Tag Archives: art

External Stimuli

So much of my time is spent inside my head. Thoughts ricocheting in all directions—fears, goals, ideas, projects, timelines, and more rushing at me. I have multiple “To-Do” lists with many tasks that never get done (one list for work, one for life and family, and one for writing and art).

And because I am so scatterbrained, I often instruct myself to “slow down, look outward, pay attention, and observe.” In other words, to pause the internal conflict by seeking external stimuli.

And recently I was rewarded by discovering some visual and verbal creations in the course of my daily meanderings.

While walking to work one day, I saw artwork installed in the window of the former business Eureka Crafts on Walton Street in Armory Square. Numerous pieces were on display, but two large-scale, mixed-media objects caught my attention.

Enjoy Art 2 / Life (POJ) by not_miscellaneous.

The style reminded me of Andy Warhol silkscreen prints—most notably the Mick Jagger series.

Mick Jagger series by Andy Warhol.

The dynamic colors and composition of the works captivated me, but what kept me at the window for a few minutes was the intentional gaze of the subjects looking at the viewer—giving me the sense of the “observer being observed.” In this sense, the artwork connected to its audience.

Enjoy Art / Trades Only by not_miscellaneous.

I didn’t see an artist’s name or titles listed. But there was a QR code that read “WINDOW ART AUDIO TOUR,” with the word Midoma. I did some research and found a Midoma website with a heading that reads: “A Curated Selection by New York Artists for Fashion, Art + Beauty Lovers.”

The artwork is for sale here.

##

My second discovery came in one of the lobbies of the Nancy Cantor Warehouse in downtown Syracuse, home of the School of Design at Syracuse University, and where our SU marketing division is housed.

I saw a few copies of the student-run publication Perception spread out on a small, circular table. I grabbed a copy of the Fall 2022 issue.

The cover of the Fall 2022 issue of the student-run literary magazine Perception.

I haven’t had time to read the entire magazine, but the first poem I flipped to hit me hard with its brevity, rhythm, and raw language. I call this kind of verse a “thunderbolt poem,” because it slugs you in the gut and flings an arrow to the heart.

A classic example—Langston Hughes’s poem “Suicide’s Note”:

The calm,
Cool face of the river
Asked me for a kiss.

Though not in the same style as Hughes’s masterpiece, the poem “Rapacity” by Madeline Rommer provides the same effect. It drew me in because I don’t know what a “carbon dioxide sunset” is, but I love the imagery. And the power of the last two lines stuck with me.

The poem “Rapacity” by Madeline Rommer.

Standard

Literary Words of Wisdom

While walking yesterday, I encountered the words of famous writers with connections to Syracuse. The quotes were hung on panels attached to a fence adjacent to Forman Park near downtown Syracuse. The Syracuse Writers Project is a public art project created by the Locus Design Group.

The stunning prose of Joyce Carol Oates, an alumna of Syracuse University, captured my attention, and the excerpt from her 2002 novel I’ll Take You There seemed suited for the overcast skies on a warmer-than-normal early January day.

Joyce Carol Oates’ quote, excerpted from I’ll Take You There (2002, Ecco Press).

Joyce Carol Oates’ quote, as part of The Syracuse Writers Project.

Tree and sky. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

Other writers quoted include Twilight Zone creator and Syracuse native Rod Serling; F. Scott Fitzgerald, who resided in Syracuse as a child; the late Syracuse University alums Shirley Jackson and Lou Reed; the late poet, short story writer and creative writing professor Raymond Carver, who taught at SU; and the late writer Toni Morrison, who once lived in Syracuse while working as an editor.

Rod Serling quote.

F. Scott Fitzgerald quote.

Shirley Jackson quote.

Toni Morrison quote.

Standard

The End of the Weekend

Am I the only one who feels the actual weekend never lives up to the promise or anticipation of the weekend? In no time you go from the Thursday night high to the Sunday afternoon doldrums. Then a new week and back to work.

A couple of poems on the subject:

Weekend

Another Saturday night
in a lifetime of Saturday nights,
leading to a succession
of dismal Sundays.

Early Sunday Morning (1930) by Edward Hopper. Whitney Museum of American Art.

Sunday Blues

Sundays always depress me.
I wish we could pull
them from the calendar,
make the weekend
Friday and Saturday,
and then skip
straight to Monday.

Sunday (1926) by Edward Hopper.
The Phillips Collection.

And of course—the best expression of the “Sunday Blues” is Johnny Cash singing “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down,” with lyrics by Kris Kristofferson.

 

Standard

Urban Sculpture Mystery

While walking to work this morning, I noticed a new bronze sculpture parked in a traffic median, blending in with some trees, along a busy stretch of Genesee Street.

Unnamed urban sculpture. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

The male figure is wearing glasses and carrying scientific or mathematical equipment. Two words at the base of sculpture—“Inventive Spirit”—offer no further details about the piece. No artist name is listed.

Inventive Spirit. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

I wish I knew some background about the piece and the artist who crafted it. But the mystery also appeals to me.

