JUST BOUGHT MY BOOTS

By

Zachary Klein

zachI know. Boston’s been flirting with record high temperatures this past week. But so what? We’re a third of the way into September and no amount of heat and humidity can shatter my cringe as winter approaches.

I remember the last one all too well:PIC1So I cling to my fast fading memories of summer. And honestly, there aren’t all that many. This wasn’t a kick-out-the-jams season since we’re in deep reno prep for a long overdue overhaul of our living space. We rent out the first floor apartment, live on the second, and have our offices on the third.

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By “prep,” we’re talking about packing up everything from the kitchen, pantry, and a good chunk of the living room and hauling it to the third floor to stuff into our offices and anywhere else we can stack boxes.PIC3

 

Which meant no long trips but didn’t mean no fun. We took a couple of weekends to visit cousins in Western Massachusetts, who have a sweet home on Lake Buel in Monterey.

PIC4Of course it was also wonderful to stay in Brooklyn and drive to Connecticut to visit our grandchildren, who are on the move now—crawling, pulling themselves to their feet, and making all sorts of strange sounds.PIC5

 

 

 

 

Between the family visits, Sue and I continued our ongoing tour of “not particularly first rate cities”—a weekend in Portland, Maine, and, a day in Salem, Massachusetts.

Ahh, what sacrifices we make for CULTURE. Portland Museum of Art (PMA) was showing a exhibit culled from eight Maine museums called Directors’ Cut: Selections from the Maine Art Museum Trail. It was a hell of a lot easier to view the best of each museum gathered in one place than scrambling around—no matter how beautiful the roads might be. This wasn’t leaf-peeping season.

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Andrew Wyeth-Turkey Pond.

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Marguerite Thompson Zorach

The exhibit placed images by distinctively different artists next to each other to treat us to the breadth of visions inspired by the state. For the most part it was successful, showcasing the talents of Winslow Homer, Rockwell Kent, and Andrew Wyeth alongside works by Lois Dodd, Marguerite Thompson Zorach, or Robert Indiana.

 

 

 

 

Winslow Homer-Sunset Fires.

Winslow Homer-Sunset Fires.

Robert Indiana-Eat with Fork

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As is the case with many small city museums, Portland’s is a nice size—that is, you don’t start blurring out by the time you leave.

Poker Night from A Streetcar Named Desire

Poker Night from A Streetcar Named Desire

And there was certainly no blur when we visited the Peabody Essex Museum (PEM) in Salem to see American Epics: Thomas Hart Benton and Hollywood.

While the exhibit focused on Benton’s years in Hollywood, creating huge poster-like paintings that captured a sense of story (and were often about great movies), the show included a number of his earlier, more political paintings—some of which were surprisingly (at least to me) powerful. The man didn’t like what we did to Native Americans and abhorred slavery.

Thomas Hart Benton

Thomas Hart Benton

Of course you can’t visit museums without proper nourishment. Each of these two cities had a number of good restaurants, though Portland takes the prize. Rapidly becoming a real artisan, locally sourced foodie town, our favorite meal was at Fore Street.

Pic12The atmosphere was New England coast casual, but the food was not. And people know about it. Fore was banged out for months, but if you were willing to check in at 5 p.m. and hang at the bar for about an hour until they opened the restaurant, it was possible to be seated. ‘Course, I’d be pretty much willing to wait at a bar any time of day, but this time it let us score the best meal we had all year.

PIC13Lunch in Salem’s Finz Seafood and Grill didn’t match Fore. But we left with wide smiles and full stomachs having split a FINZ Burger that came loaded with fried oysters, melted onions, boursin cheese and bacon—and then, there were those fish tacos.

 

In between our “not ready for prime time” tours, we went to a number of friends’ parties, including our traditional July 4th at Bob and Randee’s house. Always great people time with super food. (Hmm, I’m seeing a pattern here.)

