My cover designer ghosted me. I can’t blame him. He has had enough of my pet peeves. The last cover we worked on took long to get finished based on my special requests. Little did the designer know that this book and its cover had history. It was the debutante novel of a novice novelista. And as such, having been through many hoops, I took a critical approach.
Now I hope I haven’t lost a valuable artist and designer. Especially since one of my next books (Cowboy story) could be an interesting series, which all would need a cover. I should have known better. When I worked in the textbook production business, we had a “team.” In various status meetings, the acquisitions editor, developmental editor, the permissions people, the production editor, and the art department checked through the timeline and brought production challenges to the fore. And sometimes these meetings didn’t go without a spat.
After one such meeting, I stepped into the cave of an especially irate art director. What happened? In our process, the cover design thumbnails were circulated through the various departments to have everyone sign off on the draft. In my position, I would have to screen for any and all typos, regardless whether it was just an initial blurb. No problem with that. However, with this one design I had a bone to pick. It was for a modern language textbook and showed the arches of a gothic church window. What was modern about that? I wrote that on the comment sheet.
Boy, was I in trouble. I did get the evil eye and a sermon from this female art director that we are a “team” and we don’t publicly criticize each others jobs. And also, she said, I overstepped. The esthetics were her domain. All right. She had a point. I deferred and we became friends again.
Why did I overstep? Because I am a photographer with a good visual sense and because I have a brain with a good common sense. And I later put together one or the other cover myself, for better or worse. Yes, I now realize, I can mess too much with other people’s work. Because I am a little pedantic.
Now I don’t know whether my wonderful cover designer will ever pick up any of my jobs again. Apologies—I mean it. That last book and I had too much history. I will behave myself next time.
Yes, the same book with three different covers. The difference is clear. Maybe I can put aside my nit picking attitude and go with the flow of the art.
This is archaic, I know. I should have done this on Instagram or Snapchat or at least Facebook. But here is a collection of snaps, match ups of regular people with famous people. These images from US Magazine (I am kidding) are no selfies either.
Why do we take pictures with famous people? We want some of the stardust fame rub off on us too.
I remember how cranked up I was about meeting Alice Cooper in person. As a teenager in Germany, I had his Bravo poster up on the wall, blackened eyes and all. On that day, Alice was promoting a friend’s sandwich shop. Alice Cooper, bad boy rock’n roller, is now a celebrity for saving the youth with his program Solid Rock. He has a music studio each for budding musicians in Phoenix and Mesa.He gets the youngsters engaged and off the street. I have visited Solid Roch with my student groups. A neat place!
I am certainly not a stage hog. But—The most famous picture, which I had always wanted, would have been with Elvis Presley. I was only a teenager when he died, cried my eyes out. But Gisela Solms-Wildenfels got a shot with Elvis when he was stationed in Germany. I stumbled into Gisela at a flea market in Wolfratshausen, where she was selling Hummel cups and other trinkets. She is of that Elvis generation. And this one encounter gave her joy to last a lifetime. She gifted me a copy of her Elvis picture.
Kurt Warner & Susmita
And on the story goes. I am not a sports crack, but I could pick out Kurt Warner (Arizona quarterback, 2005-2009) on our flight back from Omaha to Phoenix. We had attended a country music festival in Le Mars, Iowa. The football legend agreed to a photo with the cutest of us, Susmita. She didn’t know who we snapped her with, but it made me happy. Old reporter soul. Can’t ever switch off my scanning mode in an airport.
There are many more incidents of brushes with fame. Sometimes we don’t even realize when a celebrity passes by. I missed my chance to take a selfie with Max Raabe from the Palast Orchester. Oh, well. Better luck next time.
AnnElise arrested by TV cops Hubert & Staller (Christian Tramitz, Helmfried von Lüttichau)
Arduino co-founder Tom Igoe, remote controlled man Josh, and Priyanka Makin
AnnElise, AZ Attorney General Kris Mayes, Jeanne Devine, Randy Miller (SRP Board)
AnnElise, Kate Earley, and painter Jack Earley on Valentine’s Day in Loveland
NOTE: This poem by Priyanka, written in 2013 in high school, floored me when I rediscovered it in the keepsake box. Proud parent thinks, Little Genius in the Makin’
As I wander through the forest,
The warm sun rests on my shoulders;
The playful blades of grass reach up to my ankles.
The tall, tower-like trees stretch upward
And tickle the lonesome sky;
The sky has no friends to chase
On this cloudless day.
I see the flowers lean left and right
To get a good look at the magnificent trees;
The pine needles from above
Sprinkle down their spicy smell like fairy dust.
The mountain breeze climbs up my spine
And weaves through my hair;
He races through the trees
As all the leaves cheer for him.
A scripted butterfly lands
On the trunk of the tallest tree,
Basking in its glory;
The baby trees, standing straight and proud
In the shadows of their parents,
Know they can also, one day, achieve their greatness.
And as I witnessed the small trees
Standing as straight as can be, I thought to myself
No matter how small I start off, I can achieve magnitude.
Once upon a time . . . or let’s say yesterday, Princess Edda, who lives in a faraway land in the remotest castle’s tallest tower . . . no, sorry, in Bandana Land on Bat Cave Road, took repose in her crystal castle. Maybe it wasn’t a crystal castle, maybe it was rather a tea house. Right, she wanted to test out her itty-bitty barn, or tree house—or did she say tea house?—for a sleepover. She was looking for adventure. It was in the air. Heavy clouds were billowing, the wind howling, heavy drops splashing, thunder rolling, and rain drumming on the metal roof. The storm roared like a lion.
