In Loving Memory of Margaret Ann Hill 1932-2010

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Margaret Hill, who I had visited and sketched a number of times, died December 28th in her home on Baffie Avenue in Winter Park. Her daughter Mary Hill had taken care of her for over two years. The memorial service was held at Saint Charles Catholic Church not far from the home. When I entered the church there was a large group of people standing in the entry lobby. I noticed several of Mary’s neighbors and said hello. Mary was being greeted by family members and after a few moments I was able to offer her my condolences. Actually, as I think back, I might not have said anything that would be considered a condolence. It was more the opposite. Mary hugged me and thanked me for being there, and she even offered encouragement and gratitude that I had decided to sketch the service. The service began with one of my favorite hymns, “Amazing Grace.” It is always reassuring that there is hope for a wretch like me. When I hear, “I was blind, but now I see”, I am always certain I never see, feel or express things clearly enough.

The sermon was conducted by Father Augustine Clark who had visited the Hill house often and therefor he knew Margaret well. Whenever I visited Margaret there were always social workers, hospice care nurses and clergy on hand. Mary had a way of always addressing the spiritual needs of her mother as well as her physical needs. “Tears are just a way for the heart to heal itself silently without words.” Father Augustine was saying. He then related a story about the romance that blossomed between Margaret and Duane Hill. They both worked at Swift and Company in Orlando and there was an immediate attraction. Margaret’s father however didn’t approve of the relationship so they had to court each other clandestinely. They would leave love letters under a desk mat so they could secretively communicate. When she turned 21 Duane married her. The priest pointed out how much Margaret loved to garden and her amazing collection of orchids in the back yard. Whenever I spoke with Margaret in the final year, she would grip my hand tightly never letting go. She gripped on to life just as tightly. Margaret always made me laugh, she had a way of smiling slyly as she offered some barb of humor.

Margaret’s ashes were buried at Woodlawn Memorial Park. I went to a Woodlawn Cemetery and walked around for some time looking at headstones decorated with angels and some with wind chimes. A dog started to bark at me from a home on the edge of the cemetery. When no other cars arrived I started to think I might be in the wrong place, so I did an internet search and found out that the cemetery I was supposed to go to was a few miles further up the road. I arrived there at the same time as Mary’s oldest brother, Jean, and I walked with his family to the interment site. There was a small plastic plaque with Margaret’s name on it and a shallow hole which I didn’t notice at first glance. Pastor Steve Horrell said, “The fever of life is over for Margaret. We need to bury our regrets as we forgive others and forgive ourselves.” He asked family members for any memories they might want to relate. Jean’s former wife said Margaret was good with a hammer and saw, that she had helped build a skirt around the base of a trailer that they were living in at the time. Jean related that the family often went to Gator Land on Friday afternoons to catch feeding time.

As Mary placed the gray cylinder containing Margaret’s ashes in the ground, she kissed her fingertips to her lips and then rested them on the cylinder’s lid. It was after she pushed some dirt over the container that grief enveloped her. She had been organizing, supporting, greeting and welcoming people all day. Several family members held her as her knees gave way and she sobbed. Mary was able to embrace and express her emotions openly. I have always had trouble doing that, and emotions hit me when I least expect it. The most important lesson learned from this day for me is that we should be grateful for the fragile gift of life. We should be quick in giving and receiving love and always work to create new memories. Recently I heard a saying that most people sleepwalk through life while the few that do not, live in wide eyed wonder. I want to strive for that feeling of wide eyed wonder everyday, to drink it in and share what I can in my way. Seize the day and live with boundless compassion. On the drive home, my heart filled with joy remembering times spent in the Hill home and yet for the first time, my eyes started to burn.

Champs Sports Bowl Parade of Bands

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The Parade of Bands took place in Winter Park on the Great Lawn of Central Park. The two bands were from rivaling college football teams that would be playing the next day at the Citrus Bowl. There was a huge crowd of people on hand to see the parade. While walking toward the event I found myself behind a man with a walkie talkie and from his conversation I overheard that the bands were late.

