Tonight I went to the grocery store determined to buy only the healthiest ingredients possible. I also ambled over to the magazine section where I always spend way too much money. Bruce Springsteen was on the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine and there was also a great article on Sturgis Simpson in there, but it was $6.99 and yet, contained so few pages. I already have Springsteen's autobiography, Born to Run, so I decided to pass. But then, what's this? A new cooking magazine by Chris Kimball called Milk Street Magazine. Build flavor without searing meat before stewing? Roast oranges? Create Asian coleslaw? What? I flip to the front--the price is...$6.99. And I put it into my cart and decide there's so many recipes and different foods in the universe that I just am going to have to die early with a very well-developed palate. What can I do? I am helpless in the face of culinary adventure.
No, I wasn't recently stopped by a state trooper nor had a close call. It's just that I've been fighting a cold, finally got an antibiotic, and got worse after taking it. I think what I really have is the flu, and I don't feel good. My dogs and I watched about twelve million episodes of Sex and the City today, barely budging from my couch. I never just lie on the couch watching the tele, but man, I just am beat. Ugh.
Anyway, I sat in front of my computer for a moment, and just wanted to hear something dark, ya' know? I thought immediately, "Nebraska," Bruce Springsteen's 5-star murky, storytelling masterpiece, and I just needed to hear those sharp, echoing, howls of his...like calls in the inky darkness of endless, black highway. Listened to it over and over again while I drew something. It's been awhile.
I have been busy, and busy, and busy again, turning myself into a sliver, like a pencil pushed into an electric sharpener for too long, until all the wood has been shaved away and only a stub is left. Tired, baby. I'm so grateful for the cold. I'm ready to hibernate.
Bruce Springsteen - "State Trooper" from "Nebraska" (1982)
This is it! The very last day. Geez, I have been painting and painting today trying to get this big thing in my head out onto the canvas, truckin' along fine, but when I typed that title and those first three words, I started crying! What can I say, I'm an emotional girl.
And with that being said, please let me thank all of you who have supported me. Your generous comments and likes, words of encouragement, purchases of my art--seriously, I don't know how I would have gotten through without them. People I have never met, you know who you are, were so supportive as well and were there with me almost the entire way! So many friends and acquaintances gave me incredible gifts of words, that left me swelling inside and speechless. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but thank you! My mom and husband heard my insecurities and exhaustion and frustration, and triumphs, too, more than anyone. Thank you for putting up with me! Thank you God and Ebert for helping me through! One thing I was going to include on this canvas, but ran out of room, was a roller coaster to represent my emotions through all of this. Oftentimes, it was a lonely journey. You have to plug along when you're tired, or sick and tired, through sheer force of will. I'm grateful I learned this valuable lesson. I hope I'm not scaring anyone from pursuing your own 365-day project, because that lesson should be felt by everyone!
Finally, thank you musicians of the world, for providing me with background music that helped me not only get through this project, but through life in general. I can't state enough how much your talents mean to my entire life.
Love to all, thank you so, very, very much for coming along for the ride, and Merry Christmas!
"Yo, Adrian, I mean Jill! You did it!"
"SOB! Thank you cartoon Rocky. You inspired me the whole way!"
"How did you do it?"
"Well, Reporter Man, I barely remember, but here are some clues."
(Now you know what all those "Dah, dah, dah, dah, dah, DAH, dah, dah dahs were for! "Gonna Fly Now......!")
Physical Changes:
Innocent bystander: "Oops! You have black mascara under your eyes."
Me: "No, those are dark circles. I have not slept for a year."
Other problems: The disappearing rear end from too much sitting.
Me: "Where's my Brazilian Butt Lift video?"
Further sitting repercussions:
Second bystander--not so innocent: "Oh, um, have you put on a few pounds?'
Me: "Oh, yeah, just a few."
Reporter Man: "You know, no one asked you to do this. No one owes you a compliment."
Me: "Oh, I know."
Me: Um, can I have my Olympic Gold Medal now?" (-;
SYNOPSIS: Following through...worth it all!
The last two songs that got me through, played repeatedly ad nauseam (well, it wasn't ad nauseam to me).
Joe Satriani and Grace Potter singing Neil Young's, "Cortez the Killer" live.
Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, "Backstreets," studio version.