And yet Princess Edda left the safety of her Rainy Castle for the tea house, cozied in her covers, pulled the blanket up to her nose, and admired the strength of the swaying trees outside. This was such a noble fortress, with Saltillo tiles and stained-glass windows and a bed. But it rattled like a mousetrap. The pelting rain noise felt like being inside a drum.
Princess Edda rolled her eyes. Why did this thunderstorm have to happen on her first sleepover in the tea house? She wouldn’t get any shut eye here.
So, she said, “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Angels watch me through the night, and wake me with the morning light.”
But the morning was still far away and the wind howling with no mercy. She decided to read herself to sleep. It got later and later. It got so late that it was almost early again. Yet the lightning kept flashing through the glass door, and the wind howled even worse. No use trying. So, Princess Edda decided to admire the power of God’s nature instead. This was better than a movie.
Kaboom, caramba, catastrophe! Something crashed outside. The rain still drumming on the roof. Princess Edda pulled the blanket higher. Was there a creek or river running by her side? The tea house was shaking something awful. Dorothy in Kansas? No, only Little Edda in Texas. She didn’t have visions of sugar plums in her head, but saw witches flying by on a broomstick. She thumbed her nose at them. And finally, the dawn, not the window, broke. Sigh, what a relief! Princess Edda stepped out into the sunrise, inhaling the fresh, cleansed air.
And she was still alive. A tree had crashed only a foot from her tea house. Oh, miracle and wonder! Not quite. Prince Helmut had sent his Bandana Gang to the rescue. Who else could have heaved the tree away from its fateful destiny? And so Princess Edda escaped the storm unscathed. The Bandana Guard kept watch all night.
Princess Edda looked around: Sea Shell Covid, Two-Face Janus, Old Man Woodhead, Spanish Moss Guy, Hippie Girlfriend, Hippie Boyfriend, an eclectic bunch. Princess Edda bowed to her protectors. No knight in shining armor on a noble steed could have accomplished this: distract the lightning. He would have been roast inside his armor. But Prince Helmut’s wooden guard withstood the storm and saved the princess.
Helm_TurbanGuy_small
Helm_SpanishMoss_small
Helm_MidEast_sm
Helm_girldfirend_small
Helm_boyfriend_small
Helm_Covid_sm
Helm_WorkerDude_small
Helm_JanusOther_small
Helm_bird_sm
Helm_KamaSutra_small
See, I told you so, there is still nobility in sacrifice. The Bandana Gang kept watch for Princess Edda.
What sparks an idea? I used to think that inspirations would strike me with thunder and lightning. But, no, sparks can be quite slow at times. Think about the ketchup bottle. It’s been around for a hundred years, but only since the last twenty it’s also standing on its head. Duh! Why didn’t we think of that sooner?
Bandana Book I
The Bandana spark, which has now become a book (CLICK ON RIGHT), came with a slow glimmer too. I never go out on a hike without a neckerchief. Since my old Texas days, I have become protective of my neck. Sunburns sting! Yep, that’s why I my collection of bandanas keeps growing.
One of them was a gift from my daughter, with a Native American design. Once I went into the gas station at Star Valley, says someone behind me, “I like your bandana.” This Native American had recognized the Hopi pattern on it. It was nice to be noticed. A bandana can carry a strong message. Since then, I have also acquired a Navajo design on top of many other colorful patterns.
Bandana Stories
The older a bandana, the better the tale. Master mask maker Zarco Guerrero, here portraying a Cholo, knows all about the mysteries of Dia de los Muertos, plus the Central American bandana. When you Google for bandanas you certainly come around many Boy Scout uses, such as for a bandage, splint, tourniquet, wash cloth, trail marker, carry bag, and what not. And then, as you might imagine, all these incidents have circumstances. And the circumstances make for suspense. You can spin a gazillion yarns off of one small bandana.
Bandana Origin
Even the origin of the almighty, universal, wonderful bandana has a good story or two. I heard, the bandana was a tobacco snot wipe to begin with. Imagine, or don’t, that rag used to be white. And the tobacco stains wouldn’t come out any more. Therefore, an Irish tradesman had the fashionable idea to print his bandanas up in color. The print work was done in India, thus the pretty paisley patterns. As we all know, the cowboys came to appreciate the bandana too—duh, red neck. Bandanas trigger excellent cowboy stories.
Bandana Warriors
Or think about famous men. Some of the toughest cookies wear bandanas: Geronimo, Winnetou, Rambo, Hulk Hogan, John Wayne, Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan, Bob Marley, Willie Nelson, and other warriors. Right, the bandana takes to the street for activism.
Here is Ed Kabotie, member of the Hopi tribe, a well-known edu-activist, sharing his fight against uranium mining at the Grand Canyon. He also resents the now much in vogue “land acknowledgment” towards the Native American nations as a hindsight excuse for the colonial land grab and subsequent oppression.
Bandana Art
Independent from my instigations, Elisabeth Sherwood had made a collage series of bandana cowgirls, the mysterious types. (One of her gals to the left.) This was just perfect for the Bandana Book cover. I asked my friends, they wrote stories, I put them all in a book. The second one is on its way. It’s titled “Unusual Encounters.” The stories cover a rainbow of experiences and are deliriously good.
