She leaned over him, wiping his brow.
The crisp starched nurse’s uniform told him all he needed to know
before the morphine kicked in and he fell back into the pillow
that was so much softer than anything he’d known in more than two years.

Night fell and the nurse continued, constant at his side.

The cool blue light of the moon filtering in through the high transom was incapable of assuaging the stifling stilled heat of the sleeping Moroccan desert.

Through the night they stayed together,
the nurse and the young wounded infantryman;
An unlikely couple, bound by the pains and duties of war.

The war took no pause nor notice of this moonlight blue iteration of the Pieta.

But, for just the smallest collection of moments,
there was actual peace on the earth.

It was in a small room in a bombed out waystation
in the Moroccan desert, but it was peace nonetheless.

When he awoke, the smell of coffee and fresh baked doughnuts
were more than enough incentive to open his eyes.

Even without the box of fresh Holy Joe’s Doughnuts
and the piping hot cup of coffee in her hand,
she qualified as an angel;
with them, she was elevated to sainthood.

He hadn’t seen a “Holey” since before the war began.
He had never breakfasted with an angel, let alone a saint.
“Look,” she said, smiling and holding up a fresh glazed dunker,
“this doughnut is just like you..Its good all around….
with a little hole in the middle !”

“Just like you,”
he replied with a wink.

She blushed and stiffly stood up to leave,
he surged forward through the pain, reaching for her hand.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “its just that I haven’t seen a woman
in such a long time…….I shouldn’t have said that.”

She stared at him for a few heartbeats.
He held his breath.
She turned her head away and shed a tear before turning her feet in a similar direction and exiting the innuendo filled room.
She closed the door.

He closed his eyes and listened to the walls echoing her steps
as she made her retreat away from him, down a hallway,
down two sets of stairs and down another hall.
He heard a faraway door open and close.

Suddenly, he remembered his first name.
He felt no joy.

He knew he had lost his one chance at paradise.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry ,”
he wept as he shouted into the emptiness of the rest of his life.

The cadence of echoes faded to silence…
” Couldn’t you at least leave the doughnuts?”

Photo by Jean-Fabien (via flickr)

THE ART OF CREATIVITY is Jim Wooden’s new video series devoted to exploring and revealing the workings of the inner artist. These profiles are a fascinating look at the artisan’s world and are a powerful way to connect the audience to the art.

Those already documented by Mr. Wooden include painter Yvette Gillis, 2009 Edward Albee Playwright Award Winner Neil Wechsler, and established collector Dallas Price-Van Breda. Check back weekly for updated installments of Mr. Wooden’s work.

Perhaps the internet providers themselves are the new unavoidable force of reality; Verizon as a pivot point for your existence. Or maybe the social networking sites, the triumph of rapid misspelled banality, now control how one virtually moves. A part of me (perhaps the part of me not bothering to wear corrective lenses) has always thought of Facebook as ‘FoodSafing.’ If some sort of apocalypse happens in the 3D resource-based world, like a massive water shortage, what is the most efficient way of rationing those resources? Do you want to provide it to the unknown neighborhood dwellers, or the people with the most partisan-friendly INFO boxes? And what about email addresses? If you have no email, are you like an astronaut floating free in the void, unencumbered, but really, really fucked?

Gravity as an abstract concept is a little weird, I know. But I believe that each representation of a larger system invariably has to represent each part of that system, like scale in architecture. On a 40th scale model, the pool deck on floor 22 is just a blue dot; on a 1/2 scale model, you have to glue together some damn lawn chairs and scatter them convincingly around the simulated tile periphery. If the internet is a scale model of the human universe, what holds the virtual world together? Our faith in humanity? The promise of shiny things?

Or is it being held together at all?

Photo: Phillie Casablanca

Sunday, February 21 was Offramp Gallery’s opening reception for Myron Kaufman’s “Still Perplexed,” Marilyn Cvitanic’s “Watercolors,” Elaine Carhartt’s “Ceramic Sculpture,” and Francesco Siqueiros’s “Paraiso Terrenal/Earthly Paradise.” People braved the somewhat ominous weather in order to view the combination of sculptures, paintings, and installation pieces that took over the entire interior and exterior of this unique gallery.

