James 'Super Chikan' Johnson

Every so often, over the past ten years or so, I'll throw in the one recording I own by Super Chikan. Before today, I thought this was the name of a band (and a good name it is for a group). Now, I've discovered my erroneous thinking and I'm glad I did.

It turns out the name 'Super Chikan' actually refers to one James Johnson of Clarksdale, MS. Besides his funky brand of Delta blues, the man has a great story behind the interesting title. According to the Mississippi (yep, still using the old tune to spell that one!) Folklife & Folk Artist Directory at

http://www.arts.state.ms.us/folklife/artist.php?dirname=johnson_james, due to Mr. Johnson's fascination with the chicken in his yard as a boy, he garnered his first nickname, 'Chicken Boy'. Later, as a rather expeditious taxidriver, he gained the 'Super' part of his name and he's gone by that combined title ever since.

I first enjoyed his singing style on a tune all about how he had spent plenty of money on his lady and her hair care products (24 cans of hairspray) only to arrive home after work to find her snazzy hairdo all "messed up", presumptively by some unwlecomed suitor. This is some pretty serious business that Super Chikan approaches with plenty of levity, making the song a lot of fun. The rest of what I heard so long ago was just plain old good blues music with a funky flair.

Aside from the good quality music, Mr. Johnson is also well-known for his handmade, scrap metal 'Chicantars' as he calls them. The pictures reveal a wide variety of instruments made form oil and gas cans among other sheet metals. I'm not sure that the recordings I've heard were made on these incredibly original instruments, but if they were, then all the more impressive is his sound, in my opinion. Some 'Chicantars' for your own feasting eyes:

Listen to Super Chikan 'cause he knows what he's talkin' about!

Where I'm From...

As universal as the phrase may sound, to me, the lead in "where I'm from" will always evoke the lyrics of Brooklyn-based hip-hop group Digable Planets. Their song by the same title is an ode to their native NYC borough with many a reference to Flatbush Ave, flamboyant street vendors, Jamaican hairdressers, idle kids finding innocent trouble, and the inevitable heat of summer in the city.

For me, where I'm from conjures up an entirely different brand of memory. My native land is one of subtle beauty, nothing as grand as the peaks of the Colorado Rockies, the temperate rainforests of the Olympic peninsula, or the vibrant coral reefs of Kauai, but somehow equally remarkable. No, where I'm from is filled with gentle hills, shady valleys, old beech-maple groves, and most of all, miles of crystalline, fresh water coast.

This is not to say that my place of origin beats anyone else's ~ far from it. We all have different roots and these are shaped, in part, by the landscape of our individual childhood and adolescent experiences, the places where we first howl with laughter, kiss, pray, cry, love and tumble down the knoll. In my life, I've loved the glimpses I've gained of the homelands of others, places that seem warm and welcoming in a way that is familiar but not native, not ingrained in my cells like the fair view of whitecaps carrying pollen and algae from another peninsula.

No matter what locale I may inhabit at present, it is my past that continues to define my identity. Someday soon I hope I will be able to relate to a new land in the way that I relate to the verdant place of my birth. Each place I go seems to hold its own unique features, the features that make it dear to those who've grown there. Down here in the South, it seems to be the lazily flowing rivers, deep green forests snarled with Kudzu and ivy, and the iron rich clay hard under every step. More so, here, I get the feeling that what defines this place are the muggy nights swinging on the porch with a glass of cool tea, the strolling through the neighborhood under a canopy of live oaks and mistletoe, all the while delighting in the cicadas' cacophonous serenade.

The Photography of Greg Seman...

Among photographers, those who practice traditional film and printing techniques are fewer all the time. Of this dwindling breed, I consider Greg Seman to be one of the medium's finest visual representatives. His work is straightforward, eloquent, and tremendously beautiful without offering up any pretense. He seems to approach his natural subject matter with very few preconceptions and for the viewer, the result is an intricate and accurate representation of his vision.

It's true that there are plenty of other talented photographers currently producing work in this vein. However, Seman is one who seems to effortlessly convey the subtle beauty of his varied subjects. His formal compositions are balanced and clear, which helps to surround the viewer with emotional impact, easing one into the presentation of these uniquely beautiful places.

