Mid Century Ceramics Lost and Found

As you sift through all your shit from years and years of collecting you’re often surprised by the finds in your own home that were forgotten. It's like going out looking for a day finding nothing, but, it was there all along under your nose. You just don't find items like these at a regular shop, home or flea market. They are gobbled up by someone trying to make quick money on Ebay who has no idea of collecting or real value. The bring it home and look it up and then price it like it was the most incredible piece ever. For me it was the experiences which these pieces bring back which warms my thoughts. I am not collecting to hoard or keep and never sell. It is my intention to pass it down or sell for the need of my children's higher education. I don't have to have these items, it's not a passion except in the surrounding of me understanding and researching the items as a lover of Vintage items and the world they came from. From these findings I add to my knowledge and carefully shape my world. I am not as careful as I should be no doubt. This is why the books which I own are my real passion. These vintage art and decoration books or even newer books with the decorative arts throughout them add to my thirst for knowledge. On a beautiful sunny day and share these with you.

Mid-Century Modern Ceramics

Sometimes you find something and you have no idea of it's origin or the past behind it's travels. This wonderful piece of ceramics has been in my hands for well over 20 years and that's all I can say. Found in the back of a room on a floor in an odd location in Indiana I found it by accident. The owner of the shop had not been back in that area for over 10 years, so it's at least 30 years old dating it back to the seventies.The owner of the junk shop (and I mean junk) did not even remember buying it. Bought for a pittance, it was my treasure of the day.I did not look at it long and at first I did not see the faces on the ends of the candle placements. I hope anyone who views this appreciates it as much as I and if there is an idea of the artist or background I would appreciate it.

Getting a grip and Vintage Guido Gambone

Sorry to myself for loosing senses for a while and sorry to anyone, most likely no one out there. It's funny but this is like my note pad in space. But the craft of darkness seems to be just to my right or left all the time. Today I turned and grabbed a picture of a piece of my Vintage Guido Gambone ceramic collection to share and use to focus my mind. I love his work so much with the solid heavy pieces with almost Mondrian patterns to this heavy buy more flowing vase with the dancing horses.  Please enjoy as I do.

The Death of a Best Friend and Suicide of a Remarkable Child

They have left us. One of my best friends and then his son are dead. It’s been a year now for my friend and only a couple of weeks for his 14 year old son, my son’s best friend, who hung himself. There is not enough space in my mind to completely comprehend this. I have placed my heart and soul in a small box holding this back from my loved ones. They are my family. I am the Nouno (Greek godfather) to their oldest son and their mother Nouna (Greek godmother) to my daughter. The First was Markus, who at 51 left us for reasons I will not discuss, nor do I have the information of why, as I refuse to ask. He is just gone found by his son Dylan who then took his life a month to the day later. They lived across the lake from me and we spent a thousand meal together over the years. My children at their house or theirs at mine all day or overnight. Their clothes left at my house, our towels from the lake at theirs. I found myself cleaning out the back of a closet last week of my son’s (which I should have cleaned years ago) and found shirts, socks and old birthday cards from Dylan. A remarkable child. No shit. An artist, Opera singer, fearless in love, play, humor, and speaking his mind and worst of all fearless in death it seems.

I have hid this from all, these feelings which haunt me, but putting up the strong front for others. It’s ripping me apart. I am sure I will discuss this again. I can only stand this in this open, but closed, forum of this blog for so long. I could not discuss this with my family or others and I cannot today. It’s not that I cannot feel for others and discuss this; I just want to walk in front of a fast train when I think about it.

A remarkable child, not to say others who have lost others were not remarkable, it’s just that he was a good child who did great things and effected all those around him in brazed and outrageously groundbreaking actions and words virtually every time you saw him. The week before he died we spent the day together in the Ghetto in Detroit as I introduced him to the realness and beauty of the city of Detroit. It was one of the best days I have ever had. I taught him all I could in a day, and that day I guess was his goodbye to me.  I cannot express my grief without the shear inability to even start to understand his mother’s and his brother’s loss. I cannot even start to feel in the open as the tender souls who are my wife and children were precariously ripped apart and alas, I am motionless in heart and robotic in motion around them. A monk has told me that I cannot help others when my wound is this deep.

I am done for the moment. I cannot reread this, so it may not make sense.

The loss of my will and determination and looking for wisdom in Buddhism Dukkha

It seems as I drift from intimate discussion to discussion with strangers and friends, I lose my conviction, my lust for my forward motion with cravings and taste with every step. As optimistic as I am, I am now driven in a completely asinine direction. As I cannot go back, I grip something else, not grim but not white or pure. Gathering of many cloaks and drawing of curtains, drifting into that quiet world it does not comfort. Why I am here, what I thought, dreamed, desired or required does not seem to matter. It is a true adventure when you do not know where you are going or the requirement of company, closeness or receiving love. The memories are all fading and what is left is only the items which I can touch, see and hear nearby me. A small old box, an old scarf worn by a NAZI in the war given to me by a regretful old man, a repaired cracked favorite vase which I remember one of my little children knocking over in laughter, it’s these thing vintage or just memories that are difficult to hold on to. It is only the thought and this thought is smaller than you imagine, of a pain caused to three I know, love and cherish that keeps it a thought. I am listening to a Brahms violin concerto and holding tightly on to just what is in the room around me.

It's Dukkha and for me to refer back to it again and again as long as I last a use this link.

http://www.ajahnchah.org/book/Understanding_Dukkha1.php

Vintage Mid-Century Jazz, Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk Vinyl Recordings

I don't what to call myself but I am freaking nuts over Jazz after the big band era until the mid seventies and old blues. It's not that I don't love the early Jazz of the twenties, the big bands or some, and I say some more modern jazz. I am just freaking in love with a certain period of Jazz and the shitty part is most of these artists are dead or in a old folks home. It all started with So What on Mile "Kind of Blue" and the crazy part is I just don't remember the moment. I have been collecting original vinyl and have hundreds and hundreds of recording which are now the cornerstone of comfort in a difficult time. I get lost in them, and then find myself on the other side. Why Vinyl, why this period and not fusion jazz and CD or digital? It's clear by the sound the my vintage minds and period of the beginning of the musical experience for me started with records.

It's been a sad day and this Miles Davis is helping me.

Sigur Rós and a wonderful evening out

Spent a long night out with old friends and saw Sigur Rós last night. I was a magical show which affected me deeply. It is a conglomeration of musical and video imagery besides the bands performance. It was the audio and video that took over me at first, mesmerizing and enchanting and then slowly changing my mood as it brought on deep emotions. I could barely hold on near the end of the show. Memories and emotions were flashing before my eyes. The Icelandic language as my friend said was maybe the most beautiful sound as it filled the hall and echoed in the halls. Dead center in the historic FOX Theater where I have been going since I was a small child, I gripped my chair and wished it would end at the same time glued to it not wanting crazed to let go of these deep emotions. My friends could read me like a book and were there to offer me comfort and reassurance. I had ceased to continue in motion but was internally wrestling, overcoming and slipping back or forth.

Hell of a night out.

We left and on our way home I took them to a very small bar in a house the Ghetto where I have hid out at times in my life. 30 year friends and I had never revealed the bar to them. We ordered drinks to ABBA playing dancing queen of all songs. We ripped it up and abused ourselves until the wee hours.

I have wonderful friends who are true and real. They don’t talk bullshit and never cross each other. I have had more contact with them all in the last 9 months over the phone or in person than I have had in twenty years and it’s like yesterday when we connect.

Hell of a night out