The other party that jumps out was Mike and Carol’s 50th wedding anniversary. Mike had been working for close to fifteen years rebuilding a ramshackle carriage house that was crumbling behind his beautiful Dorchester Victorian. We hadn’t been over in a while and the carriage house, where the celebration was held, just blew us away. As did the pig roast and band. It had been a long time since we’ve heard live music at an indoor/outdoor private party. A whole lot of happy.

There were two more day trips to Rhode Island. One to Newport with Bob and Emily, sans Sue, Randee, and Michael, where we sat on a windblown beach protecting our subs from marauding seagulls.

Bob

Bob

With Emily

With Emily

And finally at summer’s end, a group excursion to Pawtucket R.I. to see the Triple A Pawtucket Red Sox.PIC16Upon reflection, summer turned out to be a fine time. And while we were fooled (according to Snopes) about having a once in a lifetime view of Mars on August 28th, it was still something to see.PIC17Luckily, we were easily able to fall back asleep. Musta’ had to do with schlepping those boxes.

“This may not be the best of all possible worlds, but to say that it is the worst is mere petulant nonsense.” ~ Thomas Henry Huxley

 

 

 

 

 

 

BRAINDROPS

are falling from my head…

By

Zachary Klein

zachWe’re approaching summer’s dog days and I’m feeling pretty mellow, so deciding what to write this week has been difficult. It’s always easier for me if I have a mad on and Germany’s attitude toward Greece jumps to mind. Or how ‘bout them sorry Sox? But mellow is rare, so I might as well see where it takes me.

We recently had a great time at Fenway Park. It was a beautiful night and, as I looked around the field, I realized how impressive a renovation had been done by Janet Marie Smith, the architect of Baltimore’s Camden Yards. Despite adding a significant number of seats and signage to the oldest field in baseball (1912), Ms. Smith somehow made the relic a much more welcoming place while keeping its traditional feel and atmosphere. (Not the ticket prices, though, which are the highest on average in Major League Baseball.) It was a fun night even with the Sox loss–to be expected this season.

And speaking of renovations, despite my writing partner, Susan’s send up of HOUSE HUNTERS in last week’s column, Sue (my wife) and I are gearing up for our own major league kitchen rebuild, replete with wall removals, open floor plan (NOT!), and granite vomitori—whoa—make that countertops. Reconstruction begins sometime in August and I’m fervently hoping that it takes a little less time and is much more successful than our Country’s. Not gonna bet on it though.

Ahh, betting. The Casino War still rages on in Boston. Although voted FOR by almost 60% and supported by rejecting another referendum which tried to overturn the first, a number of politicians are still trying judicial end runs–Including our mayor.

I understand the issues people have with gambling and have some mixed feelings myself. But voters, tired of seeing millions and millions of dollars flow to Connecticut’s casinos, spoke loudly and clearly TWICE. My biggest regret is that Boston won’t allow a den of inequity on one of the harbor islands. And not because The Donald is a bidding developer because he isn’t.catTrumpNo surprise, really. The “Athens of the East” clings to its puritanical ancestry despite our current liberal reputation. Clings to many anomalies. Just ask anyone of Color or eyeball the vast sea of White faces while catching a game at Fenway.

Not sure why, but somehow all that White makes me think of Greece. (I tried not to. Really.) Excuse me, but what two-faced crazy is running around in Germany’s head?

“London School of Economics and Political Science Professor of Economic History Albrecht Ritschl conducted research into how Germany was able to pay off its debts after the two World Wars. In particular, his re-interpretation of the scale of financial payments to, and debt forgiveness for Germany after World War II shed new light on the approach that modern-day Germany should take towards debt-ridden countries such as Greece. Ritschl looked in detail at the financial assistance that was paid to Germany after the war under the Marshall Plan, in which the US gave $17 billion – around $160 billion in today’s values – in economic support to help rebuild European economies. He showed that while the transfers were tiny, the cancellation of debts was worth as much as four times the country’s entire economic output in 1950 and laid the foundation for Germany’s fast post-war recovery.”

