This is an addendum(b) to the previous post on Censorship. The quote comes from "Books Supressed or Censored by Legal Authorites" (the link appears in the previous post):
"An illustrated edition of "Little Red Riding Hood" was banned in two California school districts in 1989. Following the Little Red-Cap story from Grimm's Fairy Tales, the book shows the heroine taking food and wine to her grandmother. The school districts cited concerns about the use of alcohol in the story. "
I can't add anything to that. Just shake my head sadly while sipping a pretty good New York State Cabernet Sauvignon.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Nothing Could Be Finer than being Banned in Carolina
I received this email from former business partner and good friend Dean Yeagle this morning. I'm reprinting it because any paraphrasing I might give it would not do justice to Dean's original words (hope it is okay, Dean--but inquiring minds need to know about this.)
"Hi, Nancy -WARNING. I found out, just today, in an official letter both certified and registered, that my sketchbooks have been BANNED by the North Carolina Division of Prisons as being too risqué, too lewd, too steamy...for CONVICTED FELONS. I kid you not. If, as the letter declares, 'this publication' (SCRIBBLINGS) '...could be detrimental to the security and good order of the prison facility and the rehabilitation of the inmate', imagine what it could do to those unwary souls unhardened by years in the slammer. Due to 'violations' of 'Division of Prisons policy', my sketchbooks have been 'disapproved for delivery' to thugs, thieves, fiends, hoods, goons, butchers, and cutpurses. Apparently the possible deleterious effect of my cartoons on their delicate sensibilities is just too much of a risk. They might get in some kind of trouble. I consider myself a good citizen, mindful of the welfare of my fellow creatures; so now I must warn you all not to buy my sketchbooks...or if, like you, you already have them, for the love of humanity, DON'T LOOK AT THEM! If you haven't been corrupted by them, you've dodged a bullet.But if I catch the sniveling little weasel who snitched, he'll have a shiv between the ribs before the end of exercise period.- Dean"
Go to the link to see what all the fuss is about. Dean's site is also on the Blogroll and you can see more (oh boy can you see more) at http://www.bellefree.com under "DaBeagle".
Once upon a time Boston used to 'ban' books that it found rude, crude, skewed or tatooed. Being 'banned in Boston' was a guarantee of success; the most famous example of which was William Faulkner's SANCTUARY but it had plenty of company, as you can see here.
Oddly enough Dean's also had some of his animation censored, or at least not aired, in the past so he's officially the Most Censored Cartoonist I've worked with.
I've told him to put this letter from the Carolina jailers on his website under "Smut" and post the good reviews (and they are legion) under "Smiles".
Any publicity is good publicity, the saying goes, and this is one of the most hilarious examples of official nuttiness I've seen in a long time.
"Hi, Nancy -WARNING. I found out, just today, in an official letter both certified and registered, that my sketchbooks have been BANNED by the North Carolina Division of Prisons as being too risqué, too lewd, too steamy...for CONVICTED FELONS. I kid you not. If, as the letter declares, 'this publication' (SCRIBBLINGS) '...could be detrimental to the security and good order of the prison facility and the rehabilitation of the inmate', imagine what it could do to those unwary souls unhardened by years in the slammer. Due to 'violations' of 'Division of Prisons policy', my sketchbooks have been 'disapproved for delivery' to thugs, thieves, fiends, hoods, goons, butchers, and cutpurses. Apparently the possible deleterious effect of my cartoons on their delicate sensibilities is just too much of a risk. They might get in some kind of trouble. I consider myself a good citizen, mindful of the welfare of my fellow creatures; so now I must warn you all not to buy my sketchbooks...or if, like you, you already have them, for the love of humanity, DON'T LOOK AT THEM! If you haven't been corrupted by them, you've dodged a bullet.But if I catch the sniveling little weasel who snitched, he'll have a shiv between the ribs before the end of exercise period.- Dean"
Go to the link to see what all the fuss is about. Dean's site is also on the Blogroll and you can see more (oh boy can you see more) at http://www.bellefree.com under "DaBeagle".
Once upon a time Boston used to 'ban' books that it found rude, crude, skewed or tatooed. Being 'banned in Boston' was a guarantee of success; the most famous example of which was William Faulkner's SANCTUARY but it had plenty of company, as you can see here.
Oddly enough Dean's also had some of his animation censored, or at least not aired, in the past so he's officially the Most Censored Cartoonist I've worked with.
I've told him to put this letter from the Carolina jailers on his website under "Smut" and post the good reviews (and they are legion) under "Smiles".
Any publicity is good publicity, the saying goes, and this is one of the most hilarious examples of official nuttiness I've seen in a long time.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
The Demon Duck of Doom
You have to check this out. This is an actual paleontological name for a big old bird that
used to run around Australia.
You know, there are some creatures that are better off extinct. Not that there were
any humans to worry about them then.
http://www.lostkingdoms.com/snapshots/miocene_late_animals_birds.htm
You know, this is such a funny name I am retitling the blog. I've changed the name once already today, it was bland and silly. THE DEMON DUCK OF DOOM is interesting and silly.
Quack, quack.
used to run around Australia.
You know, there are some creatures that are better off extinct. Not that there were
any humans to worry about them then.
http://www.lostkingdoms.com/snapshots/miocene_late_animals_birds.htm
You know, this is such a funny name I am retitling the blog. I've changed the name once already today, it was bland and silly. THE DEMON DUCK OF DOOM is interesting and silly.
Quack, quack.
The Cover
I figured I could post the cover now. Earlier versions of this blog had to use a separate program to upload pictures. I like the new features on the toolbar.
So here it is.
Book 'em
Animators don't need to be in the same studio, or the same country, as their producers.
I was one of the first American animators to work long distance, mailing in animation from New York City to Burbank for a WINNIE THE POOH special in the eighties. (The mail never lost a package though there was one that took two weeks to get there, resulting in several grey hairs for the artist.)
The Internet makes it even easier. Entire tests and films can be uploaded and sent where they need to be. Today there are animators living in many different locations and they are still working for L.A. studios. One friend in Hamburg regularly does so, and so does one in England. It's a small world after all.
While I like the one-on -one approach of directing and prefer to have animators in a studio (and work in one myself), it's okay to work this way if I know the artist's work and work habits. As for me--I got a cat so I would have someone to talk to.
Now that my textbook is done I'm working on an illustration job that involves daily phone calls with the producer and lengthy exchanges via email. I love the fact that I can make changes instantly by leaving the Photoshopped roughs as separate levels, send a small Jpeg across the country and then keep the bigger files for the finals.
There are, of course, drawbacks to this situation. The screaming FAX machine was one of them. It is supposed to be top of the line but since they don't send instruction books but make them all electronic now I don't know how to quickly deal with the machine that seems to have a mind of its own. Its settings worked for a day, then changed so that the FAX went on whenever anyone called. It's now been taught a lesson--but I can only receive FAXes manually. Only one client uses them so it's easier than I thought, though still not an ideal situation.
My studio now uses virtual materials. It really is possible now to animate a featue at home. I'll be testing the Mirage software soon courtesy of RIT. It's highly rated by friends who have used it. The graphics programs are of course a standby. A computer program mimics chalk, pen, brush, airbrush, and paper texture--all in one handy palette. I don't get my hands dirty and very little paper is wasted (unlike the book, where a whole plantation of hemp plants died for the privilege of bringing my words to print. I did not use tree based paper since I had a high rewrite rate and so I feel a little better than if I'd killed some forests for this. Nearly four reams of paper had to go to the recycler during the production of my magnum opus.
I use a Wacom tablet and have just replaced the nibs and one pen, which actually got worn out! and the response is back to normal.
I do draw on paper; it's still the best way to get a strong preliminary sketch. It's then digitized and modified in Photoshop and finished in Painter.
Lovely stuff and the whole megillah paid for itself in a matter of weeks.
Boxx computer even asked me if I would do a testimonial about the machine after the book is done. I am perfectly happy to do so since this monster of a computer effortlessly handled hundreds of huge graphic files without once shivering and fainting the way my totally overwhelmed laptop did during the early stages of the production. 2 Gigs of RAM will lead to a sort of confident feeling.
There are new bells and whistles on these programs all the time so it pays to know when to get the upgrade.
I expect I should upgrade Painter now.
Most upgrades on CGI software are a pain in the ass since they are not backward compatible with older versions. I was furious when MAYA 6.5 did not work with MAYA 6. I've now got to install MAYA 7. I think I will stick with graphics and not worry too much about CGI programs since I have been told that if I did not like being on a neverending treadmill, I should stay away.
Fortunately story and writing are not dependent on OS or versions of a software. You still need input--a computer WILL NOT create art by itself.
Of course I mention that in the book and have gorgeous artwork from a student to 'back up' the statement.
I was one of the first American animators to work long distance, mailing in animation from New York City to Burbank for a WINNIE THE POOH special in the eighties. (The mail never lost a package though there was one that took two weeks to get there, resulting in several grey hairs for the artist.)
The Internet makes it even easier. Entire tests and films can be uploaded and sent where they need to be. Today there are animators living in many different locations and they are still working for L.A. studios. One friend in Hamburg regularly does so, and so does one in England. It's a small world after all.
While I like the one-on -one approach of directing and prefer to have animators in a studio (and work in one myself), it's okay to work this way if I know the artist's work and work habits. As for me--I got a cat so I would have someone to talk to.
Now that my textbook is done I'm working on an illustration job that involves daily phone calls with the producer and lengthy exchanges via email. I love the fact that I can make changes instantly by leaving the Photoshopped roughs as separate levels, send a small Jpeg across the country and then keep the bigger files for the finals.
There are, of course, drawbacks to this situation. The screaming FAX machine was one of them. It is supposed to be top of the line but since they don't send instruction books but make them all electronic now I don't know how to quickly deal with the machine that seems to have a mind of its own. Its settings worked for a day, then changed so that the FAX went on whenever anyone called. It's now been taught a lesson--but I can only receive FAXes manually. Only one client uses them so it's easier than I thought, though still not an ideal situation.
My studio now uses virtual materials. It really is possible now to animate a featue at home. I'll be testing the Mirage software soon courtesy of RIT. It's highly rated by friends who have used it. The graphics programs are of course a standby. A computer program mimics chalk, pen, brush, airbrush, and paper texture--all in one handy palette. I don't get my hands dirty and very little paper is wasted (unlike the book, where a whole plantation of hemp plants died for the privilege of bringing my words to print. I did not use tree based paper since I had a high rewrite rate and so I feel a little better than if I'd killed some forests for this. Nearly four reams of paper had to go to the recycler during the production of my magnum opus.
I use a Wacom tablet and have just replaced the nibs and one pen, which actually got worn out! and the response is back to normal.
I do draw on paper; it's still the best way to get a strong preliminary sketch. It's then digitized and modified in Photoshop and finished in Painter.
Lovely stuff and the whole megillah paid for itself in a matter of weeks.
Boxx computer even asked me if I would do a testimonial about the machine after the book is done. I am perfectly happy to do so since this monster of a computer effortlessly handled hundreds of huge graphic files without once shivering and fainting the way my totally overwhelmed laptop did during the early stages of the production. 2 Gigs of RAM will lead to a sort of confident feeling.
There are new bells and whistles on these programs all the time so it pays to know when to get the upgrade.
I expect I should upgrade Painter now.
Most upgrades on CGI software are a pain in the ass since they are not backward compatible with older versions. I was furious when MAYA 6.5 did not work with MAYA 6. I've now got to install MAYA 7. I think I will stick with graphics and not worry too much about CGI programs since I have been told that if I did not like being on a neverending treadmill, I should stay away.
Fortunately story and writing are not dependent on OS or versions of a software. You still need input--a computer WILL NOT create art by itself.
Of course I mention that in the book and have gorgeous artwork from a student to 'back up' the statement.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Waiting period.
It's not really over til the fat lady sings. Or until someone reads the book.
First the disc has to reach the readers. One got his disc sometime yesterday afternoon. What do you know...I discovered that by changing one drawing in Chapter six I had a new theme that added about three hundred words and a second illustration to the chapter. Getting away from this thing for a week has cleared my mind slightly, though not enough to take the whole megillah objectively.
Anyway, I rewrote parts of Chapter Six, drew the two new illustrations, and sent them out by email to my readers and to the editor in England. The American editor tried calling and I will see if he needs one too.
It was a rather trying weekend...my Fax machine has decided to go on every time there is a phone call (it has since been set to Manual), my bicycle was stolen sometime during the weekend, a crooked banker 'forgot' to roll over an IRA fund so I had to go for the second time in two years to personally retrieve the money, and Gizmo the cat uttered loud cries and barfed up lots of kitty food.
The upstairs neighbor came back from Africa with malaria and I've been running some errands for her. With the bike gone I had to walk two miles to the shop to get another. Surprise. Nothing in women's bikes in the entire store. Oh, but 'they're getting more on Monday. Su-u-u-u-ure they were. I took a taxi to another shop and bought a different bicycle.
Now for the good news: the insurance will pay for the missing bike, Gizmo just ate her food too fast, and I did get the money away from the crooks at Chase (NEVER work with this bank!)
It remains to be seen how the readers judge the book and how the freelance work goes. I'm waiting for a package from them, too.
So this is sort of a meaningless update, but it brings people up to date on the sort of excitement I could really live without. It's also not much fun having a bicycle in the animation studio all the time--this new one is NOT going to be left outside overnight. But that means I have a new roommate. I've already informed the cat that she should not make it fall on her and kill her.
First the disc has to reach the readers. One got his disc sometime yesterday afternoon. What do you know...I discovered that by changing one drawing in Chapter six I had a new theme that added about three hundred words and a second illustration to the chapter. Getting away from this thing for a week has cleared my mind slightly, though not enough to take the whole megillah objectively.
Anyway, I rewrote parts of Chapter Six, drew the two new illustrations, and sent them out by email to my readers and to the editor in England. The American editor tried calling and I will see if he needs one too.
It was a rather trying weekend...my Fax machine has decided to go on every time there is a phone call (it has since been set to Manual), my bicycle was stolen sometime during the weekend, a crooked banker 'forgot' to roll over an IRA fund so I had to go for the second time in two years to personally retrieve the money, and Gizmo the cat uttered loud cries and barfed up lots of kitty food.
The upstairs neighbor came back from Africa with malaria and I've been running some errands for her. With the bike gone I had to walk two miles to the shop to get another. Surprise. Nothing in women's bikes in the entire store. Oh, but 'they're getting more on Monday. Su-u-u-u-ure they were. I took a taxi to another shop and bought a different bicycle.
Now for the good news: the insurance will pay for the missing bike, Gizmo just ate her food too fast, and I did get the money away from the crooks at Chase (NEVER work with this bank!)
It remains to be seen how the readers judge the book and how the freelance work goes. I'm waiting for a package from them, too.
So this is sort of a meaningless update, but it brings people up to date on the sort of excitement I could really live without. It's also not much fun having a bicycle in the animation studio all the time--this new one is NOT going to be left outside overnight. But that means I have a new roommate. I've already informed the cat that she should not make it fall on her and kill her.
Friday, July 07, 2006
It's been sent in
It's sort of done.
I have done just about everything I can do to the book and am too close to it to see if anything else needs to be done.
The publisher asked for 'technical readers' to go over it to make possible suggestions for changes. This is a good idea as long as I get to pick the readers.
I wound up with one in the USA, one in Canada and one in England, so there's a nice sort of internationalism to it. There is also a little money in it for the reviewers.
When and if they recommend changes it is up to me whether or not I do them. The book will then go into production.
Still waiting to hear about a few odd illustrations but I can go ahead without them if they do not come through.
I have done just about everything I can do to the book and am too close to it to see if anything else needs to be done.
The publisher asked for 'technical readers' to go over it to make possible suggestions for changes. This is a good idea as long as I get to pick the readers.
I wound up with one in the USA, one in Canada and one in England, so there's a nice sort of internationalism to it. There is also a little money in it for the reviewers.
When and if they recommend changes it is up to me whether or not I do them. The book will then go into production.
