Jack Turpin

Attended another workshop at an art supply store.  Featured was JACK TURPIN, retired teacher of high school English, P.E. and art, whose workshop subject was art journals.  I was open-mouthed from beginning to end of two lightening quick hours.

He brought in 10 or so journals, talked and showed us pages.  Mesmerizingly detailed pen and ink drawings, some in blue or brown.  Some he'd added just one, at most two watercolors to.  Often he'd written threads of stories in exquisite calligraphy that wrapped around his drawings.  Interspersed were glued in paper mementos at catchy angles: brochures, labels, programs etc.  He said that for the past 12 years or so he'd had two "characters" floating through these journals, cut out as stencils and appearing in various creative forms. Some of his writings were about these characters' interactions with whatever artistic inspirations he was illustrating and the travels he was documenting. The one character's name I remember was Nat O'graphy, taken from an old National Geography cover he'd found and cut out.

I looked up Jack's webpage, JackTurpin.ca.  Very professional and appealing. A lot of his paintings are featured and a number of the drawings from his journals.  What I really liked was reading on his blog about how he paints 3 hours a week with a fellow painter and friend.  For my current season of mostly artistic aloneness this sounds vastly appealing.  Brings up my same old theme and pipe dream of wanting to live in a musicians/artists community where all sorts of creativity synergizes and interesting conversations flow freely and extensively.  

Tillers Folly

    Recently a certain young fiddler I know took part in a summer concert and I, the driver, came along. We headed to a peaceful, tree lined field that sloped down to a fold out stage-in-a-truck. People trickled in leisurely with camp chairs and blankets.  The fiddlers did their thing under the diffused orange glow of a late setting sun.  Surprisingly varied tunes and fiddle styles, even for the youngest students.

    All this to say that the fiddlers were the opening act for a three piece group called Tillers Folly.  New to me.  Blue grassish/folk/country style which doesn't cross my path a whole lot.  In general I don't get to attend a lot of concerts.  Even fewer outdoor ones.  This one, thankfully, turned out to be a winner.  The lead singer's voice reminded me of Christopher Cross for some reason and I didn't expect such pretty melodies and intricate instrumentals.  The mandolin player was also fiddler.

    Soon the lounging crowd relaxed into a soothed, timeless trance.  It was soul medicine.  Soul salve.  I let the songs wash over me, carrying off the day and whatever had muddied up my spirit lately.  Another part of my consciousness said to myself, "This is what I want to do as long as I'm on the planet and beyond if I may." Let music flow into a collective stream and over whoever will receive it.  A solace and echo of sacrament in our fragile days.

 

Color Blind

As I ponder whether to register and actually pay for art courses I'm sampling free demos at the local art supply store this month. Two days ago I attended one by a recently retired tax accountant who has been an established painter since the 70's.  Not only did I appreciate hearing that many of his accounting clients had been artists but was also intrigued when this painter said he was red green color blind.  Apparently this has made him mix unusual greens which many buyers said made his art more interesting.  Even if his wife has to tell him occasionally that his colors have gone very off, he says for him painting is mainly about form and color values, ie. light, medium, and dark. In his opinion the specific colors themselves are almost irrelevant and completely interchangeable.  Wow!  Revolutionary thought for me who is so color sensitive. Have to ponder this for a while.