Immortal Beloved

At long last
the time has come...

You will pose,
and become my
Immortal Beloved.

The years to you have been kind.
And my skills are perhaps
only just now ready
for some of God's best work
now lying before me.

My initial aim,
to unseat Madame X from her throne,
for Sargent must be avenged!
His curse is to be lifted or I to hit a wall in effort.
And, Dear Heart, I will paint you again and again
until this is done.

In my mind and in so many others,
you my dear, are a tour de force.
And, since you won't remain caged,
on the canvas your spirit must be captured.

Music, candles, wine and food.
Nothing can alleviate the tension.
Your eyes are large.
Your skin now moist,
the cloth clings tightly
to the closest thing to heaven
an artist can envision.

180 degrees from what was discussed over many drinks at the bar just moments before. The brash babe whose supernatural looks afford her caustic wit to destroy every suitor in her path and she...

...she has become altogether bashful.

A new beauty emerges:
The true self! Her true self.

And then I come alive!

You have the sheet there, cling to it!
Preserve what is meant for so few eyes.
Fight for it!
Keep all that goodness under wraps!
I want to paint THAT!
For that is humanity...
THAT is nakedness!
THAT is raw form and emotion.

Would you deny Miss Mona Lisa her reticence?
Her timidity, the mark of innocence.
More highly valued, therefore,
than the brazen posturing of her gilded figure.

Wait, you see it.
You see me.
You know I'm just as scared.
Just as challenged.
You see what I want.
Your confidence is mounting.
Do not eat the apple, baby, do not drop the sheet.

Let me have this,
let everyone who sees it
have this.
A return to innocence
for both of us
for as long as it took
to make this painting.

We'll do others,
this painting will make everyone want us to do others,
but this one,
this one must end like this.

And in return, angel of mine,
my solumn promise to you:
To make my name in art
for all my days
so that even in death
you will then forever remain on canvas,
my Immortal Beloved.

Rock N Roll Gladiators Art Show

Bring It:
Your Nashville Roller Girls... highly educated, high octane adrenaline junkies with a need for speed. Go-fast Gardenias who, to their opponents, bring a special delivery of pain.

Girl Powa:
In an arena where good girls go bad and bad girls are badder still... witness a forum where one can summon their own personal darkness in the name of victory and American athleticism.

Rebels with a Cause:
A grass-roots sport in its purest form: helmets, pads, skirts and skates in a race against each other and the clock. Star athletes who offer something new to their fans, accessibility and straight-forward, straight-talking personalities who are not concerned with image or perception. Living like we all would like to live, without apologies.

Take a knee and listen up:
If ever you have been slighted. If ever you have become one of the downtrodden. If ever you wished you could start all over again and make your peers respect and understand who you wish to be... you must summon your inner rebel and attend the ArtByBrenan Extravaganza, Rock N Roll Gladiators!

Meet Your Team, Get tickets:
Come meet your Nashville Roller Girls this Wednesday, May 14th, 5:30pm at Jackson's Bar & Bistro in Hillsboro Village. Buy discounted tickets for the bout the following Saturday against rival Southern metropolis, Atlanta! Get behind your team and help cheer them on to victory!

To the Victors, Many Spoils:
FREE Sloppy Joes! PABST BLUE RIBBON to be sold at Jackson's for one night only! FIVE DOLLAR RED & WHITE WINE! Plus, a special signature drink special to be announced.

My First Professor

I was just a kid,
I mean really, just a kid.
Preteen. More like, the third grade.
It was summer, and my parents both being professors, well
I spent a lot of time at school.

I was told there was an art program there.
Art and books were all I was into at this age,
so this was a really big deal to find out.
I made a mental note when the art professor was pointed out to me.

She was both elegant and erudite, despite being casually dressed.
She mostly observed and seldom spoke. One day I followed her from the cafeteria to the designated smoking area. I stopped her before she lit up. I touched her thigh slightly to get her attention, for as a child that was as high as I could reach. I was so shy and humbled by her, that I began to cry, but somehow between sobs, I was able to get out that I wanted to be an artist like her and I wished that she would teach me.

Now, this could have gone one of two ways. Fortunately for me, she took me seriously. She said she would talk to my mom and dad and if it was okay with them, she would give me lessons. Thus began our relationship and my undying respect for her. My first official art lessons from a college professor in the third grade were about what you'd expect. Yet I drew in charcoal, I etched, I painted and I learned of art history at a young age. I don't think I really came up with anything of any value, but the foundation for my career in art had begun. My sense of composition and ability to work reductively I still attribute to these early lessons.

I was to study under her two more times. Again in the sixth grade and then many years later as a junior in high school, where I realized both my true potential as a painter and hers as a true mentor. It took me two years during high school to get into the Governor's School for the Arts, and in a joyful twist of fate, upon acceptance I learned she was to be my painting professor.

Here is where I learned from her the planning behind each major masterpiece in painting. The religious undertones in every Rembrandt, the contiguous lines of composition in every major Degas. My admiration for her became tremendous and it remains so to this day.

I think of her often, mostly during two scenarios being played out before me. The first is whenever I begin to paint for a show. I always wonder what she would think about my process, and worry like hell if she would even like the end result. The truth is, I couldn't predict her likes and dislikes. She's fairly unflappable, so shocking her with something is out of the question. When I have a show that pokes fun at the whole process, I'm pretty sure she would immediately get it and laugh. I suppose it's when it's a show I'm serious about conveying a true message that I worry the most. Having written this, I think I'll ask her.