Sculpture along Genesee Street in Syracuse. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

When I first saw the sculpture, the person who jumped into my mind was Tom Jones.

Tom Jones.

If nothing else, the encounter inspired me to listen to some Tom Jones tunes on shuffle on Amazon Music. I forgot what a booming, masculine voice he possesses, and I embraced the nostalgic feelings he stirred in me. Hearing his songs reminded me of my parents and a 1970s living room scene with me camped in front of a boxy TV set. And I hit replay on”Green Green Grass of Home” at least three times.

 

Standard

Public Art in Progress

While walking to work today, I saw Los Angeles-based artist Jonas Never working on his basketball-themed mural in downtown Syracuse.

Basketball mural in progress. Photo by Francis DiClemente. Art by Jonas Never.

I think the piece will be great when it’s complete. However, seeing all that beautiful white space made me wish for a combo mural—half basketball and half Warhol screen print or Pollock splatter painting.

Mural in progress. Photo by Francis DiClemente. Art by Jonas Never.

Standard

About Endlessness

I recently watched About Endlessness, a 2019 film by Swedish director Roy Andersson. It falls in line with other works by Andersson, including You, the Living (2007) and A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence (2014).

The film is a series of vignettes that explore the absurdity, tragedy, and loneliness of life. They are comical and fantastical, mundane and realistic, all at the same time. Andersson probes existential themes, and although About Endlessness is a Swedish film with subtitles, it transcends country and language based its universal portrayal of humanity and the raw emotions expressed.

Andersson’s style consists of static scenes composed of single long takes with all action taking place within the frame—like a painting come to life. Andersson’s work exemplifies film critic André Bazin’s theory of mise-en-scène—with composition, lighting, set design, and production design being more important than editing.

And the wide-angle shots by cinematographer Gergely Pálos reminded me of the deep focus cinematography of Gregg Toland in Citizen Kane.

A subdued female narrator describes banal moments, like a woman with a stroller in a train station who loses one of the heels on her black shoes. “I saw a woman who had problems with her shoe,” the narrator explains.

This type of plotless film is not for everyone; it’s aimed for an art house audience. However, Andersson has a good sense of timing. Just when the viewer’s interest in a scene starts to wane, he cuts to something else. And with a running time of 78 minutes, the film does not drag.

A couple of vignettes really stood out for me.

In a crowded market, with fresh fish in the foreground and produce and cheese in the background, a woman with dark hair and a brown coat converses with a man. She then walks away, moving toward the fish station and eventually toward the center of the frame.

A bald man shouts to her: “I could see the two of you had a lot to talk about.” He then slaps her across the face. The other customers look on but do not intervene. He slaps her two more times and then some men step in and stop him. The bald man is wrestled to the ground, and he says to the woman: “You do know that I love you?” And she responds, “Yes, dear, I know. I know.”

Still from About Endlessness.

This realistic portrayal of spousal violence filled me with unease. Yet I couldn’t look away. Putting myself in the middle of that market, I ask myself, “How would I have reacted? Would I have tried to stop the man from hitting his wife? How many slaps would he have connected on before I came to her defense?”

In the second scene I want to point out, Andersson depicts an urban bar/cafe during the evening hours with light snow falling outside the windows. Silent Night plays in the background, and we are unsure if the music is playing inside the bar or if Andersson is using the track as a music bed.

A dentist from an earlier scene has come in to get a drink, and he looks down at the countertop as he holds a glass. He appears melancholy, and the scene conjures an image of Edward Hopper’s painting Nighthawks.

Still from About Endlessness.

A short male customer turns to the dentist and says, “Isn’t it quite fantastic?” When the dentist does not respond, the man turns to another customer and repeats his line verbatim. This time, a thin customer in a black suit says, “What?” And the man who asked the original question responds: “Everything. Everything. Everything is fantastic.” And the man in the suit says, “Well, yes.” And the little man adds, “I think so, at least.”

I believe Andersson elevates the art form of cinema through his portrayal of humanity, his mix of humor and pathos, and his willingness to let the viewer fill in the details or complete the narratives he has set in motion.

To find out more about Andersson check out his Wikipedia page or his IMDb page.

Standard

Walking Commuter Notes

MORNING

I walk to work almost every morning—following East Genesee Street toward downtown Syracuse. Before I leave my apartment building, I usually hang out with my wife Pam and son Colin while they wait for Colin’s school bus to arrive.

Today, underneath a gray sky spitting drizzle, Colin entertains himself by jumping up and down, flapping his hands and pulling his Paw Patrol mask down around his chin.

“Ah, put up your mask when you go on the bus and when you’re inside school,” Pam tells him. He listens and pulls up his mask. Colin is in kindergarten, and he has autism.

He’s dressed in sweatpants and a blue hooded sweat jacket. A maroon and navy blue Fila book bag—packed with the crunchy snacks he likes to eat—is slung over his shoulder.

When it’s time for me to break away, I remove my mask and plaster his face with a couple of quick kisses. Pam then says to Colin, “Ah, say goodbye to daddy.” When his eyes remain cast elsewhere, she holds his face gently and points it in my direction. She holds his hand and helps him to wave. “Come on now. Say bye-bye.”

