Descending Ashtray

I think these are the perfect sculptures. I’ve been reading a lot about NW Native American Art and Culture, and there’s a gallery near my office that shows more modern works in this vein. Just ran across this site with lots of vintage totem pole pictures.

Here’s a view of the completed printing press after assembly, glue-up and sanding. Looks pretty good, right? Just like Gutenberg.

I tried cutting my first handcut dovetails on this project - the stresses on the frame seemed to beg for the full treatment, but as it was my first time, they were pretty sloppy.

I ended up reinforcing the joints with 1/2 inch through pegs.

I had another craptastic realization when sanding - the wood I thought was maple that I used for the top and side braces was actually basswood. I got a load of misc. wood on Craigslist and guess I didn’t sort it very well. Rough, they look very similar, but the weight really should have clued me in. Hopefully, it will still be strong enough to withstand the press’ forces.

I have been doing some rest and recooperation for the past week. Getting everything done for the show really wiped me out (I was up until 4 o’clock in the morning for three nights in a row editing the film). I drove to Fairfield on Saturday. Have you read anything about that place? It was interesting, especially for a place in Iowa. But now I am ready to get back to work. I might be getting a studio in the old Bms building. At least for another year. I feel better about where I need to go with my work and feel certain that to do what I want to do I have to be in an enviroment that has a stronger support and community for the arts.

Oops, I ran out of paper at the top. I think I am going to do a very large watercolor of several “species” of these boxes in more of a military base situation.

Browsing around, I found this story about Mr. Namminga’s house in Deadwood. Gabe, did you ever visit him on the way back from the Northwest this summer?

I’ve always been an artist. I have been encouraged in that pursuit along the way by many people, most importantly my parents and grandparents. People used to wonder where the artsy streak came from, but as I’ve grown older, I’ve seen the creative spark in many relatives, my mother, maternal grandfather and paternal grandmother in particular.

My grandmother is probably closest to to being a traditional artist, having received art training from Marvin Cone (Grant Wood Contemporary) while at Coe College. She doesn’t paint or sculpt, but every year since I was a small child, she’s constructed elaborate christmas gifts for each of her 12 grandchildren. She’s also created 2 “doll-houses” that should be in the Art Institute of Chicago. She’s in her 80s now.

My grandfather, Chuck Yost Jr., had an enormous, high-quality model train set that was just incredible. It occupied more than half of his expansive basement and was set in the late 30s and early 40s. He was in the newspaper several times, and really, it was a masterpiece. When he died, it was dismantled and sold off to other train enthusiasts, but it is one of those things you just don’t forget. I still have a few buildings we made together on Saturday mornings for my own train set we were putting together in my mother’s basement. A major regret is that not much came of it as I grew older and more distracted. I do remember him creating an amzing trestle in one corner that went over a Plaster of Paris cliff. It was made of several hundred pieces of balsa “lumber.” I wasn’t into the trains themselves as the creative part of it, as well as the opportunity to hang out with him. I consider him one of the major influences in my life, even today.

Education
I was fortunate to go to school in a time where art education was valued on levels approaching that of math and science. Today’s schools seem entirely too focused on these pursuits, creating a generation of uninteresting calculators and consumers. Shop classes, art classes and cooking classes are so vital to the formation of well-rounded adults … enough ranting, I suppose.

My first thoughts of being a serious artist ocurred in middle school, where daily exposure to Gary Larson’s Far Side and Bill Watterson’s Calvin and Hobbes kindled an interest in cartooning. I had my own comic strip, Ted, along with a cast of about 1 recurring character. I don’t remember much more about it than that, but could draw him in an instant even today. Ted was autobiographical in that he represented what I wanted to be when I grew up (at that time “grown up” to me was 18).

In high school, my ideas of art began to mature. I took loads of ceramics and some jewelry/small metalwork classes. Most of the sculptures I created were heavily influenced by cartoons, 3D representations of things I imagined. Interestingly, I realized at this time that I could sculpt my ideas in clay far more ably than I could draw them (I have never been either talented or patient enough for realism).

I had always been encouraged in art by my mother and other family members, but TRHS art teacher Lynn Namminga was my perfect mentor - totally laid-back, with a strange sense of humor and a library of limmericks I hope to one day challenge. I was never interested in sports, and Namminga would work it out so the more serious art students could go to the studio instead of standing in the bleachers. It was a really magical place, with giant, light-filled windows, large work tables for each student, music playing (usually classical) and a generally fun atmosphere where grades didn’t seem to matter. There was also a seemingly endless supply of both clay and paintbrushes (some of which I am still using today).

Namminga and the other art teacher (Mrs. Lewis) organized yearly art fairs for the students as a chance to exhibit the year’s work. Exhibiting students organized and created their own booths in the large hallways of the high school, and got out of class for the day. Some students sold work of a more crafty nature, and other students came by throughout the day during passing periods and lunch breaks. I sold my first piece of work at one of these fairs, a sculpture of a flower-man with leaf arms and petals surrounding his face. It was to the school guidance counselor, and she offered me $5 for it. It seemed like a lot of work for just $5, but it wasn’t my favorite sculpture, either.

My first memories of Gabe are at these Art Fairs. He was also one of Namminga’s prize pupils, and there was a small amount of competiveness among a few of us: Gabe, myself, Phil Whiting and Bryan Guise. The year I remember was when Gabe got the best “booth” space, the foyer/main entrance to the high school. This was usually reserved for Seniors, which Gabe might have been, but there was a lot of jockeying for favor with Namminga or Mrs. Lewis. Gabe finagled it somehow, but he didn’t set anything up, other than some pedestals and black fabric, which draped the windows and darkened things up quite a bit. Mrs. Lewis was furious, as I recall, having an empty booth in the entrance to the Fair. She kept yelling at Gabe to hurry up and put his show up … not knowing Gabe’s flair for the dramatic.

Around noon, I think Gabe hung a painted self-portrait, very arty and moody (and well-done, of course), which seemed to only make Mrs. Lewis angrier. It also raised the curiosity level quite a bit as the anticipation built. Finally, Gabe put his work on the pedestals and more on the walls, and created a sensation.

I don’t really remember what I presented at that show, but I’m guessing it was cartoony sculptures (like Lobster Chef the Candlestick holder), or Pumpkin-head Man. I did some collage and drawing work that I might have shown that was more abstract, but still pretty crude.

Next … I learn about Sol Lewitt, public relations and narrowly avoid arrest in the name of art. Of course, Gabe was there, too …