When I see a bandana these days, my imagination gets sparked. What’s next? An exhibition? Do you paint? Make photographs? Prints? Sculptures? How about making a bandana exhibit together?
What’s behind a rock, a root, a shell, or a time-proven fence post? Maybe nothing. But you can always make it “something.” Just by looking and thinking. Art objects are all around us. Nobody knows that better than silversmith and “Macher” (maker) Helmut Buchner from the Bat Cave Ranch by San Antonio.
Helmut has a very deliberate way of talking. Each sentence, no matter how obvious the content, clearly captures a deep thought. And that also applies to the stories behind his sculpture park on his ranch, which grows steadily. I will try my best to do our conversation justice with my English interpretation of some of his new, money-free objet d’art.
“Mona Lisa came together just for fun. There was a river rock laying around for years. It had the shapes of a beautifully formed woman, no relations to the Kardashians (maybe Picasso or Gaugin). And then there was also the tree stump of an old cedar tree. That tree had been in conflict with an oak. Every time when I have to cut down a tree, I leave a stump as a memorial. It could be used for something later. That tree offered itself to install something on it. The other two things had been waiting in the grass for a while. So I put all three together, set the rock on the stump, and installed the metal frame around it. The stone, steel, and wood enhanced each other quite naturally.”
Covid-19 Man: “I made that at the beginning, when we started to realize how threatening and aggressive Covid-19 was. For the first time it happened in my long life that we had such a worldwide epidemic. For me, the woodblock face demonstrates the anguish of a patient screaming from pain and terror. We’ve had the ball made of sea shells for a long time and it offered itself as a Covid virus symbol encompassing the entire globe.”
Bird Happiness: Helmut stands at the bottom of 40-foot-tall bamboo pole. It has a weather vane at the top, a bird with a long ribbon tail. The “Windvogel” sways in all directions, depending on how the wind blows. Unfortunately, storms repeatedly tore the sculpture off its mount. Helmut’s solution? He made a bamboo man to help support the structure. “The golden-haired bamboo guy holds up the pole so that the bird won’t fly away,” Helmut says. So how is this working out? Time will tell.
Himmelsleiter-Stairway to Heaven: A bicycle without a saddle is parked at the bottom of a bamboo ladder leading up into the air to who-knows-where? This sculpture, one of Helmut’s oldest, is thoroughly weathered. Visitors are fascinated by it, a stairway to heaven. “I figured that the ladder alone won’t get you to heaven, but I had a lot of people thinking that it might,” Helmut says with a wry smile on his face.
Nothing is accidental about Helmut’s sculptures. They are built on careful observation, selection, and artistic vision. A lot of thought goes into them. Helmut’s next sculpture could take a while or happen spontaneously. It starts with the idea, then the collection of materials, and finally comes the technical problem solving. The organic part is undeniable. These sculptures, exposed to the elements, change and mature over time—intentionally. They are in constant dialog with the maker and spectator. And nature.
“I don’t want to convert people to anything. Everybody should make up his or her own interpretation. Friends brought visitors over to show them the sculptures. I am always surprised about their comments. Everybody gets to think what they want. And that is the way it should be.”
Another piece is in the works, called Kama Sutra, aka a bunch of large, gnarly cedar roots arranged together. “At this time, I am working on the enlightened lovers,” Helmut says.
What will people think about that?
Whatever they want. Like me. Mea culpa, Helmut! I had thought that man with the sea shells was playing beach volleyball: shells = beach, white ball, get it? Perhaps some wishful thinking there. We all could have done so much better without the Covid.
Maybe some objects are also crying out to you for the art inside of them? Just look around! Elevate your vision for the not-so-ordinary.
There is more. Helmut is also an excellent silversmith-jewelry maker. His life partner Edda Buchner will be showcasing his jewelry together with the sculptures in a book. Helmut has also built a Zen garden, a labyrinth, and a tipi on his Texas home turf.
S-P-E-C-T-A-C-U-L-A-R ! I can’t stop watching this. It’s mesmerizing. Reflections and light play a bag of tricks on my mind. And not only did my daughter Priyanka build this piece, motor and all, she also made the GIF of 85 sandwiched pictures above. And this is how she describes it:
“Kinetic Column is my contemporary take on an iconic, historical relic. It’s completely built out of neon acrylic sheets. The transparency and bright colors contrast the white stone columns we traditionally know. The top platform is meant to resemble the turning pedestals you would see in home shopping TV shows. An amphora vase cut and etched on iridescent acrylic serves as the topper.”
For this mind-bending piece of art, she had to first bend some plexiglass with the help of her mentor Trey Duvall:
Priyanka writes: “This project is one of my efforts to create open source art. I currently work at an open source technology company (SPARKFUN)and am incredibly inspired by the sharing of information to recreate or expand upon projects. I think this makes the exclusive fields of creating art, designing tech, or writing code more accessible to a range of people that would not normally think to explore those realms.”
