Dad Always Said, "Day Three is the Hardest"

For some reason, I seem to remember my dad telling me that the third day of any new season is hardest. You're tired. You're sore. You're run down. It's only the beginning, and you have so far to go.

Well I haven't had a conference period for the past three days, instead spending time with the varsity team in the mornings. I also showed up to my Electronic Media class yesterday to find more students than computers, and no software loaded on the computers for students to use. So there have been challenges, but I am still enjoying this new school year. I think I'll type this, though, and then head to bed.

There have been bright spots. My art history kids seem pretty sharp and with it. We've already started using VoiceThread and I really like it. It gives immediate feedback on what kids are thinking and learning. Some of you have such brilliant minds that I'd really like it if you would comment on our class threads. If you're interested, send a comment and I'll include you on the email distribution for each time a new thread is begun.

I know it's a short update, but it will have to do. I still need to get up tomorrow morning to make sure we're ready to go in Art History, and I need to plan an alternate assignment for Electronic Media, because I just know things will not be up and running by tomorrow. Keep checking back, though. I'll try to keep posting.

The Beginning of the End

Or is it simply "the beginning?"

I always lament the end of summer, but when the beginning of school comes, I'm always ready and excited. Today was our first day of inservice. I can't honestly say that anything profound happened, but it was great to hang out with the old CHS crew. Some of my best friends at school are in the Fine Arts department (of course all the art teachers are great, along with Josh, Bobby, and Taylor; she's the one pictured above and is the captain of our co-ed volleyball league team). It is great to be Fine Arts, because we feel free to be wild and have fun. So when it came time to take department pictures, we grabbed some wigs and canes from the prop room and snapped some amazing pictures. As you can see from the picture above, my look was not all that unusual, as it turned out. When I saw the pictures I realized it was more of a throw-back look to the middle of last year. Funny stuff.

So tomorrow is convocation, and I'm sure more wackiness will ensue. I just hope I have time to make all the copies I need, get all the work done, and begin to feel a bit more prepared for this year.

If

More wise words from father to sons.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

(Rudyard Kipling)

The Summer is Officially Over

Today is my last day of summer. Tomorrow I start meetings again. On the 24th, school begins once more. I will say, however, that the final moments of any summer make me grasp passionately at any opportunity to show love to my family. It's as though I see something slipping through my fingers and, realizing that it is precious, attempt to close my fingers tightly on it, if only to squeeze as much out of the final grains of sand as I can.

Well, last night gave me a great opportunity. I was aided greatly by a cup of coffee that kept me wired well into the wee small hours of the morning (which now feels like quite a mistake). If you did not know, or did not notice from Google's home page text yesterday, the Perseids meteor shower hit its peak last night. I love shooting stars! There's always been something mystical about them, so I was very excited. I went out alone at first, trying to cure my caffiene high with a little rhubarb pie and Lienenkuegel's Berry Weiss (the BEST beer I've ever tasted; it's fruity and wonderful...a summer favorite). While I ate, I saw probably a dozen shooting stars. And no ordinary ones, either: they were so bright they outshone any star, so intense you could follow them all the way across the sky, and the trace of their streaking light could still be seen faintly as you returned to your original place of looking.

So even though it was 1 am, I grabbed the kids (and Heather, who came in a short while later saying, "I've seen two. I'm going to bed.") and laid them out on the lawn. Aydan woke enough to enjoy it and get almost as excited as me. We would turn and smile about the particularly bright ones: "Did you see that!? That was awesome!" Aydan asked at one point, "Are they really giant, bright balls of burning gas?" and I countered my normal, educational urge to inform him of the way things work and what a meteor actually was. Instead, I referred to "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader" by C.S. Lewis, which we just finished reading. A retired star named Ramandu tells Eustace, a practical British boy who knows that stars are just gas in his world, that even in our world, a star is not simply that. One of the things I love about shooting stars is their rarity, their energy, their mysticality. Aydan and I shared that together last night until his eyelids began to droop and he said he wanted to go back to bed. Brennan, however, never woke up, despite my best efforts. Still I count it as a great shared experience.

