ISM's

Realist, that's what most people see when they look at my work. They recognize the subject so it can't be abstract in all of it's forms. What bothers me is the need to attach an "ism" to it at all. Why do we care about the names, the labels, the words. When I look at a piece there are no words in my head at all. It effects me, that's it. A works effect on the observer is all there is. When we start in with the explanations and labels we have started using words again and they are only needed when the artwork is lacking. The piece itself should have already told you everything...without speaking a word.
As soon as I put my work in a category I make it harder to change. If I call myself a realist then how do I load shotgun shells with paint and blast away at a canvas when I want to... realist don't do that do they. No name is real artistic freedom. What kind of art do I do? Whatever is in me that wants to come out. Maybe I should call it Whateverisinmethatwantstocomeoutism and keep everybody happy.

Painting Water

Back when I lived on the water, I just had to mentally close my eyes and I could just see it. All I had to do was paint what was before me. It seems that I have been gone from the water too long. If you were going to represent the human form it would be logical that knowing something about anatomy would be step one. So it is with water. Now imagine drawing a human form that was constantly changing form. To paint water requires a knowledge somewhat like the Wayfinders of the South Pacific. You need to understand that the shape of it is not as random and unorganized as you would think. In fact, it is very organized. Each wave is there because it was caused to be there, shaped by an island that is a thousand miles away. Understanding the ocean swell, the wind driven wave and the ripples of the breeze is the mechanical understanding but the artist needs to feel it within as well. If you don't have it in you, how can you bring it out.
Of course now what color to put down. I guess most people are surprised to find how often water isn't "Blue". It is just a mirror that is both reflective and transparent at the same time. So, the color is just the colors of what is all around it. The more the mirror is bent the more we see of our surroundings in it. Light horizon or dark horizon depends on the weather above. I used to know this like a jazzman knows the scale. It is hard to understand how getting away from the water can cause so much rust.

Nine Years Hard Labor

Nine years ago I was cruising the web and came accross an ad for an MGCGT for $1800. The picture looked like it wasn't a rust bucket and it was located close to me. I went to have a look. The car was wedged between two muscle cars and at first all I could see was the left rear fender. It was the fender of an MG Factory Works MGCGTS. There were only six of these all aluminum bodies ever made. At that time they were all accounted for but one. So, there I stood in a field in central Florida, my heart racing, looking at that fender. I raced to the front of the car and my heart dropped. The hood was not the hood of the MGC which had a bubble in it to make room for the larger 6 banger engine. This was an MGB hood. Then I remembered that when MG raced the first car, the MGC was not yet released on the market and so, because of the racing rules, the first of the Works cars was in fact a B. This made it even rarer. One of a kind! I opened the hood and there on top of the valve cover breather it read "OFFENHAUSER". There also ran a rat from behind the master brake booster. Offenhauser made some great racing engines. I was beside myself. OK, back to reality, the only thing about that engine that was "Offenhauser" turned out to be the cap it was printed on. The fenders were all made of fiberglass and the rest of the body was not aluminum. I did not have the missing car. I did have a car with a worn out engine and some very bad fiberglass body work. It was a copy of the works cars. A bad copy. It didn't run, the brakes were locked up and it was a rat condo. So, I bought it. That was the beginning of my sentance. I soon got to know a voice on the phone named Bob at a parts supplier called Brit-tek. If you have a British car you need to know Bob. My first car was a 1958 MGA hardtop. From there I went to a Mini Cooper S then another Mini then a string of MGB's with a Vauxhall and a Jensen FF in there somewhere. I though I knew a thing or two about British cars. I even played guitar in an Irish band (Father Pat and the Gales) for gods sake. Then I began to talk to Bob and found out how much I didn't know. Some day after my wife has passed away I will ask Bob how much I have spent in the last nine years. If I asked today the shock would kill her I'm sure. I never seemed to have time and money at the same time so the project took almost a decade. I rebuilt the engine. I beefed it up a bit. I added a supercharger. I bought all new body work. I bought all new brakes. I bought a new exhaust system. I repainted the new body, I bought new rims and racing tires, etc, etc, etc......... Would I do it again you may ask? Sure, in fact I have already started. My son is now getting his license and we are rebuilding my old MGB for him. I autocrossed that car for a long time and it was my daily driver, so it needs a bit of work and refurbishing. Somewhere, Bob is smiling.

michael scott studio: Jim Mazzanti

Jim Mazzanti

Jim Mazzanti

I want to talk about something that is 180 degrees out from this blog. I'd like to go back forty-two years. I'm an eighteen year old Marine and I've just walked into a large ambush on Mutters Ridge, Vietnam. We fought for six hours, pinned down behind only the curve of the hill we needed to take. One Marine got his belt shot right off his back. He jerked up to a sitting position and took another round through his glasses and down his cheek. He never stopped laughing in amazement the whole time. We became good friends over the next six months until I went to another unit. His name was Jim Mazzanti and he died this month of cancer. He fought it like the Marine he was. But, he lost this one. For some reason, this death hit me hard. I've seen many friends die during and since the war but this was different. I only saw him once since 1968 but that didn't diminish the friendship in my heart. Mazzanti was a Marine's Marine. He could not be beaten and yet in the end he lost the one fight none of us ever win. That's what bothered me about this one over all the rest, if Jim could be beaten, so can the rest of us, so can I. As most combat veterans, I never expected to live to be this old. Here I am though, 60 and I have to think about how much time I have left. If I was gone tomorrow what would I leave undone?
Live life like you have no time left.

Ocean Artist

I moved to the mountain because my wife wanted to. It has been enjoyable but, my first love is the ocean. The other day she said she missed it too and wanted to sell the house and land, and move back on to a boat. Well blow me down! At present we are getting the house ready to put on the market. It looks like this blog, in the future, will also be following the course of two artist, one teenage son and two big dogs as we cruise and paint where ever we go.