Still waiting to hear about a few odd illustrations but I can go ahead without them if they do not come through.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Hoest Toasties: A visit to a cartoon Castle
I have just returned from a trip to LonGuyland for a meeting of the "Berndt Toast Society". This is a subset of the National Cartoonists Society that meets at the home of (Bill and) Bunny Hoest.
Bill died in 1988, six years after designing and building his dream house out of cobbles taken from two New York Streets. The archaeological details, capstones and other decorative bits came from wrecked Brooklyn buildings. Bill was into building recycling years before it became popular.
Bill drew THE LOCKHORNS and AGATHA CRUMM and HOWARD HUGE. Bunny continues to write the strip with artist John Reiner drawing LOCKHORNS and HOWARD HUGE and LAUGH PARADE. Sadly, Agatha has gone to stock market heaven (I thought this one of the most original strips I'd ever seen.)
Bunny's probably the most successful cartoonist wife carrying on her husband's strip. Usually it is a son or daughter who continues the comic ( Dik Browne's son Chris drawing HAGAR THE HORRIBLE) or lends their name to the comic after the creator dies, (Dean Young for Chic Young's BLONDIE) or other artists are hired to keep it going (BRENDA STARR continues with a female team after creator Dale (Delia) Messick died recently). Bunny was writing the strips with Bill anyway, and John keeps the style consistent, so the more popular comics continue successfully 'under new management'.
There are relatively few women drawing comic strips although their situation is still better than that of female animators.
Bunny let me stay at the house overnight because of my transportation difficulties. She actually owns two houses; Bill's mansion is now mainly used as a studio. It runs '24/7' with Bunny doing the writing in the mornings and John doing the artwork at night. Bill built a marvellous studio on the top floor, complete with a crenelated tower containing the drawing board. Large as it was, all the important art materials were within arms' reach.
Bill Hoest was a remarkable man and I am proud to have known him. I think Bunny has done an incredible job keeping the comics going though I am still sad to lose Agatha Crumm.
Ten years ago Bunny married "Doccie" Carpenter, her physician. It turned out to be their tenth anniversary so I had a nice housewarming/anniversary bottle with me. Dr. Carpenter is a world famous pediatrician. He owns an early 19th century mansion of his own complete with horse boarding facilities and a herd of sheep. (The sheep are there to train border collies. I tell no lie.)
About 150 other cartoonists were invited. Bunny has this party every June and insisted that I come. I figured, why not? since I had no plans for the Fourth, I'd celebrate a little early.
I flew from Rochester to La Guardia airport and she sent a limo to pick me up and get me back there.
The mansion is on Lloyd Neck in LonGuyland. This is a place, not a person. Mr. Lloyd's 18th century mansion is now an historic museum that is not far from the Hoest's house. The scenery is lovely along the Sound, with sheltered coves and lots of sailboats. It is not a poor or even middle class community, to be sure. Oddly enough there were some very modest houses, definitely not selling for modest prices, scattered along the area. (One house was listed by Sotheby's auction house so I got the idea that this was definitely a silk stocking district.) The newer houses are of the McMansion variety. The Hoest castle is on land formerly owned by the Colgate family; the Hoests own one of the smaller parcels. The people there must have a minimum of 2 acres of land to build there but the nextdoor neighbor is, Bunny said, building a McMansion that almost fills the plot.
Lots of old NCS friends were there. It had been a while since I attended a function.
Bunny asked me to 'bring along what I was working on' so I printed out a few illustrations.
I was supremely chuffed to find that they made a big hit. Mort Drucker of MAD magazine really liked my caricatures of Humphrey Bogart and Laurel and Hardy (not together; though I did have Bogart with Woody Allen.)
So I won't worry so much about how well the book will be received. It's almost done. Really. I have about fifteen more illustrations to do and I wish to rework a few more. A few young cartoonists at the party agreed to let me use one or two examples of their work. I
There were even a few globetrotters present from the Australian Cartoonists Association there (nice work too).
Australians always travel big; they figure that since they have already travelled several thousand miles before they get anywhere, they might as well keep going. This couple was from Perth. It is the most isolated city in the world so ANYWHERE else is thousands of miles away!
Bunny's husband is 95 years old but did not look it. I brought along a fine bottle of whisky that Bunny said he was sure to enjoy. (it's one way to get old, I guess.)
Dean Yeagle was there; his wife Barbara is still packing so did not come. They leave for L.A. for good on the 7th (only coming back when the sale of their house is final, hopefully soon.) He's doing some interesting work, one of which is a comic that was formerly drawn by Walt Kelly! on the Gremlins (remember the Gremlin in the Bugs Bunny cartoon?) Of course he was delighted to be so honored and get paid too.
I stayed in a guest bedroom, helped Bunny pick up the stuff the next day (she is having another party on the Fourth but I was not able to attend). I shall have to send her a bunny picture. The house has stone, tile, and ceramic bunnies (in the best of taste) in many rooms. Bunny got her nickname as a baby since apparently she was said to resemble one.
I've got a children's book to illustrate. I took it on since the concept was very nice (it is for charity). I figured I am going to be done early with my own book. This referral came through a Disney source and I need to keep my professional chops up. Taking on the second assignment oddly enough broke through several illustrator's 'blocks' for me on my own book and I turned out some of my best illustrations. It's kind of like taking sorbet to clear the palate after the meat course.
The freelance assignment will be done before the end of the summer and Bunny invited me to Doccie's horse farm to draw the animals if I wanted to come for a few days. If I can get the upstairs neighbor to look after Gizmo I will take her up on it.
I'm still catsitting for the Three Beach Balls (the very overweight kitties.) The owners are in Africa studying bonobo chimps. Eric comes back a week before Monique since he's not the scientist; he arrives tomorrow. I have been the main support for these cats. The couple had an elaborate life support system set up with daily assignments for some people but it had one weakness: it relied too heavily on one person who never showed, so without me the cats would have certainly lost weight and possibly trashed the house. I tried calling people to tell them I was away on Thursday and Friday and no one showed up. Fortunately the cats have enough padding and enough food to get by for one day, unlike Gizmo who ate all her food and was very hungry when I got home.
The biggest, fattest one (a 26 pound turkey named Jacques) constantly mews in falsetto for his daddy. He'd make three of Gizmo. I think he wants to be picked up and petted but after one disastrous try I said no way, Jacques.
A cat that size sounds like a human being when it runs around upstairs, so several times I thought there was someone there but when I went up it was obvious that no one else came to take care of the creatures.
Considering their owners have been away for three weeks the cats are remarkably well behaved; there was only one accident on a rug and no claw marks where they should not be, unless you count Jacques' nose. (one of the smaller, fatter girls got him.) If I owned that cat I'd call him Fatty Arbuckle.
The flight home was horrendous. The plane probably walked from Manchester since it was two hours late. When it got there we were taxiied out and about to take off when A Politician allegedly was passing through and the entire airport was ordered shut down. I think the entire plane was sending waves of concentrated hate by then. after twenty minutes they let us go and I had a bumpy ride home. propeller planes are not my dish of tea though I know they are actually safer than jets.
so that was my holiday party. I have no plans for the Fourth though since Eric is back from Uganda I hope he is over his jet lag by then and can tell me how it was. Monique arrives in another week. She celebrated her thirtieth birthday in the outback and it was probably joyous for her--she has pictures of chimps framed on the apartment wall the way other people would have movie stars. (she has worked with some of the famous chimps and speaks of them by name with reverence. It is so cute.)
She also has a bumper sticker that says MY MONKEY IS SMARTER THAN YOUR HONOR STUDENT.
A picture of the Hoest Mansion is attached.
Bill died in 1988, six years after designing and building his dream house out of cobbles taken from two New York Streets. The archaeological details, capstones and other decorative bits came from wrecked Brooklyn buildings. Bill was into building recycling years before it became popular.
Bill drew THE LOCKHORNS and AGATHA CRUMM and HOWARD HUGE. Bunny continues to write the strip with artist John Reiner drawing LOCKHORNS and HOWARD HUGE and LAUGH PARADE. Sadly, Agatha has gone to stock market heaven (I thought this one of the most original strips I'd ever seen.)
Bunny's probably the most successful cartoonist wife carrying on her husband's strip. Usually it is a son or daughter who continues the comic ( Dik Browne's son Chris drawing HAGAR THE HORRIBLE) or lends their name to the comic after the creator dies, (Dean Young for Chic Young's BLONDIE) or other artists are hired to keep it going (BRENDA STARR continues with a female team after creator Dale (Delia) Messick died recently). Bunny was writing the strips with Bill anyway, and John keeps the style consistent, so the more popular comics continue successfully 'under new management'.
There are relatively few women drawing comic strips although their situation is still better than that of female animators.
Bunny let me stay at the house overnight because of my transportation difficulties. She actually owns two houses; Bill's mansion is now mainly used as a studio. It runs '24/7' with Bunny doing the writing in the mornings and John doing the artwork at night. Bill built a marvellous studio on the top floor, complete with a crenelated tower containing the drawing board. Large as it was, all the important art materials were within arms' reach.
Bill Hoest was a remarkable man and I am proud to have known him. I think Bunny has done an incredible job keeping the comics going though I am still sad to lose Agatha Crumm.
Ten years ago Bunny married "Doccie" Carpenter, her physician. It turned out to be their tenth anniversary so I had a nice housewarming/anniversary bottle with me. Dr. Carpenter is a world famous pediatrician. He owns an early 19th century mansion of his own complete with horse boarding facilities and a herd of sheep. (The sheep are there to train border collies. I tell no lie.)
About 150 other cartoonists were invited. Bunny has this party every June and insisted that I come. I figured, why not? since I had no plans for the Fourth, I'd celebrate a little early.
I flew from Rochester to La Guardia airport and she sent a limo to pick me up and get me back there.
The mansion is on Lloyd Neck in LonGuyland. This is a place, not a person. Mr. Lloyd's 18th century mansion is now an historic museum that is not far from the Hoest's house. The scenery is lovely along the Sound, with sheltered coves and lots of sailboats. It is not a poor or even middle class community, to be sure. Oddly enough there were some very modest houses, definitely not selling for modest prices, scattered along the area. (One house was listed by Sotheby's auction house so I got the idea that this was definitely a silk stocking district.) The newer houses are of the McMansion variety. The Hoest castle is on land formerly owned by the Colgate family; the Hoests own one of the smaller parcels. The people there must have a minimum of 2 acres of land to build there but the nextdoor neighbor is, Bunny said, building a McMansion that almost fills the plot.
Lots of old NCS friends were there. It had been a while since I attended a function.
Bunny asked me to 'bring along what I was working on' so I printed out a few illustrations.
I was supremely chuffed to find that they made a big hit. Mort Drucker of MAD magazine really liked my caricatures of Humphrey Bogart and Laurel and Hardy (not together; though I did have Bogart with Woody Allen.)
So I won't worry so much about how well the book will be received. It's almost done. Really. I have about fifteen more illustrations to do and I wish to rework a few more. A few young cartoonists at the party agreed to let me use one or two examples of their work. I
There were even a few globetrotters present from the Australian Cartoonists Association there (nice work too).
Australians always travel big; they figure that since they have already travelled several thousand miles before they get anywhere, they might as well keep going. This couple was from Perth. It is the most isolated city in the world so ANYWHERE else is thousands of miles away!
Bunny's husband is 95 years old but did not look it. I brought along a fine bottle of whisky that Bunny said he was sure to enjoy. (it's one way to get old, I guess.)
Dean Yeagle was there; his wife Barbara is still packing so did not come. They leave for L.A. for good on the 7th (only coming back when the sale of their house is final, hopefully soon.) He's doing some interesting work, one of which is a comic that was formerly drawn by Walt Kelly! on the Gremlins (remember the Gremlin in the Bugs Bunny cartoon?) Of course he was delighted to be so honored and get paid too.
I stayed in a guest bedroom, helped Bunny pick up the stuff the next day (she is having another party on the Fourth but I was not able to attend). I shall have to send her a bunny picture. The house has stone, tile, and ceramic bunnies (in the best of taste) in many rooms. Bunny got her nickname as a baby since apparently she was said to resemble one.
I've got a children's book to illustrate. I took it on since the concept was very nice (it is for charity). I figured I am going to be done early with my own book. This referral came through a Disney source and I need to keep my professional chops up. Taking on the second assignment oddly enough broke through several illustrator's 'blocks' for me on my own book and I turned out some of my best illustrations. It's kind of like taking sorbet to clear the palate after the meat course.
The freelance assignment will be done before the end of the summer and Bunny invited me to Doccie's horse farm to draw the animals if I wanted to come for a few days. If I can get the upstairs neighbor to look after Gizmo I will take her up on it.
I'm still catsitting for the Three Beach Balls (the very overweight kitties.) The owners are in Africa studying bonobo chimps. Eric comes back a week before Monique since he's not the scientist; he arrives tomorrow. I have been the main support for these cats. The couple had an elaborate life support system set up with daily assignments for some people but it had one weakness: it relied too heavily on one person who never showed, so without me the cats would have certainly lost weight and possibly trashed the house. I tried calling people to tell them I was away on Thursday and Friday and no one showed up. Fortunately the cats have enough padding and enough food to get by for one day, unlike Gizmo who ate all her food and was very hungry when I got home.
The biggest, fattest one (a 26 pound turkey named Jacques) constantly mews in falsetto for his daddy. He'd make three of Gizmo. I think he wants to be picked up and petted but after one disastrous try I said no way, Jacques.
A cat that size sounds like a human being when it runs around upstairs, so several times I thought there was someone there but when I went up it was obvious that no one else came to take care of the creatures.
Considering their owners have been away for three weeks the cats are remarkably well behaved; there was only one accident on a rug and no claw marks where they should not be, unless you count Jacques' nose. (one of the smaller, fatter girls got him.) If I owned that cat I'd call him Fatty Arbuckle.
The flight home was horrendous. The plane probably walked from Manchester since it was two hours late. When it got there we were taxiied out and about to take off when A Politician allegedly was passing through and the entire airport was ordered shut down. I think the entire plane was sending waves of concentrated hate by then. after twenty minutes they let us go and I had a bumpy ride home. propeller planes are not my dish of tea though I know they are actually safer than jets.
so that was my holiday party. I have no plans for the Fourth though since Eric is back from Uganda I hope he is over his jet lag by then and can tell me how it was. Monique arrives in another week. She celebrated her thirtieth birthday in the outback and it was probably joyous for her--she has pictures of chimps framed on the apartment wall the way other people would have movie stars. (she has worked with some of the famous chimps and speaks of them by name with reverence. It is so cute.)
She also has a bumper sticker that says MY MONKEY IS SMARTER THAN YOUR HONOR STUDENT.
A picture of the Hoest Mansion is attached.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Redneck Cheese, Mother In Law's Mustard, and a Chair Named Charlie Chaplin
I've purchased a share in a local organic farm. This means I have to find something to do with eleven pounds of organic vegetables every week. First pickup is today, and I'm expecting to put all the beets into the juicer. Funny how I never liked beets until they were juiced--or made into Ukrainian borscht. That is really yummy.
Of course Ukrainian borscht is not really do-able if you are a vegetarian. I've decided to forego the meat this summer for ethical as well as practical reasons. One: It is easy to eat vegetables in the summer. B. You don't need to cook as much,and I have neither the time nor the inclination to cook in summer. C. Maybe it makes you thinner. Did you ever see a fat vegetable?
Now there is a problem with eleven pounds of veg per week; it's a lot for one person to eat. Well, I decided (being a Socialist at heart) to approach my upstairs neighbors and suggest that if I bought the vegetables and they cooked them, we could split the dinners. It saves me the problem of cooking and them the problem of buying the veg. All of this produce is organic and it's going to be about fifty per cent cheaper than going to the market. Even I could do the math.
Well the neighbors are currently in Uganda looking at bonobo chimps, also known as the "Horniest Apes on Earth". (excepting humans?) I call them the apes that would rather Make Love than War. They are the original Party Animals. People in zoos complain about their behaviour and ask the zoos to make them stop (they don't come with a parental approval button, though they have tried literally all the others). Monique is studying aggressive behaviour in bonobos. This is like studying the popularity of McDonald's Burgers in a Hindu community, I told her. No, it seems that there is aggression in bonobo populations; else why would they need to prevent it, or apologize for it, with hot monkey love?