Here is more to watch—Laser etching:
Laser cutting:
And this the movie of all of it:
Isn’t it something? Technology, design, and craftsmanship come together. Priyanka is preparing to soon learn and build more at the NYU Tisch School of Design ITP Program. She will start her studies for the Masters degree in August. Can’t wait to see what comes next. (bragging rights of a proud mom)
Makin’ Art, Priyanka’s label, is catching on. My multi-talented daughter has produced artworks since early childhood. She has always had a creative knack and amazing patience for precision. That suited her well for her Computer and Electrical Engineering degree at UC Boulder. Now she tinkers with coding and microcontrollers, making new circuits for Sparkfun, an open source electronic components company, also in Boulder.
Art keeps growing on Priyanka and has taken on a technical form: she designs and builds electronic gadgets for art installations, such as Trey Duvall’s mobile constructs and Jaime Carrejo’s “Waiting” exhibit at the Denver Contemporary Art Museum.
All right, let this proud mom brag for a minute or two. Tenacity is one of my daughter’s trademarks. She does art in spite of a full engineering load and turns out a lot of good stuff. Who would have thought that in the digital age she would learn black and white print processing on her own initiative? (Didn’t ask me. You must know that her mom has a degree in photography.) She also paints beautifully in watercolor. Lately, Priyanka has developed the Shrinky-dinks into whimsical earrings and charms. And since she knows what makes a clock tick, other artist keep calling her about musical cuckoo doors, blinking neurons, or floating plants. That is the technical part of her art. How lucky she is to be an engineer.
Now here comes the joint project: Last Christmas Priyanka surprised me with the illustrations for my Random Accident story. That scenario, about 20 years in the making, is somewhat between Brave New World and Shrek. Her images are right on: a fantastical, hopeful, post-apocalyptical environment, in which salvation is steered by a little girl. Whimsical, humorous, and yet right down to earth in their floral splendor. What a multi-talented daughter!
You can find out more about Priyanka’s activities and projects at www.priyankamakin.com
Waiting. Waiting again. Now at Safelight Autoglass.
This wait was totally unexpected. The timing was freakish. An ice block from the overpass hit our windshield as we were driving under it. It delayed our trip by a whole day. Dreadful.
Aren’t all waits dreaded? The wait in the doctor’s practice, the turn of the red light, the hand of the clock to reach twelve? Waiting for summer, for your turn, waiting for what and why?
During this time of Covid, we had a lot of waiting to do. And we still haven’t learned anything. We still don’t like it and we are not good at it. Waiting takes practice. It’s a skill, It’s an art. Good waiting makes creative and happy.
Many of us (used to instant gratification at a click) couldn’t wait any longer but then we learned it again during the Covid year. Waiting to go back to school. Waiting for take out orders. Waiting in the carvalcade to get your specimen taken and then waiting for the results to come back. Wait, wait, wait a minute or an hour or a week.
The wait at the post office (even pre-Covid) was usually the deadliest for me. I always thought each PO visit would shorten my life by a day or two. So I avoided the PO. HOWEVER, I was so WRONG: actually the PO extended my life. It tricked me into appreciating my time more. The PO gave me slack time that I wasn’t aware I had in my rushed daily routines.
“Waiting for God” was a British sitcom about feisty older folks in an assisted living home. They didn’t jus want to wait around. They wanted to be players in their home court. Nobody wants to wait. Waiting seems a waste.
Waiting is good. Why? We discover our own inner world of fantasy and creativity.
Ask Jaime Carrejo. This Denver artist just now has an installation at the Museum of Contemporary Art called “Waiting.” He made up a colorfully decorated waiting room where the walls seem to come alive in floral patterns and the hanging plants randomly raise or lower themselves. I know all about the ins and outs of this exhibit because my daughter Priyanka Makin (proud mom shout out) designed and built the motorized mechanism for ten of these trailing plants. These spider plants are making a name for themselves by hanging on a thread.
The description for “Waiting” says that “Jaime Carrejo explores the relationship between confinement + duration (=waiting) by layering Southwestern symbolism, mid-century design, and objects from his domestic space.” Wherever this comes from, it is just fun to watch and live inside for a while. More often than not, the pictures on the wall of my doctor’s office have come alive too.
Here is what we learn in this exhibit: Waiting doesn’t kill time. It makes the relationship between space and duration more colorful and essential. Waiting entertains us too. We never know what might happen next. So waiting becomes the real adventure.
Arnold Annen ist ein Keramik-Poet. Hier (oben) eines seiner Designs, das er der Natur (Mikroben) abgeschaut hat. Wir haben ihn und seine Partnerin Violette Fassbaender–unsere Freunde–kürzlich besucht. Beide Künstler sind einzigartige Keramik-Pioniere, Arnold mit seinen zerbrechlichen Schalen, Violette mit ihren marmorierten “Steinen”.
Our friend Arnold Annen from Basel, Switzerland, creates poetry in porcelain. His large bowls and luminescent sculptures are paper thin. His partner Violette Fassbaender, herself an accomplished ceramicist, helps Arnold push the edge of a fragile art.
We recently stayed at Arnold and Violette’s house amidst scores of highly exclusive, one-of-a-kind artifacts. All pieces of their collections were mindfully arranged to evoke a symphony of inspiration.
In 2014 Arnold, who has gained much recognition in Europe and Japan, won a prestigious award at an international ceramics show in Chicago, Best of Show at SOFA.
Who would have guessed this world fame when Arnold was born in the small town of Gsteig (Gstaad, Switzerland) in a small farm village. Arnolds relentless passion for the ceramics process drove him to perfection. Among of our most priced household possessions is a pair of paper thin porcelain cups that Arnold gifted us.
