Artists Beware

I am no legal eagle that’s for sure, but I would think that finding my work on a photo-sharing website which allows people to purchase prints and make cards DOES violate my rights somehow. One of those late evening “google yourself” moments turned up an image of mine from a national show. The juror from the show was the host of the gallery of images on the commercial site which included all the other work of the participating artists. Yes, we do sign a form stating that our images can be used in publicity or in materials related to the show (such as educational brochures etc…) but I don’t believe that should cover allowing the juror to post the show on a commercial site where print purchases can be made.

This all too easy electronic age of sharing has gone too far in my humble opinion. Others may be starting to agree. The case of the Rutgers student found guilty (and facing 12 years in prison) for videoing his roommate and sharing it to just a few others, leading to the suicide of the victim is just one example. Enough is enough.  In my studio space are signs saying “no photography” and yet at least once a week, people take out their cell phones and shoot a picture or two. Seems these people do not equate a phone camera with a “real” camera therefore they are exempt.  Or in the age of “I can do what I want” attitude, rules just don’t apply.

If I choose to post an image on my FB, then I am assuming the responsibility that it could be shared worldwide. That goes for all those “private” photos you all think are protected. Just because I am not your friend, does not mean that we don’t have one in common who has shared your images with me and I can then share them with others who may not like you so much.  This latest incident may put an end to the posting of my work on FB or any site other than a website under my own control.

I wonder how many other pieces of my work are out on photo sharing sights or other commercial venues.  Reading through the pages and pages of legal stuff which is typical of most sites and skipped over my most of us to just check the “I agree” box and move on, I did locate the law firm which could handle my complaint and a whole host of rights and repercussions that benefit me as the legal owner of the work and affect the person who has claimed copyright to my work by having checked “I agree” under false pretenses (aka ignorance of the law). Is it worth my time and effort? Probably not, but I did notify the site about having found my work and not authorizing it, to which they responded VERY quickly, and I notified the show chairman with a direct link suggesting that the other artists be notified as well. If we don’t have rights to our own work, what do we have?  If this was an authorized usage, I need to see that “I agree” part of my submission form. After two readings, I have yet to find it. The papers contain lots and lots of stuff about sizes, dates, original work, prices, shipping blah blah blah, but no place does it say my images will be posted on a commercial site and sold as prints or cards.

Maybe I am getting too old for this business. The frustrations which arise on a constant basis are beginning to take their toll. I am starting to understand why the quick and easy down and dirty method of making art via computers and with multiple levels of visual assistance is so appealing….too many hours need to be spent on the paperwork, the legal work, the searching for violations…..so much so that valuable studio time has to be spent tracking down the unethical and the illegal.

Long story short, perhaps we need to realize that no matter what we think is “ours” as far as our imagery is concerned, it is really not nor ever can belong to us. With this electronic age of easy access and distribution, somebody someplace can profit off of it whether we know it or not. Artists…..beware.

The Catharsis that is Couture

As many of you know from the show at MassMu and the article by Dan Kane, I’ve spent that last year or so working on a line of small scale dresses. The line is called Hoard Couture (working on that trademark as I write this) because they are made from accumulated materials. No, I am not going to bore you with the details of the process or the reasons behind it as that is what “artist statements” are for.  This time, I want to share some of the moments behind the treasure hunt which makes this process worth it.

Before I proceed, let me assure you there are no dead animals, rotten food, dust monsters or mounds of thrift store trash piled up in my hallways. The house is clean as can be (thank you Josie!!), extremely organized and lacking in food as my sons will attest to.  Where the resources are coming from are the boxes and bins of life’s mementos and supplies chronicling a rich history of friendships, educational overload and “things” to remind me of time gone by. For some reason, without a visual object to spark a memory, I cannot recall much of my own past, the mental storage bin is empty (if anyone tosses an “air head” joke in  here, remember who has the mighty paint brush of revenge), until I can hold something to  unlock the floodgates.

Yesterday was one of those moments. In the quest for a single cord to connect one device to another, a very special cord that seems to have only been manufactured for one device at one point in time and not like any of the other 100 cords accumulated from years of devices, I had to make a foray into the bunker. The bunker is the name given to our storage area as our “basement” which is not really a basement as most know them to be, is my home studio. The bunker would be an awesome bomb shelter and we would not lack for things to do while waiting out Armageddon.

