CONTEMPORARY EXPLORER

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...

  I worked for a time in Tacoma. The city had promise but seemed never able to overcome its rough edges. Ones made even sharper by its being wedged between a port and lofty foothills. A great place for long walks, but not commerce. Still there were unique finds in the nooks and crannies, one here and then in several blocks another. Oddities like the manuscript museum, the toy train maker and the fashion designer. It made up for the overcast bleakness of the place. If you looked hard enough you could find art there.  So it was that I discovered The Nook, a small house next to Discovery Park, its long winding paths always beckoning. The Nook piled deep in collectibles and no organization. A natural magnet for types like me. Gus, the owner specialized in all sorts of things, but the boxes of old envelope covers, correspondence and stamps drew me the most. Especially the foreign ones. You could always find Gus working on something, sorting stamps, repairing old frames holding ...

 You find them now and then, elegant ones lurking on a side street behind a picket fence. Ones with lots of stories to tell, lived in with love...

  Week 1 My doctor assigned a great physical therapist, Rachel. She worked with me, outlining a three week regiment of exercises with notes on technique included. I enthusiastic about the results. The first week went well, following her guide carefully. The second week, though, saw some backsliding on my part. This was going to be harder than I thought. By the third week, I found her carefully outlined plan matched with my efforts in a shamble. I tried again the second three weeks with similar results. I laid out her three pages of notes before me, hoping to find a path back on track. In the end, I decided to do the on ly l ogical thing. Take out my brush and paint the guide pages. I sat back looking at the now artful pages, thinking finally some results… Week 2 Week 3