Gunnar Norrman Drypoint Prints

Now, I'm fully getting in the mood to make prints. I came upon this gentleman's fine work via another blog around here. His style seems very compact and precise, although he seems to keep things simple and fairly austere. It could be the monochromatic approach or the common, natural subject matter. Whatever it is, it appeals to my own personal aesthetic and I hope to get a chance to see some of his work in person one day.

After a bit more searching through the info at ArtsEditor, I've found that Norrman worked as a botanist before dedicating himself to pencil and charcoal drawing. I guess that explains his choice of subject matter, which is also most assuredly a reflection of the landscape of his native Sweden.

Ukiyo-e and Viscosity Printing...

It's been many years since I've actually sat down and tried to draw something, let alone make a print of it. Lately, I've been studying up on viscosity printing (a method of simultaneously including many hues on a print in one pass through the press) while lingering over some of the old ukiyo-e prints that inspired me during college. My old printmaking instructor at Northern Michigan University had such a laidback, supportive style and he used to encourage us to find influences and expand our own styles. I had some success with intaglio printing but really only began to get into the process by the time my coursework was complete.

These are some beautiful examples of the kind of prints that can be made through various processes including woodcut, lithography, intaglio, among others. This first is a portion of a traditional Japanese woodcut.

Peter Milton is one of the premier intaglio printers working today...the level of detail is matchless.

Of course, there's Durer, the master.

Last up is an old intaglio print of my own...a rough one, at that!

Introducing...Tallulah !

Please enjoy a tiny glimpse of one of the sweetest little canines I ever did know...it's Tallulah y'all! Check her out in all her puppy glory racing up and down the trails of Georgia's Black Rock Mountain State Park.

Over the line!

It seems that parking at work is always a mess. Today, however, I managed to find the humor in the daily struggle to wedge my little Civic into an overly skinny spot, thus risking driver-side dings and the consequent ulcerative angst. As I cozied into a narrow space, I realized that the excessively beefy truck beside me was parked completely crooked and was fully over the line defining its proper allotment.


The phrase in my head triggered a cinematic memory from none other than the 90's cult classic The Big Lebowski. As they compete (in league play, mind you) at their home bowling alley, Walter played by John Goodman bellows at a graying, ponytailed hippie named Smokey, "Over the line! I'm sorry, but you were over the line, Smokey." Lebowski tells Walter to calm down but that's not in Walter's realm of capabilities. He takes his bowling seriously (especially during league play) and so too should we with parking.


Be you soccer mom, Southern beauhunk, or just plain ol' Joe Public:

Stay between the bloody lines!

Social living is the best...

The title of this post comes from a song of the same name by the reggae artist Burning Spear (a.k.a. Winston Rodney). Somehow, I'd listened to the song for years without ever realizing what it actually meant. Maybe I never had any way to relate to the message of the track. Now, it seems, I'm becoming familiar with the essence of the lyric.


These past years have been a concentrated time for me and my partner of five years. They've been good years but ones with the requisite struggles. One such struggle has been the challenge to branch out into the thriving social scene where we live, an art/pop/rock/university scene with more than its share of hipsters and critics. Even so, it has been a decent place to live and truly one of the only urban places in which we could ever live in this state.



Remarkably, after many months of malaise and near petrifying self-consciousness, we're venturing out into it again. It feels good to meet people, find some commonalities, and realize that you can't 'click' with everyone, that not everyone has a judging eye. I may be the one with the critical bent, frequently sizing up and then internally cutting-down passersby and acquaintances. It happens much, much less with the latter as I discover the individual talents and interesting quirks that almost all of these folks possess to some degree.


As Winston Rodney sings, "Social living is the best". His way is the way of our nature; to talk, look, relate, laugh, listen, think and smile...together. So, in the context of a real society is where I'll endeavor to live, facing insecurity daily and surmounting fear just as much.

The rotating name 'round here...

If one were to only occasionally visit this spot, it would become clear that the name of the site keeps changing. The name change is not a daily occurrence, but so far I've gone through a few. The reason is to reflect a particular mood or message and to also expand my limited Latin vocabulary.

To begin, it was - bioelectrics in statu nascendi - a very literal reflection of this blog at its start which I took to mean - brainwaves in the state of being born.

Then came - panem et circenses - a phrase that I thought particularly appropriate for times in which we live. Its translation into English is - bread and circus - an ancient Roman trick used to divert the attention of the populous away from more pertinent political scandals.

Now we have - a posse ad esse - one with a distinctly Portuguese ring to it. This one means - from being able to being - which I take to me that when once I was able to envision a blog of my own, now I have one in actuality.