I sat myself down and decided to sketch the waiting crowd. An area of lawn had been staked off with orange tape which I assumed would be he final staging area for the bands. An old man probably in his late 90’s was lying on the ground wrapped in a green blanket. Now this must have been a lifelong die hard fan. Many of the fans were elderly in walkers and wheelchairs. Children were also on hand running around and tossing footballs. In the sketch you can barley see a band as it marched down Park Avenue. I sketched in a hint of the tubas.

By the time the bands got to the staging area, I had finished the sketch and I started walking back to my truck. Throngs of football fans started flocking to the staging area. I had no desire to fight the growing crowd to sketch the bands proper. As I walked away, the battle of the bands was in full swing. I went home to warm up.

Deleon Springs

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On a cold winter day, Terry and I drove north to go looking for manatees at Blue Springs. When we got to the suburban road leading to the state park we were confronted with a one mile line of cars waiting to get into the park. We decided to turn around and instead drive further north to Deleon Springs.

At Deleon Springs there is an old mill which has been converted into a pancake house where you grill your own pancakes at your table. We were told the mill would be closing in an hour and that there was a wait to get in so we gave up our pancake dreams and instead relaxed by the spring. The spring is surrounded by beach sand and the the water spills over creating a nice little waterfall. A walkway crossed over the spillway and a father and son were fishing the while time I sketched. The wooden mill wheel doesn’t actually turn since the stream no longer runs beneath it. Terry wandered one of the hiking trails while I sketched. I was sitting in the direct sunlight which kept me warm. The fishermen must have come from up north since they were comfortable in their shorts. Two children looked in the bucket to see the fish that had been caught. The father watching from the walkway had to intervene when the little boy pulled the large fish out of the bucket and let it flop around on the grass. He apologized to the fisherman profusely. When I was done with my sketch, I texted Terry and let her know. As we were heading back to the parking lot, we poked our heads inside the mill to look around. The restaurant was closed but the gift shop was open. We vowed to return and try the pancakes some day.

Philharmonic Rehearsal

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I went to the Shakespeare Theater to sketch the tech rehearsal for the Playwrights’ Round Table seven short play’s launch for 2011. I hadn’t been given a time so I was guessing what time the rehearsals would start. Peeking in the theater B, I found the space empty. As I walked out of the building I noticed someone approaching with a large cello. I decided to follow him and he lead me to a room where Orlando Philharmonic musicians were gathering. There was twenty minutes before the rehearsal started and so I sat down and started lightly sketching in the space. As musicians arrived I placed them in the sketch using ink. When everyone was present, conductor Christopher Willams suddenly appeared. The musicians all found a common tone, then Christopher raised the baton and the music began.

They were rehearsing Shumann’s Symphony No. 2. There were a few stops and starts but in general the music flowed and I let the lines I was putting on the page flow with the same fluid tempo. When the symphony was complete, Christopher said, “My theory is, that in this room you should just keep playing.” I believe he meant, that in such a small room it might be impossible to gauge proper levels to the various sections. After one moving section, he praised the strings and he remarked that they were pulling together as a unified whole.

When the break rolled around I was finished with my sketch and I decided to talk to Caroline Blice for a while. She had been at my 2 year anniversary party for AADW a few days before so we talked about he party.

Toasting Competition at Will's Pub

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Todd Caviness hosted a Toasting Competition at Will’s Pub this holiday season. Seated up front were the judges for the evening, Seth Kubersky, Mark Baratelli and Jordana Meade. There was a gallon of spiked egg nog on the judges table and everyone had a beer in hand. I arrived a little late and the competition was in full swing. I muscled my way back to the bar and got myself a beer from the tap. The event was packed so I was forced to stand in the back of the room to sketch.

Competitors were given a prompt and had to come up with a witty toast on the spot. Hannah Miller went head to head against her boyfriend Jack Fields. When given a prompt to toast Orlando, Hannah turned the competition o. It’s head by not taking the opportunity to lambaste her home town. She actually praised Orlando even in her inebriated state. After each toast the competitors would raise their glass and everyone in the bar would toast and drink. Judges commentary was often just as funny as the competitors themselves. I am glad I wasn’t dragged on the stage because there must be an amazing amount of pressure to say something funny. One competitor stood in the spotlight and after agonizing minute, had to admit he had nothing. This in itself was funny, so I guess no one ever really lost.