Violette’s concept in ceramics is drastically different. She creates organic patterns from different colors of clay at different stages of moisture to build them into objects resembling rocks from nature. Organic patterns as in nature.
The detail in Violette’s hollow “rocks” tells stories of ancient magma–or an observant walk through the Swiss Alps. Eye-catching blocks of “Urgestein” shape-shift in the sheen of daylight versus dusk. She also has perfected her technique since she began her organic quest in Japan. Her deceptively casual patterns require a high level of skill, simplicity, and abstraction. The soul search. Or the simple admission that there are no accidents in life.
We spent some wonderful hours with these two remarkable artists who we are glad to call friends. Their hospitality is heart-warming as well. We enjoyed some very tasty, home-cooked meals at their house. Memories.
There is much more to know about Arnold and Violette’s art. Further reading:
The Taj Mahal was a highly involved school project from the last year. Susmita got totally into it with the sugar cube building method. She built a fairly large (2×2 ft) replica of the most famous romantic mausoleum on the planet. I forget how many boxes of sugar cubes went into this construction, perhaps 2 kg. Card stock, plastic cups, foam balls, Christmas light decorations—it all turned out fabulous!
Then the Taj Mahal, as happens with many projects after presentation, sat on the work bench in the garage for the next six months. It was still beautiful, too nice to toss it out. What to do? We couldn’t keep it. So we found a creative way of deconstruction. We put the Taj Mahal in “acid rain” (symbolically, because our drinking water in Arizona seems to be fairly pH neutral). How long would a sugar Taj Mahal hold up in the sprinkler?
We recorded the experiment for you. Enjoy the show!
We made a creative experiment, but the erosion of the Taj Mahal is for real. See this Taj Mahal Case Study from India.
What is art? It is definitely a skill. And? Art is also the way we look at things. How we perceive an object or image is in the eye of the beholder. Sometimes, however, art is in the blind spot. We overlook it. Guess now what the above image is. (Curious? Read through to the bottom.)
Let’s try this art thing again. Sometimes you just have to close one eye and look with the other. Squint real hard until the horizon blurs with the sky. Stand on your head. That’s a visual perspective too. If you do it right, you can pick up the Eiffel Tower or the Statue of Liberty between your thumb and index finger. Or sometimes you just need to close your eyes to get the full picture. If you stare at something too long, it might fade away, like the famous blind spot. Or you might hypnotize yourself. Life is pretty much an optical illusion. Our brain likes to play games with us. (The photo above was concocted by my daughter Susmita.)
Perception: is the glass half full or half empty? Yes, we all can self-therapize ourselves into happiness. This art form called mindfulness is also a skill. Like everything, it takes practice. Look at the optical illusion on the left. All the squares inside the stripes are middle gray. Would you believe that?
At the Fringe Festival in Toronto we saw a well-done play called “Blind to Happiness”. The one-man act reflected three characters. The least fortunate one, a dish washer in a tavern, learned to deal with his strict boss, skittish girl friend, dominant mother, and a spoiled cat. Was he happy? Maybe. It’s all relative.
And so is art. I have learned to take fairly good photos. Yet they may only look spectacular to me. You have Instagram? Styles and flavors in photography and visual arts are endless. Photos are so cheap and easy these days, iPhone does them all. Why did I ever bother with Dektol? Digital manipulations are the thing. The last little shred of truth goes down the drain, right?
Everybody has their own taste in colors. But how can I be sure that the other person’s teal or mauve or aquamarine registers in their brain at the same value as mine? Perhaps this is less a question of the brain than of the heart. And that is even more inexplicable. Can you distinguish the shapes in the graphic? Congratulations, you are not color blind.
With conscious perception and mindfulness, we can bring art and happiness into view.
SO WHAT’S THE PHOTO ABOVE? It’s a water feature at the National Gallery of Canada in Ottawa. I took several photos from underneath a square wishing fountain with a glass bottom. Then I made a gif out of four frames.
Andreas Kauer giving a tour of his woodworking shop to my friend Maria.
Sound soothes, sound heals—sounds good to me. Music always chases away my bad thoughts. It gets me into the swing of writing. Mellow music, especially guitars, brings out the best of my ideas.
We all know about Tibetan singing bowls, right? My daughter bought one in Sedona. But sound chairs and sound beds were new to me. I had never done any music therapy. What is it all about, I asked Andreas the Eibenklangzauberer from my home town Ascholding. He calls himself the “Yew Sound Wizard” for deep reasons. “Just try it,” he said.
Relaxing Sounds
I sat for 20 minutes on the sound chair made from curly maple. I let the continuous harmonics that Andreas played on the strings of the backrest wash all over me. It was so relaxing, sitting down, letting go—beautiful, easy, flying like a baby to be born.
I am not a candidate for yoga or meditation, too high strung. Yet these harmonics induced their magic on me. I eloped from my daily confines and my inner dictator. Yeah, now I am in love with these musical chairs for healing.
“On its back the sound chair has 32 steel strings but only two different notes”, Andreas explained. He built one of his two sound chairs himself. His favorite therapy instrument is made of yew wood.
Rare Woods: Yew
“The yew wood is the most important wood for me”, Andreas said. “It is among the oldest trees and has the calmest radiance.” As this rare wood is strictly prohibited from commercial use in Germany, he had the rawlings brought over from Ireland.
