Gray Pride...

Although I've yet to achieve a full head of silver, I am beginning to realize that my notions on aging have begun to change. This seems to be happening in conjunction with the graying behind my temples and the gradually more frequent discovery of rogue, white strands hiding in my beard.

Somehow, it has become a part of my perception of aging that going gray is something to dread. That perspective may be rooted in childhood memories of my parents faces and the locks of family friends, having watched these people I literally looked up to begin to dimly glow from their heads even after dusk. Now, I'd say if one's mop transforms itself into a shimmer-in-the-dark type of bird's nest, then so it goes. That's how you'll know you've lived through struggle or simply walked through a less-than carefree life.

Unfortunately, I've lost most of my hair already, and the little I have left is starting to tell the tale of my past without any utterance on my part. Soon the salt will begin to win its battle with the pepper and that will be it! Maybe I don't fear this transition because of my early fondness for the comedy of Steve Martin or my juvenile attraction to a friend's buxom mother who began consistently frosting her hair at the first notice of a gray.

At its heart, I think the general "dismay at gray" for most comes not from the change in our superficial identity but the indication that the rest of the physiology stands on the edge of some wicked kind of tumble, an unstoppable, end-over-end plunge into a geriatric abyss with no hope of escape except by means of death.

It might be best to look to those who we regard to have aged gracefully - Paul Newman, for me, is one. He and Helen Mirren would make a lovely elderly couple, playing shuffleboard in slow motion, feathery, flickering locks waving in the breeze. For now, I'll choose to relish the debut of each new player in the drama between darkness and light that unfolds, daily and irreversibly, on my head.

The Devil's Rain

Long ago, I read somewhere that when it rains in full sunshine, it's called the 'Devil's Rain'. Somehow the elements of the name seem contradictory: the sun being positive and hopeful and the rain, a typically dreary part of life. Personally, I seem to see rain as a life-giving element for our garden and the all of Earth's gardens. Too much rain, of course, leads to disaster, failed crops, disease, and misery. Not enough yields just the same.


As for today's so called 'Devil's Rain', I'd say it was exemplary. The droplets were rotund divebombers, smashing the pavement outside the building with all the force that terminal velocity could provide. The backsplashing of each crashing drop gave off its own crown-shaped ringlet of resonance, dimpling the puddles and sending tiny waves in all directions. The sun shined throughout, giving the whole shower an eerie, vibrant quality. Just as quickly as it whipped up, pushed here by the residual energy of a lingering tropical storm, it was over.

The True Originals at Improv Everywhere...

If you've never heard of Improv Everywhere, you'll be pleasantly surprised and amused after a visit to their extensive site full of links to ingenious & creative social projects
(some would came them 'pranks'). These folks incorporate modern technology, social networking, and group dynamics to engineer some very unique and entertaining 'events' mostly in urban areas around the U.S. All of the content is better to see than to read about, clearly, so it's a must to check out their site at http://improveverywhere.com/ . Enjoy the evidence that in the masses, there is plenty of room for fun and infinite power for change.

Some of my favorite participatory works are:

Slo-Mo Home Depot
Sychronized Swimming in Washington Square Park
Cellphone Symphony
No Pants 2K6

Check these out; you'll surely smile!

Tallulah's Eyebrow Calisthenics

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/