How the Mall Stole Christmas

Posted on by Thor

Twas two days past Black Friday and all through the Mall

The shoppers came rushing, around Santa’s fake hall,

I began sketching children put on Santa’s knee,

giving plenty of time for my wife’s shopping spree.

My vantage point was the only one that cost no money,

others gathered here considering the scene quite funny.

The activity was earnest as all waited for a sight,

for this Santa had a real beard to parents delight.

Parents they waited, and fingered their phones,

ignoring their children who screamed and moaned.

From my vantage point I could see the grim scene,

as children were forced to sit, and then screamed.

A photographer’s assistant tried to distract them a moment,

using squeeze toys and baubles for the children’s enjoyment.

A hot flash blinded, then appeared, a red nose and white beard.

Kids screamed till their lungs burned from all that they feared.

A mom saw Saint Nick sip from his flask,

“I hope that it’s water” she told her kids with a gasp.

 The old man put up with photos galore.

Parents and children crowded in for ever more.

Then behind me I heard a mall guard and I swallowed..

Your sketch looks fine, but rules must be followed.

Sketching isn’t allowed in this Mall without asking.

Managers are all gone, so you must stop your sketching.

But people shoot pictures all day without stopping.

Only photos of faces should be captured while shopping.

 I texted my wife to let her know I’d been spotted,

I continued to sketch after the mall guard departed.

I left the sketch unfinished and my anger abated,

This season our money would go somewhere art isn’t hated.

If you shop in a mall this holiday season,

avoid Mall at Millenia where I’ll not shop, for good reason.

Hundreds of dollars of money unspent,

as my wife packed her wallet and back home we went.

Perhaps this year something local I’ll buy ,

supporting craftsmen whose talents I’ll try.

Banished from Sketching Polasek’s Eden

Posted on by Thor

In the Orlando Weekly, I read about a free oil painting demonstration at the Albin Polasek Museum as part of the Winter Park Paint Out. I talked to a docent inside and checked to be sure it would be alright for me to sketch the demonstration. He said it was fine. I had met him once before at an art critique at Barefoot Spa. He does paintings in the style of Frank Frazetta. It was good to catch up with him. Last year I had been asked to do a series of sketches during the Paint Out for Winter Park Magazine, being given full access, but Terry scheduled a vacation to Panama that week and I had to back out. It was a good trip.

I still hadn’t done a single sketch of any Paint Out festivities, so I was excited to finally get an opportunity to sketch and promote the event. I was just beginning to ink in this sketch when the docent came out and said that someone higher up had decided I couldn’t sketch. I politely packed up my sketchbook and left, fuming. The artist demonstrating hadn’t even started to put paint on the canvas yet.

Back at the studio, I quickly finished the sketch I had started. Since the sketch lacked detail, I decided to play with it in Photoshop. I suppose this sketch now makes me a Digital Artist in a Digital World. If the “No Sketch Policy” was put in place to protect the identities of people attending the workshop, then this  image solved that issue. I always finish a sketch once it is started. Had I posted the sketch and article the next day like I wanted to, more people would be aware of all the wonderful artists gathered in Winter Park. I suppose I should have arranged a press pass beforehand, but I didn’t think it was needed since the workshop was free. I only found out about the Paint Out the day before.

Terry said that the Polasek staff might have had Boston Marathon bomb jitters. I suppose my sketch supply bag can look quite ominous but it never left my side. I was profiled as a deviant artist even though no one could have seen what I was doing. I had my back to a hedge to be sure there were no curious bystanders. It is odd to feel like a criminal for taking notes with interest and putting lines on a page. I can’t imagine sitting through a workshop without keeping my fidgety fingers active. I learn better that way.

The next day, I contacted the event co-chair Hal Stringer, and he he wrote, ” We have a very strong policy that the gardens are reserved exclusively
for paint out artists during this week. Our staff was not aware of the
nature of your sketching and the relationship it has to your blog. We
would welcome being featured in one of your articles. Feel free to come sketch during one of the remaining three demos if you
wish. But, please stop by the front desk and ask for me or Debbie
Komanski so we know you’re on property. We’ll make sure the staff
knows you have our permission to sketch the demo for your blog.”

