Art Born Within A soul and Madness

In 1968-69 I had the opportunity to take two elective courses. This was a newly acquired Freedom , Earned by playing and Graduating from Junior high. Now a small fish in the big River at high school. My first choice was art, and I was fortunate enough to be placed in a class taught by an articulate, creative and talented teacher who actually instilled a love of art that would never die.

I came to class to paint and draw, however, I was surprised when “THE TEACHER”began the first day with a slide presentation of art. After a few beautiful visuals, he explained that we would spend the first semester in this class learning art history, “for no artist can be an artist who does not understand art as more than a craft.” In that first semester, I would learn and forever remember such profound, truths as “an artists first and true obligation is to himself. If an artist is able to create what he envisions, and feels, he has met his obligation.” Classes were a pleasure. We went through the periods of art from cave etching, moving our way beautifully along Man’s profoundly unique evolution. I was introduced to Some Great egoic Names such as Michelangelo, and Da Vinci, who were truly masters, but I found the former to be boring, Great Recreations of what already “was”, Look around there is Beauty. Then a chord was struck when he flashed a slide projected image of the “The Scream.” I saw with my eyes, and felt with my heart. A profoundness I had never experienced I visualized, an odd emotion I felt somewhere within. I was also struck by both the work and the story of Vincent Van Gogh. This Brilliant Teacher was successfully cultivating, New Life within me or was he Awakening Spirits lived within my depth for centuries? No matter, planted and watered. fresh seed, somehow spiritual life, love that would grow within me For life, but it was not until Salvador Dali’s picture of the melting clocks over the trees with its barren dusty taste, burned my soul. again new passion my second true passion was born. Surrealism has maintained it’s grip on me for life. Surrealism is even featured in my personality, for many have referred to me as somewhat “Eccentric.” An observation of which I’ve never quite understood. Picasso was there, real honest I guess but did not capture me beyond his early work and some of the cubism which I found interesting. Then came Warhol, Andy Warhol. My experience with Warhol’s exhibit “Silver Clouds” a touring Exhibition which I was able to experience (years after his Murder)at Florida’s famous Dali Museum allowed me to fully “get” an artist who had nearly escaped me. The era psychedelic, although short lived, had previously captured my imagination in 1967, before my true introduction to where art begins, and that movement of the day, carried my heart through 1970.

The rest of that school year we created “our “ art. I witnessed pure beauty and experienced Joy . Summer came and My clean cut fell to the way side no fault of that Class, many blame politics, drugs or just wild ME

In November, Personal tragedy or fate reared it’s terror bringing insanity and my first psychiatric hospitalization. Innocently enough, For 1970 I joined a group of friends on a ride to Laurel Canyon fueled with LSD and Riding Howard’s 57 Chevy, we encountered the LAPD: a foe to All who had grown their hair long and insisted upon smoking herb while driving around believing we would go somehow unnoticed or perhaps we believed we were immune to arrest, being “cool” as we all were in those “Times”. At any rate, after my parents picked me and Kurt up, my would be for many years, friend, whose parents could not be reached and who my parents simply wouldn’t allow to spend the night in an unremembered police sub-station lock up, then surely sent to a Juvenile facility (never to return to hear him tell it)

I couldn’t go to sleep …for DAYS which Lead to Brea Neo-psych Center where wouldn’t you know, part of the treatment for a guy like me (or any patient deemed safe enough to load into the van,) would be Visits to Museums and Art Galleries ( I actually saw the Famous “Blue Boy”).

I was unable to paint or draw, or otherwise produce a hobby or even a craft (which I’d always excelled at) after that( heavy med’s and chaos will do that). In Fact I still remember my last noteworthy piece, a collage, which Our art teacher had assigned, Then Surprised us by having us reproduce it using Pencils. The collage assignment was “ take any picture from these magazines, if you happen upon a picture at home or at the dentist office bring it in, it must be school “ok”. That said, create a collage which will best state who you are, how you feel, what you like. Use you inner feelings, be creative, IMAGINE”.

I listened to a lot of music after that, smoked herb, drank as often as I could and Loved ART while hating myself, and missing the life I had known. Read a little J.D Salinger, and also scribbled some really bad poetry.