One interesting thing I was reminded of last night is that Aydan rarely replies to the statement, "I love you" with "I love you too" but rather "I know." In an emotionally shallow way, it's kind of sad that he doesn't spit back affirmation, and never has, since he began speaking. However, if he truly does know it, how much greater a response is his? Even if my kids never love me, I will be satisfied if they respond to me that they know I love them. So I sat watching the shooting stars, feeling blessed and thanking God that I too know he loves me. More than anything that's what shooting stars mean to me.

Ladies and Gentlemen, We Have Decided to Pee

Waiting to make a decision, as it turns out, is making a decision. In the past several months (probably stretching back over the course of many years, in reality), Heather and I have talked about what it means to be the church. Our views and convictions have been shaped and solidified, but we felt unsure what the next step would be. I really felt like we were damned if we did, damned if we didn't, stuck between a rock and a hard place...and all that proverbial stuff.

The issue came down to one simple, sizable event: the completion of our "church's" four million dollar, brand spankin' new building. The first time we attempted to worship in it, I could not stop laughing, and Heather could barely keep from crying. It was beautiful, polished, and a dazzling production--and that made both of us uneasy.

Now let me pause to say two things. First, for any who might read this and think I'm bashing our church: please don't get me wrong, I am proud of Hillside and its leadership for following the direction they feel called to by God. "Different strokes for different folks," as they say. It takes all kinds of "churches" to reach all kinds of people. May God bless them as they are obedient to him.

Second, for any who can't see a problem yet: $4 million was just the cost to finish construction. Several years back, while looking at the budget for another amazing church, which we still love and respect, Irving Bible Church, we realized that something like $30,000 a month was being spent on utilities. A month. Utilities. That did not sit well with me.

So there we were, feeling like we, as individual followers of Jesus, would have difficulty attending/contributing to such a "church", and feeling like there was no where to turn. Where is it done differently? Even small "churches" are into the same things and doing things the same ways. Start-ups? Same. Emergent? Same (but with more candles, and hipper vibes). Older, dying churches? Same (but somehow seeming more authentic and somehow still endearing to me). So what did we do? Well, as Francisco D'Anconia asked Hank Reardon, "What would you say to Atlas if you saw him holding the world, legs buckling, bruised and bleeding?" Many today, like Reardon, feel, "What could you say? That's the way it is." We agreed more with Francisco: "I'd tell him to shrug." So we did. We took our ball and went home. We decided we weren't going to play, if that's how the game went. (I realize I'm sounding pretty rotten and selfish at this point, but I trust you'll understand it is simplification, forgive me, and keep reading.)

Well we went home, but there was nothing waiting for us there. That's the hard place compared to the rock we just left. And my parents wisely counseled that we needed to keep our kids connected to the church. And our kids themselves started asking, "Why don't we go to "church" anymore?" And we told them it was because we are the church (hence all the quotations used around that word prior to this point), and we were working on a better way to be that or do that...or something. And my brother wrote about the lack of anything new in ministry (or anything really, according to Solomon), just as we were thinking we were pretty slick and knew it all and had come up with all the answers.

But it was precisely at this moment that we first met with Darrell and his house church. "Organic ministry" they call it. (That's something of a buzz word these days, so I'm naturally inclined to hate it, but that's the name, nonetheless.) He encouraged us. His thoughts and reflections, along with the other godly people mentioned above, helped refine and humble us. Still, we also felt affirmed and emboldened. We knew we were on the right track.

So today, just as my brother has once again offered his spot-on assessment of changes in ministry, we met with Darrell again and committed to enter into a coaching relationship with him. Essentially, we are "starting a church." We have decided to pee, and not get off the pot and go back to a conventional congregation.

Now it makes me very nervous to say we're "starting a church." I think it is because I have all those associations which might be expected from growing up in "the church." I feel I need sanctioning from a denominational body. I become afraid of failure, for something like 80% of church plants never get going and die. I wonder about how I'll have time to plan, where we'll meet, what we'll do, what will be available for the kids, etc. etc. But I think the clincher today was that what we are endeavoring to do will be something else entirely.