This was the state of the sketch when I was asked to stop.

I really don’t understand the policy of asking an artist to stop sketching. Anytime I am asked to put my pen down, I feel my right to self expression has been compromised.  There were cell phone photos being flashed all over the web promoting the event. I doubt any phones were confiscated from attendees. I’m still annoyed that the staff member that made the decision, whoever that is, did not approach me directly. I could have reasoned with them, but the volunteer that was sent to stop me was blindly following orders. The Polasek is private property however, and they can enforce any rules they like. Hal, the co-host of the Paint Out has been a dear friend and did everything in his power to help me the next day. Unfortunately I didn’t have the time to go back for a second attempt at the sketch.

If the ghost of John Singer Sargent, or Sorolla, offered a painting workshop in Winter Park. I might sit with my hands folded neatly in my lap to watch them work. Then again, I consider it a sin that no one ever sketched these masters as they painted. It would be my moral obligation, a chance of a lifetime. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to live in a world where large groups of artists could gather together and sketches weren’t discriminated against?

Universal Parking Nazi

Posted on by Thor

On March 1st, the Coalition for the Homeless of Central Florida hosted a fundraising concert at Hard Rock Live. Hard Rock is located at Universal Studios City Walk complex. After 6PM, the parking garage becomes free for Florida Residents. I left home later than usual to make sure I got to Universal after 6PM.

There was a long line of cars waiting to get past the parking admission booths. When I got up to the booth, the collections agent asked me for my Florida drivers license which I was happy to show him. Now my license isn’t the prettiest thing in the world. It is dog eared at the corners and the renewal stickers that Department of Motor Vehicles keeps sending tended to slip a bit from being in my hot wallet too long. Anyway, I’m holding my license out the window and he barks at me that he needs a FLORIDA License. “It is a Florida license.” I respond. He frowned and took the card from me, then handed it back. “I can’t use that”. He said. After some arguing, he did admit it was a Florida license, but he said “I can’t scan that.” “What? You didn’t even try!” was my response. “It is valid till May of 2013, read the back.” I got five bucks out of my wallet since there seemed to be no way to reason with this Parking Nazi. I held my bill out the window but he took so long with the car on the opposite side of the booth, that I changed my mind. “I’m leaving.” I told him. He slapped a ticket on my windshield under the wiper and pointed me towards the exit. I turned on my wipers to send the ticket flying as I drove away.

After leaving Universal and cooling down, I decided to return to the parking garage but this time I would look for a female parking attendant. I figured a female attendant would be more reasonable than the Parking Nazi. It was quite a drive on side roads and a very crowded International Drive. When I drove up to the female attendant, she gasped when she saw the card, but she did let me into the garage. I probably wasted an hour of drawing time by arguing and driving in circles, but I was in. I stayed off the moving walkways and used the steps rather than the escalators, for the exercise and to warm up. Besides walking is often faster than the moving walkways.

There was a metal detector to get into Hard Rock Live. The security guard said, “You can’t bring that chair inside.” “Your kidding.” I replied, “What am I supposed to do with it?” “You’ll have to bring it back to your car.” If you’ve been to Universal, then you know that the parking garage is a loooong walk. If I had to walk all the way back, I’d probably leave in a huff. This was the last straw. As I was debating what to do, a second guard said, “Let him in.” I set off the metal detector then emptied all the art supplies in my pockets onto a table. Finally I was in.

Betsy Dye who had recently started working for the Coalition for the Homeless of Central Florida greeted me in the lobby. Her warmth and cheer melted away my frustrations. I went up to the White Lennon Room where people were able to meet the band members of 38 Special. The band members hadn’t arrived yet, so I went out on the balcony and sketched there. It was a cold night, so I drew fast.

