Optimystical

Watching the documentary 'Note by Note: The Making of Steinway L1037,'' Ben Niles (2007) drove home the very real, physical, metaphysical, cerebral, psychic, and mystical connection and total similarity between art and craftsmanship.  The Steinway workshop, in Astoria, New York, is a massive, hallowed studio, which also doubles as a de-facto art gallery, showroom and concert hall in two senses.  The first sense is the obvious, when the masters come to the basement of the workshop to select an instrument for performance.  Kenny Barron sits down at an instrument and plays it for less than 2 seconds before getting up and quickly moving to the next.  He starts playing this one, and instantly he is digging in hard, with deep fast chords.  "Mmmuuhhhh," he lets out.  The second sense is the constant 'work' going on in the upper levels of the workshop.  Small teams of master craftspeople weld their tools, instruments and lives and the sounds come to life and coalesce, not to be described.  Two ends of the line, coming together.  The journey as beautiful and valuable as the center of the line, the performance.  There are few true craftspeople left.  Let us truly respect them.

Realization of the Day

I am the descendant.  I am the lineage.

unstoppable

Denzel is the father of America.  He is the everyman, plain in his drop jawed, closed mouthed stare.  The extravagance, the opulence, is in his eyes.  His eyes are the parallel histories of a deceitful, proud organization.  Triumphs and losses.  Near comical failures.  When he laughs it strong and light, like a large weight being lifted from our communal shoulders and shot up to the skies.  His teeth are lightning.

He has not, and never will, and could not, and doesn't want to, play a villainous character.  This might be the one thing, the only thing, that saves us (him.)

installation

A vivid painting with an intense psychedelic landscape, purples, blues, very bright, almost neon hues. A french blind glued permanently over the entire canvas, closed, with one strip slightly askew as to see a sliver of the color/painting.

A poplar tree with two of the branches made to look as if they've naturally grown through the wind stopping mesh and chain link fence found on tennis courts everywhere. One of the branches has clearly burst through and a few leaves are peeking out. The other has barely breached the fabric of the wind stopper and is causing a bulge around it. The pressure will eventually burst the fabric, leaving a wider hole through which the smaller branch will pass.  This will be a long term installation.

A collection of different "Visitor's Pass" stickers from different elementary schools in Vacaville, stuck on corrugated cardboard, some overlapped, some written on.

A slab of pristine corrugated cardboard with perfect clear tape with no bubbles or imperfections dividing the square into 4.

A slab of pristine corrugated cardboard with clear tape in an X on the square. The "Warrior Tape."

collection

The buzz had softly seeped through to him in a time of need. In a time of personal crises he had heard the rumor from a South African acquaintance, a man of varied abilities and employs, that he himself employed 2 months out of the year as a bush pilot. He was a hard man, no other way to describe it really, thick lips that bent upward into a grimace of a smile. Steel wool of blond stubble patched his head. They were sitting on the patio of the Villa, he was drinking an orange juice, the pilot a glass of water. His orange juice was different, he used many more oranges per glass than most. The orange juice marketed at the supermarket as "heavy" pulp level, or "grovestand," was about half the pulp he liked in a glass. The pilot took a large mouthful of water and took 3 heavy swallows, watching the surface tensions of the droplets on the outside of the sweating glass. None of them broke. "It's a diamond, of course," he said, deadlocking him with eye contact. "Big one. They say it might be pink." He considered this, looking down at the marble tile of the patio. "Pink diamond," he let it float into the air, away on a current. The buzz grew much stronger as time passed, as well as the hype. One of the biggest diamonds ever, let alone pink diamonds, had been discovered deep in a mine in Nigeria, and brought to de Beers to be cut by the best in the world. He tried to gain information, paying for knowledge from those close to the industry and directing those in his employ to redirect their courses. Then today they announced it, by far the largest pink diamond ever found, weeping edges, not much cutting even needed. He reached for his phone and typed a quick message. Had to happen day of the auction, he thought. He strode into the Villa, hanging his robe as he went. Getting dressed and to the plane brought the usual clearheadedness and total awareness of surroundings. He was fully alert, with energy and poise. He sat in the leather, buckled his seat belt and checked his phone. The price estimates were at $25 million and rising. His sources were saying there were many interested parties. Many. This was somewhat surprising to him at this point in history, but he remained prepared, he reassured himself. He leaned back in the seat, hair rustling against the headrest. When the plane landed, he disembarked to a few people waiting for him. He didn't tell them about the diamond, didn't ask whether they'd heard about it or not, didn't check his phone. He had people he trusted with more than his life at work on this, and they understood what he wanted them to do. They walked over the tarmac, talking lightly, and he climbed into Bernard Madoff's former main limo after opening the front passenger door for the woman who had met the plane on the tarmac. "So what's your main item at this auction, man?" Jeff smiled and leaned foreword, "What'r you here for?"
"I'm buying J.D Salinger's Toilet."

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SOFT EYED BULLS

As Larry David said; “What are we, hall managers? No. We are not Hall Managers.” He paused and smiled broadly with the true warmth of connection that comes with an assumed television reference.

.........

Blocking a train (abuse)

woman in front of tracks

Toxic Sludge Spill

"Red Sludge"

Blood running through streets

Monkey Wrench (gang?)

So. San Francisco Fire/Chem response team time is 4:35