Ever seen "The Blue Brothers"? At one point they say, "We won't get caught, we're on a mission from God." One of my favorite t-shirts bears their faces and that saying. I'm adopting the emblem of the Blues Brothers, because that sums up my feelings. We are simply recommitting to the mission of Jesus. We plan to be intentional about all relationships; prayerful and determined to bring the presence of God with us into those things we are already doing. I know this may sound crazy, and I expect to take some flack for it, but that's our hope. We plan to see God call unbelievers to himself. We plan to study his word and pray with others. We plan to make disciples who make disciples. We plan to fellowship with others as we enjoy mutual pasttimes. We plan to worship, alone and together. What is freaky, and what will get people concerned, no doubt, is that this is not structured. There is no weekly time allotment for this way of living. So on this point, I will concede that we have given up on "church." But if you read what we are doing, can anyone say that we are not living as the church?

I am not so foolish as to think I've got it all together. I am very fearful of Hebrews 10. I'm very fearful of lethargy and self-delusion. Quite frankly, I am scared of "returning to ministry." I feel very unequal to the task, not even sure if God would be right in using me. But at a certain point we all must pee of get off the pot. If you're a believer, you can't decide to "go to church" but neglect the Great Commandment (Mt. 22:37) and Great Commission (Mt. 28:18-20). We can't leave that up to the paid clergy. The only way I ever "left the ministry" was in allowing myself to become selfish and complacent. If you're a believer you cannot...or at least should no...leave the ministry. That's the mission we're all called to. To love others, to serve them, to meet them in their darkest places and deepest needs and bring them to (get ready for this...hold on to your hats) JESUS...not "the church." When they know and love HIM they become the church, and where they gather with others is their meeting; how they live is their worship. I want to be on that mission...not sit complacently in my dutiful spot. "We're on a mission from God."

Thanks for reading. If you haven't heard the progression of our thinking lately, I hope I didn't shock you too completely! If you love me and are concerned about my salvation, I hope we talk soon. If you feel like you need to share something with me, express concerns, offer insight or provide any type of edification that might lead to my greater service to the King, please comment or call. I love you all. Let's fight the good fight.

New Technology

In preparing for the new school year, I've opened a couple new accounts:

http://voicethread.com/share/409/

and

http://www.box.net/files

The first will allow me to post a picture or video clip and have students comment on it. The second should allow me to distribute files that students will need in order to complete assignments.

I'm not really sure how I'll use them yet, but they seem pretty promising. I'm not sure why anyone reading this blog would want to know this, unless they want a glimpse into what I'm teaching (heck...you could probably "audit" my art history course just by following along for a year).

So I'm not sure what I said, but I said something....

Apparently, Shooting Kids With Pellet Guns Will Get Me Sued...which I did not know

We have had much fun in the past week, so I thought I'd put up some pictures. But before I do, I want to assure you that I am having an absolutely THRILLING time in bus driver training this week. As a basketball coach this year, I may need to drive the team to games, and as such will need by CDL license to operate the vehicle. The training is mind-numbing, and some of the characters in the training are almost too much to bear. My partner in crime, Josh, bailed on me, but I have had the pleasure to get know the JV coach we'll be working with. She is very sweet and has a good sense of humor, so I'm even more confident that this year of coaching will be enjoyable. However, we sat next to a rather rotund man today who continuously burped throughout the class. Now he did say excuse me, but several times it was preceded by things like, "D*** son of a b****" and then "excuse me." That, my friends, is manners, for ya.

Then the gentleman on my other side was a very loquacious, long-serving bus driver (but, I ask myself, if he's driven for so long, why be in a beginners training?) who desperately wanted to pass on his sage advice to anyone who would listen. Unfortunately, I was a captive audience. Hearing I was a coach, he assured me I would have an easy time controling students on the bus, since there will be another coach or monitor with me to keep people in line. Since I didn't really want to talk to him, I was being overly sarcastic, and told him that I agreed it would be easy, especially since we were planning on having the second coach sit in the back and shoot disruptive kids in the head with a pellet gun. But my humor was lost on him, and he warned me that I might get sued if I did that. Trying again, I told him that I didn't think it would be a problem, since it has always worked for me in the classroom. I think he finally got it, or more likely he just had to go pee, because he got up and left. When he left, Shelby expressed my thoughts: our girls won't be easy to control due to the presence of another adult; they will be easy to control because if they try anything, we will make them run until their legs fall off.

