Tesla was born on this day in 1856.
A photo a day keeps the Doctor in play.
Frottage: Flag of My Disposition
Vertical, or horizontal?
The frottage was made by rubbing Caran d’Ache watercolor crayons on 80 lb. drawing paper placed over inscriptions on various monuments in Civic Center Park in Denver, Colorado. It is in effect a collage frottage, not a scissor dance, but a bit of the old soft shoe, so to speak. I did a bunch of these frottages during a manic period circa 1990 or so. I was the guy flattening sheets of paper against various textured surfaces, fumbling for crayons, talking to myself, that you crossed the street to avoid. The quote is from Whitman.
Remember that on this day in 1845 Henry David Thoreau embarked on his experiment in living simply, by Walden Pond, on a piece of land owned by his friend Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Remember that on this day in 1855 Walt Whitman published the first edition of his Leaves of Grass.
Remember that on this day in 1862 Charles Dodgson on a picnic excursion told Alice Liddell a story that was published on this day in 1865 as Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll.
On this day I remember the words of these who are my Moses, my Solomon, my Elijah, the prophets of my Torah and the writers of the constitution of my heart as much as the words of Thomas Jefferson that the gaggle of “Founding Fathers” edited and amended into the proclamation that was not signed by most of them until August 2, 1776.
Happy Independence Day. Hold those truths self evident, y’all.
I stole this meme from Dick Jones. If poetry is the ash, his life is burning well.
I took Mrs. Dr. Omed out to the ball game last night. The stadium sold out. We sat in the bleachers. Peanuts, no Cracker Jack. The crowd occasionally noticed there were two teams playing baseball down on the field. Most of them were there for the fireworks after, I think. And the dollar beer.
I’ve seen many fireworks shows over the years, some quite spectacular. My most vivid memory of fireworks, however, was a Fourth of July display at Meadowlake Park in Enid, Oklahoma, which I saw when I was maybe 5 years old. In addition to “bombs bursting in air” there were frame mounted pyrotechnics on boats in the lake, which, when lit, created various tableaus and designs in shooting sparks, including an American flag.
This was altogether spectacular to my five year old eyes, and I still think fireworks on and over water are best. I suspect the magic of that long ago Fourth of July is in the remembering of it, the repeated renewal of the imprinted images. I don’t know the other watchers saw.
In the bleachers last night, rather than watching the fireworks, I found myself watching the children watching the fireworks, watching their bodies react and register each burst and boom, watching them physically form the memories, screaming with the pleasure of it. Until a parent shushed them.
From the Wayback Machine, a scan of an ink sketch I did in 1991. That March I accidentally invented a new technique, smearing the lines of ink as I drew on smooth Bristol paper I happened to have on hand. For some reason, it worked best with red ink.