After the competition there was an open mic. A poet gave an amazing surreal account of his father’s attempt to sell his old car. Truths were stretched to the point of snapping and the entire account was laugh out loud funny. Mark Baratelli had to follow this amazing performance and I am sure he was pulling my leg when he asked me what he should do when he got on stage. Of course when he got up there, he lit up and the audience was laughing along with him the whole time.

I am writing this blog post entirely on my iPhone so I apologize for the Fat fingered flubs I must be making.

De La Vega Restaurante Y Galeria

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Terry and I took a day trip up to De Leon Springs. On the drive home we stopped in downtown Deland which is one of the few places in Central Florida which still has an old town feel. Christmas lights decorated all the store front windows. The old City Hall had a wonderfully designed dome and the bells were ringing announcing the hour as we waked down the main street. I was surprised to see several portraits by Tracy Burke a talented Orlando artist in a quaint ice cream shop in the corner. We stopped in front of the Del La Vega restaurant (128.North Woodland Boulevard, Deland) and read the menu. We expected a Spanish menu but instead found a Mexican menu. It was ladies night with women offered buy one get one free margaritas and sangrias. Buy the time we placed our order the place had filled up to capacity.

Some guy was shooting video with a tiny hand held video camera. Terry waved. We were half finished with dinner when the musical performer for the night got up on stage. His name was Michael Petrovich and he played acoustic guitar with some sort of synthesizer as accompaniment. The music consisted of covers of popular music like Time After Time and Stairway too Heaven. The young woman in the brown leather jacket recorded his whole performance on her iPhone. I sketched in the musician at the very last moment having left a space open where I assumed he would eventually perform. There was a football game playing silently on the big screen TV above his head but I didn’t sketch in the players since the game didn’t interest me.

Terry and I ordered appetizers but they never arrived. The waitress apologized later and offered the appetizers for free. Terry said, “I don’t mind if they make a mistake as long as they make an effort to fix it.” The food was fabulous. With delicious artfully arranged portions on the plate. This was classic Mexican food not the sloppy Tex Mex we are used to being served in fast food joints. The appetizers were small light disks of fried dough with black beans and tomato salsa. This place was a real find and I wouldn’t mind making the drive back north to eat there again.

Chips and Salsa

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It was Cinco de Mayo at Pancho’s Mexican Restaurant, on 436 near 17/92. This was the first time my wife Terry decided to participate in a Brian Feldman performance. She had told me that Brian was a bad influence on me since at times I would sketch his performances very late at night. She changed her tune however after spending an hour eating chips and salsa with him. Brian spent the entire day in the restaurant while a new participant would sit opposite him every hour. There was a video camera set up and masking tape was on the floor marking the active staging area. I grabbed a chip every once in a while as I sketched. I didn’t pay close attention to their conversation but I know Terry was glad to have had the time to sit down and get to know Brian. In this age of virtual friendships it is rare for people to sit down and get to know each other face to face. Even when they do, too much time is spent staring at cell phones. The art of pleasant personal conversation seems all but lost. The restaurant was never very crowded. Terry put on a tiny plastic sombrero for kicks. Brian had hung decorative chili’s strung in the window behind the table. When the next person came in to sit opposite Brian, I ordered a chimichanga for lunch and continued adding watercolor washes to the sketch.

Walkman Muse

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On the third Thursday of December, Asaan “Swamburger” Brooks was in the Redefine Gallery working on a series of canvases showcasing his brand of Urban Art. The evening before he had done a large mural on the wall opposite the one I show him working on in this sketch. Redefine Gallery is in the front room at City Arts Factory. I arrived early to find Swamburger busy at work on a large canvas. He was always willing to take the time to stop and chat when people like myself would interrupt. He gave me a warm handshake and briefly explained the premise of the show. None of the pieces hanging was completely finished. He continued painting throughout the evening and he worked in rotation from one painting to the next. He let the music inspire and guide him. The space in the gallery was tight and there was no where I could stand without standing right in front of a painting, so I stood outside sketching through the glass door. The RE logo was printed on the door. Swamburger used one of the printed invitations as his makeshift palette for the evening. The boom box was constantly playing.