Other than that, I'm still trying to paint. Today I worked for a bit on a new still life, and ending my time by scraping everything off. I want to get paintings done, but I also want them to look good AND I want to be improving my method as I paint. That was not the case today, so instead of keeping it, I scrapped it all. I think I have some shots on other paintings you've seen in unfinished stages, so I'll post those. Also, I'll post the next round of field trip shots. Last week we went to Turner Falls in Oklahoma, and we had a blast. The only downside was an incident on the second day. Aydan tried to jump off a ladder (about 10-15 feet up) that went from the swimming hole (a dammed up portion of a river) to the base of a waterslide (see below). The ladder was heavy metal, anchored to the rock "cliff" that lead up out of the water and terminated into a concrete slab. The catch is, there was a gap between the concrete and the top rung of the ladder--a gap just big enough for a skinny 9-year-old boy, apparently. Aydan slipped on the rung, and fell between the wall and the ladder, catching himself by his chin. It split open, and he chipped his two front teeth. All in all, it could have been worse, so we're thankful for that. We opted not to go with stitches, since he'd likely have a scar either way, and I didn't feel he'd need stitches for the cut to heal. As for the teeth, we're scheduled to see the dentist next week.

So there's a quick update. And now for the pictures....

"Not I"
(sorry for the crappy pic; also, the right side is now done as well)

"Tragedy"
(10"x14")

The chipped teeth and the cut

Another ridiculous face to add to my previous one (playing football with the boys)

my blessings

Aydan on the slide that would cause him so much pain a day later.
I was going to load more pics, but if you want to see them, check out Heather's Facebook page.

The Boy's Own Paper

"Don't worry about genius and don't worry about not being clever. Trust rather to hard work, perserverance, and determination. The best motto for a long march is 'Don't grumble. Plug on.'

You hold your future in your own hands. Never waver in this belief. Don't swagger. The boy who swaggers--like the man who swaggers--has little else that he can do. He is a cheap-Jack crying his own paltry wares. It is the empty tin that rattles most. Be honest. Be loyal. Be kind. Remember that the hardest thing to acquire is the faculty of being unselfish. As a quality it is one of the finest attributes of manliness.

Love the sea, the ringing beach and the open downs.

Keep clean, body and mind."

--Sir Frederick Treves (London, September 2, 1903)

I found this in a book at the library, called "The Dangerous Book for Boys." Just thought it was great advice for my sons, so I thought I'd share for anyone else whose sons it might benefit.

A Preview of Things to Come

Much has happened recently and will happen in the near future, so I hope to be posting soon. For now, check out this Money Magazine article, indicating Keller's rank as #7 on the best places to live (small town) in America. The thing that makes me flip out, however, is that the shot they chose as a synecdoche of Keller, TX, is a picture of the covered bridge directly across the street from out neighborhood (probably a couple hundred feet from our front door!). This the bridge Lulu and I trudge across each morning as we take our walks through Bear Creek Park (the city parks being one of the amenities Money cites as a benefit to living in Keller). Anyway, I just thought it was amusing that the image "hit so close to home."

Um....WOW

When I saw this shot--which Heather had taken while the boys and I played football at Aydan's birthday party--I fell on the ground laughing, and couldn't stop for several minutes.

This is the perfect depiction of a "gym class hero": ruthlessly dominating an unequally matched opponent. Look at that face! The full extension! A grown man crushing a 9-year old! Sad. Hilarious.

Freedom

I'd like to say we celebrated Independence Day with patriotic gusto.

I'd LIKE to say that...but I can't.

We did enjoy July 3rd with our old pal Jilly Weeks and her man Rob. We went to the lake and watched fireworks. It was great--not too hot, not too crowded...just perfect.

Then today we went to a Fort Worth Cats (minor league) baseball game. It was really fun. We got to see a paraplegic skydiver, both boys "caught" foul balls (actually, we sat behind the opposing team's bullpen, and the kind back-up pitchers tossed each boy a foul that bounced down the third base line. The first was something like the second pitch of the game), there were fireworks following the game, and the boys got to run the bases at the very end.

So we did have our fair share of fireworks. We did enjoy ourselves. Just not on the Fourth.

