Samuel DiTullo
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Art by the Flickering Light of YOUTube.

7/5/2016

 
[July 5, 2016]

Most days I find myself with a drawing board propped on my lap and leaning against the front of my desk. Just beyond my drawing board is the computer screen which will be my sole companion through the long day ahead. With the door shut to the world and windows blinded, I am flying solo. Is today going to be a Lindberg flight, or an Amelia Earhart? I once drove from Fishkill to Kingman, Arizona without ever turning on the radio or popping in a cassette. I was writing a lot back then and I’d work on my story as I drove all day and then write it down in the motel room at night.


I have never had a problem with the solitude of a productive creative life, as long as it’s not 24 hours a day of it, day after day. The difference between writing, and drawing or painting for me is this: when I’m writing I need solitude and silence. Making art is a different story.    I need music and it needs to be loud. This means I need headphones so I don’t disturb the neighbors. Depending on the subject matter of what I’m working on, and sometimes the style or medium I’m working in, I choose what I want to listen to and conjure it up on YouTube. So far there is not one album I’ve wanted to listen to that I couldn’t find. Even though I own hundreds of CDs and still have close to a thousand vinyl records in my collection, I endure the commercials that I can’t skip, because I don’t have to get up to change a CD or record. I just reach over and tap a few keys and some new tunes begin. Also I can go to documentaries of my favorite bands, interviews, concert footage, videos, and T.V. appearances. And that is just the music part of it. You can do the same thing with writers, painters, illustrators, filmmakers or whatever you might be interested in.

I used to think YouTube was where people put all the photos and videos I saw them taking with their telephones. I thought that was why it was called YOU tube. Then one day I was talking to a co-worker at the wine shop about how much I loved Salvador Dali when I was young and he said, "Have you ever seen the animated film he made for Walt Disney?"

I nearly laughed at the thought of Disney and Dali, so he conjured it up right before my eyes on the damn screen we use as a cash register and it blew my mind. When I got home I watched it over and over again and since that day I think I’ve discovered at least one thing every day on YouTube, that has enriched my life in some small way, and occasionally in a big way. If you are curious the film is Destino, from 1946. It’s about seven minutes long.

This is not a commercial for YouTube, by the way. It is a commercial for feeding your mind. I know how much time everyone spends telling everyone else what they did all day long, so I know you have the time and the means to devote to enriching your mind in the same way these social media connections with friends and family enrich your heart and soul. Before the computer, most households had a set of encyclopedias from which a person could make themselves familiar with just about any topic relevant to the world we were living in. Today in my humble little studio, I possess access to the archives of the knowledge and achievements of the world, from pre-prehistoric to the present. There is also a lot of crap, a lot of good material presented badly, and the commercials. Sometimes they put a commercial in the middle of a song, which is unforgivable; boycott those. Not everything has commercials so shop around.

Recently I watched a clip from Elvis Costello’s show Spectacle, of Elvis and Lou Reed performing, ‘Set The Twilight Reeling.’ I love Lou Reed and have since John Higgins first pulled that big yellow banana out of a record bag and we put the disc on the turntable at Dave Stafford’s house back in ’66.

So forgive Lou’s vocal shortcomings, and bask in Elvis’s gift for interpreting another writer’s material, something rare in a songwriter of such renown, and allow yourself to be lifted out of your seat by what these two guys do with just their guitars, no drums, no keyboards, no bass. Then again, to some it might just sound like noise.

It is such a bittersweet treat for me, to watch things like this. Especially this year as we watch so many of the musicians we loved growing up disappearing in what almost feels like, here today, gone tomorrow, fashion. Fortunately, we have gems such as this, to preserve forever the flashes of brilliance from our fading stars. Like listening to Johnny Cash’s last recordings, or Warren Zevon’s last album, and the documentary of the making of it, and most recently those videos of David Bowie. These artifacts are like withered orchids that dream a faded beauty that we try our best to hold onto. Sweet Dreams.