So they're in Africa for another week and a half. I have been catsitting for Jacques, Soleil and Luna, aka the Three Beach Balls, upstairs. The big one would make three of Gizmo; the smaller ones easily weigh fifty per cent more than she does.
But when they're back we'll have the world's smallest food co-op here. Everyone seems to think it is a good idea. Monique is a good cook with vegetables. I can do it too but would rather just keep working on my drawings...especially since I may be doing a lot more of them.
Anyway, this farm share doesn't include fruit, so I went to the market today to see what was there. Lo and behold, amidst all the imported California stuff was genuine New York state strawberries, asparagus, and apples. You have to be very careful at this particular market since a lot of people are not local farmers, just truckers selling stuff outside the supermarket venues.
But the local people are great. There are lots of Amish people selling cheese and cake and bread and honey. One boy asked me whether my bicycle was expensive. I said no, it just was a nice looking machine. Amish kids cannot ride them.
There are lots of surprises at this market...I found a Russian man selling halavah and bought a block. Halavah, when fresh, is a delight. When it is stale it is like eating a stack of old newspapers covered with sugar. This was fresh.
The Russian also had mustard in a jar with a sour-looking old babushka on the label. "What does the lettering say?" I asked. "Is strong--like mother-in law!" the man replied. I bought the mustard for the label and will see if I can scan it--it's hilarious.
Then there was the farmer selling Red Neck Cheese. This is not cheese with a poor education. The cheese rind is a reddish color since it is 'washed'. I don't know what that is, but I know that it is delicious. This was the best American cheese I've had in a great many years; quite as good as anything from Europe.
For breakfast I went to the large cheese shop that sells European cheese. They have a special breakfast with goat cheese and egg and ham on a bagel. I get it with goat cheese and tapenade instead (My own invention, and it's a lot easier to eat; they charge less as well, probably out of pity.) The chair I sat in had the name CHARLIE CHAPLIN printed boldly on the back. Next time I shall have to ask why.
Simple pleasures are geniuine ones. I'd rather mess around in the farmer's market and play with my cat than go to the multiplex to see most of the new movies today.
Of course Ukrainian borscht is not really do-able if you are a vegetarian. I've decided to forego the meat this summer for ethical as well as practical reasons. One: It is easy to eat vegetables in the summer. B. You don't need to cook as much,and I have neither the time nor the inclination to cook in summer. C. Maybe it makes you thinner. Did you ever see a fat vegetable?
Now there is a problem with eleven pounds of veg per week; it's a lot for one person to eat. Well, I decided (being a Socialist at heart) to approach my upstairs neighbors and suggest that if I bought the vegetables and they cooked them, we could split the dinners. It saves me the problem of cooking and them the problem of buying the veg. All of this produce is organic and it's going to be about fifty per cent cheaper than going to the market. Even I could do the math.
Well the neighbors are currently in Uganda looking at bonobo chimps, also known as the "Horniest Apes on Earth". (excepting humans?) I call them the apes that would rather Make Love than War. They are the original Party Animals. People in zoos complain about their behaviour and ask the zoos to make them stop (they don't come with a parental approval button, though they have tried literally all the others). Monique is studying aggressive behaviour in bonobos. This is like studying the popularity of McDonald's Burgers in a Hindu community, I told her. No, it seems that there is aggression in bonobo populations; else why would they need to prevent it, or apologize for it, with hot monkey love?
So they're in Africa for another week and a half. I have been catsitting for Jacques, Soleil and Luna, aka the Three Beach Balls, upstairs. The big one would make three of Gizmo; the smaller ones easily weigh fifty per cent more than she does.
But when they're back we'll have the world's smallest food co-op here. Everyone seems to think it is a good idea. Monique is a good cook with vegetables. I can do it too but would rather just keep working on my drawings...especially since I may be doing a lot more of them.
Anyway, this farm share doesn't include fruit, so I went to the market today to see what was there. Lo and behold, amidst all the imported California stuff was genuine New York state strawberries, asparagus, and apples. You have to be very careful at this particular market since a lot of people are not local farmers, just truckers selling stuff outside the supermarket venues.
But the local people are great. There are lots of Amish people selling cheese and cake and bread and honey. One boy asked me whether my bicycle was expensive. I said no, it just was a nice looking machine. Amish kids cannot ride them.
There are lots of surprises at this market...I found a Russian man selling halavah and bought a block. Halavah, when fresh, is a delight. When it is stale it is like eating a stack of old newspapers covered with sugar. This was fresh.
The Russian also had mustard in a jar with a sour-looking old babushka on the label. "What does the lettering say?" I asked. "Is strong--like mother-in law!" the man replied. I bought the mustard for the label and will see if I can scan it--it's hilarious.
Then there was the farmer selling Red Neck Cheese. This is not cheese with a poor education. The cheese rind is a reddish color since it is 'washed'. I don't know what that is, but I know that it is delicious. This was the best American cheese I've had in a great many years; quite as good as anything from Europe.
For breakfast I went to the large cheese shop that sells European cheese. They have a special breakfast with goat cheese and egg and ham on a bagel. I get it with goat cheese and tapenade instead (My own invention, and it's a lot easier to eat; they charge less as well, probably out of pity.) The chair I sat in had the name CHARLIE CHAPLIN printed boldly on the back. Next time I shall have to ask why.
Simple pleasures are geniuine ones. I'd rather mess around in the farmer's market and play with my cat than go to the multiplex to see most of the new movies today.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Revenge of the Cartoons
It's been announced on Jerry Beck's Cartoon Brew that John Musker and Ron Clements' THE FROG PRINCESS has been greenlit. It will be produced in hand drawn cartoon animation.
I'm happy that the guys are back at Disney. That's really 'home' for them. It should be fun to hear about the development on the project (it's THE FROG PRINCESS, but the setting is highly unusual.)
Meanwhile I'm still staggering along on the book illustrations. Coming down the home stretch and something else possibly will need to be done in the same time period so I need more stamina or perhaps an extra 'me'. It is a busy summer.
I'm happy that the guys are back at Disney. That's really 'home' for them. It should be fun to hear about the development on the project (it's THE FROG PRINCESS, but the setting is highly unusual.)
Meanwhile I'm still staggering along on the book illustrations. Coming down the home stretch and something else possibly will need to be done in the same time period so I need more stamina or perhaps an extra 'me'. It is a busy summer.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
It's Got One More D
I was just sent a link to an online site that posted an article on why drawn storyboards were obsolete.
A second article countered the argument. Very well, too.
The mindset that 'everything can be done with a computer' is not correct. It's not even something that is worth arguing about. It's a lot cheaper to work out ideas on paper before using an expensive machine to work it up in three dimensions. Why is it necessary to keep restating the obvious?
My colleague John Van Vliet once drew a cartoon showing a ponytailed producer talking to an artist at a computer terminal. The producer says, "And I want my entire project in 3D! It's much better than 2D!"
The artist replies, "Why is it better?"
The producer responds with a beatific smile. "It's got ONE MORE 'D'!"
the artist thinks "Cheer up. Someday geeks will inherit the earth."
John swears that this conversation actually occurred.
Hopefully, the truth will out.
A second article countered the argument. Very well, too.
The mindset that 'everything can be done with a computer' is not correct. It's not even something that is worth arguing about. It's a lot cheaper to work out ideas on paper before using an expensive machine to work it up in three dimensions. Why is it necessary to keep restating the obvious?
My colleague John Van Vliet once drew a cartoon showing a ponytailed producer talking to an artist at a computer terminal. The producer says, "And I want my entire project in 3D! It's much better than 2D!"
The artist replies, "Why is it better?"
The producer responds with a beatific smile. "It's got ONE MORE 'D'!"
the artist thinks "Cheer up. Someday geeks will inherit the earth."
John swears that this conversation actually occurred.
Hopefully, the truth will out.
Monday, June 19, 2006
tribute to thomas nast
This image of skyrocketing interest rates and 'credit card mountains' pays tribute to Thomas Nast's caricature 'THE BRAINS'.
The first image shows 'credit card addiction' with varying interest rates on the bottles. I had to ask my friends the value of the 'most expensive poker chip!' The idea of gambling with the house was my own.
The second cartoon shows the different rates of interest on three classes: rich, middle class and poor. The idea was Dr. Manning's. He also suggested the brilliant touch of having the refrigerator crushing the poor woman. I added the silly name on the diaper bag.
The second cartoon shows the different rates of interest on three classes: rich, middle class and poor. The idea was Dr. Manning's. He also suggested the brilliant touch of having the refrigerator crushing the poor woman. I added the silly name on the diaper bag.
IN DEBT WE TRUST
RIT is 12 miles from my house and the public transportation is erratic (I usually take it to go home since it's more important to 'be there on time' than to get home at a certain time, though Gizmo might disagree with me here.)
I found a lady from the Business school who lived nearby and who was willing to carpool. We would commute each morning and return most evenings.
One day there were bags of popcorn--big ones--piled in the back seat. "Party?" I asked. "Screening," she replied. "It's a new documentary on credit card debt based on a book by Doctor Manning; we are viewing a work in progress."
I asked if I could attend this screening. My class couhad lab work that afternoon so I took off and viewed the work print IN DEBT WE TRUST , a film by Daniel Schechter.
Before I get to the rest of the article, let me tell you to GO SEE THIS MOVIE. It was one of the most important documentaries I've seen in years. There's no distributor yet but there will be a screening somewhere in Upstate New York (Rochester?) on July 4. The response in Nantucket (where it premiered at the veddy veddy tony film fest there) was outstanding, with two sold-out screenings.)
anyway when I saw the work pic I noticed that there were slugs inserted for 'animation'. I also noticed that my good friend Nenad Bach was doing the background music!
I spoke with Dr. Robert Manning after the screening and asked whether he was looking for an animator. He was. When was his wrap date? Two weeks from now. "You will never get animation finished in this amount of time, but you WILL be able to use illustrations!" I told him. I then volunteered to do them myself. after writing to Nenad, who told me that it was a great picture and he'd recommend me to his friend Daniel Schechter.
The upshot of the deal was that I spoke with Daniel Schechter about what sort of illustrations he wanted; explained that it was really too late for animation; drew up a bunch of roughs and showed them to Mr. Schechter and Doctor Manning ; both suggested changes and so I drew up a mess of political cartoons for this film and for the upcoming website--my first in years and the only ones published. I always wanted to be a political cartoonist but never had the fire in the belly that a Thomas Nast or a C. D. Batchelor or Vaughn Shoemaker did. I am not a devotee of the 'ha ha funny' school of political cartooning that is popular today; I prefer the older guys to just about everyone working today. There is nothing funny about politics today!
Since I've spent my entire career doing 'funny stuff' there is an element of comedy in these drawings. But I was never more serious in my life.
Two of the drawings are in the film, the rest are to be used on the upcoming website, and two more will appear as illustrations in PREPARE TO BOARD.
I found a lady from the Business school who lived nearby and who was willing to carpool. We would commute each morning and return most evenings.
One day there were bags of popcorn--big ones--piled in the back seat. "Party?" I asked. "Screening," she replied. "It's a new documentary on credit card debt based on a book by Doctor Manning; we are viewing a work in progress."
I asked if I could attend this screening. My class couhad lab work that afternoon so I took off and viewed the work print IN DEBT WE TRUST , a film by Daniel Schechter.
Before I get to the rest of the article, let me tell you to GO SEE THIS MOVIE. It was one of the most important documentaries I've seen in years. There's no distributor yet but there will be a screening somewhere in Upstate New York (Rochester?) on July 4. The response in Nantucket (where it premiered at the veddy veddy tony film fest there) was outstanding, with two sold-out screenings.)
anyway when I saw the work pic I noticed that there were slugs inserted for 'animation'. I also noticed that my good friend Nenad Bach was doing the background music!
I spoke with Dr. Robert Manning after the screening and asked whether he was looking for an animator. He was. When was his wrap date? Two weeks from now. "You will never get animation finished in this amount of time, but you WILL be able to use illustrations!" I told him. I then volunteered to do them myself. after writing to Nenad, who told me that it was a great picture and he'd recommend me to his friend Daniel Schechter.
The upshot of the deal was that I spoke with Daniel Schechter about what sort of illustrations he wanted; explained that it was really too late for animation; drew up a bunch of roughs and showed them to Mr. Schechter and Doctor Manning ; both suggested changes and so I drew up a mess of political cartoons for this film and for the upcoming website--my first in years and the only ones published. I always wanted to be a political cartoonist but never had the fire in the belly that a Thomas Nast or a C. D. Batchelor or Vaughn Shoemaker did. I am not a devotee of the 'ha ha funny' school of political cartooning that is popular today; I prefer the older guys to just about everyone working today. There is nothing funny about politics today!
Since I've spent my entire career doing 'funny stuff' there is an element of comedy in these drawings. But I was never more serious in my life.
Two of the drawings are in the film, the rest are to be used on the upcoming website, and two more will appear as illustrations in PREPARE TO BOARD.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Book News
MEANWHILE BACK AT THE RANCH: The school year ended with a terrific show from the RIT animation students. Focal Press editor Paul Temme made a special trip to Rochester to see the program and it did not disappoint him. I like to show that my 'methods' actually work, and so student work illustrates some of the exercises.
All the negative examples are mine. I'm having a lot of fun messing with storybook characters such as the Three Bears and the Three Little Pigs.
Summer arrived this week; it's well over ninety outside though a nice breeze from the lake makes it not too intolerable. Worse weather will arrive later. The apartment has special curtains that help reflect the heat, so I'm prepared for the inevitable brownouts.
My own student film showed at the Museum of Modern art at the beginning of the month. I also invited friends, spent too much money, and showed the RIT seniors' work to a number of people and also to the curator of the new Museum of Comic and Cartoon Art in SoHo. Their current show, SHE DRAWS COMICS, is curated by noted historian Trina Robbins. It features original comic art by women cartoonists such as Edwina Dumm, Grace Drayton, and Dale Messick who were famous in their day and are not given their proper due in most comic histories. This museum has no shingle or sign outside and it's a must-see in lower Manhattan. Go to see this show!
A new book on the female NEW YORKER cartoonists, FUNNY LADIES, has just been published. I had no idea that "Sher Mund" was shorthand for Barbara Shermund. It's also a crying shame that there were many female cartoonists in the original New Yorker but their number greatly declined in the Sixties.
I've decided that there should be a certain percentage of female artists in my book since I'm fed up to the back teeth with the guy-centrism that is even more apparent in animation than it is in comics; a comic artist can publish her own book, but a female animator must work on a project with other artists, the vast majority of whom are male. Quick, name a female animation director. --Thought so. (Yvette Kaplan and Jun Falkenstein come to mind in the USA. Europe does better; Joanna Quinn makes wonderful films and there are other female directors on the Continent.
So I have a few artistic contributions from Nina Paley, Nina Haley (no relation), and RIT students Brittney Lee, Kimberly Miner and Sarah Kropiewnicki. And of course there's my stuff all over the place.
The Museum of Comic and Cartoon Art will host RIT in a special animation show this fall! The curator was impressed enough with the works I showed to suggest that a student make a presentation; and I believe we can arrange to get one of this year's seniors who has to come back for one more class (for some reason) in the fall term. I'm going to recommend showing maquettes and color work as well; we can 'have wall space' which means it might not be a one day's presentation. This will be excellent publicity for the school's animation program and the museum. I'll write more about it when it actually gets scheduled.
I don't know if we'll be able to have a book signing there too in January when PREPARE TO BOARD is published, but I wouldn't mind it. Right now it's more important to get the student work in front of the public. There are some excellent films to choose from and by no means all are senior projects.
All the negative examples are mine. I'm having a lot of fun messing with storybook characters such as the Three Bears and the Three Little Pigs.
Summer arrived this week; it's well over ninety outside though a nice breeze from the lake makes it not too intolerable. Worse weather will arrive later. The apartment has special curtains that help reflect the heat, so I'm prepared for the inevitable brownouts.
