Tag Archives: art

Charlie’s Hobby

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June loved Charlie, and June knew Charlie loved her. But June believed Charlie loved the beach more. Early every Sunday morning for the last ten years or so, he picked up his paints, his easel and his canvas and took off for the beach. Five days a week he traded stocks with a large brokerage. Saturday he spent with June and the boys. Sunday was his.

After doing that for almost a year, June became suspicious of her husband. His disappearance on Sunday bothered her. From time to time, she thought Charlie might be having an affair.

June hired a detective. The detective watched Charlie from sun up to sundown and more. For a month he did this.

“Nothing,” he told June. “Your Charlie is one the best husbands I’ve ever seen. He loves you as much as George loved Gracie and Rickie loved Lucy” So June went back to trusting.

For five more years, Charlie did his Sundays. The completed canvases were backing up in the garage. There were over a thousand.

Then one Sunday morning, June woke up late and there was Charlie beside her. Usually by the time she woke, he was gone. She woke him up and asked, “Are you sick?”

“No,” Charlie answered.

June worried about this all week long. She figured it was a one-time thing, so she let it alone. But he stayed at home the next Sunday, and the Sunday after that. All those years of Charlie going to the beach. She had gotten used to it. It had become such a routine. And now it was over.

This went on for two months and it was driving June crazy. Not the concern about Charlie and the beach kind of crazy. The kind of crazy from worry that something bad was getting ready to happen. That kind of crazy.

Everything was the same as it had been for years. Charlie went off to his job every Monday through Friday. Sunday nights and Wednesday nights he took out the garbage. Thursdays were poker night. Fridays were their date night, then sex afterward. All day Saturday, Charlie was helping out at the house or going with June to do this or that or the other. Nothing had changed. Except Sundays.

Finally June suggested Charlie go to see a therapist. Her friend, Ellen, suggested a Dr. Reid. Ellen knew everything about therapists. There wasn’t a mental illness she had not had over the years. Some woman on tv had depression, Ellen had depression. Some man had schizophrenia, Ellen had schizophrenia. Then she’d go to Dr. Reid, and he’d perform a miracle. They’d cure her. It was her hobby.

Charlie, being an agreeable man, acquiesced to the suggestion. If therapy would make his wife happy, he would go to therapy. She made an appointment for him the next Wednesday. It would give him a break from the tedium of his job. Besides a little therapy couldn’t hurt.

He walked into Dr. Reid’s office. The therapist pointed to the couch. “So why are you here, Charlie?” Dr. Reid asked.

Charlie explained that he came at June’s urging. Then he went on to tell the therapist about her concerns.

“So why did you make the change? Stop going to the beach and painting? Why didn’t you change to another location?”

“Doc,” Charlie called the therapist Doc, “I love my wife. She is the only woman I’ve ever loved. I am a routine kind of guy. I like my routines. After a year of marriage, I noticed June getting antsy. Bored, you know. She needed some variety in her life. And I am not Mr. Variety. After giving it some thought, I came up with a solution. I would give her something to worry about. So I went off to the beach. The painting gave me something to do.”

“So why did you quit going to the beach?”

“Same reason. To keep my wife interested. For years, she had this hobby. Why does Charlie go to the beach and paint? Now she has a new hobby. Why did Charlie quit going to the beach? Just about the time she starts getting real bored with this hobby, I’ll have a new one. Let’s just say it brings some sparkle to our marriage.”

Five for Listening: Harry Chapin

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It’s easy to be a great human being. Write great songs, give all your money away and do beaucoup benefit concerts. That was Harry Chapin. And here are five of his great songs.

W.O.L.D.

I Wanna Learn a Love Song

Flowers Are Red

Shooting Star

Sniper

“Ugetsu” Means Peace

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Some years ago I suggested a foreign film to a friend. Her response was no with the comment, “I don’t read my movies.” Since then, I have come across a number of people who respond the same way. How sad.

There are so many great movies they miss by directors such as Fellini and Bergman, Louis Malle and Francois Truffaut, Kurosawa and Roberto Rossellini. They miss “Cinema Paradiso” and “Ikiru”, “Jean de Florette” and “Manon of the Spring”, “Audition” and the Swedish trilogy of “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo”. And, of course, Kenji Mizoguchi’s great film “Ugetsu”.

Like all great films, “Ugetsu” (1953) is not just one story, but several stories layered upon one another. It is the story of how an artist, Genjuro, must suffer in order to become a true master of his art. It is the story of ambition. Genjuro wants to get rich by selling more and more pottery, no matter the risk to himself or his family. His neighbor, Tobee, wants foolishly to be a samurai. It is a ghost story. And a story of love and forgiveness.

“Ugetsu” is a particular appropriate film for an understanding of the refugees fleeing  Ukraine, North African and the Middle East. Families fleeing war because they don’t know whether they will be blown up, beheaded, tortured, gassed or robbed, the women definitely raped. All they want is to live in peace and raise their families.