Eclipse Theater

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On the Celebrity Eclipse, I took the glass elevator down to deck five. Dropping down I watched the library slip by and I watched people in the opposite elevator as they rose up. I walked down a long hallway past flashy boutiques, the Molecular Bar and the flashing lights of the Fortunes Casino. Terry was in our cabin reading, while I made my way to the Eclipse Theater to see an Iron Chef style cook off. I sat in the nose bleed section of the upper level to try and capture some sense of the enormous space.

The chipper activities coordinator announced the contestants. Two passengers had been picked to compete against each other with the help of some of the ships chefs. I believe they only had 15 minutes to prepare their dish using the raw produce available on the back tables. The female contestant talked smack by saying her opponent wasn’t even working his pans over the burners. She had a point, the crew chef was helping out quite a bit.

When it came time for the judging, an oval platform rose up with three passenger judges. One judge was from France and she said that the female contestants dish reminded her of her childhood. The male contestants dish however had too much spice. Every judge actually didn’t like the male contestants dish. They didn’t hold back their criticisms. The female contestant won.

I was still working on the sketch as everyone rushed out of the theater. It seems that these cruise ship activities are designed for audiences with short attention spans. A tech came out of the sound booth and approached me. He told me I would have to leave the theater. I can’t believe it. This was the second time I had been interrupted while trying to finish a sketch on the cruise. I asked why. He said they had to rehearse that evenings performance. I asked if I could do another sketch of the rehearsal. No, he had rules to follow and I left fuming. I don’t like being herded around like cattle. The final color washes were added in the cabin. We never returned to the theater to see the show.

Beyond Fear and Desire

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The Deland Sculpture Walk is a really nice partnership between Stetson University, the Museum of Florida Art and the City of DeLand. Linda Brant responded to the call for artists and was selected with her bronze and steel piece called “Beyond Fear and Desire.” Her sculpture, created in 2011, was installed last October in Pioneer Park on the corner of North Woodland Boulevard and East Rich Avenue and was supposed to be there two years. Rich and Lilis George sponsored the sculpture. An inverted rusty automotive leaf spring sat at the top of a thick steel base support, looking a bit like an oxes yoke. Above that a circular disk with a large central hole and many smaller holes framed the bronze which looked a bit like a female crucifix with two snakes.

Last week, the bronze centerpiece of her sculpture was stolen. Officer Wise of the Deland police was notified and a report was filed. He was supplied with close up pictures of what the centerpiece looked like. Ray Johnson of the Museum of Florida Art said that the museum carries insurance for such instances. The beautiful bronze centerpiece was obviously not “beyond desire.” I went to the location the day I heard about the theft. It looked to me like the 1/4 inch thick rod that held the bronze had been cut with a hack saw. Linda thinks they might have used a torch to cut the metal, either way this was a brazen theft done right in a public park.

Linda said, “I’m not sure what I plan to do about the damage – replace or rework it somehow, I guess. It was a one of a kind bronze, so no mold to fall back on!” This isn’t the first time I’ve heard of art being vandalized and stolen in Central Florida. This sort of stuff seems to happen all too often in the Sunshine State. I wonder why so many artists are leaving to go to larger cities?

Orlando Weekly “Best of Orlando” Party

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Each year the Orlando Weekly publishes a “Best of Orlando” edition. There is a category for Best Blog, but this year I threw my AADW votes to The Daily City. Even with my support, The Daily City only got 2nd place. Some Republican political blog won 1st place. Anyway, I was asked to submit an illustration to this edition of the paper and part of the compensation was two comp tickets to the big bash at The Beacham Theater. The Beacham is newly renovated, and I was curious to get a glimpse inside. When I arrived, Brian Feldman was getting ready for his performance piece, “The Boxer.” He was going to hand out copies of the Orlando Weekly from inside on of their red newspaper boxes. Since I was early, Brian walked me inside and up to the balcony where I had a view of all the action below. He said, “This is the first time I’ve been in this theater since I was 11 years old.” He went back outside to continue setting up, and I started sketching on my digital tablet.