The gallery got more and more crowded as the evening progressed but I kept my focus on Swamburger as he stood on a chair to reach the top of his painting. One of the outdoor vendors introduced himself saying he follows my progress here online. We became instant Facebook friends. Another artist started talking to me about a drum circle down in the Keys that I should get down and sketch someday. All the art in City Arts Factory was on sale for less that $200 that night. After the sketch was complete I wandered through all the galleries getting a bit depressed that artists were willing to sell their work so cheap these days. Outside the mobile art show which is hosted by Mark Baretalli in a rented u-haul truck had a large quilt titled HOARD, by Tess Bonacci which was made from hundreds of stuffed cat hides. For the first time Mark was charging people $1 to walk up the ramp into the truck. Someone lent Brian Feldman $1 so he could walk in and take a look. I didn’t go inside. I met Terry and we went out to get a bite to eat. After dinner, Terry went home and I wandered over to Avalon to see the Group show there. The place was pretty deserted when I arrived but a musician was still playing in the bar area. I considered sketching but figured he would most likely pack it up soon since no one was listening.

Speed Painting

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DRIP held a fundraiser for it’s new show titled RIFF at Blank Space (201 East Central Boulevard). Besides musical performances by Britt Daley and Thomas Wynn, visual artists were in the house. Tony Corbitt set up his painter’s easel and put up a large sheet of plywood which had been painted black. He cued up some music and explained that there were no gimmicks in what he was about to do. He then ripped off his shirt, distracting every female in the room. Using a photo and bold splashes of white paint, he quickly painted a portrait of a Kiss band member. I had to sketch just as fast to keep up with his hectic pace. There was non time for planning or delicately balancing the elements, I had to react and throw down lines and tone with abandon.

Later in the evening, dates with DRIP dancers were being auctioned off. Darcy got the hefty sum of $100. Then Michael Sloan one of the male dancers was put up for auction. Bidding started slow and remained slow. a Date with him went for only $25. Seems the ladies were shy about spending their cash for a wonderful night on the town with a talented DRIP dancer. Tony bought in his two speed paintings and auctioned them off. Terry shouted out, asking him to take off his shirt again. He obliged. As expected, his paintings didn’t bring in very high bids.

Thomas Wynn performed “When I Paint My Masterpiece” which I had never heard before. I really loved this piece especially with his single acoustic guitar and deep piercing voice. Jessica Mariko performed an inspired improvisational dance as he played “It’s Alright“. Her movements were yearning and quick reaching for the heavens while grounded to the earth. Her movements at times seemed random and inebriated and at other times purposeful. The last time I had seen her perform solo was at Slingapours and she always amazed me.

RIFF Fundraiser Body Painting

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When I arrived at the DRIP Fundraiser at Blank Space, I was told my Melissa Kasper that the dancers were in the back room being painted by Christie Miga. Sure enough, in a narrow back room behind a curtain, Darcie Ricardi was being sectioned off like a beef diagram by Christie. Evan helped me to find a spot where I wedged myself for the duration of the sketch. I thought the marijuana leaf was a nice touch. Different sections could be painted by patrons at the fundraiser with more private parts bringing in the better cash. Christie was still painting as patrons entered the event. There was plenty of joking as the flesh masterpiece took form. When the outlines were finished some prices were added and other prices were left open for barter.

Steven Johnson was the next dancer to be sectioned and priced. He wanted to be pained and sectioned up like a superhero. Painting the cape on his back was the biggest challenge for Christie. When she got to his flesh briefs, he wanted her t paint his cheeks as if he had them clenched. She insisted he model this clenched stance and then she painted his cheeks to match. Someone had blown up a balloon and then let it go and it flew around the space makings its wet sticky noise that startled everyone and caused endless laughter. Darci waited till Steven was finished since she didn’t want to go out on the fund raising floor alone. Later that evening a date with Darci was auctioned off for $100. She was only modestly painted by patrons and she wished more people had painter her since the paint helped keep her warm.