“I have furnished my therapy room entirely with sculptures and therapeutic instruments made from yew wood”, Andreas said. The yew artifacts create an inspirational atmosphere. Mind you, every part of the tree except for the berries is highly poisonous. But the energy is very positive.
And the poison is good in just the right dosage. Extracts from the yew’s needles—the tree resembles a scraggly stunted spruce—contain the chemical taxol. Known for its healing properties since ancient times, the yew is now being formally investigated as a cancer cure. Yew trees are rare and grow very slowly. They had become almost extinct in Europe in the Middle Ages because they were the best material for longbows.
Bottomed Out
“When I had reached the bottoms, living out of my car like a migrant, the yew trees talked to me,” the healer said. Several years ago, the formerly successful businessman had crashed from overwork and burnout. During his recovery he studied up on the energies of different woods. The yew tree spoke to him, like it did to the ancient druids. He sensed the energy transpiring from an eternal source.
Andreas’ clients have had amazing experiences on the sound chair. One man with a pinched nerve tossed away his cane after the session. Not every transformation is this drastic, but everybody feels better after the sound massage.
“It is my dream to build a sound bed from yew wood for cancer patients,” Andreas said with his calm and soothing voice. “I strongly believe the spirit of the yew can attune the cellular level. There is another hope for cancer patients.”
When Andreas makes his wood sculptures, he removes the decayed matter and sets the innate beauty free. He sands the wood ultra-fine and polishes the orbs and other pieces scrupulously with natural oils. He wants the therapy tools to be comforting to the touch. And here are some of Andreas’ fabulous sculptures:
NOTE: No disrespect intended towards cultures ancient or new, but rock art makes my imagination fly.
When you hike out here in the scenic Sonoran Desert and farther beyond towards New Mexico, you may stumble upon traces of ancient art. On slabs of rock, protected overhangs, or inhabitable caves, humans of times long gone have immortalized themselves on petroglyphs: ancient “graffiti” of the Southwest?
When I come across such rock art, I can’t help but wonder. What were the people of old thinking? Anasazi, Hohokam, and their descendants have depicted wildlife such as stags, turtles, snakes, and birds in prominent places. Mixed in are symbols, concentric circles or spirals, arrows, jagged lines like lightning, and interesting geometric patterns. Of course the human figure always plays an important role too. We can guess from the figure’s attributes what their rank and role may have been. Only guess we can.
I have always been fascinated by petroglyphs. When I look at these sketchy and attractive ideas on the rock in front of me, my mind goes on a time travel. When I look at them long enough, I feel a presence. Or more present about myself?
Many anthropologists have studied petroglyphs for their significance. Life-style, rituals, worries, and worship might be deduced from such stick-figure-like images. It must have been quite cumbersome to chip the images out of the granite; limestone seemed an easier medium for carving. No matter what rock, I conclude that the ancient artists were persistent and their pictures were important to them. It also seems that I can sense the ambition for skilled expression to make the image just “right.”
That makes me wonder even more. Did the ancient ones have “professional” petroglyph makers, specialist who made art for money? Was “petroglyphing” a rogue craft or an underground culture? Were some images chiseled for magic purposes to ward off evil spirits, make the crops grow, or smash the enemy? Was this a calendar documentary to leave a legacy, the history of the tribe? Maybe. How can we know? And then a crazy thought strikes again: What if the ancient ones were just having fun? (Or the elders might sent the troubled individuals for some rock art therapy. Or told the kids, now go get busy, chip some rocks, and draw me a picture.)
Some very strong images have conquered merchandising and government. The Kokopelli flutist, a fertility and growth symbol, has become a mainstream icon. The sun symbol is gracefully adorning the heart of the New Mexico flag. So there must have been some lasting value to these plain engravings. Petroglyph art feels alive and buzzing today. Many hikers such as I go out looking for them to get lucky once in a while.
Our closest petroglyphs are just 30 minutes away in Gold Canyon at the end of the Hieroglyphic Canyon Trail (1 hour hike). Where the trail peters out, we stop in the canyon by the gulch for a rest. It’s such a scenic place, with a view all the way to Phoenix. On the sunny side of the canyon, we marvel at a tapestry of petroglyphs all the way up the rock wall. How did they get so high up there? This idyllic place, the end of the road (?) or a dating cove (?), must have been enjoyed by native people hundreds of years ago just as much.
Another time we toured the Palatki Heritage Site nearby Sedona. This protected cove nestled into an overhang of the Mogollon Rim (mud-brick cliff dwellings nearby) shows many-layered styles of petroglyphs, some perhaps 2000 years old, others superimposed by modern vandals. Defacing ancient art is obviously a despicable act; however, you might see it also as a “response” and “dialog” with artists across ages. Think ahead 1000 years; today’s senseless scribbles might become of interest to future researches. (Right now, they are deplorable.) At Palatki you can see “black” petroglyphs located above a popular fire place. The smoke of ages has adhered to the pictographs, since the rock surface was eagerly absorbing the sooth on the roughened up surface.
Bandelier Monument in New Mexico near Los Alamos is a fascinating site of ancient pueblo/cliff dwellings and petroglyphs. The site was already abandoned when Spanish/European settlement arrived. What you can witness there are the remainders of an elaborate architecture and society including plenty of pictographs. A ranger pointed out the drawing of a macaw high in the cliffs. It is assumed that these birds were traded live from Central America. As we modern people try to piece together ancient cultures, we repeatedly discover that these societies were far from “primitive.” So, go see some rock art real soon. It will make you wonder, I hope.
