fuss with it but it’s green and that’s all that matters now.” He said he is never sure whether he has even eaten breakfast so he checks the sink and if he finds dirty dishes in there he knows he has eaten.
We told him we played instruments too and his eyes lit up when Peggi told him she played the sax. He said he played in a big band, one with a sax and violin player, and he uses a pickup so he can be heard.
3 CommentsDownshift
In a desperate attempt to slow summer down we have taken to watching our garden grow.
Our tomatoes are almost as tall as I am. We have two types of lettuce, both at full tilt and we cannot possibly keep up with it. We put some in our greens and beans last night. When our spinach got out of hand we started making green shakes with it so that’s next. Our swiss chard is ready as well and we’ve been picking the leeks prematurely to spice up our salads. Some sort of blight has hit our jalapeño pepper plants or maybe it is just because we planted them in the same spot as last year. Our neighbor, Jared, who grew up on a farm, supports that second theory. We’re eating purple basil as fast as we can. Pesto is next. The eggplants have the prettiest purple flowers with a yellow center and and some of the fruit is already as big as a California avocado. Our beets got a late start and are still only a few inches tall.
We’ll be here awhile.
Leave a commentArrogant Artist
The Irondequoit Art Trail, mostly artist’s home studios, is a spaced out affair. Irondequoit itself is pretty spaced out, stretching from Empire Boulevard at the bottom of the bay to neighborhoods that back up to the river off Saint Paul which runs all the way up to the lake and then across the lakeshore to Sea Breeze. We started out following a pdf that we downloaded and picked up a map at I-Square Gallery but one of the artists had another map with small graphic samples of each of the artists on the trail so we switched to that. They were all slightly different and it is hard to connect the dots.
Three stops stood out. Craig Wilson’s studio on Saint Paul was one. He had just set up a tent that he planned on using at the Clothesline Show. Instead of just admiring his metal sculpted fish we entertained various methods of hanging the hefty works and we considered the advantages of the grey or white mesh backgrounds. And Craig recommended a car mechanic for us before we left. Ours has just retired.
This guy named Beaty had all his paintings out in his driveway. He told us he wasn’t a very good art student so just copied paintings out of books and we could see the evidence as we sifted through stacks of Cezanne’s, Picasso’s and Van Gogh’s.
Two houses on Lake Bluff Road (it looks exactly like it sounds) showed watercolors that paled in comparison to the view out their windows but a nearby stop at a Quonset Hut on Culver had no windows at all to compete with the work of John Leonard. He told us he is a roofer and he just bought the place because his house was full and he planned to name it, “The Artist’s Cave” and added, “the tagline will be, “Not So Fine Art.” He was painting the ceiling to look like a cave and his work was everywhere, all sorts of styles in all mediums. Some of it was very good like his self portrait called, “The Arrogant Artist.”
5 CommentsO’Reilly Factor
I could not figure out what was wrong with the Flash last night. Claire Regan asked me as much while we were sitting with her. I didn’t understand why Adriana wasn’t starting in the midfield. She is a real workhorse. Zerboni, who is usually dominant in the center, was off her game and Carly Lloyd was not much of a factor so the middle just fell apart. Boston, the last place team in the league, scored four goals to the Flash’s two. Abby was still sidelined from the injury we saw a few months back but we have hardly missed her. Samantha and Jasmine are fun to watch as they fill in down front.
Maybe I jinxed the team by cheering for my favorite player on the US national team, Boston’s Heather O’Reilly. She had two goals and two assists. This was a must win if the Flash wanted to go to the playoffs so this will probably be my last WNY Flash post this year. In the meantime, I wish the City could find some way to promote the Flash. There are only eight NWSL teams in the country and this one is really a jewel.
Leave a commentTurning Point
Our bikes were crammed in the back of the Element when we found a parking spot on the corner of Latta and Lighthouse, right in front of Holy Child elementary school, a short block from the river and the lake. It was a gorgeous day, pure blue sky, very low humidity and maybe seventy-five degrees. We sprang the bikes, put on our helmets and followed the boardwalk up river.
We stopped in that first block to marvel at the big boats docked along the shore. The seedy part of town looked like it was getting a facelift. Was it Scuttlebutt’s or the Charlotte Social Club that just got busted for running a gambling ring? Maybe it was the place that had a great big Hemingway mural on the side of it’s building. The restaurants and yacht clubs on the east side of the river were in full summer bloom and a group of young girls was headed up river, each in a small sailboat of their own. It was all very dreamy.
We headed down a gravel path that ran right along the river but turned around where the path narrowed. We interrupted a couple there, on the ground near some bushes, that were already rounding the bend of third base and they didn’t look like they were gonna stop for us. We turned around and took the paved path down to Turning Point Park where the boardwalk runs out over the wetlands in that wide water portion of the river where they used to turn around big freight ships. Ducks, turtles and herons all call this place home. Yellow and white flowers were blooming on the Lilly pads and fisher-people with the funkiest equipment imaginable are throwing lines in the water.
