CONTEMPORARY EXPLORER

  Jennifer Wallace in her recent WSJ article on retirement wrote about how important mattering is to well being. It’s rooted in our ancestors when making a contribution kept you in the tribe and safe. The article spurred numerous conversations on the subject. So the question is does mattering really matter? The answer is yes, but maybe in a different way than discussed. When we retire, we leave behind a portfolio of skills and experiences we used to make a difference and help people. It’s only natural you want to use them to continue helping others. To remain part of the action.  You go to the local food bank thinking they will want you to help manage or at least be on the board. But, you find they want you to restock shelves or carry out carts of groceries to waiting clients. Not what you imagined. The lack of opportunity to matter in a major way can lead to depression, a major problem for seniors. You begin to loose a sense of self. You can change all of this over time. You ...

  You could almost here it say, I am still here. The entrance and  Hallways kept clean by what seemed Like an army of workers, I wondered Who paid them?  The mall dying fast, weighed down by  A post xMas rush of shops leaving. Even the chicken burger fast food was gone, Replaced by a couple of fledgling taco kiosks. Names no one ever heard of or ever will. Only Belk and a discounter Roses held sway in  The caverns of the place. What shops were left  Stayed close to them, hoping for fall- off clients. A giant furniture discounter now rented an old  Anchor store space. The vulture type that Circles these failing places seeking low rent and Low price buyers. There staff trained to dress black And sell, just sell.  All but a few of the hallway kiosks were gone. The owners Of the ones remaining sitting close to the cash register hoping It would ring. A barber sat in a salon with no heads. The massage Technician long ago giving up on customers slept on ...

  Sometimes it’s just the pattern of things. Boards placed over windows in an abandoned building showing weathered streaks and patterns over time. Their color muted, blending into the being of the place left. You take a photo, not fully knowing the full art there. Overtime you happen upon it in your albums, with a few art tools you think it could become art. You think about painting, but they have not created brushes small enough for my big hands. The colors are so definite, the detail suffering. There is the wonder of colored pencils. Especially Derwent ones. The new series they have, Intense Ink, so perfect. They are watercolor pencils that become painting with lines wetted by brush or even finger. These combined with their portrait pencil set creates lay on layer of color blends.  No matter what the tools you use, the full art in the piece is never quite found. Perhaps this is a good thing, allowing a retelling over time…

Main stream Social Media can be fun. You showcase your life happenings and sit back waiting for the likes. However, after you have shared your family, trips, parties, special tricks, best dog, and even your second best dog, you begin to yearn for more. The Social Media Blues start to slip in. You long to share the real you. Your thinking, views, talents, and creativity. Not just short life blurbs. So you search the other 35 social media websites, only to find that all but a few are like the site you already use.  So where do you turn? One of the best places is to start a Blog. One that you control instead of it controlling you. They represents a great platform for expression. Blogs can have images, videos, and text. It is the text that tends to tie Blogs posts together. Blogs date back to the early 1990’s, first used by reporters, researchers and creators to share information with colleagues. In a sense, they were the forerunners of websites. Today, there are 600 million blogs. The...

  Combines originated from the art work of Robert Rauschenberg in the 1950’s and 60’s. He  also coined the term. The classic feature of this art is it incorporates elements of found objects, newspaper clippings, photographs, paintings and other unrelated elements. These are brought together to form a paradox of viewing and new meaning beyond their origin. These works of art are also called assemblages or mixed art. Nothing about Rauschenberg is usual. Despite his European sounding name, he was born in Port Arther, Texas. Living in the South he learned much for watching Afroamerican black artists who often used found art to inspire them. He got further inspiration by doing window displays to pay for college. These displays combined varied objects to attract attention. Rauschenberg studied under traditional artist Joseph Albers at small colleges. He managed to escape these traditional bounds to pursue perfecting combines. At first they were called everything by critics including...

Darkness of late night filled the studio casting shadows on finished paintings leaned against the wall and empty paint tubes scattered on the floor. Eric sat up in bed, watching Jane dress, “you don’t have to leave you know.” Jane turned, “New York tomorrow my dear, I have to get ready.”  Eric continued to watch her dress, he never tired of the view. They first met three years ago. She a writer and him a painter. They lived in apartment buildings next to each other, would sometimes dine together, talk art, share a drink and always it seemed ending in embraces of lust. Still, neither seemed to have found the steps to the next level of relationship. Even the lust had faded, buffed by the years. He didn’t know the why of this place they were at. Sometimes he admitted to himself envy over the degree of her success. How she wrote from her soul and being always grasping the latest in cultural ways. The magazines couldn’t get enough of her words. It wasn’t that he had not found success of...