Can you guess the snap? I came across this picture amidst long forgotten snapshots. What the heck was I thinking or seeing? I strained my brain but without success. Later I scrolled down farther in my picture index and found the explanation.
What’s on the picture above? Guess the snap!
The best guess (or the first correct answer) wins this absolutely fantastic, romantic, original Indian miniature painting. I brought it from one of my journeys to Jaipur. The image is 3 x 5.25 inches and matted in an 8 x 10 white archival mat. Such a lovely romantic scene deserves your best guess.
Miniature paintings are a very old traditional art, originating during the Mughal period in the 17th century. Miniature paintings were used as book illustrations. Antique miniatures can be very valuable. This art is kept alive by very skilled art guilds. Often the paintings are rendered on antique book pages surrounded with Farsi script. Although small, the paintings contain an incredible amount of detail, symbolism, and cultural expression. They always draw me in because I am excited about little treasures.
This charming miniature painting with the prince and the maiden can be yours. Please send me your answer in the comment box below or by e-mail until by Monday 12 noon (May 19).
I pulled into Buchners’ home-grown patch of Texas ranch turf. Through the ranch gates, I rumbled along the bumpy grooves of a pioneer wagon road into an island of wilderness. Prickly pears, mesquite, live oak, cholla cactus, cedar trees, and other greenery surrounded me.
It was a pleasantly warm, somewhat humid and overcast day, which gave the greens a stronger tint. I halted at the roundabout and shut off the motor. The deer briefly stared at my vehicle then continued grazing unperturbed. I took in the scenery.
There stood a bicycle on my right by a group of trees. That just wasn’t like the Buchners to leave equipment sitting out in the wild. Must have been the boys. They have two very lively grandsons. But the ladder next to the bicycle was a little harder to explain. It wasn’t leaning against a tree or shed, just standing free, reaching up in the air.
“This piece is called Going Nowhere,” Helmut Buchner said. Since he put it up, he has received numerous interpretations. Some have called it Jacob’s Ladder or Stairways to Heaven. But the ladder doesn’t go far enough. It ends in midair. And why does the bicycle not have a seat? Just for fun.
“Imagine someone tried to steal that,” Helmut said raising a slightly mischievous eyebrow. “They wouldn’t get very far.” So, now, what to make of the seat-less bicycle next to such a ladder? “I can’t tell you that,” Helmut said. “It’s all up to the observer.”
Far from a nihilistic approach, the artist created a contemplation device to approach the unknowns in somebody’s life. “This free standing ladder does not mean that there isn’t anything out there. Only that we don’t know what it could be,” Helmut said. The uncertainty of life’s path is in the mind of the beholder.
Helmut and Edda Buchner have lived a down-to-earth life since they settled on the Bat Cave Ranch property some 30 years ago. It is, for the most part, a naturally rugged homestead, as it came with live oaks, cedar trees, and a jumble of prickly growth. The couple—Helmut is an accomplished jewelry maker, Edda a passionate journalist and writer—has pursued numerous artistic endeavors. Some years ago, Helmut started building larger-than-life sculptures with natural or found materials. The Going Nowhere ladder, for example, is made of bamboo that grows behind the house, the bracket connectors are crafted from copper.
But, wait, there is much more. When I drove into the Buchners’ property, transfixed on the country road and grazing deer, I had missed the Friendship Flower Children on my right (see also top picture). Two larger-than-live human figures made from weathered wood pieces, handing each other a bunch of flowers.
“The power of flowers still works,” Helmut explained. “I was reminded of a time when young people stuck flowers into policemen’s barrels of guns.” Peaceful coexistence, right? “Yes, that is possible,” the artist believes. “Offering flowers is a nice gesture of good will to spend a few moments together, or brighten somebody’s day,” he added.
The kids’ favorite sculpture is the Balancing Person, a cedar wood fencepost with slender cedar “arms” stuck through a cutout, balancing with a bamboo stick. That is to say, life is a balance act every day. “We often forget that when caught up in everyday worries and challenges,” Helmut said. “Balance is never complete, but if we invest a little time and effort, we can come closer to it with our mind and inspiration.”
Along the drive, in view of the Flower Children, there stands Senix, an installation of weathered, split mesquite logs. The logs (for firewood) were gifted to the Buchners, who are known throughout the neighborhood to joyfully adopt recycled objects. “But it would have been a pity to burn them,” Helmut said. “Mesquite wood is highly desired by many craftsmen for its amazing texture and broad variety of colors, orange to ebony. You can’t see it now, but the beauty is hidden inside. I will polish a part of a wood block to expose the inner works.” He thought about the similarity to weathered people. You have to see beyond their wrinkles too.
Finally, over by the front yard live oaks Helmut created a labyrinth with Texas sandstone boulders that were collected during land clearings. A labyrinth is not a maze, Helmut says, because you don’t want to lose yourself but find yourself.
“There is no magic or cure in walking the labyrinth,” the artist-philosopher continued. “The key is to walk slowly, disregarding all thoughts of the past and the future, being content with the present moment. The labyrinth just serves as a tool to experience mindfulness.” Perhaps you will discover that the most recent frustrations are not a problem, at least not in life’s grand scheme.