The bands were doing soundchecks. One group had urban tap dancers and plastic paint cans as drums. As I sketched, people started to trickle in. Busty barmaids in slick black dresses vogued as they shot photos of each other. Soon the place was packed. The bar became a hive of activity. Blackjack tables started getting busy. Entry to the event entitled each person to 1,000 units of Casino Chips, which could be turned in at the end of the evening for prizes.

With my balcony sketch finished, I went outside to sketch Brian. Terry was at the bar trying to shoot photos of Brian Feldman and Mark Baratelli’s awards as they popped up on a large video screen. Outside, Brian was in the tiny red box right at the entrance. That meant I had to sit on the sidewalk to get a view of him. I wedged myself against the red velvet rope and got to work. There was maybe two feet of space behind me to the curb and I had to shove forward several times to let caterers by with huge vats of food. I think Brian’s presence threw people for a loop and some searched around for another way in. One woman cooed to Brian, “Oh, you’re so cute.” When she was gone he pointed to the back of his throat and gagged. He had trouble keeping his head up and he napped between groups of people entering the club. People kept offering him food and drink. He always refused. I , on the other hand, was actually quite hungry and parched.

The sketch was going good, the ink work finished, when I heard a voice behind me. It was a policeman on a bike. “Oh no, not again .” I thought. He asked me to, ” Move along.” Since I wasn’t finished with the sketch, I asked, “Can I sit out in the street to avoid blocking pedestrian traffic?” “No,” he said, “Then I’d be concerned you might get injured.” I just sat for a moment, thinking. He said, “Is he on a time out?” It took me a moment to realize he was referring to Brian in the box. I explained that it was performance art and for a second I thought he was going to ask Brian to move along as well. He didn’t. He asked me to move again, then biked off. He didn’t say I couldn’t stand where I was, so I stood and started quickly throwing down watercolor washes. I worked fast since I figured the bike cop might just go around the block and check back in on my anarchist sketch in progress.

David Plotkin, the new art director at the Orlando Weekly, introduced himself to me just as I was finishing up the sketch. I flipped through my sketchbook to show David and his lady friend my work. I was still rattled thinking the police might return. My wife Terry had just left and I was feeling guilty for not spending more time with her inside the party. I went back inside and made myself several soft tacos from the decimated food table. The stage was empty. I wolfed down the tacos and typed a text message on my cell to Terry, “Heading home.” I left, still feeling persecuted by the law. Besides, I wasn’t a winner.

The Most Expensive Gas in America

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I was running late getting to Brian Feldman’s “The Most Expensive Gas in America.” When I piled my art supplies into my truck I realized I was low on gas. Driving out of my subdivision, my bright yellow gas light flickered on. It is shaped like a gas pump to further remind me that I needed to fill the tank. To save time I pulled into a 7-Eleven where the gas was a bit more expensive than my usual gas station. The regular gas cost me $3.39/gal. The $50 plus price tag hurts each week, but I need to get places to sketch them.

Sun Gas, located just north of Orlando International Airport (5600 Butler National Dr., off of S. Semoran Blvd.) charges unsuspecting tourists up to $5.99 a gallon for gas. The gas station is now being fined $250 a day by the City of Orlando for not posting their prices. The gas station has a huge sign that announces airport valet parking, an Arby’s and 24 hour convenience store. There is plenty of room on the huge two story high sign to list the gas prices. A sign was placed in the parking lot behind the store (where no one will see it) but again no prices were listed. On the day of Brian’s performance, Sun Gas was in court challenging the city ordinance to display their prices.

Brian Feldman decided to take the issue to the streets by standing at the intersection and announcing the prices to passing motorists.

Current prices (as of June 30th 2011)
Regular (87) $5.799/gal.
Plus (89) $5.899/gal.
Super Premium (93) $5.999/gal.