“Ugetsu” takes place in a civil-war-torn sixteenth century Japan. One day one army is on top. The next day, another army. The only thing these armies have in common is the soldiers are lawless, plundering the pleasants, raping their women, and forcing the men into hard labor gangs.

Within a little over an hour and a half, Kenji Mizoguchic has created an epic film, and yet a very human one, that would take another director three plus hours.

One final thought. It amazes me the number of great films that created shortly after World War II. Many of the directors came from two former enemies of the Allies, Italy and Japan, and working with almost no resources. Films such as “Open City”, “The Bicycle Thief”, “Rashomon”, and “Ugetsu”. It had to be a heady time for the freedom those directors finally had.

“Nighthawks”

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Andy entered the large cavern that was The Bookstore. It was his favorite place of all his favorite places. A world of treasures, and there was always a new treasure to find. Stacks and stacks of books, new and used, and five floors of them. He hurried past the cashiers. There were three of them, and always ringing up this or that customer.

He bounded up the stairs to the third floor after his favorite book. Someone borrowed his copy. Not just someone. His girlfriend, Tallis. She returned his book of Edward Hopper paintings with a third of the pages missing. She didn’t even apologize. “Here is that damned fool of a book you’re always bugging me about,” her lips said. He was deaf. “I don’t like it, and I don’t like you.”

He came to the shelf where the American artists were found. Where he first found the book of Hopper’s paintings. There were Andrew Wyeths, Grant Woods, Jackson Pollocks, Georgia O’Keefes. “No Hoppers. I can’t believe it. They’ve sold out. No ‘Nighthawks’.” There was a truckload of disappointment in his voice. He tried several other shelves to make sure he had the right shelf for the Hoppers. They were all gone.

Andy made his way back down the poorly lit, narrow alleyway of an aisle and toward the main thoroughfare where he knew there would be a clerk to help him. “May I help you, Mr. Harris?” The young female clerk recognized him from his many visits. He choked back his frustration and got out the word, “Hopper?”

“We’re sold out. There is a big conference on Hopper at the University and all the bookstores are sold out. We can order a copy for you if you like.” Her lips moved slowly so that he would get the words.

He shook his head no, then was back down the stairs and crashing out into the light of the midday sun. The light hurt his eyes. He blinked, then put on his sunglasses. He went to his left and toward the university. He had to see the painting, “Nighthawks”, one last time. One last time before his eyes gave out. One last time before he was blind.

Andy remembered the very first time he saw it. It was the day his hearing disappeared. His mother handed him a book on Hopper, her favorite artist, and he opened it right to the two-page spread of the painting. Until that moment, he had been frightened. He was going deaf. “Nighthawks” settled him into the courage to accept his fate. He was pulled into the painting and his isolation, his loneliness was their isolation, their loneliness. Many times since he had gone in search of that diner or a diner like it and never found it. Now he was searching for the painting for one last look.

Things were beginning to blur as he walked through the gates of the University and toward the conference. Would he make it in time? His walk changed into a run. And finally he found the auditorium.

The auditorium was filled with conference attendees. At the front and on the stage was “Nighthawks”. Andy could barely see it. But he could see enough of it to know that it was his painting. Each step toward the stage was lightened by his excitement. It might be the last thing he saw but he was going to see it. The audience watched, entranced, frozen, staring at the gray-haired man. The speaker stopped his talk.

Andy touched the steps to the stage, then he was on the stage, one thing on his mind. “Nighthawks.” Then he was in front of the painting. The canvas was large enough to give his eyes their fill of the pleasure he felt. There were the three people having their coffee. His friends, his parents who always made him feel loved. Loved. Tears blurred his eyes. Everything went dark. Everything fell into the darkest night.

But then he saw it. “Nighthawks” on the dark canvas of his blindness. And he knew he would never be alone again.

Uncle Bardie’s Spotlight Movie: How hard can it be?

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Once a week on Friday, Uncle Bardie celebrates the creativity in others by shining a Spotlight on a movie or a creator. This week’s Spotlight Movie is “Whiplash“ (2014):

Many of us, and that includes me, settle for the mediocre when it comes to our art. We have the potential but we’re not willing to put in the time. We’re just not up to practice, practice, practice. We wait for the inspiration to strike us. As far as the work goes, commitment is not a road we’re willing to travel.

Not so for Andrew (Miles Teller). He doesn’t want to settle for being just another drummer. Drums is his religion and he goes after his art the way some people go after prayer. When Fletcher (R. J. Simmons) to join his class, he thinks he has hit pay dirt. He can’t believe the heaven he’s going to be in.

But Fletcher doesn’t promise Andrew heaven. He doesn’t promise him anything. And he definitely doesn’t promise a “good job.” Instead Fletcher asks a commitment and a perseverance he may not be able to give.

Is Fletcher a great teacher or is he a sadist? That’s for the viewer to decide. But “Whiplash” does make us think about what we haven’t given to our art.