Thinking about Remembering

Indigenous Peoples' Day

It is 5:30 AM here on the east coast of the State of Maine. It is getting chilly, and fall is definitely here, and the preparations for the long winter are taking on a new urgency. I am listening to Ella Fitzgerald this morning, singing ‘new interpretations’ of Cole Porter, with arrangements and orchestra conducted by Nelson Riddle. This album was recorded in 1972, the year I graduated from High School in DeKalb, Illinois.

I found it at a record store in Hanover, NH, when I was returning to my back surgeon at Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center for a check-up shortly after my prostate surgery. I got it for $10, and it is in near mint condition, lovely and clear on my new stereo system. She and the musicians ring through the house with the bop and swing of the music genre and make me feel slightly better than I did when I first got up in the darkness with my right leg in a bit of spasm from the exercises yesterday designed to strengthen the leg in my attempts to try to bring it back to what it once was.

We all know the truth, it won’t be back to what it once was. Just like we all know that the anthem, Make America Great Again, is an illusory promise that is not possible. We know that age and deterioration are real and unrelenting forces in the physical world, but especially in the human condition. But while we know that restoration to our previous state is not possible, we hope for a better tomorrow as we are brought back to ‘happy’ memories by the sounds and images from the past. So, while the false promise of the retrenchment cultural warriors of the day is a mirage, it serves a purpose in that it permits us to engage in hurtful, hateful, and nasty behaviors as we seek to punish and expunge thoughts and people who don’t belong in this fairy tale of what a ‘Great America’ was or could even possibly be.

Suppose you want the true, heartbreaking story of America (both continents). In that case, I suggest the above book, but move fast, as it is likely to be removed from your public library shelves as the new cancel culture takes hold across America. I wonder how much —or if any — of the information in this book would even be mentioned in a high school history class in some states today.

But today is a good day: no newspapers will arrive in Maine today because it is Monday, and papers are not delivered in Maine on Mondays, so no bad news. Flushing of digital news is a short step away, but if you use Facebook, X, or another platform for yours, you don’t have to flush; it is done for you in so many ways.

Actually, today is a good day because I get my physical therapy (pain-alleviation visit) in the morning, and then in the afternoon, my mental therapy with my two crack therapists, Andy, LCSW, and Eleanor, Dog Extraordinaire. So all my physical and mental needs for the week are delivered on Mondays — what else do I really need?

I know, maybe a good conversation with Herman, a woodchuck, who has taken up residence in the backyard, but likes to forage and show off in the front yard. Herman has been enjoying the bountiful fine weather we have been having this fall, although he is not too fond of the tourists (particularly from NY) who have arrived in rather large numbers to view the rather muted shift in the trees' color this year due to the drought. Occasionally, he has a spat with the squirrels, but I think he usually comes out on top.

I am staying indoors most of today, except for my therapy appointments, cleaning up my transition to a new computer, listening to more music, and writing to you, dear readers.

The new PASS amplifier is awesome, and music sounds so clear and warm. It has been quite the auditory revelation. Like, who knew that this sound would be so good! The amplifier is very warm, indeed, as it seems to run at about 95 degrees, so I am going to replace the wooden shelf above it with a metal one as a fire safety measure as soon as I can get one fabricated, even though it is the recommended 4 inches from the actual amplifier.

But also to get my old rear end down cellar, as they say in Maine, to work on some glass projects, the needed colors of sheet glass arrived Friday for a window commission that I am working on (creating a 10X24 inch transom window over another window that is going into the kitchen renovation of my clients. Below are my first set of attempts and tests. I am hoping for bigger and better output this week as I get back into the groove, keeping the vinyl metaphor going.

In working with glass, I often find that less is more, providing clarity of vision and emotion that a more complicated design doesn’t seem to convey to me. Art is a tricky business, and if you have worked in other mediums and other professions, the principle of parsimony frequently applies: among competing ideas that explain something equally well, the simplest one should be selected.

The desire for a simple and undorned aesthetic (not in Trump World at all) or formula is almost always the goal, unless you are attempting to impress, i.e., the baroque period, or just to impress the audience. See below . . .

The first piece above, at the top of this stack of photos, is from the Broad Contemporary Art Museum in LA, the middle is from the National Gallery of Britain, and the one immediately above is from the Royal Academy of Art in London, making the point so absurdly well that more is just that, more of the same and it is so fitting today to have an all white large bumch of guys in front of . . . Well, an excessive amount of shit - and it is just perfect for Indigenous Peoples’ Day, don’t ya think?

Cheers

Come and listen and experiment, and then you will see. (apologies to Cole Porter)

Yours truly

Joel