A post-Say Hello To Valentino Thank You

7/5/2016

 
     [June 15, 2016]

     Well…now that we’ve all had a few days to recover from the month long build-up to Miranda’s book-signing for SAY HELLO TO VALENTINO and the exhibition of prints of my own Beacon series of paintings and drawings…WOW! Who would have thought we’d sell out a literary event? No balls, no bats, no car chases, no explosions and no nudity. Not that I’m opposed to any of those things, just that we did it without that kind of built in audience. I have to admit some of us did swear a bit…a lot actually. Overall I think it was a great success for us and a shining example of the sense of community we shared that night. The range of ages of people attending and all having a good time made it feel like a family reunion, or wedding. I was also impressed by the distance some people traveled just for this event.

     I’d like to thank everyone who attended and supported Miranda, Richard and myself, by buying books, prints, or raffle tickets. Also a big thank-you to our helpers: Kathleen, Kay, Linda, Debbie, Rich, Patrick, Connor and Sydney. Also the staff of The Howland Cultural Center: Florence, Tom and Carmen.

     Congratulations to Ann and Bob Kacur on winning the original painting we raffled off. I’m pleased to know it will have a good home.

     Now that the pressure of the event has passed, I hope to do a weekly post that may at times refer to whatever project I’m working on. I may reach out to you for info or photos when I’m researching a new Beacon picture. I still have a few favorites kicking around in my head. I’m open to considering any suggestions. Or I might just tell you about movies, books or music that inspired or moved me that week.

       With any luck, the event we just had will lead to bigger and better things for Miranda, Words in the Works, and myself, so I will keep those of you who express interest informed of any new event on the horizon.

     Be well, enjoy life and support local writers, musicians, artists and craftsmen. In a time when quality is too often sacrificed in favor of immediate gratification and lower prices, spend your money when you can on things that are well made, aesthetically designed, and efficient. Buy things that last and don’t be so quick to throw out things that still do the job. Maybe the big boys will start bringing back quality; maybe they’ll even bring back that pride we had when something said Made in America because it meant it was made with integrity.

Impressions of the Beacon Ferry

7/5/2016

 
[May 30, 2016]
You may have noticed the announcements for the book signing event at The Howland Center in Beacon on June 11th. One of my contributions to the event will be the unveiling of a new painting in my Beacon series that we will be raffling off. The painting and preparations for the event have been occupying much of my time.Those of you who have become familiar with the Beacon series will know the pen and ink I did of the Ferry pulling into the Beacon station. The new painting will be a color version of that drawing. The thing I am trying to capture that you can’t really get from the drawing is the way that boat would seem to materialize out of the morning mist, getting closer and closer without seeming to touch the surface of the river. The mist drifting above the murky water reflected the morning sun, just peeking over the mountain behind me, right back into the station. I’m borrowing from the Impressionists to get that effect, all that diffused light bouncing around in direct contrast to the shadowy, industrial gloom of the stations interior.

When I was a kid this was a real adventure, driving in our car onto a boat which would then carry us across the river. When the ferry approached, the station would come alive with activity. A motor would roar to life and the clanking of chains would begin, startling flocks of pigeons into flight. There was a bell ringing, and the ships had their own bells, whistles and horns, while announcements were made on a barely audible loud speaker. The water seemed to be pushed ahead of the blunt hull so that it churned all around the platform, creating a dirty froth in which floated the byproducts of industry, the bodies of the wildlife it destroyed, and the trash we couldn’t bother to dispose of properly. I don’t miss that part of it, and thanks to Pete, we don’t have to deal with that. But I have to say, for a little boy, driving in a car across the bridge was about as exciting as a walk through the woods to visit your grandmother. On the other hand, taking the ferry was like walking through the woods to visit Grandma with the possibility of wolves and maybe even a sea monster.
As I’ve been working on this painting I’ve been watching a BBC production called ‘The Impressionists’. It is very well done and presented in a more dramatic rather than documentary style, with actors playing all the major artists of that period. The acting, costumes, props and locations were all of the quality you’d expect from the BBC. I think it is a great way for anyone interested to learn a little art history, become better acquainted with artists you may admire, and be entertained at the same time. For instance, did you know that one of the things that began what we now call the Impressionist movement, was the invention of paint in tubes? Before that, artists had to grind and mix their own paints in the studio. Once the paint was mixed it wasn’t exactly portable. Paint in tubes got the painters outside. The rest is Art History. Till next time. Sam

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