My own student film showed at the Museum of Modern art at the beginning of the month. I also invited friends, spent too much money, and showed the RIT seniors' work to a number of people and also to the curator of the new Museum of Comic and Cartoon Art in SoHo. Their current show, SHE DRAWS COMICS, is curated by noted historian Trina Robbins. It features original comic art by women cartoonists such as Edwina Dumm, Grace Drayton, and Dale Messick who were famous in their day and are not given their proper due in most comic histories. This museum has no shingle or sign outside and it's a must-see in lower Manhattan. Go to see this show!
A new book on the female NEW YORKER cartoonists, FUNNY LADIES, has just been published. I had no idea that "Sher Mund" was shorthand for Barbara Shermund. It's also a crying shame that there were many female cartoonists in the original New Yorker but their number greatly declined in the Sixties.
I've decided that there should be a certain percentage of female artists in my book since I'm fed up to the back teeth with the guy-centrism that is even more apparent in animation than it is in comics; a comic artist can publish her own book, but a female animator must work on a project with other artists, the vast majority of whom are male. Quick, name a female animation director. --Thought so. (Yvette Kaplan and Jun Falkenstein come to mind in the USA. Europe does better; Joanna Quinn makes wonderful films and there are other female directors on the Continent.
So I have a few artistic contributions from Nina Paley, Nina Haley (no relation), and RIT students Brittney Lee, Kimberly Miner and Sarah Kropiewnicki. And of course there's my stuff all over the place.
The Museum of Comic and Cartoon Art will host RIT in a special animation show this fall! The curator was impressed enough with the works I showed to suggest that a student make a presentation; and I believe we can arrange to get one of this year's seniors who has to come back for one more class (for some reason) in the fall term. I'm going to recommend showing maquettes and color work as well; we can 'have wall space' which means it might not be a one day's presentation. This will be excellent publicity for the school's animation program and the museum. I'll write more about it when it actually gets scheduled.
I don't know if we'll be able to have a book signing there too in January when PREPARE TO BOARD is published, but I wouldn't mind it. Right now it's more important to get the student work in front of the public. There are some excellent films to choose from and by no means all are senior projects.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Extreme Materials
You'd never know it to read this blog but I actually live near three of Rochester's four large museums. And the fourth is a short walk away.
The most famous museum here is of course the George Eastman House, home of Kodak's founder and one of the best repositories of historic photographic and motion picture materials in the world.
Eastman's house is on East Avenue. I live on Park Avenue. East Avenue is the 'Park Avenue' of Rochester. It boasts literally dozens of magnificent houses from 1890-1920, most of them either broken up into offices or condos. A few, thankfully only a few, were demolished in the Depression. I am talking about seriously large mansions and Eastman House is definitely the largest.
Mr. Eastman was so rich that that when he didn't like the proportions of his new conservatory room he asked that the house be sawed in half and moved back nine feet. He also insisted that the water and electricity keep running while this was being done. The year was 1904. When told this could not be done, Mr. Eastman said, 'Of course it can', paid what was necessary, had it done and kept his hot tea and reading lights going at the same time. It is difficult to think of someone being able to move half of a mansion intact with 'modern' technology. Most likely in 1904 it was moved with horses! The conservatory is well proportioned and a slightly different hue to one section of the marble floor is the only sign of the surgery that survives.
The biggest elephant head I've ever seen looks down at you from the high wall. Unfortunately Mr. Eastman was into that Guy Thing of the early 20th century that had people killing stuff Because They Could. One of his desks is covered in hippopotamus hide from an animal he killed, and he used to joke that 'I shot the desk'.
The Dryden Theatre is part of Eastman House and it shows the best movies in town. I'm a member but what with one thing and the other do not get there much because of ...well, the book, and work.
I literally live right next door to the Science Museum, which boasts a nice telescope on the roof which is always open free to the public on Saturday nights. It dates from the 1960s but is still serviceable, and in the nice weather I go next door to literally see what is up after 9 PM.
I'm not enough of a geek to do it when the weather is NOT nice (they call it on account of rain or cloud, but are out in the cold winter weather).
The third close museum is the Memorial Art Gallery which is owned by RIT'S rival college, University of Rochester. My next door neighbor is the publicist there and I finally joined the museum last week. It's about three blocks away and their latest show is called EXTREME MATERIALS. WHAT a show this is!
Just go and see it. I won't spend time talking about something that already has a nice website showing just how beautiful garbage and 'found objects' can be made to be. I always maintained that the artists would be the ones who really solved the problems of the disposable society. And most of them had a lot of fun while doing it. My favorite is the zipper sculpture on the opening page.
So take a virtual visit there today! The fourth Rochester museum, the Margaret Woodbury Strong Toy Museum, deserves an entry to itself and will have to wait. I have to go play Mouse with Gizmo so will close now.
The most famous museum here is of course the George Eastman House, home of Kodak's founder and one of the best repositories of historic photographic and motion picture materials in the world.
Eastman's house is on East Avenue. I live on Park Avenue. East Avenue is the 'Park Avenue' of Rochester. It boasts literally dozens of magnificent houses from 1890-1920, most of them either broken up into offices or condos. A few, thankfully only a few, were demolished in the Depression. I am talking about seriously large mansions and Eastman House is definitely the largest.
Mr. Eastman was so rich that that when he didn't like the proportions of his new conservatory room he asked that the house be sawed in half and moved back nine feet. He also insisted that the water and electricity keep running while this was being done. The year was 1904. When told this could not be done, Mr. Eastman said, 'Of course it can', paid what was necessary, had it done and kept his hot tea and reading lights going at the same time. It is difficult to think of someone being able to move half of a mansion intact with 'modern' technology. Most likely in 1904 it was moved with horses! The conservatory is well proportioned and a slightly different hue to one section of the marble floor is the only sign of the surgery that survives.
The biggest elephant head I've ever seen looks down at you from the high wall. Unfortunately Mr. Eastman was into that Guy Thing of the early 20th century that had people killing stuff Because They Could. One of his desks is covered in hippopotamus hide from an animal he killed, and he used to joke that 'I shot the desk'.
The Dryden Theatre is part of Eastman House and it shows the best movies in town. I'm a member but what with one thing and the other do not get there much because of ...well, the book, and work.
I literally live right next door to the Science Museum, which boasts a nice telescope on the roof which is always open free to the public on Saturday nights. It dates from the 1960s but is still serviceable, and in the nice weather I go next door to literally see what is up after 9 PM.
I'm not enough of a geek to do it when the weather is NOT nice (they call it on account of rain or cloud, but are out in the cold winter weather).
The third close museum is the Memorial Art Gallery which is owned by RIT'S rival college, University of Rochester. My next door neighbor is the publicist there and I finally joined the museum last week. It's about three blocks away and their latest show is called EXTREME MATERIALS. WHAT a show this is!
Just go and see it. I won't spend time talking about something that already has a nice website showing just how beautiful garbage and 'found objects' can be made to be. I always maintained that the artists would be the ones who really solved the problems of the disposable society. And most of them had a lot of fun while doing it. My favorite is the zipper sculpture on the opening page.
So take a virtual visit there today! The fourth Rochester museum, the Margaret Woodbury Strong Toy Museum, deserves an entry to itself and will have to wait. I have to go play Mouse with Gizmo so will close now.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
You've been away too long, had your say too long...(Fats Waller)
Wow, it's been three months. Honestly, I wanted to post more often, but I've spent just about every waking hour doing three things: Working (which is still defined as 'teaching at RIT' at least til someone tells me different); writing my book, which is now about 80 per cent done; and playing Mouse Chase with Gizmo, pretty much in that order.
There are some excellent senior projects I'm supervising and the students have been kind enough to let me use some of their artwork in PREPARE TO BOARD! I've never worked so hard for so little money but I'm pleased to say that I think the book may just be worth it. Perhaps someone may buy it. I would like to think so.
The main problem so many animation how-to books have is that the authors do all the artwork themselves. I did not want to make this a one woman show so got some really super people to help me on this...and so I've got a little variety here. Some stuff from my collection goes in as well but the most important part of this book will probably be two things: my reworking of a famous 1940 production chart for animated films, since it's about time someone brought this into the 21st century; and my interview with Ken Anderson, the art director of 101 DALMATIANS, THE JUNGLE BOOK, and isn't that enough to know for now?
This is easily one of the best interviews I ever got. I often thank my (much) younger self for asking the right questions in these old interviews, amazing really considering how inexperienced I was (I was 21 and just about to leave school for my first job with Jack Zander.) But somehow, the right things got asked and answered. It's amazing to see how Ken sums up the entire book I took a year to write in just one session. (I edited out irrelevant or dated information since he went on for four hours with us. I'm going to donate the full tape to the new Cartoon Museum in New York if they'll take it.) I should just print his interview and the illustrations to save time...
Ken's got the last word in the book, and it's pretty devastating. Roy Disney kindly allowed me to quote him for the 'opener' and it's equally devastating. Grand stuff. Grand people.
The cat has been useful. She's here to distract me by asking to play Mouse when I've been at the computer too long. Gizmo has a very important job. No, she won't get a credit in the book, but she will appear in some of the illustrations.
I'm on track to finish at the end of August and the book should be out in January 2007.
I had to pinch myself at the beginning to think yes, finally, I REALLY have a book this time that won't disappear and prove to be some sort of dream or joke.
I hope it's not a joke. I've got a lot of humour in it though. I quote everyone from Georgia O'Keefe to Jack Handey (Deep Thoughts) and Louise Brooks in the opening quotes to each chapter.
Dad says it can't be a good textbook since it is readable. That's his way of paying a compliment.
I've also got a great art director vetting my chapters on design and two pro writers proofing other chapters. One corrected an historical error I made when speaking of a certain 'wabbit'.
Gonna do this right the first time since there will most likely be no other. Dad asked about a 'second edition with updates.' I had to explain that I'm talking about storyboard and character design...these things don't NEED updates. I think former classmate Darrell Van Citters said it best: the only program you need to use for it is Pentel 2.0 (a pencil)
And of course, imagination.
Wow, it's been three months. Honestly, I wanted to post more often, but I've spent just about every waking hour doing three things: Working (which is still defined as 'teaching at RIT' at least til someone tells me different); writing my book, which is now about 80 per cent done; and playing Mouse Chase with Gizmo, pretty much in that order.
There are some excellent senior projects I'm supervising and the students have been kind enough to let me use some of their artwork in PREPARE TO BOARD! I've never worked so hard for so little money but I'm pleased to say that I think the book may just be worth it. Perhaps someone may buy it. I would like to think so.
The main problem so many animation how-to books have is that the authors do all the artwork themselves. I did not want to make this a one woman show so got some really super people to help me on this...and so I've got a little variety here. Some stuff from my collection goes in as well but the most important part of this book will probably be two things: my reworking of a famous 1940 production chart for animated films, since it's about time someone brought this into the 21st century; and my interview with Ken Anderson, the art director of 101 DALMATIANS, THE JUNGLE BOOK, and isn't that enough to know for now?
This is easily one of the best interviews I ever got. I often thank my (much) younger self for asking the right questions in these old interviews, amazing really considering how inexperienced I was (I was 21 and just about to leave school for my first job with Jack Zander.) But somehow, the right things got asked and answered. It's amazing to see how Ken sums up the entire book I took a year to write in just one session. (I edited out irrelevant or dated information since he went on for four hours with us. I'm going to donate the full tape to the new Cartoon Museum in New York if they'll take it.) I should just print his interview and the illustrations to save time...
Ken's got the last word in the book, and it's pretty devastating. Roy Disney kindly allowed me to quote him for the 'opener' and it's equally devastating. Grand stuff. Grand people.
The cat has been useful. She's here to distract me by asking to play Mouse when I've been at the computer too long. Gizmo has a very important job. No, she won't get a credit in the book, but she will appear in some of the illustrations.
I'm on track to finish at the end of August and the book should be out in January 2007.
I had to pinch myself at the beginning to think yes, finally, I REALLY have a book this time that won't disappear and prove to be some sort of dream or joke.
I hope it's not a joke. I've got a lot of humour in it though. I quote everyone from Georgia O'Keefe to Jack Handey (Deep Thoughts) and Louise Brooks in the opening quotes to each chapter.
Dad says it can't be a good textbook since it is readable. That's his way of paying a compliment.
I've also got a great art director vetting my chapters on design and two pro writers proofing other chapters. One corrected an historical error I made when speaking of a certain 'wabbit'.
Gonna do this right the first time since there will most likely be no other. Dad asked about a 'second edition with updates.' I had to explain that I'm talking about storyboard and character design...these things don't NEED updates. I think former classmate Darrell Van Citters said it best: the only program you need to use for it is Pentel 2.0 (a pencil)
And of course, imagination.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
The Plaster Cat
Yesterday I was working at home and the maintenance man came to plaster a wall that had paint peeling. He sanded the plaster after it dried and then asked me what I did. I got a little vain when he said he'd seen HERCULES and took him in the studio and showed him the Fates cel on the wall. I then fired up the computer to show some of the illustrations for the book.
Just then a pure white cat ran into the room and leaped gracefully onto my lap, landing in a cloud of white smoke, and said "MEOW", very clearly.
It actually took me a minute to realize what she had done. Ryan said my face was a study. I wish I had seen it.
I took Gizmo into the living room, held her on my lap, and beat her with the flat of my hand like a carpet, raising a large cloud of dust each time. (She didn't mind this since it did not hurt her.)
I then held her and brushed both sides more than she'd been used to. Fortunately she is not an aggressive animal and did not try to fight me.
I have something called Pet Wipes. I used them.
Meanwhile Ryan vacuumed up what was left of the plaster powder.
Gizmo had another wheezing attack later that evening, but at least now I know what it is from.
So I am calling her the Plaster Cat.
Just then a pure white cat ran into the room and leaped gracefully onto my lap, landing in a cloud of white smoke, and said "MEOW", very clearly.
It actually took me a minute to realize what she had done. Ryan said my face was a study. I wish I had seen it.
I took Gizmo into the living room, held her on my lap, and beat her with the flat of my hand like a carpet, raising a large cloud of dust each time. (She didn't mind this since it did not hurt her.)
I then held her and brushed both sides more than she'd been used to. Fortunately she is not an aggressive animal and did not try to fight me.
I have something called Pet Wipes. I used them.
Meanwhile Ryan vacuumed up what was left of the plaster powder.
Gizmo had another wheezing attack later that evening, but at least now I know what it is from.
So I am calling her the Plaster Cat.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Back to back
I sent off the first third of my book to the editor two weeks ago. A recent email stated that he likes the illustrations. He will write about the text later. Dad (who has no contact with the industry) read an early draft and typically enough stated that I am not writing a real textbook, since it is actually readable. Mom corrected a few typos. (Spellcheckers? We don't need no steenkin' spellcheckers!)
I am polishing the prose as I go along, working in sections (as I do when I animate) and using humourous examples when possible since the method works when I teach. There are comical illustrations as well as negative examples , some of which were given to me by a very helpful student. Examples of his much better recent work will be published right alongside the weaker work to make sure that people don't get the wrong impression.
My writing style can be verbose so I edit out repetitions and keep the text short and sweet. The first eleven chapters please me and got a good and fair crit from Greg Ford and Ronnie Scheib, who are acting as unofficial editors. Chapter 12 is underway but a sudden health emergency with Gizmo has slowed me down a bit. Poor cat has to go to the vet since meds made her sicker than before. I do this on the weekends and so this takes time out from the writing, but one must prioritize things. Student work will be used for some of the illustrations and this should give a nice mixed flavour to the proceedings. Many animation books only contain drawings by the author, and this leads to a one-way mentality (as in 'only one way to do this'.) It's important to show the way other artists handled their projects. Particularly students. When considering a faculty hire, I want to see a reel of students' work rather than their own showreel. Good student work is the best advertisement for a good professor.
Weather here was bright and very cold and we had the first snowfall in a week and I was never gladder to see it. There is something desperately wrong with sixty degree temperatures in Rochester in January.
The new computer is chugging along beautifully though I no longer have the picture publishing program. Oh well, must find another. This is a double drive monster that effortlessly handles very large files. I got it just in time, the other one was dying fast. Dad claims he has resuscitated it, but the repairman claimed the disc was skipping. Anyway, Dad is welcome to use the old laptop if he can keep it alive.
