Awkward Family Photos

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And I thought my flared corduroy pants were difficult to explain.

Of Note...

This month's British GQ brings us:

• A humorous op-ed piece called The bonfire of the pieties by Dylan Jones.
• For most of us, an introduction to indie rocker Natasha Khan.
• Several solid fashion pictorials.
• And a nice synopsis of James Gandolfini's lastest project.

Its worth mentioning that I did not find the piece on January Jones particularly mesmerizing but it accomplished its purpose.... which was to justify the cover photo. However I will point out that this is an excellent example of what makes the British edition of the magazine much more interesting to me. Their cover ... however sexually motivated is of a 31 year old actress who can actually act and is known more for her beauty and talent than her nightlife escapades. Last month they had an interview with Eva Green. The Americans have had Lindsay Lohan twice in as many years, Megan Fox and J. Aniston. And while the latter is older and a capable actress, her placement on the cover was completely based on tormenting her ex-husband. Note to the editors: Leave the faces of the moment to Maxim and show us the characters that are actually interesting.

A good example of why life should imitate art and not vice versa

This video reminds me of the first week of knowing the woman that would become my wife... And it reminds me that I still feel like this.

The Art of White.

Todd White is a painter that lives in southern California, but he's originally from Texas. His pieces concentrate on musicians, revelers, and women. I was first introduced to him by a print in a store that looked exactly like a good friend of mine... beautiful and feisty. The picture below is called Dibbs. Between the suit, the hair, and the tumbler it was easy to find myself in the painting.




Again... a bit of likeness.



For me White captures the scenes that I want to see exist... Parties where women sip wine in strapless evening gowns and men dress more like the characters of Ocean's 11 than Dodgeball.

Sunday Night Coffee

I walk into the coffee shop and raise an eyebrow at the manager. Pay without ordering, not because I'm cool but because no one has to tell their pusher what their poison is. Sit down with a magazine... the other great addiction in my life with my iPod loud enough to make the room seem silent. Oddly, I can still tell when someone uses the milk steamer.

The young man at the counter winces at the taste of his first espresso.... don't worry boy, the first time is always like that.

The rest of the world, the part that matters anyway, argues about the world domination of Starbucks and the innate moral superiority of the locally owned coffee emporium. My world is content to see a frothing pitcher... in pastoral urbania the aficionado, posh den mother, disaffected college student, the tortured artist all sit together and smile. Unable to contain the warmth that is the community of civilization.

Local artists and author's works sit prominently... I wonder if anyone ever buys them.

There are baskets of newsprint and magazines. The latest issue conveniently summiting the pile. Never emptied, I'm convinced the oldest editions compost, filter out the sides of the basket, and are swept up each night with a regiment of rogue straw wrappers.

Tonight is folk music night... every Sunday night in some sort of odd replacement of worship for those who find no comfort in the company of the faithful. The strings on the choir director's guitar are uncut in what must be a tribute to Bob Marley.... or maybe Coolio.

Love and the Consolidation of Man, version 1

One of the most painful parts of living in rural Oklahoma is the lack of art simply for its own sake. I'm cringe listening to people purchasing Wal-Mart prints to match their sofa. What makes this subject so excruciating isn't however what you would think. It isn't the total lack of an art world in my college town but the existence of an art world without forum that is so disheartening.

Last night I attended the Senior Show of artist Zachary Presley. The show was an impressive collection of mixed media collages and photographs. A collection made more impressive by the short breadth of time it actually represented and the fact that he's currently being shown in Oklahoma City as well. His piece titles, like so many artists, made me smile. The title of this blog is the closest that I can remember... I'm not trivializing or making fun... I mean how are you supposed to say what a work means in less than 10 words?

The crowd was young and excessively hip.... especially the blonde who seemed to be the center of attention until my friend arrived with me... But...they weren't art people... which is what my little town is missing. They were college students, artists, professional cool people... And they played their parts well... very well. But where was the rich middle aged woman who sees herself in every painting? The collectors, the lovers who can't create, and critics... I would have settled for alumni and some professors not from the art department...

Its not the art or the artist that is missing in pastoral urbania my friends... its the audience.