Brian arrived a bit late saying, “I had to go and get more nines for the sign.” He had his portable theater marquee around his neck. That thing is made of metal and it is heavy. His sign had all three prices listed and he waved to passing cars. I was shocked when cars pulled into the station. Brian’s small sign probably isn’t easy to read from a passing car. A news photographer arrived and started shooting photos of Brian. The photographer spoke to me briefly stating, “You picked a strange day to be sketching. Look behind you. Those steel blue clouds will be here in 20 minutes.” I started to sketch faster. Shortly thereafter, a car pulled up to the corner and the driver started screaming at the photographer. “Are you reporting the news or creating the news!?” He was livid, thinking the photographer was staging the public service of showing consumers the gas prices. The photographer tried to explain that it was a conceptual art performance but that made the man’s face get redder. His wheels screeched as he sped off onto Semoran when the light changed.

Later, a leggy blond woman approached Brian from the gas station. After she left he shouted out to me, “Incident!” My drawing was just about done so I walked over to see what was up. She had made indications to Brian that she knew where he was parked. The implication being that she would arrange to tow his car. Brian handed me his car keys and asked me to move his father’s Ford Focus to the restaurant across the street where I had parked. I half expected to find his car gone, but I found it and drove over to my truck. I then drove over to where Brian stood and returned his keys. He had many hours to go, as he planned to announce the prices for 5.999 hours which is an hour for each dollar charged for the gas. As I drove north the rain pounded my truck. Is price gouging the American way?

Signing CDs

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Terry got tickets to hear world class violinist, Joshua Bell, play with the Orlando Philharmonic Orchestra at the Bob Carr Theater. We were seated far back away from the stage so I didn’t attempt a sketch. Terry pointed out that my name was in the program twice, probably because I had donated a sketch for a fundraiser. The house lights dimmed and I snuggled back into my seat. The music was soothing so I closed my eyes and drifted away. Periodically my head would bob forward and I would shake myself awake before drifting off again. The violinist performed after the intermission. He played admirably with bravado and flair. He stood the whole time shifting his weight often, swaying with the flow of the music.

For an encore he performed “Yankee Doodle” which he spiced up with so much intricate showmanship that it was always a surprise when the simple tune became recognizable. Christopher Wilkins the conductor let everyone know that the violinist would be signing CDs in the lobby after the performance. He joked that if you had your own sharpie, you might be allowed to sign the violin. Apparently the Stradivarius violin has a long colorful history.

I have been searching for lines to draw and there was a huge line of people waiting to get their CDs signed. As soon as I started sketching the line started to move. A handler hurried people along making sure they didn’t speak to the musician for long. “Please keep it moving” he kept saying. As I sketched one of the ushers approached me and said I would have to leave the floor. There were hundreds of people in the lobby and I didn’t understand why I was being asked to move, but I complied. I continued to work on the sketch from a vantage point on the stairwell to the lobby. When I saw the usher was gone, I returned to my original spot and continued to work. By this time I was in a foul mood. I wondered if the violinist’s handler had considered me some sort of threat. Was my sketching causing a disruption? Honestly few people noticed what I was doing. This incident made me feel like sketching events at the Bob Carr is more of a hassle than it is worth.

No Dosa for You!

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Brian Feldman staged a project inspired by Taco Truck Taste Test called “Dosa Vu.” It took place at the Apna Bazaar supermarket which is located who knows where, someplace way south on OBT. Around the same time, Dina Peterson was showing a friend of hers from Boston named Ian the Parliament House Sunday Piano Bar. I stopped into the bar but the place was pretty quiet and Dina and her friend hadn’t arrived yet. I texted her to let her know I was going to try and get a quick sketch at Brian’s event.

The Indian supermarket was impossible to find. Nestled between car dealerships, the place was set far back from the road and building numbers were impossible to see. I drove in circles and got to the place about half an hour late. I thought Brian had said it was inside an indoor flea market. I wandered the aisles of the flea market looking for Brian. There was a booth of used furniture, a booth of pillows and a huge assortment of brick-a-brack at bargain prices. There must have been 50 booths but no Indian food. Outside, I looked at the event page again on my iPhone and it said the dosa dealer was in a store NEXT to the flea market. UGH! I rounded the corner and there was Brian, his girlfriend Sultana and Angela Abrusci.