The other time I think of her is whenever I see a woman of conviction. When I meet a woman who mainly uses her eyes to communicate her thoughts, I always think of her. She's one of the few people whose own personal beauty becomes revealed only when she's chosen to acknowledge you. Like a secret door.

A few years ago, I had the pleasure of seeing her. Rudely, I poked around her classroom and surprised her on her lunch break. Just like the very first time I interrupted her daily routine, she took me in. I sat in her office and funnily enough we discussed computers. She migrated to teaching design and we discussed software and the pain it is to learn it. It was both strange and wonderful to approach her as an adult. I left her just as blown away as the first time we met.

If any of you ever have the privelege to take art lessons from Claire Hampton at Volunteer State Community College in Gallatin, TN, then you will know the joy I know from having learned from her. Despite any misgivings one may have about the education received at a junior college, be assured that Claire is very selective about her students and will elect not to teach you if you don't take art seriously. It's for this reason, and the impending result, that I was initially humbled by my first professor, a truly great woman and artist.

Red, White & Chrome

Foreword:
There was a moment in my life when I realized that I would have to forego my allegiance to American-made automobiles due to my 30 mile commute and their tendency to leave me stranded on the roadside. When I made the switch to Japanese vehicles, I was intentionally hard on them because I thought they were meant to take abuse. The ending result for me was a string of Japanese vehicles which also left me stranded. I was less than pleased and felt betrayed by both automakers. So, in a rebellious move, I sold my '88 Celica and bought a vehicle from one of Detroit's golden eras, a '66 Mustang. To everyone's disbelief, I made a profit on the exchange. I drove the Mustang everyday for two and a half years. Through blizzards, thunderstorms, with no a/c, no power steering or power brakes or power windows or power locks. Even though she needed paint and blew smoke all over town, she ran strong. Usually, if there was a problem, I learned to fix it myself. One day while driving to work, I was startled by a loud explosion in the engine bay. I literally thought someone had shot the front of the car with a shotgun from a Brentwood hilltop. I was stranded once again and very late to work. The next week, I took out a loan on a newer Japanese vehicle. It was the first time I had a car loan and, though it would have made more sense financially to sell it, I held on to the Mustang. I learned that by parking it, I could see to its needs when I had the time and that way my needs wouldn't always have to come first. It's been 8 yrs since I bought that car, and the longest relationship of my life so far. Below is one of the many anecdotes which have graced my life since the ownership of this car....

For a few weeks now, I've been working on my ride.
New front struts. Yep, just put 'em in.
New gas tank. Just finished on 'er today.
Took my car for her first spin with the new tank.
We made it about a quarter mile... then she cut out on me at a stop sign.
I walked back home, got the other car, drove to the gas station,
got more gas, put that in the new tank. Nothing.
So I began to jump her off with the other car.

Over my shoulder I hear a soft voice,
"Do you need any help, son?"
I turn around to see the coolest Ford Fairlane of all time.
It was a vision of America: Red, White & Chrome.
It had 20-inch chrome rims--American Torq-Thrust--and she rumbled real nice.
Richard Petty was driving it.
The sun beamed down behind him and his car,
and if I didn't have on my mirrored aviators,
then I would have been blinded by it.
Jesus had sent me the angel of automobiles, specifically Ford automobiles.

I literally kinda waited for my vision to get a little wavy or something.
He was a Godsend, but he also kinda looked like a mirage.
Really cool, but almost unreal.

He got out to have a look.
He was about my height, but wiry, which made him look lean and mean.
He had a stogie in his mouth and it remained there.
It was cher-root tobacco, and it smelled damn good.
Something about the ride, his look and the stogie told me I was in good hands--
as if his knowledge was fathomless.

When we realized it was too big a problem to fix in the street,
I told him I would just take it to the best wrench in town.
He said, "You know Steve?"
I said, "Uh, yeah. For about 15 years."
"I just gave him a trophy for his Chevelle."
"Steve has a Chevelle?"

He asked if I had a way to tow it.
I told him Triple-A.
"Wait here!" he said.
So I did.
Ten minutes later, he comes back with another Ford, a pick-up, and a 20 ft. auto-carrier trailer. Can you believe this guy?

Then he says, we'll need more guys to push.
There was a kid in the street...
"You, go get your daddy and have him come push this car."
Then he got another Mustang owner from across the street to come out and push with no shoes on. No shoes on!
So, we got 'er up on the trailer no problem.
I hopped in the truck and we were off to Steve's.
There was a bible on the dash.
We talked the whole way, and he pointed out
every remotely cool car on the street.

Dropping it off at Steve's was no problem,
and after he told me about the three other fabulous Fords from the 60s
at his house, I insisted I come take a look.
Every one of them has 20" rims, the wagon, the sedan, the Fairlane.
The sheetmetal is straight as an arrow on all of them.
I kept bumping into his Harley collection to look at his cars.
Finally, he shows me the drag car... a '69 Mustang. He dropped a 460 in it and slapped on some Cobra Jet heads. It took him four years to build it.
When he fired it up, it sounded like Kingdom Come. It was a groundshaker!

He dropped me off at the house, and his parting words were,
"Come to the Show 'n' Shine this Friday, maybe we'll get you a trophy!"
"All right. Hey, I might bring a date," I said.
He laughed. "I might bring three or four!"