Never did find the cord, but there will be a dozen more dresses coming out of that place over the next 2 years.  Not quite sure what to do with the gym uniform but……  do any of you remember the gym uniform? To the horror of my son while I tried to describe it, he likened it to a onesie for grownups. Yep, that would be a fitting description. It was a one piece knit thing with a zipper up the back (which we daringly turned around backwards in a vain attempt to be sexy and buy us few minutes out of gym class being sent back to the locker room to turn it around the proper way) which was mandatory to wear along with white ankle socks and white Keds. NO exceptions! To make matters worse, the bottom shorts part was bright red and the attached T-shirt top was red and white horizontal stripes. God hated us back then. Red has followed me in the documentation of disasters. I showed him a photo from the mid ‘80’s with a red sequined pageant dress and hair so big and teased I could have passed for a lit stick of dynamite.

But in those piles are the bittersweet as well. All the letters ever written to are there.  Every handwritten note from Gary (remember him?....rest in peace my friend) that he wrote from submarines all over the world, every newsie letter from my husband (then boyfriend, turned fiancée)  as he studied long hours in medical school, every piece of 1960’s stationary passed between two childhood friends separated by yet another job transfer.  Signatures and snippets of wishes on cards from relatives long gone and faded postcards showing a “new building” on a campus (now since torn down). Even the clay pizza was there.

Clay pizzas do not count as hoarded food. It was a gift from a senior boy back in 1987 who passed high school because he passed art. It had all come down to needing one more class…..quess who got called into the office and told to make it so no matter what, he needed his college football eligibility. Okay, so the cast running from his palm to his shoulder should not be considered? Can’t draw, can’t paint, can’t build….but he could pound stuff…so the class project was to create a buffet out of clay by drawing a food item from a hat….yeah, I rigged it, fire me. He made a pizza, met the parameters and passed the class. On his last day of school, this big lug of kid (there was a not so nice nickname for him in the teachers’ lounge) stopped by my room to gently lay the pizza on my desk and say thank you for helping him achieve his dream.  Stupid kids and their sentiments….how could I throw away that memory?

The really cool thing about this dress project is that none of them will ever really be done because I keep finding more items to add to the existing dozen, more beads, more trims, more sticker, more neckties…. however, the holy grail of cords was not to be found. It has to be here someplace but until then, who knows what treasures will be unearthed (more like unpacked) next. Dresses to be made include: match books, hats, shells, corks, colored pencils and markers, scarves, sunglasses (some vintage ‘60s and ’70’s in there!) party favors, feathers, happy meal handouts, puzzle pieces……..CORDS…… you get the idea. 

Sorry, still no real show visits to write about. I’ve passed through several over the last few weeks, but for some reason finding time to put thoughts into words and then into print has been elusive at best.  Could be the sunshine showing up far too early, could be life’s unexpected wake up calls disrupting the days, could be kids home on breaks, but regardless of all of that, I still take some time to see what else is being made and shown in our local arts world. Sometimes all the chaos makes one want to put on a onesie and curl up with a good stack of letters (which sounds awfully similar to a Snuggie and a Kindle does it not?)

What can be said when words leave us?

Several blogs have been started and stopped all week. In light of yet another case of a gunman in a school, and the subsequent deaths of three innocent young men, I could not think of something to say. A few rants came to mind but nothing which has not yet already been said.  Where lays the blame, the faults or the shortcomings? Could we as a society have done something? The problem is…we have and we did.  

Intruder drills in schools, programs on bullying, government initiatives up the wazoo, counseling centers, gun registrations, metal detectors, in school services, out of school services, alternative school services, warning labels on products, parental controls on computers and TVs…..airbags, seatbelts, food content listings, pills for just about anything, free shots and ID cards…..what have we missed?  There are no real answers and no real solutions. At some point in time, it will happen again, no matter how much we try to prevent it, prepare for it or watch for it.

Some would say, this type of thing did not happen in my day! I would beg to differ. It probably did, only we did not hear about it when only three channels were on TV (heck, even before the invention of TV), when mail came by personal carrier, I could go on.   With the addition of so many labor saving and time saving devices, we have so much more “free time” that seems so occupied that stresses have filled voids once used to walk to the store, weed the garden, bike to a friend’s house, hunt frogs in the woods, write letters to pen pals.  Does anyone remember what a pen pal was?