No, the fourth of July for us was more about securing the continued freedom, and the ability to pursue life, liberty and happiness, for "Chester, Old Buddy, Old Pal." This is what the boys named the screech owl they found lying under the bush next to the neighbor's house (adjoining our front yard). This time of year, the boys love hunting for cicada molts (that crusty shell an immature bug sheds in order to gain its wings and adult body), and will amass them in huge amounts. While looking for some yesterday, Aydan almost stepped on a bird. They ran to get me immediately, saying they had found an owl. I didn't believe it at first, but they're pretty savy about their birds, so I knew that if it wasn't an owl, it was still something special. They were right. Lying there, legs splayed out behind it, was a little screech owl. They're not very big to begin with, but he could probably have fit in my cupped hands. As you can see, he's not covered with the downy feathers of a juvenile, but his head is still mostly fuzzy. I'm thinking he might be a young flyer, not yet completely mature.
Now let me tell you, dear reader, that I did face something of a moral dilemma. First, I wanted to keep it as a pet. This, as I quickly learned, is not only illegal, it is quite ill-advised. Next, I wanted to...how can we put this delicately...retain it as a specimin. I know, I know...it's horrible. But I thought to myself, "If it's injuried and likely to die, why let some animal devour it? Why let those feathers and his skull go to waste?" But I will quickly assure you that, though I may be slightly bizarre and morbidly fixated on animal craniums, I do have my standards, and I will NOT kill any animal to make it a mere collection item. So I found a wildlife rehabilitation shelter in the area and took him there (and yes, I did feel a profound sense of loss after leaving him there and letting him "slip through my hands"; but I did the right thing). After the hour-plus trek to get there, the woman who examined him said something about a back injuries. Who knows if he'll pull through.

That being said, I will also update you on my latest painting. It should be clear from the above story that I do not endorse, nor do I participate in the killing or keeping of federally protected animals. So when you see the image I have painted, know that I did find this cardinal lying dead on the side of the road, and that I am merely "borrowing" his carcass to paint this picture. Just covering my bases with Uncle Sam should Big Brother be watching.

The set-up
(the bird's a bit frozen at this point--had to keep him in the freezer until I was ready to paint this)

Here's the block-in. The wing is thawed enough to be moved.

I tried to simplify things a bit for this one. (I was looking for a more successful outcome.) The background is smooth and dark. The colors and the areas of light and shadow are more controlled.

Here's a progress shot. Not sure if you can tell, but the set-up is kind of a nightmare (tin foil blocking light; the light source on the painting is too direct and reflective). Still, I'm making it work.

Had to "erase" (scrape off) the head at this point: the bird had thawed out even more by now and his head had drooped down almost to the table.

Here's a detail. The back end is coming along.

Progress: Tail is done, wing is on its way.

The bird is done (or at least it came to the point where I had to call it quits).

Fantastic? Not sure about that. Getting better? Yeah. I'm more satisfied with this one than with that atrocious Italian Still Life I did earlier. Hopefully I'll finish it tomorrow and be able to take a final picture with good lighting.

We Will Forever Be Indebted to Seals and Croft

We will forever be indebted to Seals and Croft for the lyric, "Summer breeze, makes me feel fine..." (although I never knew before, and in fact just learned, that the remainder of that chorus is "blowing throught the jasmine in my mind." What does that mean?). The summer breeze, though it may blow less frequently, and when it does, is hot and scorching during late June in Texas, does in fact make me feel fine. This is the definitive moment of the year; that point that never ceases to affirm that I made the correct decision in becoming a teacher. This is when I get paid to do nothing.

And herein lies the dilemma, and the reason for my post. Today was a blissful day. Unstructured, and yet full. Largely unrushed (except for the evening), and yet productive in its easy-going time. I took Brennan out for donuts and coffee, and we played Madlibs. I took the boys to the library, and upon our return we read for close to two hours (on and off). We had practices and games to close the day, and then I spent an unhurried couple of hours discipling an eager, godly young man. It was perfect. It was fulfilling in its connection to others and investment in the lives of those dearest to me. And it all came about as a result of these simple words: "I don't have anything else I need to do." If it were a school night, I would have needed to get to bed, and so would have cut short my discipleship time. If I had to teach classes the next day, I would likely have spent more time reading "Gardner's Art Through the Ages" than I did "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader" and "Treasure Island."