What I'm about to write is definitely not what I intended for today, but inspiration comes upon you at the drop of the hat so one must me open!
Back in my U of IL college days, yes, indeed, I was a freshman in 1983(!), I brought my entire record collection to school. It was massive and grew much more massive through those years as I would spend any extra money I had at the wonderful and dingy "Record Swap" on Green Street (and Record Service across the street). Record Swap was the epitome of Indie and used records. You would walk up this old flight of stairs to fluorescent music euphoria. It had that old book/cardboard smell. If you have the time, read this GREAT 2-part story on the store's glory days (part two having some fantastic memories of former employees). Record Swap - The History of a Local Legend.
So loyal was my heart to dropping the needle down on a black, spinning disk, that when Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band's "Live 1975-1985 (5 LP BOX SET)" came out at the height of Springsteen's popularity, I went with the albums. Now, mind you, that was pretty pricey at that time, and I had to make the right choice. CD's were still in their infancy, and touted for their far superior sound quality. However, I remember telling a friend at the time that I "didn't want to be a CD slut" so I went with the classic choice! Now, of course, everyone says CDs are dead and it's all about VINYL! Of course, I still call them albums, which ages me without giving away my college going years. Records I used to get for $2.97 now go for $100--crazy how the wheel, or should I say turntable, goes around.
Now we're coming to the inspiration point. O.K., so I share this love of vinyl music, not only with my husband, but with my high school friend, Donny as well, although he is the most aggressive collector of albums now. I had mentioned Don Keeley back on Day 327 (Global Storms Are Breaking Us) when he lost his home, except for one wall of albums, to a tornado that swept through Washington, IL.
Stay with me peeps! His friend (who my friend Cindy and I met when all 4 of us went to a Black Crowe's concert) Todd Clanin, put on the following shindig, for Donny last night. Can you imagine? They told him his remaining wall was on fire to get him out to this impromptu Christmas party in the freezing cold night. I told Donny that he was a modern-day George Bailey. Look at what his friends did for him (click link below picture--it's great)! Now THAT is showing the Christmas spirit! It makes a person's heart grow three sizes! Merry Christmas! Here's a pic. of his intact house before we all headed off for the Black Crowes.
UPDATE: Here's another article on Don, approximately 14 months later, as he finally returns to his home address, now with a new home, but with his classic record collection in tow. Peoria Journal Star - Don Keeley Returns Home.
The 5 Record set back in the day--one of my last, first-release album purchases.
"COVER ME" from that great set, which I originally had posted is no longer available I see. Here's the "Born in the USA" version:
Just a face today. Actually, I had many ideas, a couple different plans of what I was going to draw; I can't do them, though. Maybe I'm just tired from an art show this weekend. Maybe it's because I spent too many hours researching some things, making connections, networking, posting things on different websites. All were fine, some great, while they were happening, but then a strange thing happened.
It's like I'd spent that time meant for creating to do business, and it drained the urge to make art from my veins to the floor. And I feel like I can't draw a line...or at least not a fine line, not a detailed line. But I can draw a think line, a loose line, a black line...a freeing line.
What's wound, must be unwound.
Do you know the Bruce Springsteen song, "57 Channels (And Nothin' On)" from '92? For me it's like 57 ideas, but nothin' seems right (or wants to come out in focus).
My desk after the art show--materials and ideas for future paintings. Can't find anything easily...
I bought a bourgeois house in the Hollywood hills
With a truckload of hundred thousand dollar bills
Man came by to hook up my cable TV
We settled in for the night my baby and me
We switched 'round and 'round 'til half-past dawn
There was fifty-seven channels and nothin' on
Well now home entertainment was my baby's wish
So I hopped into town for a satellite dish
I tied it to the top of my Japanese car
I came home and I pointed it out into the stars
A message came back from the great beyond
There's fifty-seven channels and nothin' on
Well we might'a made some friends with some billionaires
We might'a got all nice and friendly if we'd made it upstairs
All I got was a note that said "Bye-bye John
Our love is fifty-seven channels and nothin' on"
So I bought a .44 magnum it was solid steel cast
And in the blessed name of Elvis well I just let it blast
'Til my TV lay in pieces there at my feet
And they busted me for disturbing the almighty peace
Judge said "What you got in your defense son?"
"Fifty-seven channels and nothin' on"
I can see by your eyes friend you're just about gone