I cried along with the parents and kids on TV Monday. I felt guilty and did not know why. I was glad my kids were no longer in high school.  I suppose someday we will know “why” this time, just like we got “whys” for all the previous incidents. If we changed to meet the reasons given, why did that not work this time? Rhetorical question, we won’t ever know and we won’t ever really be ready. We can pray. We can listen (not just hear….but listen). We can get involved. I should have last weekend or so I thought.

On a street corner in Toronto, I watched a young girl of about 16 screaming and ranting into her cell phone. She was hysterical about something which turned out to be that her boyfriend, who was to meet her on the corner, was on a different corner across the street and she could not find him. At the time, neither of us apparently knew he was so close. I watched the tears stream down her face and the panic overtake her to the point of shaking and flaying her arms about. Many, many people passed by her looking…was she on drugs I wondered, as she was a bit scary and perhaps violent.  She was thin and pale and very under dressed for the cold winds. On the same corner was a street preacher and his minions with microphone in hand preaching about God and helping others etc…yet here, not 15 feet away is a young girl obviously in need of some help and they were ignoring her, partially because she was upstaging their rally with her antics. One young man on a bike, much bigger than she, did stop and ask if she was okay. I watched that exchange carefully as natural maternal instinct kicked in. Finally, as I got up enough courage to approach her she bolted across four lanes of traffic towards a young man who was not much bigger than she.  I expected a joyful reunion. What I saw, and caught on camera, was a young woman who proceeded to almost physically assault this poor kid, screaming, yelling, flailing about, crying, hitting, swinging her bag around and on and on until they faded into the crowd. He never reacted, she went berserk.

What we think we know, what we think we see, how we think people will react, we can’t believe any of it. We will never understand what lies inside the mind of anyone else. We can’t predict, we can’t prevent and we can’t truly prepare for what we don’t know. We can pray however, anytime, anyplace, anywhere and for anybody. Some One somewhere is listening.

Random thoughts….

Sometimes there is just not enough meat to make a whole essay, but those pesky random thoughts tend to pile up on my mental plate of possibilities (wow, am I on an alliterative role or what!!) and I need to dish them out to make room for more.

While on the topic of food, sort of, why do people take pictures of and then post on FB, the plate of food they are about to eat? I find that weird. Do you say grace and then whip the phone or camera and shoot the soufflé? My grandmother would have come up over the table like Satan on a slingshot if we had done that. 

Earrings…really really big dangly earrings. Those annoy me, especially if sitting next to them at a concert on other venue where the sound of wind chimes is not welcome. Every time a lady with chandelier earrings moves her head, I look around for the rest of the new wave band. Don’t those things ever get caught in your hair? The one time I watched a baby rip the pierced earring out of her mom’s ear, I vowed never to poke holes in my head. 

Automobile inserts in the newspapers. Do I really need 8 or more pages with pictures of cars and tires and more cars to decide if I want a car and which one? The pictures are black and white. I only buy red cars. Stop cluttering up my newspaper although I suspect the extra paper is there to justify the cost and make me think I am getting some quality news. 

Coupons. I know that there are real fanatics out there who live and die by coupons, they even have several reality shows about such things, but like the car inserts, cut it out! Why not sell a whole stack of coupon inserts in its own little packet which can be purchased separately? The ones in there now are smaller and fall out all over my table when I am trying to look for red cars. 

The ATM....okay, we can put satellites past Jupiter and pick tiny items off the ocean floor, how come we can’t make the ATM stop asking me what language I want to use? One would think that after the same code number has selected the same language every time for however many years, the computer chip would be smart enough to recognize a trend. Does the bank think I am suddenly going to go rogue and want to proceed in French just to practice? And aren’t they being a bit limiting? My GPS will allow me to choose from  about 30 languages and accents, maybe I want to do my banking in Swahili for once, just to see if I can do it.  

People who think tights are just as good as pants. Guys, you may want to skip this one as I need to pass along some fashion facts. Ladies…..tights do not function like spanx (or as we used to call them, girdles). Don’t kid yourself, that body “shaper” is really just a girdle repackaged. Tights are for wearing under stuff instead of wearing panty hose. Dancers and acrobats and such wore tights so the muscles showed while keeping the legs warm, uniform and safely protected from chafing. A leotard went over the tights…leotards begin like tights for the torso. Leggings are about as close as one can come to wearing no pants if one insists. Leggings are just thicker tights but the rear view does not change much, the fabric still stretches (or in some cases, sstttrreeeetttchhhhessssssssss). I think the designers intended for a longer top or dress to go over the leggings. Notice the word is “leg”-ings which one would think that means the legs are the only part to be showing.  If one still insists on going gaga…then yoga pants are now considered pants.  I am guilty of wearing those on occasion although I have never done yoga. Yoga is too close to yogurt.   (This must be my entrée paragraph.)