And I registered with Tina Price's new company, the Creative Talent Network for a very reasonable fee. It was amazing to see all my old Disney colleagues there, even those who are still there have a site. Tina was always a real self starter and this could be an interesting association.
I've got to send her a disc of some of my artwork. She's kind enough to set up a page for me onsite. There's no way I can do it with all the other stuff that is going on.
The Academy dvds are a royal pain to deliver here since they all have to be signed for and the deliveryman has an irritating habit of coming when I am at work. Fortunately I have someone who will sign for them for me when I'm not here.
The best films I've seen so far have been GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD LUCK and BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN (both sure nominees for Best Photography and probably a couple of others as well.)
My main objectives: get the cat well, get some more writing done, and get ready for classes next week.
I am polishing the prose as I go along, working in sections (as I do when I animate) and using humourous examples when possible since the method works when I teach. There are comical illustrations as well as negative examples , some of which were given to me by a very helpful student. Examples of his much better recent work will be published right alongside the weaker work to make sure that people don't get the wrong impression.
My writing style can be verbose so I edit out repetitions and keep the text short and sweet. The first eleven chapters please me and got a good and fair crit from Greg Ford and Ronnie Scheib, who are acting as unofficial editors. Chapter 12 is underway but a sudden health emergency with Gizmo has slowed me down a bit. Poor cat has to go to the vet since meds made her sicker than before. I do this on the weekends and so this takes time out from the writing, but one must prioritize things. Student work will be used for some of the illustrations and this should give a nice mixed flavour to the proceedings. Many animation books only contain drawings by the author, and this leads to a one-way mentality (as in 'only one way to do this'.) It's important to show the way other artists handled their projects. Particularly students. When considering a faculty hire, I want to see a reel of students' work rather than their own showreel. Good student work is the best advertisement for a good professor.
Weather here was bright and very cold and we had the first snowfall in a week and I was never gladder to see it. There is something desperately wrong with sixty degree temperatures in Rochester in January.
The new computer is chugging along beautifully though I no longer have the picture publishing program. Oh well, must find another. This is a double drive monster that effortlessly handles very large files. I got it just in time, the other one was dying fast. Dad claims he has resuscitated it, but the repairman claimed the disc was skipping. Anyway, Dad is welcome to use the old laptop if he can keep it alive.
And I registered with Tina Price's new company, the Creative Talent Network for a very reasonable fee. It was amazing to see all my old Disney colleagues there, even those who are still there have a site. Tina was always a real self starter and this could be an interesting association.
I've got to send her a disc of some of my artwork. She's kind enough to set up a page for me onsite. There's no way I can do it with all the other stuff that is going on.
The Academy dvds are a royal pain to deliver here since they all have to be signed for and the deliveryman has an irritating habit of coming when I am at work. Fortunately I have someone who will sign for them for me when I'm not here.
The best films I've seen so far have been GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD LUCK and BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN (both sure nominees for Best Photography and probably a couple of others as well.)
My main objectives: get the cat well, get some more writing done, and get ready for classes next week.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Winter Break
I've been busy writing my new book during the Winter break. The topic: storyboard and character design for animated features and shorts. The publisher: Focal/Elsevier, a well known textbook publisher. The deadline: next summer, all inclusive.
After that nice long Canadian trip I figured I'd settle down and get this thing going on all subsequent breaks.
I figured getting a cat at this time would be a good idea, since I'm spending so much time in front of the computer that I get a little distracted from things like eating and housekeeping. Gizmo is doing a superb job at reminding me that I have to get away from the machine every now and then. Every few hours she pokes me in the bum and insists that I get up and play with her. Sometimes she has jumped on my shoulder and sat there like a parrot. This has not been as popular with me but it is funny to see. She refrains from kitty editing or messing with the computer in any way. This girl was the ideal recruit for the job.
My old computer fainted and trembled at the size of the graphics files I must use, so I went out and got a double barrelled, double disc, hypercharged Ferrari of a machine that effortlessly handles all the materials in a fraction of the time.
And what materials! Hundreds of illustrations must be drawn, and I am a little angry that I seem to only be able to do eight or nine a day. The writing's about one third done. Thankfully I have writer friends who have been advising me on technical and literary matters. My writing style is direct and they made me changed it when it started to wander. I'm grateful and they will be suitably credited in the dedication.
Several students at RIT have given me permission to use their work. This will, I think make the book unique, since some of the projects are advancing at the same time that I'm writing the book; so we'll have progressive developments in three media (I am working with cartoonists, CGI animators and one stop motion student.)
There are a lot of topics to cover. Every storyboard book I've seen has been aimed at either comic book artists, live action filmmakers, or television animators. This book will contain notes and storyboard materials that I assembled over a thirty year period, including interviews with Tex Avery, Ken O'Connor, and a variety of other animators and writers.
And who knows, maybe someone will buy it. I haven't though ahead that far, to tell you the truth. Right now I just want to get it done.
School starts next week and so I'll take care of student issues first, then go on with the writing.
And, of course, play with the cat.
After that nice long Canadian trip I figured I'd settle down and get this thing going on all subsequent breaks.
I figured getting a cat at this time would be a good idea, since I'm spending so much time in front of the computer that I get a little distracted from things like eating and housekeeping. Gizmo is doing a superb job at reminding me that I have to get away from the machine every now and then. Every few hours she pokes me in the bum and insists that I get up and play with her. Sometimes she has jumped on my shoulder and sat there like a parrot. This has not been as popular with me but it is funny to see. She refrains from kitty editing or messing with the computer in any way. This girl was the ideal recruit for the job.
My old computer fainted and trembled at the size of the graphics files I must use, so I went out and got a double barrelled, double disc, hypercharged Ferrari of a machine that effortlessly handles all the materials in a fraction of the time.
And what materials! Hundreds of illustrations must be drawn, and I am a little angry that I seem to only be able to do eight or nine a day. The writing's about one third done. Thankfully I have writer friends who have been advising me on technical and literary matters. My writing style is direct and they made me changed it when it started to wander. I'm grateful and they will be suitably credited in the dedication.
Several students at RIT have given me permission to use their work. This will, I think make the book unique, since some of the projects are advancing at the same time that I'm writing the book; so we'll have progressive developments in three media (I am working with cartoonists, CGI animators and one stop motion student.)
There are a lot of topics to cover. Every storyboard book I've seen has been aimed at either comic book artists, live action filmmakers, or television animators. This book will contain notes and storyboard materials that I assembled over a thirty year period, including interviews with Tex Avery, Ken O'Connor, and a variety of other animators and writers.
And who knows, maybe someone will buy it. I haven't though ahead that far, to tell you the truth. Right now I just want to get it done.
School starts next week and so I'll take care of student issues first, then go on with the writing.
And, of course, play with the cat.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
I know it's been a while since my last post. I've not been writing since most of my time has been spent t at work teaching, or at home writing a textbook on animation design and storyboard which will be published in 2007 by Focal Press. The rest of my not-so-copious free time has been spent with Gizmo, a small black and white cat whom I adopted on Guy Fawkes' Day, 2005.
I'd never owned a cat before but since my building does not allow dogs, a cat became necessary. It is nice to have someone greet you when you come home, and I figured that 23 years is a long time to carry a torch for a (very late) pet. Peaches was the family dog who died in 1982. I'd not had a fuzzy friend since.
Now, when you are in the market for a cat, people are as eager to fix you up with one as they once were to fix you up for a date. Except that it is far easier to find a good cat.
Emails came in from all over. Someone died and left fifteen cats orphaned. I was interested in one little girl but she went elsewhere.
There is an excellent Humane society farm here called Lollipop, but it was way out in the country and I have no car. A neighbor promised to take me there. We planned to go during the Thanksgiving break.
Then came an email at work, referred by one of the Student Services people, stating that an 'active, small, female cat' aged four, who had been spayed and declawed, was available.
Whatever one may think of the morality of declawing it is absolutely necessary if one has a houseful of Victorian antique furniture, and so I insited that prospective cat friends have this feature.
I auditioned Gizmo on the weekend of the 5th and she got the part. She is charming, well trained, very fuzzy and afectionate and generally a very good kitty. Why did the other people give her away? Well, they wanted a dog and Gizmo didn't. Their loss.
I don't know a lot about cats. Whoever said they were more independent than dogs was nuts. Gizmo is incredibly affectionate and she needs a lot of attention. She makes the late dog Peaches look like a Stoic by comparison. Then again, Peaches had four people to spoil her rotten.
Fortunately Gizmo adjusted very well to the new house and new owner; there was no problem getting her to use her (same) litterbox. After some trials in which either she or I hated the brands, I found a clumping brand of litter that did not give me allergies which she sort of liked which was biodegradable. Cleaning the box is sort of like panning for gold with less salubrious results, but the 'clumps' (which look distressingly like breaded veal cutlets) go right in the toilet and that's the end of that. There's no smell and little mess, which could have been a problem in a small bathroom.
Gizzy sleeps in my bed so there was no need for a cat bed. She's nice, fuzzy and purrs a lot.
I had trouble understanding cat language. As far as I am concerned all cats speak the same language that Grundoon the baby groundhog spoke in the POGO comic strip.
"Mxrp?"
"Gizmo, want a kitty treat?"
"Mrowppmmprrummmmmmrrrrr!"
It took a while to understand that the short, sharp. "murpp" sounds that she made were approving remarks. A dog making those noises is distinctly pissed off. Cat and dog really do speak different languages.
I am greeted each day with a a loud, long MEEEEEEOOOOOWWWWW when I come home from work. I interpret this as "Where the hell have YOU been?"
Early on it became necessary to inform Gizmo that we do not play Mouse at three o'clock in the morning. Not even if she has to.
Gizmo would first put her paw on my face at three a.m. Then she bit my nose.
When I objected to this she would set up an almighty howl outside the bedroom door. This was assuaged by the liberal dispersal of toilet paper rolls (empty) in the hallway. Kitty loves to clutch them to her bosom and wallop them with her hind feet to kill them and the sounds of 'scrabble scrabble scrabble' hopefully do not wake up Downstairs Neighbor in the dead of night.
Gizzy likes to 'knead'. This means she massages my right shoulder as often as she gets a chance to. She doesn't care if I have a sweater on or not. It's moderately painful without sweaters but if she could be trained to do this move on my back, I could hire her out as a Swedish masseuse. She's pretty strong for such a little thing. (she weighs about eight pounds and thankfully is not overweight.)
Gizzy has accomodated me on the choice of cat litter. But. She. Will. Not. Eat. Anything. But. One. Brand.Of. Cat. Food. Period.
I have tried more wholesome brands and she won't eat it even if she has no other choice. I have written to Paul Newman asking if he could market his cat food with Pizza Pie flavouring. Gizzy likes cheese and adores pizza. Since she is an adopted cat once owned by a guy I guess she grew up eating Guy Food. I haven't tried to give her any beer.
I don't eat pizza much but during a recent visit from a guest the revalation came. I had no time to cook that night so we ordered a 'white pizza'. Gizzy made noise til we gave her the box, and then she fished out a small piece of cheese which she seeemd to enjoy.
Actually most cats like cheese. I have written to Paul Newman asking him to please market his more wholesome cat food in Pizza flavour, and maybe Gizzy would eat it. Right now, she won't. The cat simply is not PC. She likes her kitty junk food and since she seems to be perfectly healthy, that is what she will continue to eat.
Cat toys are like women's fashions. They are cheaply made, overpriced for what you get, and are easily disposed of. Poor Gizzy cried when her mouse toys disintegrated after five minutes of play. I should point out that Gizzy does not play in a ladylike fashion, batting the toys delicately as cats are shown doing in the ads. Gizzy sinks her teeth into the thing and hauls backward as hard as she can, like a dog, playing tug of war with the 'fishing lines' that I use to cast the mouses around the furniture. Most of the mice don't survive a day or so of this, and some of the toys were actually dangerously made.
After the third destroyed mouse I went to the junk store, got a piece of fur from an old mink coat for a buck, wrapped it around a notebook ring that had been firmly attached to the fishing line FIRST, and tied the remaining tail in a knot. The resulting 'minky' is a great success and she can eat the fur with little hardship. Heaven knows what some of the other toys were made of. Her favorite toy was quickly destroyed and it's not possible to replace it. The remains of its fur are tied to a chenille pull in the bathtub (where Miss Kitty takes her catnip). She was heartbroken to have these toys taken away and has not shown as much enthusiasm for anything else. I have my suspicions as to the composition of the fur since she likes to try and eat the coyote fur trim on my best parka.
Sir Paul McCartney and his wife Heather are very active in urging a ban on the use of dog and cat fur for these toys, and I am wholly in agreement, even if the cat seems to like eating dog.
Anyway, Gizmo is a very, very nice cat. I feel better now that she's here.
I'll post a picture. She's also going to be on my holiday card this year, naturally!
I'd never owned a cat before but since my building does not allow dogs, a cat became necessary. It is nice to have someone greet you when you come home, and I figured that 23 years is a long time to carry a torch for a (very late) pet. Peaches was the family dog who died in 1982. I'd not had a fuzzy friend since.
Now, when you are in the market for a cat, people are as eager to fix you up with one as they once were to fix you up for a date. Except that it is far easier to find a good cat.
Emails came in from all over. Someone died and left fifteen cats orphaned. I was interested in one little girl but she went elsewhere.
There is an excellent Humane society farm here called Lollipop, but it was way out in the country and I have no car. A neighbor promised to take me there. We planned to go during the Thanksgiving break.
Then came an email at work, referred by one of the Student Services people, stating that an 'active, small, female cat' aged four, who had been spayed and declawed, was available.
Whatever one may think of the morality of declawing it is absolutely necessary if one has a houseful of Victorian antique furniture, and so I insited that prospective cat friends have this feature.
I auditioned Gizmo on the weekend of the 5th and she got the part. She is charming, well trained, very fuzzy and afectionate and generally a very good kitty. Why did the other people give her away? Well, they wanted a dog and Gizmo didn't. Their loss.
I don't know a lot about cats. Whoever said they were more independent than dogs was nuts. Gizmo is incredibly affectionate and she needs a lot of attention. She makes the late dog Peaches look like a Stoic by comparison. Then again, Peaches had four people to spoil her rotten.
Fortunately Gizmo adjusted very well to the new house and new owner; there was no problem getting her to use her (same) litterbox. After some trials in which either she or I hated the brands, I found a clumping brand of litter that did not give me allergies which she sort of liked which was biodegradable. Cleaning the box is sort of like panning for gold with less salubrious results, but the 'clumps' (which look distressingly like breaded veal cutlets) go right in the toilet and that's the end of that. There's no smell and little mess, which could have been a problem in a small bathroom.
Gizzy sleeps in my bed so there was no need for a cat bed. She's nice, fuzzy and purrs a lot.
I had trouble understanding cat language. As far as I am concerned all cats speak the same language that Grundoon the baby groundhog spoke in the POGO comic strip.
"Mxrp?"
"Gizmo, want a kitty treat?"
"Mrowppmmprrummmmmmrrrrr!"
It took a while to understand that the short, sharp. "murpp" sounds that she made were approving remarks. A dog making those noises is distinctly pissed off. Cat and dog really do speak different languages.
I am greeted each day with a a loud, long MEEEEEEOOOOOWWWWW when I come home from work. I interpret this as "Where the hell have YOU been?"
Early on it became necessary to inform Gizmo that we do not play Mouse at three o'clock in the morning. Not even if she has to.
Gizmo would first put her paw on my face at three a.m. Then she bit my nose.
When I objected to this she would set up an almighty howl outside the bedroom door. This was assuaged by the liberal dispersal of toilet paper rolls (empty) in the hallway. Kitty loves to clutch them to her bosom and wallop them with her hind feet to kill them and the sounds of 'scrabble scrabble scrabble' hopefully do not wake up Downstairs Neighbor in the dead of night.
Gizzy likes to 'knead'. This means she massages my right shoulder as often as she gets a chance to. She doesn't care if I have a sweater on or not. It's moderately painful without sweaters but if she could be trained to do this move on my back, I could hire her out as a Swedish masseuse. She's pretty strong for such a little thing. (she weighs about eight pounds and thankfully is not overweight.)