But I DO have things to do. I feel like I (and my students) would benefit from my reading a bit more about art and history. I know I need to expand my expertise in Photoshop for a new class I teaching next year. I will never get 10 paintings (let alone 20) done this summer if I don't regularly get out to the studio. And yet I sleep in. I take naps. I do nothing. I relax. I enjoy other pasttimes (as you may notice from the abundance of posts lately). And these are not bad, but am I just procrastinating? Will I get to August and find nothing was accomplished that needed to be? I also spend time being with my kids: making bows and arrows, hunting red-shouldered hawk feathers, reading stories of adventure and character, watching them play sports and adoring their personalities and senses of humor. I spend time with my wife: taking her on extravagant dates, playing volleyball together (something like 3 or 4 times in the last four days!), and even just watching TV. I make myself available to friends, and have time for spiritual development. These things are great, and I need the summer to "catch up" on these things; to spend intense amounts of time on them and realize that, yes, these are the most important things in my life.

I guess what I'm saying is that I sometimes lose the line between relaxing into the flow of what is truly essential as well as taking some time to just REST, and being a bum who never gets out of bed, never gets anything done, and somehow justifies it with the notion of resting (from the past and for the coming school year). Or to put it another way, I have a hard time refusing the things that are most essential the time that they truly deserve (and which, for much of the year,take a backseat to the monster that is school) JUST for the sake of continuing to be "productive" in my "off time." I want to get things done: painting and preparing for the (all-too-steadily-advancing) school year. I want to NOT do things, in order to be with Jesus, family and friends.

The dilemma, I'm afraid, is not new to me. I remember an episode of the NBC comedy "Ed" (about the bowling alley lawyer, not the horse), in which Ed is forced to choose between the writings of Thoreau (one of my favorites) and an inventor who had a near-death experience. Their approaches could not be more different: life is short, so choose only what is essential (or to quote my beloved "Walden":"Simplify, simplify") vs. life is short, and you only get one go-around, so don't miss anything...try it all (as expressed in Willie's book, "Do Everything"). I cannot, nor have I been able to do everything, though I continue to try. I guess I'm bringing myself back to what is basic. Simplifying. Thanks for listening...it's been helpful to hash it out.

So tomorrow I'll wake up and take my dog for a walk. I'll paint in the studio for a few hours. I'll play with the kids. And I won't get hung up on the fact that I can't spend HUGE chunks of time on everything, or that I can't get something done in one fell swoop (which is a crippler for me!). I'll chip away at each important thing a little at a time. Each thing will get a little time. And in the end, another summer day will pass away. Hopefully when I reach this point tomorrow I will "not find that I had not come to live. "

Just a Little Quote to Brighten Your Day

Spoken by my dear son Aydan, while we were in public, at a somewhat quiet moment:

"Dad...you have gray hairs in your mohawk."

It's not everyday you hear something that amazing.

Field Trip 4

Yesterday we went to a blackberry patch to pick our own blackberries. When we go to the lake, the boys and I love finding our own wild blackberries to pick and eat. Heather came up with the idea, but we were all eager to go.

So we arrived as soon as they opened and picked a whole bucket full. I've never seen such big, sweet blackberries. To fill the buckets, we had to mix in some smaller berries, but we were told they would be excellent for baking.

(this was entirely unprompted...AH! He makes me so proud!)

Now I'm not one for spending a lot of time outside during the Texas summer. I've frequently commented that if there's not a pool within 20 feet--or if I'm not actively involved in TRYING to sweat, like playing sand volleyball--then I don't particularly want to swelter out of doors. But I thought 9 am wouldn't be too bad, and it wasn't; but after 2 hours of picking (and the boys did awesome!), we were all pouring sweat and ready to go. Brennan probably got a bit too hot and didn't have enough to drink, because he started feeling sick and got a little pale, but we got him in the car, stuffed him with food and water and he quickly resumed his perpetual wriggling and dancing in the back seat.

Despite the heat, it was such a great summer day. Berry picking. Bright, sunny and hot. We went to the pool to cool off. Then, to finish the day, we grilled brats and baked a blackberry cobbler.
These summer field trips are a blast.

Field Trip 3

I don't normally make a big deal of Father's Day, but something about this past one was special. It wasn't the activities. It was a profound sense of thankfulness. I truly am blessed to have a wonderful wife who has given me two amazing kids. Just being with them this past Sunday was so fun and so beautiful. I am very grateful to have them.