I have an inability to throw away pens. Think I can get my own reality show segment? 

Okay….I made it to the bottom of the page. Perhaps I should go see a local art show and write about it.

A Devil Lurks in the Details

No one that I am aware of would ever intentionally hurt a child either physically or emotionally.  Unfortunately adults can and do hurt children quite often by not paying attention to details. Yes, we are all busy and in this hyper information age, keeping track of everything can be overwhelming, but growing up, I recall doing something called “proofreading”.  Long before spell-check and grammar-check and basic laziness, we were required to reread not once, but twice, all of our written materials. Often the help of another person was sought to look over a paper or a presentation before it was submitted for a grade. To this day, I still proofread with pencil in hand, all of my son’s philosophy and history papers. I may not always understand the content, but I am a force of nature if the rhythm, alliteration or direct object references are even a mere bit off balance.

Before I move to my main beef, an all too common incident happened again last week. I review packets of information submitted to me by youth who wish to become the best of the best in my volunteer organization of choice. If you know me, you know what that is. If you don’t, then it does not matter. If handwritten (nowadays a headache unto itself as kids cannot seem to write out the alphabet anymore) the mistakes are horrendous. If typewritten, and a computer check is used, kids don’t seem to understand that many of the words in our English language have multiple spellings and usage, and the machine is not programmed to notice the difference. Asking for help must be an ancient event now too as a parent is usually nearby whom has not looked over the packet either. I try and be nice and use a blue pen rather than a red one and must ask if it is okay to write on their paper because many have already gotten original signatures on these same pages. Which makes me wonder…how did three people before me not notice these glaring mistakes?

Anyway, back to the issue of hurting a child. Last night, at the big award ceremony for the kids who did achieve this highest honor, quite a few of them were left off the list and out of the elaborately printed booklet. This is a once in a lifetime event for these young men and their families, the booklet being a souvenir to commemorate speeches by dignitaries and honors bestowed upon those who have served for a long time before them.  How shameful it is that adults cannot take the time to cross reference names to be sure no one is left out. Imagine attending your high school graduation and finding that your name was accidentally omitted so after everyone has crossed the stage; there you sit in cap and gown all alone. Embarrassing yes, but the lifetime scar on your memory will be deep.  Yes, this situation was purely by accident no doubt. But to the ones who are victimized by it, no apology can make up for the hurt and embarrassment. Parents left stunned at tables while their children sit uncalled. If it had been my child, I would not have been as quiet as you all were.  I commend the restraint you showed and understand your anger. On behalf of our organization, I apologize to you.

The butchering of names being read should not happen either. My older son had to submit the phonetic pronunciation of his name to the university for graduation this spring…only four syllables in three names but you never know.  My younger son had his name mispronounced at his high school graduation and though it remains a running joke I was not happy at the time and he shall never be about such an easily correctable error.

Point being, how hard is it to take the time to be sure the details are correct? Yes, we are all busy, but busy doing what? If the job is to be putting together a program, shouldn’t the checking of details be part of what is making one busy? I do believe for all the time saving convenience of modern day machines, the pencil and paper still outrank them. We made fewer mistakes when it took more time to prepare a document. There was care in our creative process. The manual typewriter and even the electric typewriter with our little bottle of liquid paper beside it forced us to think and focus and be careful. Every mistake meant starting over with a new piece of paper and trying again.  Our writings may have been shorter, but they were correct and to the point. Imagine the Gettysburg Address if Lincoln had had a computer handy.

Again, I apologize on behalf of those who wear the uniform and congratulate your sons on reaching a milestone along the trail. May we all learn from our mistakes and make an effort to do better next time so no other child will be hurt.

Scared Scriptless …four dollar an hour funny on a Saturday night.

This empty nest thing is good for forcing one to expand horizons lest weekends be spent lounging around in a huggie-snuggie with cocktail in hand before the 6 o’clock news even gets to the local weather report. Hubbie and I decided to venture back downtown to watch a Scared Scriptless show that has been right under my own mushroom for several years now (aka the Kathleen Howland Theater at 2^nd April). I don’t like to go to a movie or a show to cry, watch explosions or get flashed, I want to be entertained. Make me laugh, allow me to leave a theater feeling good and also feel like what I got was worth every penny, the entertainment has to have value rather than a long list of credit for hundreds of nobodies who make 5 actors look good. Eureka Watson! I have found my funny. 