Gizzy has accomodated me on the choice of cat litter. But. She. Will. Not. Eat. Anything. But. One. Brand.Of. Cat. Food. Period.
I have tried more wholesome brands and she won't eat it even if she has no other choice. I have written to Paul Newman asking if he could market his cat food with Pizza Pie flavouring. Gizzy likes cheese and adores pizza. Since she is an adopted cat once owned by a guy I guess she grew up eating Guy Food. I haven't tried to give her any beer.
I don't eat pizza much but during a recent visit from a guest the revalation came. I had no time to cook that night so we ordered a 'white pizza'. Gizzy made noise til we gave her the box, and then she fished out a small piece of cheese which she seeemd to enjoy.
Actually most cats like cheese. I have written to Paul Newman asking him to please market his more wholesome cat food in Pizza flavour, and maybe Gizzy would eat it. Right now, she won't. The cat simply is not PC. She likes her kitty junk food and since she seems to be perfectly healthy, that is what she will continue to eat.
Cat toys are like women's fashions. They are cheaply made, overpriced for what you get, and are easily disposed of. Poor Gizzy cried when her mouse toys disintegrated after five minutes of play. I should point out that Gizzy does not play in a ladylike fashion, batting the toys delicately as cats are shown doing in the ads. Gizzy sinks her teeth into the thing and hauls backward as hard as she can, like a dog, playing tug of war with the 'fishing lines' that I use to cast the mouses around the furniture. Most of the mice don't survive a day or so of this, and some of the toys were actually dangerously made.
After the third destroyed mouse I went to the junk store, got a piece of fur from an old mink coat for a buck, wrapped it around a notebook ring that had been firmly attached to the fishing line FIRST, and tied the remaining tail in a knot. The resulting 'minky' is a great success and she can eat the fur with little hardship. Heaven knows what some of the other toys were made of. Her favorite toy was quickly destroyed and it's not possible to replace it. The remains of its fur are tied to a chenille pull in the bathtub (where Miss Kitty takes her catnip). She was heartbroken to have these toys taken away and has not shown as much enthusiasm for anything else. I have my suspicions as to the composition of the fur since she likes to try and eat the coyote fur trim on my best parka.
Sir Paul McCartney and his wife Heather are very active in urging a ban on the use of dog and cat fur for these toys, and I am wholly in agreement, even if the cat seems to like eating dog.
Anyway, Gizmo is a very, very nice cat. I feel better now that she's here.
I'll post a picture. She's also going to be on my holiday card this year, naturally!
Sunday, September 04, 2005
CANADIAN CAPERS
“The trains had white linen on the tables. Crystal glasses. White Glove service and fantastic food. NOW the service on American trains would disgrace a McDonald’s! I saw a MOUSE in the dining car on my last trip!”
Animator Shamus Culhane was not a man who did things by halves, and he always called things as he saw them. I was fascinated by his stories of the Super Chief and Twentieth Century Limited trains. Trains, alas, that had stopped running long before I was born.
The conversation took place in 1991 but I had a vague notion that somewhere one could ride on a luxury train in the manner in which people had once been accustomed and that someday I would do this myself.
Then I heard about THE CANADIAN, a luxury service from Toronto to Vancouver run by the Canadian Government’s Via Rail service. Rochester is conveniently close to Toronto. It would be fun to take nothing but mass transportation for the trip; the Rochester ferry was back up and sailing after its first ignominious launch last year. I had a book to write and therefore knew that this would have to be my last vacation for a long time. The train looked lovely and sounded something like the fabulous trains that Shamus told me about. It was a trip that would travel back in time while venturing forward in space.
It was going to be a long trip, so I packed enough clothing to have a checked bag. The clothes needed for the three days it took THE CANADIAN to get across country would have to fit in a backpack along with my ancient Contarex camera--too too solid steel and glass, newly retrieved from two years in storage and in untested condition.
The camera weighed as much as everything else in the pack but I figured that it would be suitable for the subject matter on this trip and also useful in self-defense. If someone tried to grab it, I could hit them with it and break their jaw.
The wisdom of the decision to take the old SLR is reflected in the quality of the ensuing photographs, which are some of the best that I have ever taken. But I am getting ahead of myself.
The ferry to Toronto proceeded uneventfully and I met with friends there, staying in an inexpensive hotel before heading to the station the following morning. I didn’t need luxury anywhere but on the train.
I’d booked a ticket in First class after speaking with people who had gone on the trip or knew someone who had. “Comfort Class’, which had you in seats for three days with no shower and indifferent food, didn’t sound any too comfortable. And you might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb. Why not go across the country in style? I booked a lower berth, a Pullman, in the Blue and Silver class. This is a great deal less expensive than the ‘roomettes’ and ‘rooms’ which are in the same cars.
The CANADIAN was a vision of silver at the station. Its cars were built in 1955 out of stainless steel. When Via Rail took over the system in 1995 they refurbished the entire train, adding showers and modernizing toilets. There was also a streamlined ‘bullet car’ for the first class people at the end of the train, featuring a Plexiglas roof that would not have looked out of place on a P-51 Mustang.
Several other ‘observation domes’ were on the train, with one for every four cars.
A trainman directed me to a car, and then went off to do something else. My ticket said “2” on it, so I manhandled the backpack up the stairs and opened Door Number 2.
I was in a tiny space, looking down at an even tinier toilet.
“You have seated me in the commode,” I complained to the trainman, who had returned. An explanation made it clear that I was in fact in the Pullman berth number 2 at the other end of the car, which was a set of seats in the daytime. At night it would fold down to make a comfortable bed with curtains, which was actually larger than the bed in the ‘roomette’ I had first investigated. That ‘roomette’ had a berth that folded down from the wall, rendering the toilet unusable during the night. People paid more for a private toilet but still had to use the public model down the hall.
So if you take the CANADIAN, book a Pullman. It’s cheaper, and more comfortable.
I also found out that the best photos were taken from the windows of the car, and not from the Strathcona Bullet Car’s observation windows. These had a polarizing sheen that occasionally gave my pictures an unnatural rainbow effect, and there were a lot of dead bugs on the window on the Westbound trip. Everyone wanted to go up there so it was crowded. I spent most of my time downstairs, which was more interesting.
So, when you look at my pictures, keep in mind that you are seeing the Canadian landscape without the mosquitoes, no-see-ums, blackfly, and poison ivy. I was looking at magnificent wild vistas from a train window in my berth, which was near a flush toilet and a shower, or from an air conditioned dining car serving four course meals. This was my idea of “roughing it”.
Not all of Canada was as picturesque as the lovely British Columbia vista that you see here. We had to stop frequently to take on diesel and water for the train, and some of the stops were in places like Sudbury, which is infamous for its pollution and lack of scenics other than slag heaps and a tall smokestack. It’s the largest town in Central Ontario and so has some social importance, although you’d not believe it if you listened to some Canadian comics, who treat it the way New Yorkers once treated New Jersey. I’d have to agree with the Canadian comedians. Sudbury was not picturesque.
We got into the ‘cottage country’ of Ontario shortly thereafter, and the scenery improved dramatically.
Canada appears, from this train, to have a population of 25 people. Huge vistas pan outside the train window in one take like a Warhol movie, with relatively few intrusions by human houses or people during the day. Most stops for water and fuel came at night. The train runs well away from most major population centers, and in some cases is built on the only solid ground in areas prone to ‘muskeg’ swampland. “Muskeg” was so unstable that when the track was being laid, they had ties sink out of sight in the muck before they could lay the rails. Thousands of men and horses and sled dogs worked and probably died to complete this route; like the Americans they used Irish and Chinese immigrants working inland, starting from opposite sides of the coast. They finished, somehow, having bested black fly, mosquitoes, disease, horrible heat, and the Canadian winter, in 1905.
There was a very obvious natural demarcation line between the provinces. Canada has far fewer divisions than the USA and Ontario takes up roughly half of the journey, since it is wide enough to reach past Iowa. It took us 32 hours to cross the mass of birch forest, lovely little lakes, and occasional farmstead.
Curiously, the appearance and character of the landscape changed so abruptly when passing from one province to another that I ventured the opinion that when they divided the country, they didn’t do it so much by province as by Scene.
The food on the train was outstanding. The Dining Car was a charming pink and grey vision with real napery and silverware. Shamus would have been pleased. The car also had huge picture windows that afforded a view of the scenery, and sometimes I had to get a shot of something pretty during dinner, though the pictures often carried the reflection of the lights in the car.
The train was an awesome sight at night. My berth was in the last sleeper car, giving me a view of the rest of the train when it went around a curve. The headlights illuminated the track for nearly a quarter mile, and red and green lights from passing signals reflected off the stainless steel skin of the fire breathing dragon as we rushed through the night. No wonder we saw so few animals en route; we announced our presence in terrifying fashion miles in advance, and only a few curious deer were in evidence even in this remote place though there was a rumour of moose and bear.
Our progress was more of a sedate trot than a rush. Freight engines had priority and there were many times when the train had to pull onto a siding to let the freight car by on the single track, which had us running pretty late on the return trip. We got into Toronto seven hours late and the line put a few of us who had lost hotel confirmations, up at the Sheraton for the night.
The advertising for the CANADIAN states that ‘you will be rocked to sleep’ in the berths. They neglected to say that the rocks would be provided! Sometimes the ride was rather rough and bouncy and there were creaks and wheezes incident to the train’s age. I must confess that a sleeping berth on a train is one of the few places on Earth that I CAN’T sleep in, but this insomniac tendency gave me an opportunity to see some breathtaking sights through the windows at night. The most amazing came on the return trip, where I was wakened by a strong light coming through my window. (So I DID manage to sleep a bit, sometimes.) Thinking that we were near a town, I looked out the window, to find myself staring at a huge mountain, with snow on top, and a crown of white fire dancing on its head; occasionally the entire sky was lit up by the white lights, which danced and shimmered on diagonal patterns for nearly an hour. Falling stars punctuated this ballet. Imagine the most spectacular special effects show, entirely in black and white, and you get the idea.
(I am still not entirely convinced that the owners of the CANADIAN weren’t running movies on the outside of the train—it was all very cinematic!)
Our car attendant provided a nightly ballet when she made up the berths. The uppers had to be folded down from the ceiling, and the mattress for the lower berth taken down; the lower seats folded inward to form a box spring. Curtains hung from the top extended to the lower berth as well. The attendant had to stand on the arms of the lower berth to manage all this, since the ladder for the upper berth could not be used when setting up. Imagine having people called to dinner passing you on a madly swaying train while trying to execute these maneuvers. Still, our attendant managed it very well; swinging legs right or left, as the case might be, to facilitate the other person’s passage. Sometimes, though, ‘the young men run through’.
Not all the sights were salubrious. We passed the remnants of a freight train wreck on a lake; the driver had taken a curve too fast the week before, and 43 cars had derailed, miraculously without any fatalities.
But, like the hurricane that missed New Orleans, the real tragedy was in the aftermath. One of the cars leaked a large oil spill onto the lake, which is visible in my photos. A few days after we passed it was discovered that there had been toxic waste in another car; this had leaked into the lake, and poisoned it.
And the owners of the freight train had not notified the people on the lake about the toxic cargo until someone actually noticed a spreading pool of green goop two weeks after the wreck, so that there had been cleanup underway without protective clothing for some time before the news broke.
The owners of the freight line were American. They also owned the track. This did not lead to good relations with the Canadian government or the people who lived near that lake, though the Canadians traveling on the train (a goodly number) were too polite to mention this or the scandal about the softwood duties that America was charging Canada in violation of the NAFTA treaty.
It’s hard traveling when you are embarrassed by your government’s behaviour, but at no time did I attempt to conceal my nationality or pretend I was something other than what I was.
There were honeymooning couples on the train, and some who were just taking the train part way to or from Jasper; one set of elderly ladies got on the train in Toronto, went to Vancouver, looked around, then got right back on the train and went back the same day! (They were doing it ‘because our husbands are too sick to go.’ This made a certain amount of sense at the time.)
Many Australians and Britons were on the train, and there was even a South African lady who was in the upper berth in my section for part of the trip. It is a famous train and there are folks from many nations on a typical trip, with Canadians predominating on the Jasper/Vancouver leg of the run.
The CANADIAN arrived in Vancouver precisely on time on August 9. My friends the LeDucs had invited me to stay with them at their new home in Burnaby. But there were complications.
“You are buying and renovating a new home while simultaneously moving your furniture from L.A. across the Canadian border in a U Haul Trailer with a hired driver from Los Angeles. What could possibly have gone wrong?” I said, when my friend phoned me to describe the delays.
Their driver was deported, the U.S. Customs impounded both their automobiles at the border, the carpet man arrived JUST after they had unloaded 200 boxes from the U Haul that the husband had driven to Vancouver by himself and the workman installed the carpet anyway; the plumbing was not working, and after they had settled most of that they still had to deal with the curious refusal of any U Haul lot in Vancouver to accept the van after the rental was theoretically over. Just the usual.
So I stayed at the University of British Columbia for three days until they were ready to take on the additional distraction.
UBC has a famous museum of First Nations art on the campus, with a marvelous collection of totem poles. Some of the poles had once been coffins for chiefs, though there were placards emphatically stating that the bodies had been removed from the boxes and the disposition in the museum was permitted by their descendants. I hoped that this was true.
The two Haida men carving wood in back of the museum near some long houses were also a little surprised to see coffins on display.
“These anthropologists put skeletons on display…thousands of them,” one man said as he hacked at a piece of alder with an adze. He acted out a small scene as he worked.
‘“Why are you taking our bones?”’
‘“To see what you eat.”’
“Why not just ASK us first?”
The man pretended to cogitate for a minute. “Uh, let’s see. “Fiiiiiiiish….and the occasional deeeeer….”
I asked if they came regularly to carve in the back of the museum. It seemed that this was a special occasion.
“The wood is free and I didn’t want to see it going to waste”, one man said, indicating a neat pile of alder logs. “I couldn’t sleep nights, you know?”
He was carving a feast dish for a potlatch. As he worked with the adze, which was locally made, he skillfully scooped out the centre and drew decreasing circles with a pencil which he worked to, changing the log into a canoe shaped bowl.
A solemn child watched and asked what it was for. “Dinner tonight, and I’d better finish!” the man said. “We’re having stew!”
He then explained to the child that this was a joke.
No finish is ever put on Haida wood carving. The oils from the fish dishes preserve the bowls. The average totem pole only lasts a hundred years due to the weather.
I ask about potlatches and why they were banned.
“It was our government, you know? Nothing was central. You gave one when your daughter became a woman, or to show how cool you were, lots of reasons.”
The ‘hamatsa’ ceremony which got the Potlatch banned from 1926 to 1964 in Canada was their equivalent of a Bar Mitzvah.
“White Was Right, and we all had to assimilate.”
I ask about the wood.
”This is Alder. There’s some Red Cedar in the parking lot; you can take some.”
So I went and liberated a small wedge of cedar. The men showed me how to work my Swiss Army knife under the bark and wrench it off, dislodging several annoyed ecosystems as I did so.
“The red cedar, the bugs like. The YELLOW cedar, they don’t eat.”
They continued to work and talk among themselves.
“I met Hal in the street, you know? He has a line; he sees a pretty girl, and here’s how it goes—(he leaned forward with a hopeful expression which he held for a long time.)
“…Your place?”
“I ask him, ‘Does it work?’”
“Sometimes.”
“It can’t be YOUR place, I told him, since your PLACE is under a viaduct at the railway embankment.”
The bowl was roughed out in about two hours’ time, while the other man’s Wild Woman mask had not yet taken shape. Finer carving could be done later.
I was never able to find out the name of one of the men, whose picture actually appears in the Frommer’s guide to Vancouver Island. He apparently was artist in residence at the Museum of British Columbia when the book was written, but neither the book nor other Indians could give his name.
Maybe I should have just asked him first.
After three days in the Kitsilano area of Vancouver, which resembled a greener Greenwich Village and which I adored, I relocated to Burnaby. This town is served by a “Sky Train” which runs to many suburbs and into downtown Vancouver. Vancouver itself has admirable public transit. Even the remote UBC campus had ten bus lines and two trolley lines running directly to it. I was jealous.