The path on south side of the park took us up to Lake Avenue near Riverside Cemetery so rode just a little further to the Catholic section, Holy Sepulchre Cemetery, where we hunted down my parent’s newly carved stones.
Leave a commentSummer Sweet Spot
I knew I had hit the sweet spot of summer when I lost a horseshoe. Late July, early August, summer patterns fully established, the woods at it’s lushest with the paths overgrown, the timing was just right. My regular horseshoe opponent lives across the street. He grew up throwing shoes in the projects of Troy and I let him keep the score. I have a hard enough time concentrating on the game.
This time I was playing with Roc, an old friend, and we were talking about old times so I was especially spaced out. I couldn’t find one of my shoes and I was pretty sure it had bounced into the pachasandra so we trampled through the plants for about ten minutes looking for the horseshoe. Peggi suggested I use the metal finder that our former neighbor made, a string of magnets mounted on the underside of an upside down wooden “T.” I dragged the homemade tool through the plants for while while we made small talk and then it dawned on me that the horseshoe might not be in the pachysandra at all. I went back to the pit and found it about a half inch down, wrapped around the pole.
1 CommentDeath Cafe
Of course we’re afraid to talk about death. Most people don’t want the party to end or even acknowledge the inevitable. But having helped nudge my parents to get their affairs in order I have a clearer picture of the mess I would leave behind if I stepped in front of an SUV tomorrow.
Our friends, Roc and Barb, passing through town from Bloomington, had just done a project with “A Stroke of Instinct” author, Jill Bolte Taylor, and they let us know that if we checked the “donate my organs” box on our license, it doesn’t include your brain. I was trying to imagine what someone would do with my brain. And then they told us about an old friend whose father died and left a mysterious bank account which they traced back to a second family that the guy had on the sly.
At the very least, a will is in order. Rich Stim gave us a Nolo package a few years back but we never followed up with it. It came on a pc disc and we put our pc in the trash a few years back. The article in the local paper on Rochester’s Death Café noted that most people aren’t afraid to die, they just don’t like picturing the complications that lead up to it.
Leave a commentEcotourism
You can’t miss the Montezuma National Wildlife Refuge when you travel east from Rochester on the New York State Thruway. You’ll spot a woods with nothing but beautiful dead trees. They’ve drowned in the carefully managed wetlands. We’ve whizzed by it countless times and never stopped to check it out until the other day.
It is a bird lovers’ paradise. We don’t know what’s what but we spotted a bald eagle before we got out of the car and we saw a couple of bright yellow Warblers. We watched herons fly across the ponds inches above the water and scoop up fish. A portion of the Erie Canal runs through here and a ranger told us they’ve been trying to keep the carp from the canal out of the wetlands because they eat up all the small stuff in the water and stir up the water so that sun can’t penetrate to the bottom, killing the vegetation. Wildflowers are everywhere but most of the park is just slightly underwater so you stay on the path and marvel at the delicate ecosystem.
There’s a few more photos from this place over here.
Leave a commentWayfaring Stranger
Isn’t it funny that a restaurant would choose smooth jazz because they think it is the least offensive format out there, the one least likely to offend anyone, when it is perhaps the most offensive type of music to us. “Suzanne’s”, on the eastern shore of Seneca Lake in the heart of the Finger Lakes, has one the the best salads I have ever had, a mix of greens from Muddy Fingers Farm in nearby Burdette with goat cheese, roasted beets, candied walnuts and Bachelor Buttons on top. The dressing was light as a feather, probably spritzed on the salad. The perfume on the woman sitting behind me conflicted but that’s being picky. To get things started the chef made a small fruit cocktail with cubed watermelon, cucumber and lively goat cheese with cherry tomatoes, red onion and fresh dill. And for dessert we had a glass of port from nearby Lakewood Winery. We drove down there for our anniversary. I counted license plates from eight different states in the parking lot.
I have no idea what kind of gun this Mennonite girl has in her hands. I didn’t even know she had a gun. I was standing on the shoulder of the road, taking a picture of this cute little, newborn calf (click photo to see enlargement) and Peggi said, “That girl has a gun” so we took off.
Terry Gross did a beautiful show devoted to Charlie Haden.
Leave a commentTea Party Dogs
We watched a fox for a bit until he got suspicious of us and darted into a hole. And there is a crop of deer that just don’t have any reason to be afraid of people. But as we cut through the park we came across a large four legged animal not far from the “Dogs Must Be On A Leash” sign. His presumed owners were lagging behind. We cautiously watched the dog before proceeding and shouted up to the couple, “Is that your dog?” Well, the dog must have just taken a dump (we didn’t see that) because the guy then walked ahead and scooped something into a bag as if we caught them not picking up after their dog. We asked if they could put the dog on a leash and they said what every dog owner says, “He won’t hurt you.” I said, “We’ve been bit twice” and the woman said, “Maybe it’s because you act afraid.” I thought, “Fuck you” and said, “No, it’s because we’ve been bit twice.
