Bit of Ugly, Bit of Pretty, Bit of Touching

Beware the Ides of March. Born on this day was a person most responsible for the early childhood trauma in my life, and responsible for unspeakable pain to my parents and aunt and uncle, truly ruining all of our lives. I hate this day more than any other day of the year.

Wallowing done for this year, let's celebrate the day honoring a truly innocent artist taken from us far too early, Keith Haring, 1958-1990. Just a year younger than I am, it was always great fun to find "new" Harings in the East Village in the 1980s, painted on walls and sidewalks and lamp posts, really every surface imaginable. I had no idea he would become not only popular and collectible, but iconic. I can hardly look back to those days without his distinctive figures dancing in my head right alongside my memories of friends and jobs and clubs and days and nights wandering around "Gotham." I never had a chance to meet Keith, or buy him a beer and laugh about our world, but due to the incessant marketing machine of our world, his work stares at me every single day—I have three refrigerator magnets of his work given to me by my late friend Andy. Here's to both of you!

• I found this video through a link at Joe.My.God, the most important political blog there is for LGBT rights, and one that is proudly listed in my blog roll listing. This video was made by a friend of Keith's, Marcito in Omaha. The music is perfect, the artwork is touching, and it's cut together perfectly. I'm sure Keith would smile seeing his work portrayed in this manner. THANK YOU Marcito for allowing me to share your work with my readers.
• Keith's early work, 1978-82 is being showcased at the Brooklyn Museum, beginning tomorrow. Information, here. If anything is going to get me back to the city after an almost ten-year absence, this could be it.

Rust, Roses, Rice Crispies & Relatives

Polaroid SX70 photograph of my 1964 Thunderbird, just before it was restored in 1980. Rust had ravaged the lower bodysides, with the exception of the removable fender skirts. They were never taken off the car, but were most likely made from aluminum which doesn't rust. If they were steel, like the body, they would have rusted out also. The 'Bird was in the shop for about six months and came back looking brand new. The color was called Diamond Blue—almost white. The interior was a medium blue pleated vinyl that shone in the sun.

This is an almost ten year old photograph, back in the film days and cheap processing at the local drug store. The flash bulbs were very "hot" and the fast processing always produced really oversaturated colors and deep shadows. Although I miss the medium of film, for historical purposes especially, I find I have much more control of my images with digital cameras now. I suppose if I had ever learned how to develop my own film, I would have enjoyed that more, but once a photo is developed, there's not much you can do to it to "fix" it.

A real Ford Family—My aunt Hoohoo in the family's 1952 Ford F-100 pickup, and one of their Ford sedans in the background,a plain-Jane '52 Mainline. If you could have seen more of the driveway, there would also have been a beat up '51 Country Squire wagon, a '36 Ford Phaeton slowly turning back into the soil, and her gorgeous '58 Thunderbird. This truck was bought in the late '50s from a local guy nicknamed The Rebel. He owned a body shop in town and that's a custom gold and white paint job. Notice the "wide whites" and full chrome wheel covers, a pretty flashy touch for a Fifties pickup.

Another shot of my great uncle Art's store, this time in color. I'm surprised at the number of items that are still being sold today. Of course the boxes and logos are different now, but the brand names remain. Art was pretty "modern" having a large TV in his little store! Even though the store was about 10 steps from the house, it had an intercom system so Art could communicate to the people in the house without leaving the store. I thought that was neat. You just pushed a button and spoke into what looked like a radio and someone in the house would answer. I have audiotapes of "little me" talking to my grandmother through the intercom—they're reel-to-reel tapes!

 

The Sanborn family, circa 1930, Leete's Island, CT. Five year old Hoohoo on the left, twelve year old Veronica, my mother, in the back and my grandmother and grandfather. I think I may have posted this image before, but I found a better print of it this weekend and rescanned it.