“Bye-bye daddy,” he says with a clipped delivery.

“Good job,” Pam says.

I start walking on the sidewalk along Genesee, turning my head and waving toward my family, their figures looking tiny while standing under the green awning of the tan, brick building. I see his bus turning onto Genesee Street, and I pray that Colin will climb aboard safely, find his seat up front and remain in place while the bus accelerates.

Then a thought pops into my head. I don’t invite it, but it emerges anyway.

I think: This could be the last time I ever see my wife and son. I realize I am not invincible, that tragedy could strike at any moment and my loved ones could be taken away in an instant.

I look up to the clouds and try to shake the dark thought from my mind, turning my attention to work-related tasks I need to complete.

AFTERNOON

In the late afternoon, I leave the Nancy Cantor Warehouse in downtown Syracuse, walking in a steady rain along Washington Street. I cross State Street and then walk toward Fayette Street. I pass by a standpipe, and I continue on my way. But then I remember Fountain, the ready-made sculpture of a urinal by French artist Marcel Duchamp.

Marcel Duchamp’s 1917 sculpture Fountain.

I backtrack, pull out my iPhone and snap a few pictures—inspired by Duchamp’s iconic still life artwork.

According to Merriam-Webster, a standpipe is a “high vertical pipe or reservoir that is used to secure a uniform pressure in a water-supply system.” I’ve seen the term before, but I never knew the meaning. But I looked it up online as soon as I got home.

Syracuse Standpipe. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

And I guess that’s the beauty of a walking commute in a city—if you pay attention to your surroundings, you can discover things that other people might miss. It takes practice to heighten your senses and elevate your awareness. But as an urban explorer, if I am willing to pay close attention, it seems the universe is willing to reward me with satisfying visual stimuli. In my case, it makes the everyday extraordinary and the mundane magical (forgive the alliteration).

Here are some recent photos from my walking commute:

Squirrel on telephone pole. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

Chair tipped over. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

Fountain. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

Alley. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

University Block Building. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

Standard

Glimpses of Existence: A Short Film

Glimpses of Existence, an experimental/documentary short film in the form of video collage, premieres tonight at an online film screening presented by NewFilmmakers New York.

Using poetry and scenes captured with an iPhone—both before and during the pandemic—the film attempts to find meaning in the mundane moments of our lives, seeking the extraordinary amid the ordinary.

Noir Smoke. Photo by Francis DiClemente.

The central focus of the film is my son, Colin, who has been diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder. Despite his condition, Colin finds joy in everyday activities, and through his eyes we recognize the importance of treasuring the tiny segments of life we are granted—minutes, seconds, hours—while being reminded about the transitory nature of existence.

Standard

Insomnia Poem

A bout of insomnia last night produced a short poem. At 3 a.m., my five-year-old son Colin and I were both wide awake. While he squirmed and rolled around in bed, I covered up to prevent getting struck by his flailing elbows and knees. And in the early morning darkness, these words came to me:

Manifesto for Dejected Artists

To create is to make something
that did not exist before—
something no one requested
and something the world
does not want or need.

And yet, you decided
to make it anyway.
So now it’s here for others
to accept or reject.
Either way, your job is done.

And I have realized from experience that if some lines, words, thoughts, characters or plots float in my head when I’m in bed, that I must jot down the ideas immediately or I will forget them upon awakening.

And on a totally unrelated note, here is a photo of Colin holding his pre-K diploma, which he received on the last day of school on Thursday.

Standard

Outward Arrangements Poetry Book

I am in the final stage of preparing my latest poetry collection for publication. I am going the self-publishing route via Kindle Direct Publishing on Amazon and IngramSpark for wider print distribution. Suffice to say, there’s a lot to learn and I’m nervous the whole thing will be a mess when I confirm my title and hit “publish.”

Outward Arrangements Cover

Here’s a description of the book:

Outward Arrangements is a full-length collection of narrative, observational and meditative poems written in free-verse style and covering such topics as identity, self-esteem, health, family, parenting, advancing age, nature and the evanescence of existence. The work is a journey of discovery, as the author looks both within himself and in the outside world to seek meaning in everyday life.

One section of the book originated as the text in Instagram posts, with the poet sharing his delight in making odd revelations—like finding an empty baby stroller parked on the sidewalk, a pair of Chuck Taylor sneakers left underneath a city park bench and an old pay phone toppled and splayed on the ground. Here the poet pays close attention to his surroundings, observing things that could be easily overlooked, and using those objects of chance as the starting point for stories. The photos that sparked the poems are included in the collection.

Using raw and honest language, the philosophical poems in Outward Arrangements pose universal questions, reflecting on what it means to be alive today and addressing issues and emotions that people wrestle with in their daily lives. In this way, the collection is accessible to a wide range of readers.

Back Cover

If anyone is interested in reading an Advance Reader Copy in exchange for an honest review on Goodreads or Amazon (after publication), please email me. I can send you a PDF of the book. Thank you!

Standard