Yes, I have been aware of the Scared Scriptless troupe for quite some time. Being a fan of the old “Whose Line is it Anyway” and various reincarnations of such, getting monthly updates about my cousin in the improve biz at 2^nd City Chicago (and now in feeder classes at SNL in NYC), plus my own propensity to put into paint what I cannot say in words, it is only natural that I would at some point actually watch what these talented people have to “say” because funny is by far my favorite. 

Many of you are probably aware of them as well if you ever got accosted by a keystone cop on Cleveland Ave during a First Friday, or perhaps attended other local venues featuring comedy troupes, or perhaps took in a Christmas show at the KHT these past few years. These men and women, like most artists I would assume, have day jobs to fund the fun, so faces may look familiar…until they become distorted in some elastic expression that only actors can do effortlessly.  (I really wish I could capture some of those fascinating faces for a pastel drawing!)

So back to the show…. these monthly performances are held the first Saturday of each month (except for May this year) at 8pm in the KHT for $8 a ticket. Two hours will fly by as you watch (and contribute) to the antics of these 7 personalities. Judging by the size of the audience, word is getting out. About half were newbies like us and I bet half of them will return next month if not more.  The other half were the friends, co workers (not that coworkers can’t be friends), and perhaps family and groupies of the performers. At some point, I thought I had read that the shows were limited to 18 and over, but that is not printed in the handout. Nothing in the show seemed too offensive for teens or worse than anything done by an adolescent boy in a campfire skit before leaders could intervene, but if one is not happy about four letter words, bathroom humor or totally political incorrect-ness, then yes, stay home.  As for me, the less PC the better because somebody has to say out loud what many people probably really think anyway. Under the cloak of comedy and satire, rules do not apply. 

An opening act featured the Walsh University group Improve ‘n’ Cheese. They will be performing on Friday Feb 10 at Betzler Auditorium on the Walsh Campus with Scared Scriptless returning the favor of opening the show. (8pm and it is free).  

The troupe has two natural leaders, David Sponhour and Kevin Pond, who guide the show along introducing skits and gathering audience input. The other five performers, Mandy Altimus Pond, Matt Linek, Kaylene Williams, Andy Knode and Aaron Lee Jones, by virtue of their body build, vocal quality and/or personality, fill various character roles. Mandy could not pull off the offended terrorist role nor could Aaron be the whiny little girl. By playing to type, the show is all that much funnier because they are not fighting against visual association. Geeze…listen to me, I know diddly squat about theater outside of set design work, soooo……..speaking as a Missouri seat sitter (that would be the  “Show Me” state), make my four dollars an hour worth it or I shall smite thee.  But alas it is me who is smitten; I shall return when possible and bring friends. And next time I will be prepared.

Being a boy scout, one would figure that I should always be prepared, but there was no need for knots or fires or water purification, so not being quick enough of wit to out shout the locals with our suggestions, we shall be Obamanian and use a prompter (or cheat sheet) next time. If you attend a Scared Scriptless show, have a list of places, objects, quotes, items and occupations ready to go as these are the elements which drive the show. Improv only works when nobody knows what to expect and the actors have to think fast and funny on their feet.  Anything goes so be prepared to expect nothing sacred. 

The troupe has a website, a facebook page, a café press merchandise site and t-shirts for sale during the shows.  They also teach classes and workshops, raise thousands of dollars for non-profits and are as professional as any actors one would find in Toronto or Chicago or any number of other cities where I have attending improv comedy clubs. So why did it take so long for us to discover a gem in our own backyard? For the same reason many local artists are still “here” as well…the unfortunate reality that many people falsely believe that what is nearby is not really as good, as important or as professional as what (or who) is someplace else. For some reason, “here” is never as good as “there”. Scared Scriptless is just one example of an arts group that proves this line of thinking to be wrong, wrong, wrong. So snatch off the snuggie and venture downtown (parking is free on nights and weekends!) to take advantage of what lies within our own locale.

The next Scared Scriptless performance is Saturday Feb 25 to benefit the Friends of Stark County Library. I will venture that details about this and other shows is on their website… www.scaredscriplessimprove.com.