G-8: Unsung hero of WWI

G-8 and his Battle Aces vs. the Reich's purple aces.

I've read this book.  I don't know why the events it describes were not covered in my "History of Warfare" class in college, or any formal education I've ever taken.  This is why I am an autodidact.

If this isn't true, it should be.  How many times have I said this in my life?  I live in a Fortean world.

Under the Claiborne Avenue Overpass, New Orleans, LA

Under the Claiborne Avenue Overpass,  New Orleans.

A drear and gloomy day today found me trapped under the Claiborne Avenue Overpass seeking shelter from the rain.  I was only a quarter mile from home, but it was pouring down, and I was in no rush.  

Claiborne Avenue used to have a remarkably wide neutral ground on this stretch with four rows of oak trees.  That was replaced for a highway overhead.  There is always something going on in this less-than-ideal setting.  In the photo above, there are tables with balloons in the middle distance.  Someone was holding a birthday party under the highway.

As I waited, I smoked my pipe and watched the rain come down.  I was stranded with many other people and we talked about our bad luck being caught in a storm, commenting that it poured for two hours yesterday, and, hopefully, today would not bring a repeat performance.  I was there for about a half hour.

I watched someone shoot a video under the overpass.  This seems to be a fairly common setting for local music videos, from what few I have seen.  This was the main business street in historic Treme neighborhood before the highway came.  I suppose it still is, but many of the businesses have moved on.  

Claiborne Avenue Overpass, other direction.

Instead of four rows of ancient southern oaks, the current Claiborne Avenue in this part of town sports four rows of pillars that support the highway.  Some of these are painted with oak trees, a dim echo of a not-so-distant past.  Others are painted with historic or inspirational scenes.  The out-of-focus photograph above was taken from the intersection with Governor Nicholls Street.

Two scruffy, young men approached me, having walked down from Canal Street and headed further downtown.  In New Orleans, downtown refers to the area east of Canal Street, downriver.  They asked me if I had an eggroll in my jacket pocket.  I didn't.

They told me that their had almost gotten hit by a car that flipped over further up the road.  One of them told me, "That happened last night.  We passed out and woke up outside the cemetery.  Have you got a dollar?  We want to buy an egg roll."  I didn't have a dollar to spare.

They pointed downtown at the purple building on the corner of Claiborne and Esplanade Avenues.  "Do you think they will have an egg roll?" one of the men asked.  

"They should," I replied.  "That's the Manchu Market.  I hear they have the best fried chicken in the city."

"We were up the street looking for chicken wings.  That guy wouldn't give us any.  That's why we're looking for egg rolls."  He must have meant the little wing shack on the corner of Orleans and Claiborne Avenues, just a few blocks away.

"You should be able to get either there," I told them, meaning the Manchu Market.  We all bumped fists, and they went on their way.

I did manage to take one picture in focus.

Marie Laveau mural under the Claiborne Avenue Overpass.

Like many people, I am fascinated by Marie Laveau, the most famous voodoo queen to have practiced her arts in New Orleans.  Her tomb is located in Saint Louis Cemetery No. 1, perhaps the very same boneyard outside of which the two scruffy gents awoke this morning.  Persons who pray to Saint Expedite in Our Lady of Guadalupe Chapel on Rampart Street, leave their offerings to the saint at Marie Laveau's grave, since the priests who administer the goings on in the chapel discourage leaving pound cake and rum within the sanctuary.

In other news, I got my hands on a Saint Expedite statue yesterday, at the F&F Candle Shop on North Broad Street.

Saint Expedite.

It cost $8.99, which is probably a 600% markup, but where else am I going to get a Saint Expedite Statue?  The proprietor offered me a sample of "Get Rich Quick Oil" that he formulates himself in the back room laboratory, along with all the other specialty oils, powders, and incense he sells.

Balaenius Rex!

A New Orleans Painter's Lament and Hope.

President Martin Van Buren.

Why Martin Van Buren?  Because I am fond of the Little Magician from Kinderhook, NY.

I have all sorts of photos to upload onto the blog, but I can't find the little device to connect the card to the computer.  It used to be much easier when I just had a shoebox full of snapshots.  Of course, I couldn't share them all with an uncaring world with a short attention span then.

I started painting again in February, after a five-year hiatus.  When I turned 40, I decided I did not enjoy attending gallery openings, I didn't enjoy discussing my work, I didn't enjoy hobnobbing.  I love to paint.  Since February, I have 23 good paintings in my portfolio.  I counted last night and decided to go for 24.  I now have 24 good paintings in my portfolio.  Some are better than others, but all of the good ones meet my semi-exacting standards.  I am not counting the duds that I have produced during the same time period.

It is nice to be painting again.  I gave it up because I don't like to talk about the work, but I live to make it.  Time drops by the wayside when I am painting, and the clock cannot measure the moments spent dabbing colors.  I am surprised by how easily I slip into that other, creative dimension where just the doing is all that matters.  The results matter afterward.  Luckily they are mostly good, but when engaged in the act, all that matters is the complex internal equations that I formulate as I go along to make a picture work and express what I want it to say.  Will the viewer take the same thing away?  Probably not, but that is not my concern.  My job is to paint like my life depends on it.

Getting New Orleans.

A Mardi Gras Indian, Super Sunday, 2011.

While I have rarely lived in a big city over the course of my life, I am a city person.  The raison d'etre of urban living is wired into my DNA.  I grew up in a smallish town, small by some standards, but larger than many cities in Oklahoma.  I lived close to the center of town, and I thought nothing of walking to the store.  The American cities I have spent the most time in are Newport, RI and New London, CT, both of which have roughly the same populations, around 25,000, in a similar area, less than 9 square miles.

When I moved to Boston, I had cracked the local code after two or three weeks.  I understood the city, and I moved about it naturally.

I was recently in Washington, DC, and when I stepped off the train, I felt like I was in a city again.  The landscape felt natural and the rhythms of pedestrians and buses and cars and trucks made sense.  Walking for blocks between multi-story, antique, brick apartment buildings, hemmed in but busy gaping around at the stores on the ground floor and all the people on the street, was nice.  So was having a subway that was quicker than walking, and discovering the beauty of its convenience and fare schedule.  But then it became too much of the same.  I could have been in Boston.  I definitely was not in New Orleans.

A year later, I still don't get New Orleans.  I love it, and not a day goes by that I don't say to myself , apropos of nothing, "I love it here."  I still haven't figured it out.  Every day is an adventure that brings unexpected surprises.  Every day I learn more about my new city, and about myself as I adapt.  It is a very nice place to be.

Saint Joan of Arc medals for sale

Saint Joan of Arc medal.

I've written a little booklet about the history of Saint Joan of Arc in New Orleans.  I've been selling them in the French Market, and I thought it would be nice to offer them here, since a lot of people log on to learn about this very popular saint.

I have a surfeit of medals that I am using in artworks, but I have plenty to share if anyone is interested.  I am selling the pamphlet and the medal for $5.50 via paypal, and this includes shipping and handling, as well as any applicable sales tax.  The medal is hung on a velveteen cord, my choice of color, usually cerulean blue.

Joan of Arc medal and pamphlet

Bring the spirit of Saint Joan of Arc into your life.