It seems pretty obvious the terms of Greece’s “bailout” will crush the poor and working people of that country—but fuck ‘em. Let’s make sure the greed-heads get the interest owed. Every goddam Euro.

And now you got me started. What’s with the response to the Iranian deal? This is a no-brainer but once again the human no-brainers are running their mouths. If Reagan’s administration had pulled this off, all the pols would be kissing his ass. Hell, Nixon cut a deal with China when Mao was still alive! Since it’s Obama’s administration though, both Democrats and Republicans are talking stupid. Batshit racists, whether they know it or not.

Sorry about that. I said no rants….

especially since this has been a fine week. Belated birthday dinner with a good friend, a rooftop dinner with other good friends, and a visit to the Boston’s Greenway’s amazing new installation by Janet Echelman, an aerial shape and color shifting translucent public art sculpture.Aerial

Janet-Echelman-Netting-sculpture

 

 

 

 

tumblr_nopdc9G41s1s5qhggo8_500(For more information about Ms. Echelman’s wonderful piece, including a time-lapse video of the installation check out http://www.echelman.com/project/boston-greenway/. You won’t be sorry.)

Thank you Big Dig for stitching my city back together and creating space near the ocean for beauty.

It never ceases to amaze me how little public art is offered in our cities compared to say, Mexico or France. But hey, that’s a topic for another week.

Told you I was feeling mellow.

 

The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven. ~ John Milton

MICHAEL PAUL SMITH

BY Zachary Klein

I’ve known Michael for close to thirty-five years. During that time we decorated my apartment together (he was living downstairs), wallpapered (actually Michael did that with Sue), and attended his “decades” party. He threw them at his place and completely remodeled the interior to match the time in which the party was taking place. And of course Michael designed the previous covers for my Matt Jacob novels.

But more importantly, I’ve watched his growth as an artist and learned that acclaim and acknowledgement don’t have to change who you are and who you want to be. That’s a gift that keeps on giving as I travel through my own creative endeavors. But rather than  go on about Michael, his life, and his work—please just enjoy.

GETTY’S GOT NOTHING ON ME

In the middle of my latest attempt to bring my office back from chaos into order, I actually began looking at all the stuff I’ve collected. Out-of-print books, a couple of original paintings from an artist I consulted for, framed posters, a neon sign I’d been given by a friend that spells ZACH’S (the name I planned to use whenever I fantasized about opening a bar), and many deco pieces along with a fine gathering of Bakelite radios. Nice things, mostly hunted and gathered years ago.

Now I collect art. Sue collects art, but in a very different way. She looks for paintings, small sculptures, and photographs created by as-yet-unknown artists. Sue, like me, has gone through different collecting obsessions but for the most part has stuck with her holy trinity. For quite a while she also had her “junking” friends keep an eye out for different body part sculptures but that’s seem to have (no pun intended—right) petered out.

I’m different. I want the masters. I want what museums have. And I get ’em. I bring a notepad and pen whenever we visit an exhibit or gallery to write down artists’ names that I like, then return home and turn on my computer The Google is my personal art repository.

Then I collect. Some connoisseurs specialize and curate, I am eclectic with enough resources (hard drive memory) to indulge my fancies. My private gallery: my desktop image.

Rothko

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes I need a calming influence so I might choose one of my Rothko’s.

 

If I’m feeling playful I spend some time with Pop Art:

Lich

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sometime I enjoy a dose of sophisticated irony and turn to Christian Schad:

 

Shad

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

or jump to one of my go-tos, Max Beckmann,

Beckman

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and of course, Otto Dix.

OttoDix

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For politics my Mexican muralists often fill the bill: Diego Rivera, Jose Clemente Orozco, and my favorite David Alfaro Siqueiros.