Sultana introduced me to Joe inside and ordered a dosa for me. Joe stood in front of a cabinet case full of colorful shampoos and soaps. As he prepared my food, I sat down and started sketching. The food was finished before my sketch and Brian took it to the small table outside. There was a steady stream of customers. One man walked up to Joe and started whispering to him. Later the same man stood in front of me and started asking questions. “What are you doing?” I thought to myself, “Here we go again,” and said with a smile, “I’m sketching.” “What kind of art is that?,” he asked. I turned the sketchbook around to show him the sketch and and rattled on about illustrative journalism. He frowned at the unfinished sketch. He wasn’t impressed. “Did you ask permission?” he asked. I though, “If I asked permission every time I wanted to sketch, I would never accomplish anything.” What I said was, “Who should I ask?” He explained that the store was private property. We continued this power struggle for some time, as I kept looking at the details behind him and sketching. I thanked him for his interest and rushed to finish the sketch before he called the police.

With the hasty sketch finished I went outside to find Brian and his entourage. They were gone. The much anticipated dosa was gone. I suddenly felt very hungry, but didn’t feel welcome back inside so I left. I drove back to the Parliament House where Dina gave me half of her sandwich from lunch. Dina and I sang Jimmy Buffet’s “Margaritaville” together into a diamond studded microphone and the crowd joined along swaying with the chorus. Now the place was packed. Later we all sang “Oh Happy Day” with our hands raised as we danced. I felt the warmth and fellowship of being among friends. Where I felt misunderstood, I now felt accepted. The dosa was forgotten.

Degas Sculptures at Tampa Museum of Art

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Chere Force put out an invitation for artists to join her on a field trip to see the Degas Sculptures at the Tampa Museum of Art. I knew I would want to sketch, and I considered bringing my digital tablet. I left it at home since I didn’t want to catch a guards’ attention. Chere and her husband Rory picked me up in their minivan and we headed west to get to the museum right as it opened. The Tampa Museum is part of a gorgeous riverside complex. There were several school buses of school children unloading as we arrived. Thankfully there is a children’s museum that the screaming hoard disappeared into. Curtis Hixon Park right next to the museum is a fabulous open public park with colorful terraced gardens. Across the river shiny metallic minarets adorned a building constructed in the 1800s as a hotel and it is now part of the University of Tampa.

The Museum is a modern block of a building that is covered in a grid of circular holes punched in sheet metal. At night the building lights up like a phosphorescent sea creature thanks to thousands of light diodes. The largely empty ground floor houses the gift shop and cafe while all the art is up on the second floor. Chere explained that design allowed for any storm surge from a hurricane to only damage the empty ground floor.

I branched off and explored the Degas sculptures on my own. On the walls there were some charcoal and pastel drawings that resembled poses from some of the sculptures. Degas worked on these small wax and clay pieces to help him visualize the fluid gestures he incorporated into his paintings and drawings. They were intended as studies, not finished works of art. When Degas died, his family arranged for 22 sets of bronzes to be made from all these studies while keeping the originals intact. All of the works in the exhibit were bronzes. Cards on the walls described how Degas was influenced by the classic sculptures he studied for three years in Rome and Florence.

Once I saw all the sculptures I started to experience the gestural work by sketching. Something about the way he explored form started to make sense to me. As my lines danced in around and through his sculptures, I started seeing the viewers looking at the art in the same light. The Little Dancer stood vigil in the middle of the room. Having the opportunity to study his art in person was inspiring. As I was finishing up my sketch a museum guard approached me. He asked what medium I was using. My stomach tightened and I said, “watercolor.” Thinking to myself, “It is harmless, really, it washes right out with water!” He said, “You can only use a pencil to sketch in here.” I didn’t argue. I just put my little kit away. I imagined the young Degas sketching sculptures in Italy and being told to stop.

In the next room was modern art. In the center of the gallery was an installation that had two windows set up in a false wall. Between and inside the windows rain was pouring down with the occasional lightning flash, and the recorded rumbling of thunder. I had to wonder if it just might leak, potentially damaging the other art in the room. It was pretty far from the Degas bronzes. They were safe from any further artistic scrutiny.