That being said, we had planning on doing something fun for the boys birthdays (since this is the first year we've split their parties, we thought we'd still do a combined celebration between the dates). We took advantage of the special day to head to Medieval Times. From my perspective, it's a trap, designed to force parents into spending money based on their pleading children's demands while captive, waiting for a show. The show itself was kind of chessey: poor acting, less-than-thrilling stunts, sappy romance, pseudo-Old English, etc. However, the food was delicious and plentiful, and the enjoyment the boys experienced was worth the trip. In their minds they were watching a thrilling tournament with true knights.

All in all it was a very good day.

Field Trip 2

I ventured across to the other side of Dallas to spend some time with my extended family--those known as "The Texas Liechty's." Emil and Lorne had invited me to celebrate their mother, Jean's, 80th birthday with them. While I was at Emil's somewhat palatial estate, I chatted with several relations (my favortie conversation was with Zack, who had little nicknames for each member of his family: "Bear," "Porky" and "Tootsie"--his sons and wife, respectively). Since I knew some of you might enjoy seeing "the fam" I snapped pictures with as many as I could. When I got home, I realized I didn't get shots of Jean or Emil and Sherri. Oh well...maybe next time.

Me with 2 of Emil's sons: Spencer (left) and Skyler (right)...and a Puma
Spencer again, and Zack, the child of...
Mary and (oh yes, it is! the legendary) Jim Siverude (is that how you spell it?)
While he did not call me "Hon" at any point, Jim did manage to pat me on the stomach/side during the 20 seconds we conversed. Awesome.

Me and Jeff (son of John; all the others pictured were Paul &Jean's kids/grandkids).
I also failed to get a picture with Gina (Jeff's sister) and Larry. I was distracted as I talked to Jeff, because he really looks a lot like my cousin Nate.


Me and Steve

Me, Lorne & Mary

(I also met some of their kids, Sarah and Harlan, but didn't get pictures with them. As you can see from Jeff and Lorne--and believe it or not, Emil had one too--I apparently did not get the Hawaiian shirt memo.)

Me, Marlin & Amy

(Again...failed to get pictures of their kids, Jordan, Michael and Grace)

So that was my trip. In all actuality, it was an enjoyable way to spend a Saturday evening.

Field Trip

Johnny and I took a field trip today: to the Dallas Nature and Science Museum. We were allowed by the collections supervisor to view the (not for public display) ornithology collection. So I took tons of pictures, did a sketch of a goose, and then came home. Since I had the camera out, I took pictures of my 3 most recent paintings. I used a tripod and natural light, so hopefully they appear a little better than my previous attempt (with "Thistles").

While I was at it, I pulled a couple of pictures out of the archives, just to gauge my progress a bit. The apple was done while I was training with Jon, during my charcoal stage (that is, before I started my training in paint). The tangerine was done at the tail end of my training, and the Italian still life was started last summer, prior to the thistles, but was completed after (just a couple days ago).

It should also be noted that I changed my ISO setting after one photograph, and now looking at them, I think they may be too dark. I've included the first version of the tangerine (the lighter one) which shows a pretty accurate depiction. That means that, although I did not alter the contrast on the photos (though I should have...they're a little dark; still, I didn't feel like it), they may actually look worse in real life. All in all, I'm pretty frustrated these days, but still, posts like this help me to remember that I'm still practicing (and I haven't actually done that much, really) and that I have made some small progress.

(Apple Study)
Very rough, early attempt. Still, I think the value was better in this than in some that I've just finished!

(Tangerine)
There is some progression here. At least it looks more "finished" than the apple.

(Tangerine)
This is probably closer to what it actually looks like. It's also likely to be a truer representation of the lighting/lightness for all the pictures.

(Thistles)

(Italian Still Life)

Finally, the following painting is not yet finished, but I hope to complete it in the next several days. I'll be sure to post a final picture when it's done.

("Not I")

("Not I", detail of face)
When I look at this I can't decide whether to laugh or be furious. The eyes are so messed up it's laughable. I should go back and fix them...but I probably won't. I also kind of laugh at the hair and its crazy shape (but I'm sure that's the way it looked on the day I painted it!). I'm not sure if you can see it, but if you look to the right of the head you'll see a circular line incised on the gold background. This will become the nimbus (halo) behind the head.