 

Siq

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Many moods, many great pictures. But in truth, for me the rubber meets the road with Photorealism. Yes I enjoy Picasso and Modern, the great masters, street art, and pretty much any school that speaks to me. But give me Audrey Flack,

 

Flack

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ralph Goings,

 

Goings

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and especially Richard Estes.

 

Estes

 

 

 

 

 

I guess I’m wedded to reality and it shows.

 

Okay, I can’t actually afford to buy anything by these artists, but I don’t have to. My laptop has the world’s greatest art collection and it’s free!

(Did I mention my naked celebrity folder?)

Every act of perception, is to some degree an act of creation, and every act of memory is to some degree an act of imagination. ~ Oliver Sacks

“MAKE IT WORK!”

It’s an understatement to say I’m not a fashionista. It’s an overstatement to suggest that I spend any real time picking my clothes. I may know about Dior and Michael Kors and Lagerfeld, but my real designers are Champion and Fruit Of The Loom. My daily wear consists of sweats and sweatshirts unless I have to leave the house–in jeans and a variation of a t-shirt.

So what’s a schlub doing watching Project Runway for ten years? Certainly not for Heidi Klum’s Auf Wiedersehen as she thins the herd of wannabe clothing designers. Tim Gunn’s warmth has started to feel pro forma and his wardrobe choices bizarre. Worse, I really don’t like Nina Garcia, the longest lasting judge.

There’s more to dislike. The fact that producers have input on who stays and who goes, based, I’m sure, more upon the personality of particular contestants than merit. That’s a big one. Also their decisions about who stays and goes based upon that single week’s showing as opposed to a body of work over time—or so they say.

What draws me to Project Runway is my opportunity to watch the creative process. Sure, I can read a great book and marvel at the author’s creativity. Same with movies, plays, art, and good TV (which is not an oxymoron). But those things are done deals, finished products to admire and analyze from the outside. Following the process of creation—complete with its ideas, false starts, aha moments, adjustments, is endlessly fascinating—be it designing clothes, cooking (The Iron Chef), house renovation (Property Brothers), or even the art of the sale (Selling New York, etc) continues to be one of my greatest pleasures. It makes me feel better struggling with my job of channeling it from within.

Another example: Tuesdays I go to Music Maker Studios (http://musicmakerstudios.com/) for my sax lesson followed by a session playing in an ensemble. There are times when one or the other of our group really gets it going and improvises the hell out of a song. Just listening makes me incredibly happy. It’s as if a muse is in their head. Which it probably is since my best writing occurs when I’m just scribbling down the movie in my mind.

Somewhat similar, I remember watching a YouTube clip of a policeman in the middle of a crazy busy intersection on his box and using his arm signals and body motions as if conducting a world class orchestra. Perhaps he was. What is certain is everyone who passed him by caught at least a glimpse of “performance art.” Call me crazy, but I find moments like that spiritually uplifting.

The point? Exposing myself to others’ creative processes is nourishment for my own. My Tuesday nights will never turn me into a Stan Getz, but I’ve listened and learned to play better. And more importantly, write better.

Years ago, I wrote a post, “Writing From The Heart,” (http://zacharykleinonline.com/personal-experience/writing-from-the-heart/) which was an attempt to identify the place my best writing comes from. That column still holds true, but I’ve learned through music, the cop (and Heidi) that immersing myself in other peoples’ creativity enhances and informs my own.

What’s nice about this realization is its compatibility with my political beliefs. We really don’t stand alone as individuals but are interconnected to others. We build upon and are inspired by people who came before or work beside us in ours and other fields. Seems like a simple idea, but in these Randian times even simple gets blowback.

Sadly, all too many in the arts would vociferously defend their work as theirs. And it is, though from where I sit, never only theirs.

So fellow writers and artists, musicians and policemen, and everybody who gives a shit about being creative—you are not alone. It makes sense to remember that. Makes all the solitude a little easier to take.

“Your chances of success are directly proportional to the degree of pleasure you derive from what you do.” Michael Korda