And so friends might leave the Buchner Ranch as soulfully refreshed as the Happy Wanderer aka “Hermit,” who bids them good-bye on their way out. The Hermit, like the Flower Children, is a collage of wood fragments. Tired from the daily chores, he briskly walks back to home and hearth in joyful expectation. Soon there might be a loftier character running up the old oak tree behind the house. This “tree runner” must overcome the technical challenge of a 45 degree incline, but if it can be thought, it might as well be tried.
When you ask Helmut, you can go into a labyrinth to lose your problems and find yourself. Great idea! Helmut has assembled a gallery of appealing artifacts based on his life experience. They are all made from natural materials or found objects. Many such things are ordinarily tossed out or lost or scattered, but here they received a kind regard through an artistic intent. And Helmut is freely sharing his beautiful life assessment tools with anybody for a recalibration of their outlook. Fantastic!
Why do we take pictures with famous people? We want some of the stardust fame rub off on us too.
I am certainly not a stage hog. But—The most famous picture, which I had always wanted, would have been with Elvis Presley. I was only a teenager when he died, cried my eyes out. But Gisela Solms-Wildenfels got a shot with Elvis when he was stationed in Germany. I stumbled into Gisela at a flea market in Wolfratshausen, where she was selling Hummel cups and other trinkets. She is of that Elvis generation. And this one encounter gave her joy to last a lifetime. She gifted me a copy of her Elvis picture.
And yet Princess Edda left the safety of her Rainy Castle for the tea house, cozied in her covers, pulled the blanket up to her nose, and admired the strength of the swaying trees outside. This was such a noble fortress, with Saltillo tiles and stained-glass windows and a bed. But it rattled like a mousetrap. The pelting rain noise felt like being inside a drum.
But the morning was still far away and the wind howling with no mercy. She decided to read herself to sleep. It got later and later. It got so late that it was almost early again. Yet the lightning kept flashing through the glass door, and the wind howled even worse. No use trying. So, Princess Edda decided to admire the power of God’s nature instead. This was better than a movie.
And she was still alive. A tree had crashed only a foot from her tea house. Oh, miracle and wonder! Not quite. Prince Helmut had sent his Bandana Gang to the rescue. Who else could have heaved the tree away from its fateful destiny? And so Princess Edda escaped the storm unscathed. The Bandana Guard kept watch all night.
Bandana Stories
Bandana Origin
Bandana Warriors
Independent from my instigations, Elisabeth Sherwood had made a collage series of bandana cowgirls, the mysterious types. (One of her gals to the left.) This was just perfect for the Bandana Book cover. I asked my friends, they wrote stories, I put them all in a book. The second one is on its way. It’s titled “Unusual Encounters.” The stories cover a rainbow of experiences and are deliriously good.
“Mona Lisa came together just for fun. There was a river rock laying around for years. It had the shapes of a beautifully formed woman, no relations to the Kardashians (maybe Picasso or Gaugin). And then there was also the tree stump of an old cedar tree. That tree had been in conflict with an oak. Every time when I have to cut down a tree, I leave a stump as a memorial. It could be used for something later. That tree offered itself to install something on it. The other two things had been waiting in the grass for a while. So I put all three together, set the rock on the stump, and installed the metal frame around it. The stone, steel, and wood enhanced each other quite naturally.”
Covid-19 Man: “I made that at the beginning, when we started to realize how threatening and aggressive Covid-19 was. For the first time it happened in my long life that we had such a worldwide epidemic. For me, the woodblock face demonstrates the anguish of a patient screaming from pain and terror. We’ve had the ball made of sea shells for a long time and it offered itself as a Covid virus symbol encompassing the entire globe.”
Another piece is in the works, called Kama Sutra, aka a bunch of large, gnarly cedar roots arranged together. “At this time, I am working on the enlightened lovers,” Helmut says.
There stood a bicycle on my right by a group of trees. That just wasn’t like the Buchners to leave equipment sitting out in the wild. Must have been the boys. They have two very lively grandsons. But the ladder next to the bicycle was a little harder to explain. It wasn’t leaning against a tree or shed, just standing free, reaching up in the air.
Helmut and Edda Buchner have lived a down-to-earth life since they settled on the Bat Cave Ranch property some 30 years ago. It is, for the most part, a naturally rugged homestead, as it came with live oaks, cedar trees, and a jumble of prickly growth. The couple—Helmut is an accomplished jewelry maker, Edda a passionate journalist and writer—has pursued numerous artistic endeavors. Some years ago, Helmut started building larger-than-life sculptures with natural or found materials. The Going Nowhere ladder, for example, is made of bamboo that grows behind the house, the bracket connectors are crafted from copper.
But, wait, there is much more. When I drove into the Buchners’ property, transfixed on the country road and grazing deer, I had missed the Friendship Flower Children on my right (see also top picture). Two larger-than-live human figures made from weathered wood pieces, handing each other a bunch of flowers.
The kids’ favorite sculpture is the Balancing Person, a cedar wood fencepost with slender cedar “arms” stuck through a cutout, balancing with a bamboo stick. That is to say, life is a balance act every day. “We often forget that when caught up in everyday worries and challenges,” Helmut said. “Balance is never complete, but if we invest a little time and effort, we can come closer to it with our mind and inspiration.”