So, there you have it - the name game explained!

A strange way to spot a friend...

I had a pleasant discovery today as I sit listening to Pandora. After hearing some guitar work by one of my favorites, Michael Hedges, I began to think of an old friend who also has the chops to play in that modern, talent-intensive style. His name is Chris Stefanciw and, last I heard, he was living in Liverpool, a noteworthy musical environment itself.

As it turns out, he has shown up on at least one recording by a fairly high-profile young artist in the UK. Her name is Sarah Dickson and you can hear her tunes at the link below. Chris is playing guitar, but I'm not sure on which tracks in particular.

I did find another instance of his name in the credits of a recording project by a group called Sanagi. I have no way to confirm that this is indeed more musical evidence of Chris's prowess on the guitar, but I'll bet that it was him on this last, as well.

It was very cool to discover and then listen to this friend's recent work, all at once. Life in the Internet age can indeed be instantly gratifying, this time in a good way.

http://www.sarahdickson.co.uk/

Glen Small and his 70's era Green Machine...

It may be somewhat tricky to discern, but the Green Machine by architect Glen Small, co-founder of SCI-Arc in Los Angeles, was truly a significant residential concept in its day, even if it was never physically realized. All that existed were the scale models and architectural renderings, as far as I can tell.

The idea was simple and carries weight today as a viable set-up for apartment-like residential dwellings. To me, the best part of his design was that each sleeping unit, essentially made up of Airstream-type trailers, was the only private space provided in the complex. The other spaces constituted public areas put in place to force the inhabitants of the Green Machine to socialize and form a community. There was also mention of communal kitchen spaces as well as areas for entertaining and plain old lounging, the latter of which I think they did quite a bit of in the 70's.


It is a bit sad that this brilliant, ecologically progressive innovation was never actually built, in this time of suburban sprawl. No one could ever dismiss Small for not having enough talent or drive, only for failing to climb in bed with the movers and shakers of the day. In a documentary film, My Father The Genius, produced and directed by his daughter, Lucia Small, he admits that it was never his ambition to kiss *ss in order to get things done. His work was what he put forth and any merit he did garner came from it alone and not his business savvy. Regardless, he deserves respect for his contributions to architectural design under the influence of pure sensuality.

http://www.myfatherthegenius.com/

Play Merrills...

My brothers, younger sister and I all used to play this ancient game, sometimes attributed to the Egyptians, when we were young and bored. It is well-documented that rudimentary gameboards have been found carved into stones dating back to the last ice age.

So, there must be something special about the game itself. It's a deceptively simple game of strategy, easier to learn than chess, and appropriate for almost all age of players. Even as kids, we had a great time competing at Merrills, also known by its English name Nine Men's Morris, even if the lengthy tournaments sometimes ended in tearful dejection (mostly the fault of my poor sportsmanship). Seek out the rules and you'll see how straightforward the game can be.

All it takes is a board and eighteen uniform pieces of two different shades (dark and light colored pebbles work well). Check out the stone below for the layout of the game board. Challenge!

The Visitor...

There's been much commentary in this format about The Visitor and still the majority of folks out there think it must be a film about interplanetary travel and alien landings. Nonetheless, I felt the need to post it here; I loved this movie that much. It's such an important examination of the big, important things in life: family, love, passsion for something outside of work, and a feeling of home and belonging. Read more about it at the link below - this guy out of Providence, Rhode Island, did a great job discussing the work. On a note that may need some research, my mother said the lead in this film, Richard Jenkins, is a long lost cousin. Hmmm....really?

http://thevillaborghese.blogspot.com/2008/06/film-review-visitor.html

Pegged...

In reading some Michael Pollan, I quickly realized that I could be easily placed into a descriptive category of characters, as we all could if we were to appear in print, engendering a very certain gamut of qualities. The introductory heading I always wished I embodied would have to be the "slim and severe" also known as the "ruggedly handsome and strong" brand of John. However, and this is where Pollan helped me to see myself, I probably tend to somehow fall into line with the gads of the "softer and rounder" types. In a way, this is how I've always been yet my internal dialogue has never seemed to agree with my outward appearance. Now, as the decades multiply by a growing factor, the gap feels to have widened even further from where I saw myself to where I've landed, with a thump.

The landing is not to say that another flight isn't already on a slow taxi though.