I met up with my Disney colleague Bill Matthews at Van Arts. Bill was a guest lecturer every summer, and I had moved up my trip by a week so that I would be there at the same time he was.
I attended the Van Arts graduation ceremony and their reception. It was held in the life drawing room, so I suggested that the skeleton in the corner be moved forward and posed as a bartender. The others enthusiastically set the scene.
Word of this was rapidly noised about the school, particularly after I put a rose in the skeleton’s teeth.
“I said I would behave. I lied.”
Granville Island is a former industrial centre in Vancouver that was reincarnated as a tourist and artists’ mecca. There are whale watching tours, kayak tours, galleries, and street performers. It also hosts the Emily Carr art school, a cement factory, and a famous farmers’ market.
I photographed some Mutant peaches in the marketplace; the ‘noses’ are actually ‘siamese twin’ peaches that normally drop off.
Right near the market was the Pacific Culinary Institute, a school where you eat your own homework.
The Institute offers lunch, brunches, and dinners that the general public can book; the cuisine is Affordable Four Star since the pupils are still in training. Serving dinner is part of the lesson and you review the meal after you have finished. It is one of the best bargains in Vancouver. I had lunch there and invited my friends for a dinner. Their five year old daughter brought along a Rolly Bear, which she operated on the table. Fortunately the Pacific Culinary Institute is cool about having Rolly Bears on the table. The server wanted to try one but forebore since she was being graded.
A Rolly Bear is a bit of folk art carving; the bear, when pushed from behind, performs one or more tumbles. It is a charming toy and predictably I bought too many of them to give as presents and a Three Bear Family of different sizes for myself. Of course this is Animation Research!
The fish in Vancouver deserves a whole letter’s description; let’s just say that if you like fish, it’s your kind of city. The salmon is particularly fine although the fish were few this year. Despite my guilt feelings I still got ‘em while I could.
Vancouver is home to some odd fashion timewarps. Perhaps their teenagers never liked the Twenty First Century and have decided to rewind to the Twentieth. I saw Seventies Punks complete with Krazy Glued hair, the occasional Goth, and a few white kids trying to dress hip hop style with varying degrees of success. There are relatively few Blacks in Vancouver compared to an American city.
The strangest sight was the Chinese Valley Girls, who were able to prattle idiotically in two languages simultaneously. The burbling dialect inspired one of the more memorable films in the Van Arts senior reel this year.
Canada is a civilized country literally built in a howling wilderness. My friends' little dog, a Pomeranian-terrier mix that I dubbed the ‘pom de terre’ could not be left out in the yard at night. Their property backed up on a nature preserve and nature was making its presence known.
Coyotes were already starting to dig a hole under the fence, which had a loose gate with a low top.
The gate was repaired immediately, the top was extended as well; heavy weights were dumped into the hole, and most importantly the dog stayed in the house. One mutual friend had lost two cats to the coyotes, much farther into central Vancouver, right on English beach.
Halfway through the trip I got word that my old college classmate Joe Ranft was dead in an awful car accident. I didn’t do much else that day. Joe was one in a million, and will be sorely missed.
Internet access was in the new Public Library, which looks like an unraveling Coliseum. They provide free terminals for half hour sessions. Other than this, and terminals at UBC, I had no access to news or mail for the trip.
I rented a bicycle with a too small frame and a seat like an anvil which still managed to carry me around Stanley Park, which was absolutely charming. There is a fine Aquarium in it, some nice trails, and a lot of rocks and landmarks that appear in local First Nations lore. A Canadian writer named Pauline Johnson, “The Mohawk Princess” wrote them up in her LEGENDS OF VANCOUVER, which I read before taking the trip.
We went to Vancouver Island by ferryboat. The scenery was nice but after that which I saw on the train trip, it looked almost sedate.
The Empress Hotel is “more English than England” and serves high Tea, which was deemed too expensive to attend. While my friends went with their daughter to Miniature World, I booked a hotel so that I could stay a night or two on the Island. The Hotel Victoria was ugly yet functional, like its namesake; and I was delighted to see that it was directly across the street from the Royal Museum of British Columbia, which had two longhouses out front that were actually open and displaying regalia.
Drumbeats outside the longhouse announced a silent auction of art that was taking place that night. I went in and noted that the Kwak’Wak’L people appeared to be buying the art from one another, which seemed to work against the fundraising idea. After some spirited bidding I got a necklace and a wonderful seal sculpture, purchased directly from the people who made them.
The next day was the high point of the trip. After an unsuccessful trip on the ‘Eagle Wing’ in which we had to sail to Washington State to see a whale, I decided to take a tour around Victoria on the Grey Line. There was an ancient English double-decker bus loading up, and an elderly lady in a walker getting in with some difficulty.
When we came to a ‘break stop’ and everyone else got off the bus, I asked the lady if I could get her something to drink.
”That would be most kind,” she said in a very refined accent. “Orange juice, please. And I fancy a dry martini in the Bengal Bar of the Empress Hotel afterward.”
“Sure, I’ll go. I wouldn’t go there by myself.”
“You’ll have to find me a wheelchair,” she said decisively. “Ask at a particular door. Tell them that I am a guest at the hotel”.
When we got back, the wheelchair was obtained from the concierge, who pushed the lady to a flight of four steps, then carried the wheelchair up it as she struggled on a cane. Damndest thing I’d ever seen but the lady refused help.
We headed toward the Bar, which had a tiger skin spread-eagled over the fireplace.
“Let’s sit by the fireplace. There is always a nice fire there,” the lady said. Since it was August, there wasn’t.
A young couple already in front of the nonexistent fire immediately got up and left as she sat decisively on a nearby sofa. The wheelchair was removed and, I nervously figured, we would be, too, in a few moments.
A manager came over hurriedly. “The other couple….”
“I must have nuts!” the lady announced in stentorian tones. Then, in an aside to me—“I’m being imperious, like Queen Victoria!”
She turned back to the manager. “Bring me a bowl of nuts, and a dry martini with vermouth!”
The manager went away.
“Ask the server to bring some nuts!”
I went off and asked the server for some nuts. Eventually we had two martinis, and three bowls, on the table before us.
I found out a little about my companion, among other things that she was eighty years old (her face was that of a much younger woman) and that she had taught English Literature at Iowa State in the Forties or Fifties. Despite her accent, she was American. (“I had elocution lessons years ago.”) I tried to remember which American writer was sponsored by Iowa State--Flannery O’Connor, wasn’t it? I didn’t have much time to pontificate and none to ask questions.
The Professor also had lived in L.A and ‘known the English writers’.
“Did you know Aldous Huxley?”
“I had tea with him.”
She became a bit brusque as the nuts and martinis were disposed of.
“I will have to have the wheelchair and a taxi for precisely six thirty. My older sister will be furious if I am late for dinner.”
The wheelchair arrived propelled by a different staffer, a smiling blond girl.
Then followed a merry chase through the Empress Tea Room and other rooms of varying degrees of magnificence; the wheelchair was in the lead and I brought up the rear with the walker. We reached the taxi and as the lady was getting in I realized I had made the same mistake I made with the Haida carver.
“Who are you?” I asked her.
She turned with a wry sort of half smile and gruffly said, “Professor Audrey!”
Then the taxi door closed.
I proceeded to the Longhouse by the Museum for the Kwak’Wak’L Potlatch.
This was a marvelous show. I’d waited years to see the wonderful animating masks of this tribe in action; the Dance of the Animals featured dancers of all ages performing in replicas of famous masks, museum pieces all carved by one man, Mungo Martin (whose real name translated as Ten Times Chief.)
One of the masks, a deer, opened to ‘transform’ into a human face. In a smoke filled long house, by firelight, the illusion would be devastating.
My favorite dancer was the five year old boy who came out in the Sea Otter mask. He carried a small wooden sea urchin. The dance had him taking a few steps, and then lying on his back with the urchin on his chest for a few minutes before getting up again.
One character at a Potlatch is the Intruder, also known as the Wild Woman.
The Intruder appears ‘when It likes’ and does ‘what It likes’.
Despite the Wild Woman Mask, Its sex is uncertain. “We try to get all the important business done before ‘It’ appears,”a Chief said helpfully.
The Intruder was posing as a tourist, with a shopping bag and a map that It appeared to have trouble reading. It took a better map from a tourist. Then, walking with a distinctive rolling motion rather like that of an animated character, It sat near a small girl to read it better. There was a loud squeak from the girl and a frantic scrunching along the bench in the opposite direction.
The Intruder flirted outrageously with men in the audience, waved a feather boa, vogued, did Disco dance poses, and in short was very funny.
When the dance was over, I saw two Crees in full Grass Dance regalia heading into the Queen Victoria hotel. “This is not an Aboriginal Traffic Jam,” one of them told me. “Some rich people flew us here from Alberta to perform as a corporate incentive.”
“I’ve heard of those but never met one before,” I said.
My last view of Victoria that night was of its Parliament building, ablaze with white light bulbs, exactly like the old Luna Park in Coney Island, or a Disney parade float.
The train ride back a few days later wasn’t as smooth as the first, though it did feature the outstanding celestial light show described earlier in this letter. I was able to meet with friends in Vancouver and had a wonderful time during the three weeks, and if I ever doubt that it all ever happened—there are Rolly Bears and seal sculptures and the photos to prove that it really did.
And if you ever can travel on the CANADIAN, either part of the way or all across Canada, I suggest that you do. It’s a far more civilized way to travel than a plane!
Animator Shamus Culhane was not a man who did things by halves, and he always called things as he saw them. I was fascinated by his stories of the Super Chief and Twentieth Century Limited trains. Trains, alas, that had stopped running long before I was born.
The conversation took place in 1991 but I had a vague notion that somewhere one could ride on a luxury train in the manner in which people had once been accustomed and that someday I would do this myself.
Then I heard about THE CANADIAN, a luxury service from Toronto to Vancouver run by the Canadian Government’s Via Rail service. Rochester is conveniently close to Toronto. It would be fun to take nothing but mass transportation for the trip; the Rochester ferry was back up and sailing after its first ignominious launch last year. I had a book to write and therefore knew that this would have to be my last vacation for a long time. The train looked lovely and sounded something like the fabulous trains that Shamus told me about. It was a trip that would travel back in time while venturing forward in space.
It was going to be a long trip, so I packed enough clothing to have a checked bag. The clothes needed for the three days it took THE CANADIAN to get across country would have to fit in a backpack along with my ancient Contarex camera--too too solid steel and glass, newly retrieved from two years in storage and in untested condition.
The camera weighed as much as everything else in the pack but I figured that it would be suitable for the subject matter on this trip and also useful in self-defense. If someone tried to grab it, I could hit them with it and break their jaw.
The wisdom of the decision to take the old SLR is reflected in the quality of the ensuing photographs, which are some of the best that I have ever taken. But I am getting ahead of myself.
The ferry to Toronto proceeded uneventfully and I met with friends there, staying in an inexpensive hotel before heading to the station the following morning. I didn’t need luxury anywhere but on the train.
I’d booked a ticket in First class after speaking with people who had gone on the trip or knew someone who had. “Comfort Class’, which had you in seats for three days with no shower and indifferent food, didn’t sound any too comfortable. And you might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb. Why not go across the country in style? I booked a lower berth, a Pullman, in the Blue and Silver class. This is a great deal less expensive than the ‘roomettes’ and ‘rooms’ which are in the same cars.
The CANADIAN was a vision of silver at the station. Its cars were built in 1955 out of stainless steel. When Via Rail took over the system in 1995 they refurbished the entire train, adding showers and modernizing toilets. There was also a streamlined ‘bullet car’ for the first class people at the end of the train, featuring a Plexiglas roof that would not have looked out of place on a P-51 Mustang.
Several other ‘observation domes’ were on the train, with one for every four cars.
A trainman directed me to a car, and then went off to do something else. My ticket said “2” on it, so I manhandled the backpack up the stairs and opened Door Number 2.
I was in a tiny space, looking down at an even tinier toilet.
“You have seated me in the commode,” I complained to the trainman, who had returned. An explanation made it clear that I was in fact in the Pullman berth number 2 at the other end of the car, which was a set of seats in the daytime. At night it would fold down to make a comfortable bed with curtains, which was actually larger than the bed in the ‘roomette’ I had first investigated. That ‘roomette’ had a berth that folded down from the wall, rendering the toilet unusable during the night. People paid more for a private toilet but still had to use the public model down the hall.
So if you take the CANADIAN, book a Pullman. It’s cheaper, and more comfortable.
I also found out that the best photos were taken from the windows of the car, and not from the Strathcona Bullet Car’s observation windows. These had a polarizing sheen that occasionally gave my pictures an unnatural rainbow effect, and there were a lot of dead bugs on the window on the Westbound trip. Everyone wanted to go up there so it was crowded. I spent most of my time downstairs, which was more interesting.
So, when you look at my pictures, keep in mind that you are seeing the Canadian landscape without the mosquitoes, no-see-ums, blackfly, and poison ivy. I was looking at magnificent wild vistas from a train window in my berth, which was near a flush toilet and a shower, or from an air conditioned dining car serving four course meals. This was my idea of “roughing it”.
Not all of Canada was as picturesque as the lovely British Columbia vista that you see here. We had to stop frequently to take on diesel and water for the train, and some of the stops were in places like Sudbury, which is infamous for its pollution and lack of scenics other than slag heaps and a tall smokestack. It’s the largest town in Central Ontario and so has some social importance, although you’d not believe it if you listened to some Canadian comics, who treat it the way New Yorkers once treated New Jersey. I’d have to agree with the Canadian comedians. Sudbury was not picturesque.
We got into the ‘cottage country’ of Ontario shortly thereafter, and the scenery improved dramatically.
Canada appears, from this train, to have a population of 25 people. Huge vistas pan outside the train window in one take like a Warhol movie, with relatively few intrusions by human houses or people during the day. Most stops for water and fuel came at night. The train runs well away from most major population centers, and in some cases is built on the only solid ground in areas prone to ‘muskeg’ swampland. “Muskeg” was so unstable that when the track was being laid, they had ties sink out of sight in the muck before they could lay the rails. Thousands of men and horses and sled dogs worked and probably died to complete this route; like the Americans they used Irish and Chinese immigrants working inland, starting from opposite sides of the coast. They finished, somehow, having bested black fly, mosquitoes, disease, horrible heat, and the Canadian winter, in 1905.
There was a very obvious natural demarcation line between the provinces. Canada has far fewer divisions than the USA and Ontario takes up roughly half of the journey, since it is wide enough to reach past Iowa. It took us 32 hours to cross the mass of birch forest, lovely little lakes, and occasional farmstead.
Curiously, the appearance and character of the landscape changed so abruptly when passing from one province to another that I ventured the opinion that when they divided the country, they didn’t do it so much by province as by Scene.
The food on the train was outstanding. The Dining Car was a charming pink and grey vision with real napery and silverware. Shamus would have been pleased. The car also had huge picture windows that afforded a view of the scenery, and sometimes I had to get a shot of something pretty during dinner, though the pictures often carried the reflection of the lights in the car.
The train was an awesome sight at night. My berth was in the last sleeper car, giving me a view of the rest of the train when it went around a curve. The headlights illuminated the track for nearly a quarter mile, and red and green lights from passing signals reflected off the stainless steel skin of the fire breathing dragon as we rushed through the night. No wonder we saw so few animals en route; we announced our presence in terrifying fashion miles in advance, and only a few curious deer were in evidence even in this remote place though there was a rumour of moose and bear.
Our progress was more of a sedate trot than a rush. Freight engines had priority and there were many times when the train had to pull onto a siding to let the freight car by on the single track, which had us running pretty late on the return trip. We got into Toronto seven hours late and the line put a few of us who had lost hotel confirmations, up at the Sheraton for the night.