I have never been to a gallery like this—not only is Offramp an art gallery, but the owners Jane and Chaz live there as well, which gave the opening reception the obvious feel of a sophisticated house party (I say “sophisticated” because the house parties I’m accustomed to tend not to serve brie and hang original works of art on the wall). Just like a party, the hosts introduced me to throngs of people (introversion not allowed), and I happily had conversations with artists and writers alike, while trying my best not to sound too dumbstruck. Some of the best chats I had were with the owners themselves; Chaz happily told me that it’s the greatest privilege to be able to light a fire after visiting hours, and just sit around admiring the art. How can you help but be envious? They even get to throw parties every six weeks to celebrate their redecoration.

But on to the art: Myron Kaufman’s paintings almost literally lit up the walls with his bright and vivid palette. On a personal note, I was immediately drawn to his work because of the abundant use of the color orange (ever since childhood, I have always been drawn to the color orange. What can I say; the color makes me happy; even my shampoo bottles are orange). But color-bias aside, Kaufman’s personality oozes from each of his paintings. One of his paintings is called “Whoopy, It’s Party Time” and features naked geriatrics at a party—how can you not like that? He also tackles politics and cherished childhood stories (Little Orphan Annie anyone?) with a delightful tongue-in-cheek irreverence. His work really spoke to me, since I’m always drawn to a twisted sense of humor (and paired with the color orange? My artistic paradise). I can’t wait to see what he creates for his next project—a children’s book.

In the next room, filled with Marilyn Cvitanic’s watercolors, I couldn’t help but think about my stint as an amateur artist oh-so-many years ago, and how I would smear watercolor across the page, hoping some form would manifest (it never did). Why this digression? Because Cvitanic’s thin lines of colors are so precise and intricate that, almost more than the beauty of her colors and shapes, I was just impressed with the process. The time, the steady hand, and the patience that went into each one her shapes is enough for me to just throw away my brushes in defeat (you know, if I hadn’t already done that years ago). When I had the chance to speak to her, she spoke of her inspiration. After 9/11—she noted that the date for this artistic turning point is somewhat cliché—she markedly changed her style and shifted her style from figures to shapes, most notably grids. Her work is obviously inspired by the grid work of Manhattan’s streets and skyline as well as the microbial geometry she witnessed studying biology. I was so proud I was able to deduce this source of inspiration before being told—I rarely ever “get” things.

When I finally migrated outside (you know, to where the refreshment table was—like a moth to flame), Francesco Siqueiros and I were able to talk (was there anyone here I didn’t get a chance to talk to?) about his “Earthly Paradise” project in which he displays the “garden as sculpture.” How is this achieved, you ask? Well, Siqueiros uses two different approaches: “Garden as Subject” and “Garden as Object.” I was mostly taken with the “Garden as Subject” piece, which was a small garden with scaffolding erected around it. When you climb to the top, you watch videos projected onto sheets of the garden being planted, which involved breaking through cement. How very metaphorical. He explained to me that this attempted to contrast the sacred and the secular, and that the scaffolding serves as a chapel for the sacred garden within. Note: I read on Offramp’s website that some “unruly guest who wouldn’t stop doing gymnastics on the scaffolding” has forced the scaffolding company to remove their equipment. Some people ruin it for everybody. But Siqueiros is busy trying to reconfigure his piece despite this setback.

Elaine Carhartt was the only artist not present at the opening, which is unfortunate, as I would have loved to hear about the inspiration of her adorable and colorful sculptures that peppered the outside. It was just so charming to lounge under an orange tree with my plate of crackers and brie and look down to the smiling face of a colorful little woodland creature hiding under the brush. Really, it can’t be topped.

WHO: Myron Kaufman, Marilyn Cvitanic, Elaine Carhartt, and Francesco Siqueiros
WHAT: Opening reception
WHERE: Offramp Gallery
ADDRESS: 1702 Lincoln Avenue, Pasadena, CA 91103
WHEN: February 21 2-5 P.M.
EXHIBITION DATES: February 21-March 21, 2010
WEBSITE: http://www.offrampgallery.com/

THE ART OF CREATIVITY is Jim Wooden’s new video series devoted to exploring and revealing the workings of the inner artist. These profiles are a fascinating look at the artisan’s world and are a powerful way to connect the audience to the art.

Those already documented by Mr. Wooden include painter Yvette Gillis, 2009 Edward Albee Playwright Award Winner Neil Wechsler, and established collector Dallas Price-Van Breda. Check back weekly for updated installments of Mr. Wooden’s work.