This is not a “which comes first, chicken or egg” situation. The first time I was bit I innocently put the back of my hand down for a dog to sniff. The dog grabbed my hand and I couldn’t get it out without ripping my fingers to shreds.” The second time I was bit my neighbor’s new “Seniors for Seniors” dog was apparently “protecting” my neighbor while I talked to him. The dog bit me on my ass.
This may be just a coincidence but the only car parked near the “Dogs Must Be On A Leash” sign had “Don’t Tread On Me” bumper sticker on it. Is there a dog libertarian movement underfoot?
2 CommentsLook Out Below!
It is so good to see Kevin’s blog come back but so sad, the circumstances. Tommy Ramone was a great drummer. He cut out the crap and nailed the tune. He made the Ramones sound fresh and pop. Too bad for everyone that radio wasn’t ready for them. Now that all four original members are dead you can hear the chorus of a song Tommy wrote every night at Red Wing Stadium.
In 1977, when the “Do You Wanna Dance/Baby Sitter” single was released, the Ramones played the Penny Arcade and the leading rock station here, WCMF, printed t-shirts for the bartenders at the Penny Arcade to wear that said, “Punk Rock Sucks.” Like they would know what sucks. I got this sleeve signed by the band that night. They were unbelievably good.
I learned quite a bit learned quite a bit from Tommy. The band I was in did a few Ramones songs. I can’t remember which ones. Even though I had loved The Voidoids drummer when I saw them in in New York, I was bummed when Marky replaced Tommy. Long live the Ramones.
1 CommentWorld Cup 1950
Our friend, Jeff, sent us this soccer note:
Do you remember Mr. De Palma? He was the senior high Spanish teacher for one or two years. Rumor had it that he was a member of the 1950 World Cup Team for Spain. I did a brief search on the web and didn’t find anything about him but I think Spain made it to the second round that year. This I do remember about the guy. He was a total dud as a teacher. He was incredibly unengaged. His teaching technique went like this; talk for 5-10 minutes, give us a work sheet and then he would read the paper for the remaining 35 minutes. I sat next to a guy, I have been trying to remember who it was and I think it was Bill Rampe? The class was so dull that I told Bill that I could climb out the window of the classroom and come back into the room and not get caught. Bill’s father owned one of those coin operated car washes in Ontario and he had a tower of quarters that he had stacked on his desk. He said “I don’t believe you would do it.” I said, ” for that stack of quarters I will,” and he said, “you’re on”.
I checked on De Palma to make sure he was doing his thing and I went to one of the windows and opened it wide and returned to my seat. De Palma was fixated on his newspaper. I waited a bit and made my move. Without a sound I slid out the window and crawled along the ground past the other classrooms. I made my way to one of the back doors, they were unlocked in those days, walked down the hallway and reentered De Palma’s classroom. I told him I had been at the guidance office. He didn’t even ask for a pass. If he played soccer with the enthusiasm with which he taught, then it is no wonder Spain didn’t advance beyond the first knock out round. And while my respect for De Palma is non-existent, I have to hand it to Rampe, he delivered on his end of the deal. If I remember correctly and I think I do, I made around 5 bucks on the escapade.
1 CommentSoccer As Jazz
Our friend, John, sent this artfully composed email in response to my “Ole” post below.
While trying to find the vid of youse guys as jazzfest aficionados, I read your Soccer as Art piece.
I can see the comparison when expressed through your artist’s eye. But not having done painting myself, I never experienced it like that. This probably applies to a majority of the readers.
A painting leaves you with a static product the can be visually enjoyed over and over. But the game, like the jazz piece, is a snowflake never to be repeated.
But something I have done many times, and this could apply to most all readers, is that the game can be experienced as a piece of music. And jazz seems to fit particularly well.
The participants are many, like the players in a jazz ensemble, with many watchers / listeners … not just the others players seeing the opposing team’s play unfold, but the fans watching. Notice, both the soccer and the music participants are called ” players “!
When there is a break in the action, there are set pieces / plays, like a melody, to restart the play. But within a few bars / passes , the play is off in it’s own direction.
Then there is the triangulation formation, with three players passing the ball / notes around. Sometimes, just two players are making the play with all the other participants providing the background music / movements.
Of course , there is the ever popular “solo ” with one person making a run towards the goal. Everybody loves a good solo now and again.
Then we have the vocalizations of the players keeping each other informed as to what might be unfolding out of eyesight. This ” scat singing ” is especially musical when done in a foreign language giving the illusion of the nonsensical vocal notes that is scatting heard in jazz.
The wild psychedelic colors of the uniforms swirling on the field provide the “light show”!
Finally, a particularly festive run to the end of a song, the goal, gets the audience on their feet applauding and hooting’ and hollerin’.
What a great piece/game that was.
One last observation.
Seems fitting that jazz is more popular in Europe, as is Soccer/futbol! Combine this with the fact that hyper speed data transmission is a given to Europeans . The multi-level, continuously evolving, higher intellect of the ethernet mirrors the same qualities attributed to soccer and jazz.
I’m still rooting for the good old USA team, but for now, the Europeans are beating us. And we love to root for the underdogs.
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