The advertising for the CANADIAN states that ‘you will be rocked to sleep’ in the berths. They neglected to say that the rocks would be provided! Sometimes the ride was rather rough and bouncy and there were creaks and wheezes incident to the train’s age. I must confess that a sleeping berth on a train is one of the few places on Earth that I CAN’T sleep in, but this insomniac tendency gave me an opportunity to see some breathtaking sights through the windows at night. The most amazing came on the return trip, where I was wakened by a strong light coming through my window. (So I DID manage to sleep a bit, sometimes.) Thinking that we were near a town, I looked out the window, to find myself staring at a huge mountain, with snow on top, and a crown of white fire dancing on its head; occasionally the entire sky was lit up by the white lights, which danced and shimmered on diagonal patterns for nearly an hour. Falling stars punctuated this ballet. Imagine the most spectacular special effects show, entirely in black and white, and you get the idea.
(I am still not entirely convinced that the owners of the CANADIAN weren’t running movies on the outside of the train—it was all very cinematic!)
Our car attendant provided a nightly ballet when she made up the berths. The uppers had to be folded down from the ceiling, and the mattress for the lower berth taken down; the lower seats folded inward to form a box spring. Curtains hung from the top extended to the lower berth as well. The attendant had to stand on the arms of the lower berth to manage all this, since the ladder for the upper berth could not be used when setting up. Imagine having people called to dinner passing you on a madly swaying train while trying to execute these maneuvers. Still, our attendant managed it very well; swinging legs right or left, as the case might be, to facilitate the other person’s passage. Sometimes, though, ‘the young men run through’.
Not all the sights were salubrious. We passed the remnants of a freight train wreck on a lake; the driver had taken a curve too fast the week before, and 43 cars had derailed, miraculously without any fatalities.
But, like the hurricane that missed New Orleans, the real tragedy was in the aftermath. One of the cars leaked a large oil spill onto the lake, which is visible in my photos. A few days after we passed it was discovered that there had been toxic waste in another car; this had leaked into the lake, and poisoned it.
And the owners of the freight train had not notified the people on the lake about the toxic cargo until someone actually noticed a spreading pool of green goop two weeks after the wreck, so that there had been cleanup underway without protective clothing for some time before the news broke.
The owners of the freight line were American. They also owned the track. This did not lead to good relations with the Canadian government or the people who lived near that lake, though the Canadians traveling on the train (a goodly number) were too polite to mention this or the scandal about the softwood duties that America was charging Canada in violation of the NAFTA treaty.
It’s hard traveling when you are embarrassed by your government’s behaviour, but at no time did I attempt to conceal my nationality or pretend I was something other than what I was.
There were honeymooning couples on the train, and some who were just taking the train part way to or from Jasper; one set of elderly ladies got on the train in Toronto, went to Vancouver, looked around, then got right back on the train and went back the same day! (They were doing it ‘because our husbands are too sick to go.’ This made a certain amount of sense at the time.)
Many Australians and Britons were on the train, and there was even a South African lady who was in the upper berth in my section for part of the trip. It is a famous train and there are folks from many nations on a typical trip, with Canadians predominating on the Jasper/Vancouver leg of the run.
The CANADIAN arrived in Vancouver precisely on time on August 9. My friends the LeDucs had invited me to stay with them at their new home in Burnaby. But there were complications.
“You are buying and renovating a new home while simultaneously moving your furniture from L.A. across the Canadian border in a U Haul Trailer with a hired driver from Los Angeles. What could possibly have gone wrong?” I said, when my friend phoned me to describe the delays.
Their driver was deported, the U.S. Customs impounded both their automobiles at the border, the carpet man arrived JUST after they had unloaded 200 boxes from the U Haul that the husband had driven to Vancouver by himself and the workman installed the carpet anyway; the plumbing was not working, and after they had settled most of that they still had to deal with the curious refusal of any U Haul lot in Vancouver to accept the van after the rental was theoretically over. Just the usual.
So I stayed at the University of British Columbia for three days until they were ready to take on the additional distraction.
UBC has a famous museum of First Nations art on the campus, with a marvelous collection of totem poles. Some of the poles had once been coffins for chiefs, though there were placards emphatically stating that the bodies had been removed from the boxes and the disposition in the museum was permitted by their descendants. I hoped that this was true.
The two Haida men carving wood in back of the museum near some long houses were also a little surprised to see coffins on display.
“These anthropologists put skeletons on display…thousands of them,” one man said as he hacked at a piece of alder with an adze. He acted out a small scene as he worked.
‘“Why are you taking our bones?”’
‘“To see what you eat.”’
“Why not just ASK us first?”
The man pretended to cogitate for a minute. “Uh, let’s see. “Fiiiiiiiish….and the occasional deeeeer….”
I asked if they came regularly to carve in the back of the museum. It seemed that this was a special occasion.
“The wood is free and I didn’t want to see it going to waste”, one man said, indicating a neat pile of alder logs. “I couldn’t sleep nights, you know?”
He was carving a feast dish for a potlatch. As he worked with the adze, which was locally made, he skillfully scooped out the centre and drew decreasing circles with a pencil which he worked to, changing the log into a canoe shaped bowl.
A solemn child watched and asked what it was for. “Dinner tonight, and I’d better finish!” the man said. “We’re having stew!”
He then explained to the child that this was a joke.
No finish is ever put on Haida wood carving. The oils from the fish dishes preserve the bowls. The average totem pole only lasts a hundred years due to the weather.
I ask about potlatches and why they were banned.
“It was our government, you know? Nothing was central. You gave one when your daughter became a woman, or to show how cool you were, lots of reasons.”
The ‘hamatsa’ ceremony which got the Potlatch banned from 1926 to 1964 in Canada was their equivalent of a Bar Mitzvah.
“White Was Right, and we all had to assimilate.”
I ask about the wood.
”This is Alder. There’s some Red Cedar in the parking lot; you can take some.”
So I went and liberated a small wedge of cedar. The men showed me how to work my Swiss Army knife under the bark and wrench it off, dislodging several annoyed ecosystems as I did so.
“The red cedar, the bugs like. The YELLOW cedar, they don’t eat.”
They continued to work and talk among themselves.
“I met Hal in the street, you know? He has a line; he sees a pretty girl, and here’s how it goes—(he leaned forward with a hopeful expression which he held for a long time.)
“…Your place?”
“I ask him, ‘Does it work?’”
“Sometimes.”
“It can’t be YOUR place, I told him, since your PLACE is under a viaduct at the railway embankment.”
The bowl was roughed out in about two hours’ time, while the other man’s Wild Woman mask had not yet taken shape. Finer carving could be done later.
I was never able to find out the name of one of the men, whose picture actually appears in the Frommer’s guide to Vancouver Island. He apparently was artist in residence at the Museum of British Columbia when the book was written, but neither the book nor other Indians could give his name.
Maybe I should have just asked him first.
After three days in the Kitsilano area of Vancouver, which resembled a greener Greenwich Village and which I adored, I relocated to Burnaby. This town is served by a “Sky Train” which runs to many suburbs and into downtown Vancouver. Vancouver itself has admirable public transit. Even the remote UBC campus had ten bus lines and two trolley lines running directly to it. I was jealous.
I met up with my Disney colleague Bill Matthews at Van Arts. Bill was a guest lecturer every summer, and I had moved up my trip by a week so that I would be there at the same time he was.
I attended the Van Arts graduation ceremony and their reception. It was held in the life drawing room, so I suggested that the skeleton in the corner be moved forward and posed as a bartender. The others enthusiastically set the scene.
Word of this was rapidly noised about the school, particularly after I put a rose in the skeleton’s teeth.
“I said I would behave. I lied.”
Granville Island is a former industrial centre in Vancouver that was reincarnated as a tourist and artists’ mecca. There are whale watching tours, kayak tours, galleries, and street performers. It also hosts the Emily Carr art school, a cement factory, and a famous farmers’ market.
I photographed some Mutant peaches in the marketplace; the ‘noses’ are actually ‘siamese twin’ peaches that normally drop off.
Right near the market was the Pacific Culinary Institute, a school where you eat your own homework.
The Institute offers lunch, brunches, and dinners that the general public can book; the cuisine is Affordable Four Star since the pupils are still in training. Serving dinner is part of the lesson and you review the meal after you have finished. It is one of the best bargains in Vancouver. I had lunch there and invited my friends for a dinner. Their five year old daughter brought along a Rolly Bear, which she operated on the table. Fortunately the Pacific Culinary Institute is cool about having Rolly Bears on the table. The server wanted to try one but forebore since she was being graded.
A Rolly Bear is a bit of folk art carving; the bear, when pushed from behind, performs one or more tumbles. It is a charming toy and predictably I bought too many of them to give as presents and a Three Bear Family of different sizes for myself. Of course this is Animation Research!
The fish in Vancouver deserves a whole letter’s description; let’s just say that if you like fish, it’s your kind of city. The salmon is particularly fine although the fish were few this year. Despite my guilt feelings I still got ‘em while I could.
Vancouver is home to some odd fashion timewarps. Perhaps their teenagers never liked the Twenty First Century and have decided to rewind to the Twentieth. I saw Seventies Punks complete with Krazy Glued hair, the occasional Goth, and a few white kids trying to dress hip hop style with varying degrees of success. There are relatively few Blacks in Vancouver compared to an American city.
The strangest sight was the Chinese Valley Girls, who were able to prattle idiotically in two languages simultaneously. The burbling dialect inspired one of the more memorable films in the Van Arts senior reel this year.
Canada is a civilized country literally built in a howling wilderness. My friends' little dog, a Pomeranian-terrier mix that I dubbed the ‘pom de terre’ could not be left out in the yard at night. Their property backed up on a nature preserve and nature was making its presence known.
Coyotes were already starting to dig a hole under the fence, which had a loose gate with a low top.
The gate was repaired immediately, the top was extended as well; heavy weights were dumped into the hole, and most importantly the dog stayed in the house. One mutual friend had lost two cats to the coyotes, much farther into central Vancouver, right on English beach.
Halfway through the trip I got word that my old college classmate Joe Ranft was dead in an awful car accident. I didn’t do much else that day. Joe was one in a million, and will be sorely missed.
Internet access was in the new Public Library, which looks like an unraveling Coliseum. They provide free terminals for half hour sessions. Other than this, and terminals at UBC, I had no access to news or mail for the trip.
I rented a bicycle with a too small frame and a seat like an anvil which still managed to carry me around Stanley Park, which was absolutely charming. There is a fine Aquarium in it, some nice trails, and a lot of rocks and landmarks that appear in local First Nations lore. A Canadian writer named Pauline Johnson, “The Mohawk Princess” wrote them up in her LEGENDS OF VANCOUVER, which I read before taking the trip.
We went to Vancouver Island by ferryboat. The scenery was nice but after that which I saw on the train trip, it looked almost sedate.
The Empress Hotel is “more English than England” and serves high Tea, which was deemed too expensive to attend. While my friends went with their daughter to Miniature World, I booked a hotel so that I could stay a night or two on the Island. The Hotel Victoria was ugly yet functional, like its namesake; and I was delighted to see that it was directly across the street from the Royal Museum of British Columbia, which had two longhouses out front that were actually open and displaying regalia.
Drumbeats outside the longhouse announced a silent auction of art that was taking place that night. I went in and noted that the Kwak’Wak’L people appeared to be buying the art from one another, which seemed to work against the fundraising idea. After some spirited bidding I got a necklace and a wonderful seal sculpture, purchased directly from the people who made them.
The next day was the high point of the trip. After an unsuccessful trip on the ‘Eagle Wing’ in which we had to sail to Washington State to see a whale, I decided to take a tour around Victoria on the Grey Line. There was an ancient English double-decker bus loading up, and an elderly lady in a walker getting in with some difficulty.
When we came to a ‘break stop’ and everyone else got off the bus, I asked the lady if I could get her something to drink.
”That would be most kind,” she said in a very refined accent. “Orange juice, please. And I fancy a dry martini in the Bengal Bar of the Empress Hotel afterward.”
“Sure, I’ll go. I wouldn’t go there by myself.”
“You’ll have to find me a wheelchair,” she said decisively. “Ask at a particular door. Tell them that I am a guest at the hotel”.
When we got back, the wheelchair was obtained from the concierge, who pushed the lady to a flight of four steps, then carried the wheelchair up it as she struggled on a cane. Damndest thing I’d ever seen but the lady refused help.
We headed toward the Bar, which had a tiger skin spread-eagled over the fireplace.
“Let’s sit by the fireplace. There is always a nice fire there,” the lady said. Since it was August, there wasn’t.
A young couple already in front of the nonexistent fire immediately got up and left as she sat decisively on a nearby sofa. The wheelchair was removed and, I nervously figured, we would be, too, in a few moments.
A manager came over hurriedly. “The other couple….”
“I must have nuts!” the lady announced in stentorian tones. Then, in an aside to me—“I’m being imperious, like Queen Victoria!”
She turned back to the manager. “Bring me a bowl of nuts, and a dry martini with vermouth!”
The manager went away.
“Ask the server to bring some nuts!”
I went off and asked the server for some nuts. Eventually we had two martinis, and three bowls, on the table before us.
I found out a little about my companion, among other things that she was eighty years old (her face was that of a much younger woman) and that she had taught English Literature at Iowa State in the Forties or Fifties. Despite her accent, she was American. (“I had elocution lessons years ago.”) I tried to remember which American writer was sponsored by Iowa State--Flannery O’Connor, wasn’t it? I didn’t have much time to pontificate and none to ask questions.
The Professor also had lived in L.A and ‘known the English writers’.
“Did you know Aldous Huxley?”
“I had tea with him.”
She became a bit brusque as the nuts and martinis were disposed of.
“I will have to have the wheelchair and a taxi for precisely six thirty. My older sister will be furious if I am late for dinner.”
The wheelchair arrived propelled by a different staffer, a smiling blond girl.
Then followed a merry chase through the Empress Tea Room and other rooms of varying degrees of magnificence; the wheelchair was in the lead and I brought up the rear with the walker. We reached the taxi and as the lady was getting in I realized I had made the same mistake I made with the Haida carver.
“Who are you?” I asked her.
She turned with a wry sort of half smile and gruffly said, “Professor Audrey!”
Then the taxi door closed.
I proceeded to the Longhouse by the Museum for the Kwak’Wak’L Potlatch.
This was a marvelous show. I’d waited years to see the wonderful animating masks of this tribe in action; the Dance of the Animals featured dancers of all ages performing in replicas of famous masks, museum pieces all carved by one man, Mungo Martin (whose real name translated as Ten Times Chief.)
One of the masks, a deer, opened to ‘transform’ into a human face. In a smoke filled long house, by firelight, the illusion would be devastating.
My favorite dancer was the five year old boy who came out in the Sea Otter mask. He carried a small wooden sea urchin. The dance had him taking a few steps, and then lying on his back with the urchin on his chest for a few minutes before getting up again.
One character at a Potlatch is the Intruder, also known as the Wild Woman.
The Intruder appears ‘when It likes’ and does ‘what It likes’.
Despite the Wild Woman Mask, Its sex is uncertain. “We try to get all the important business done before ‘It’ appears,”a Chief said helpfully.
The Intruder was posing as a tourist, with a shopping bag and a map that It appeared to have trouble reading. It took a better map from a tourist. Then, walking with a distinctive rolling motion rather like that of an animated character, It sat near a small girl to read it better. There was a loud squeak from the girl and a frantic scrunching along the bench in the opposite direction.
The Intruder flirted outrageously with men in the audience, waved a feather boa, vogued, did Disco dance poses, and in short was very funny.
When the dance was over, I saw two Crees in full Grass Dance regalia heading into the Queen Victoria hotel. “This is not an Aboriginal Traffic Jam,” one of them told me. “Some rich people flew us here from Alberta to perform as a corporate incentive.”
“I’ve heard of those but never met one before,” I said.
My last view of Victoria that night was of its Parliament building, ablaze with white light bulbs, exactly like the old Luna Park in Coney Island, or a Disney parade float.
The train ride back a few days later wasn’t as smooth as the first, though it did feature the outstanding celestial light show described earlier in this letter. I was able to meet with friends in Vancouver and had a wonderful time during the three weeks, and if I ever doubt that it all ever happened—there are Rolly Bears and seal sculptures and the photos to prove that it really did.
And if you ever can travel on the CANADIAN, either part of the way or all across Canada, I suggest that you do. It’s a far more civilized way to travel than a plane!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)