("Not I", detail of hand)
There are problems here, too. Most notably with the bent fingers and with some of the color. The interesting side note to this one is that when I returned, after several weeks, to finish the forearm I could no longer make my hand take the shape of this pose, due to the cut on my wrist. I considered including the cut for a brief moment--you know, as a stigmata kind of thing--but quickly abandoned that idea. You can see the background here is sketchy and needs to be completed.

On Be(com)ing an Artist

On April 18th of this year, while attending the State VASE (Visual Art Scholastic Event) competion with my students, I wrote the following.

"Charlie Darwin" is a perfect song for melancholic, contemplative introspection. These VASE times are so challenging. Such amazing artwork. Such fantastic ideas. It is mildly inspiring, and mainly depressing. As a teacher, I realize my shortcomings when it comes to producing great students artists, great artwork. As an artist, I feel a pulsing, a need to create--to do something "better than these kids could do." But I then feel paralysis to do so. Fear freezes me. This great fear of not being as good as I want to be; of trying and failing; of getting close and being frustrated. I know very simply what to do: draw daily (lifelike portraits, color studies, etc.). But... "But": Time. Lack of Skill. Fear...

In "Watchmen" Ozymandius has the mental capacity to "see the strings that control the system." Is it possible to use brain power to sort through, figure out, discern the mysteries, control oneself and the events swirling around? I want to answer the question, "How do I 'Be creative'?" What do I have that is both central to who I am and what I want to create, and simultaneously revolutionary, inventive, and responding to the pendulum shift that will inevitably swing away from Postmodern art? I don't want to be Sargent or Schmidt. Then again, I don't want to be Hirst. Maybe more like Walker or Ford: using Sargent to be me--to do something, to say something, to think through something. And God forbid that I take some graduate course someday and some professor looks at my work and "sees" ten other artists in my work (referencing them only to impress himself and others). Wow...I don't want to become unteachable, but I don't want to be told, but to figure it out.

Those were my thoughts. For a time, as I studied art history and looked at the present art scene, I found myself desiring to be innovative and even famous. I wrote about this to my friend Drew, and his words were profound: "Stop trying to be famous and just paint." Today, I cannot excell. I cannot be world-class. I cannot be great. But I can work, practice, become better.

And so, to that end, I set the goal for myself that I would complete 10-20 paintings. Yesterday, for the first time, I completed a painting in one day (though it did take longer than I had hoped). Unfortunately, the work I produced was quite poor. It is too bright, sappy, with major errors in the overall value.

(Yours Truly, "Thistles")

(Ludwig Deutsh, "The Palace Guard")

Anyway, if I compare myself to Deutsh, I would be depressed. But I will take Drew's advice: just paint. A little each day, getting better and better. Stay tuned to view the progress.

A Lousy Time to be Hurt

There was this one time...back when I was a wee lad...when I burned my right hand. It was during the summer. We went to visit Ohio for the first time, and I recall not being able swim well, finally settling for a plastic bag and tape to keep my bandages dry while bobbing in the pool.

Well this past week has been kind of like that. Not only in the sense that I can't swim, despite pools opening up, it is like the previous situation in that I am missing out on all the fun.

My basketball league team in undefeated, and it looks like we'll go on to 8-0 and the number one seed in the play offs. But I've missed the past two games, and it looks like I might miss the rest of the season.

My volleyball league just started...and it looks like I'll just back out and let someone else take my spot.

But wait! Allow me to continue my self-involved, whiney rant. Because, also due to my injury, I have missed the dodgeball tournament at school AND had to play a significantly diminished role in the 4-2-1 volleyball tournament. Fortunately, I played a little bit in the championship (and not too badly for a "one-armed bandit", if I do say so myself) and we held our own, before falling 21-18 and 23-21.

Anyway, here are some pictures, including me in my costume on "Performance Art Day" in art history (and you can see a video of our "performance"). Savor the rainbow.

Here's the dodgeball outfit. While I cheered on my team I held a sword with a punctured dodgeball on the end (sorry..no shots of that one).

The Fighting Unicorns. Nearly champs.

Performance Art Lizard Jay.