Spanish Dancer

I have blogged about my son before. His efforts out on the 'pitch'. I am certainly proud of him and all his hard work at achieving his dream. Today, though, I learned something about my daughter that brings me to tears.

Emma is a dancer. It is hard to comprehend that sentence if you don't know a dancer. She is fourteen. She has been dancing since four. This year her schedule is six days a week. She has Friday night off, but Monday through Thursday she dances, and Saturday and Sunday 11 am to 6pm. Emma is a dancer.

Last March something very terrible happened to her calf muscle. It locked up. Every time she went on point, a shooting pain radiated up her leg. She struggled to complete her final performance last year, and that was the last she could go up on point. Emma is a dancer, and the tears that followed were many.

She started with a physical therapist last year. Several nights a week she would go and have the knots in her calf rolled out. I'm not sure if I even know how painful that was. Knots the size of a golf ball were almost mercilessly rolled out of her calves, over and over. Every day she would see, could she go up on point today? No. Every day I told her, it's OK love, let your body heal. Listen to your body, it's telling you to slow down, to heal. Every day she worked at it, and several times a week worked with her sports therapist. Emma is a dancer.

Slowly, and with dedication and focus she began to heal. Each day as she came home I would ask her, how did you feel today? Have you gone on point? Just today I learned she was selected for 'Spanish Dancer' in the American Repertory Ballet's Nutcracker at the McCarter Theater in Princeton. This dance is one of the most beautiful I know. I am so proud of my Emma. Did I mention she's a dancer?

I had a dream

Two Moments

When I create my art, I draw a lot on my childhood, my science, my love of philosophy and motivational thinking. I believe motivational thinking is not just 'positive' thinking, it is a process of 'right' thinking, over and over again like weeding a garden. I have found, now, that I have the added blessing to be able to draw on my children's experiences, It's a fascinating thing to watch them grow, navigate through life, experience triumph and failure and dreams. Over the course of a few years, my son experienced two moments that really stood out for me, will probably lead to a painting or a sculpture or something, and also in many ways relates to my earlier work.

My son loves soccer. At the age of four he slept with his soccer ball. In all the years I've known him I think I've seen him more with a soccer ball at his feet than without. As he progressed in age, trying out for the team naturally progressed. It got harder and harder as the competition and skills amped up until one year he was not on the 'top' team. He was on team number three. A tough blow to him but I told him, work hard Harry, believe in your dream, that is all. The next year's tryouts came and this time coaches told him and me, oh yes, he'll move up. When he found out he didn't he came home, told me the news while big tears filled his beautiful blue eyes. It took every fiber in my being to tell him, don't worry Harry, work hard, believe in your dreams. As he left the room I couldn't help but feel the same intense disappointment. Finally the third year came, there he was, out on the try-out field competing against all the 'top' players and I saw him from a distance, standing next to the head of the program. A big burly man who was associated with Man U as legend goes. He was leaning next to my son telling him something. Later I asked "What did he tell you Harry?" My son smiled, he said "Harry, you earned the right to be out on this field." That was the first moment.

A second moment came a few days ago. Practice was on, running an hour and a half. After practice, my son stayed to kick the ball. From the age of four he always stayed to kick the ball. I loved to share with him one of my favorite quotes from Napoleon Hill "There is no traffic on the extra mile." My son loves soccer so much, I don't think he even knows when he's playing extra. But this particular day was special. After about 1/2 hour, in the dark, striking at the goal over and over, his coach emerged from the darkness on the side of the field. In his hands he had five soccer jerseys, each, he told Harry, had a story, which he told. One was from the 1980's World Cup Spain, and on and on. He said "Harry, because you're doing the stuff it takes to get to your dream I want you to take one of these shirts." Standing there, watching both son and coach both 'go the extra mile' - watching them both 'take action' to do the things that meant so much to them moved me so much.

What does it take to achieve your dream?

Do you take action on the things that move you?

Are you willing to endure the frustration, the setback, the pain that your dream sometimes demands?

These are things I think about, love, hope to convey in my art.



It's official! The reviews are in for "Black Gold' available now at Lulu.com:

http://tinyurl.com/2bkx9za

What people are saying:

Gorgeous...wow! ~ Fred Betz

I am so moved! It is fabulous! ~ Robin Pedrero

Some Surprise

What Can We Do When It Seems Too Much?

Take any event in your life. The BP Oil Spill, Stock Market Crash, or even a flat tire at a wrong time – as if there is ever a right time – and events can seem overwhelming, potentially spiraling out of control Some events seem too big, too mind numbing to even act on or think about. But it’s not just in the thinking, the worrying, wondering that magic is found – it’s in the acting towards the things one finds important in their life. Napoleon Hill had a very special phrase for this – Applied Faith. That phrase in and of itself is not a passive one. It’s very nature implies action on and towards the things in life you feel most driven by. Acting with the full faith and confidence that the universe can and will provide for you the tools you need to accomplish your specific goals, goals you feel most compelled by, most connected to – in short, the things you love.

I am so happy to note that a work of mine just recently landed in Canada to a wonderful collector there. It’s called ‘Ogallala’. This piece was inspired by studying the last great depression which was combined with a tragic dust bowl. After years of struggle and suffering, it occurred to someone to search, and what was found was one of the greatest natural water reserves ever discovered, just beneath their feet. The symbolism of this could not be more powerful to me - in the words of Wattles, that I quoted in an earlier blog post, 'never look at the visible supply. Look always at the limitless riches in formless substance and KNOW...' This piece is meant as a visual reminder that there is ALWAYS a solution - and further, the solution really lies deep within each one of us. If we learn the process of shedding fear and begin to trust a world, a universe really, of unlimited potential - there will always be another Ogallala.

So the question isn’t really what is the magnitude of the problem – the question is are you going to muster up enough faith to apply action to your dreams, desires, goals and dreams. Are you going to take action? Because that is where the magic is.

It's official! The reviews are in for "Black Gold' available now at Lulu.com:

http://tinyurl.com/2bkx9za

What people are saying:

Gorgeous...wow! ~ Fred Betz

I am so moved! It is fabulous! ~ Robin Pedrero

Well done my friend! ~ Beth Stafford

Ogallala - Re-Posted for @Sugarwilla

This piece is constructed from concrete, rock, pete moss and semi-precious crystals including amethyst and rose quartz embedded in an expoxy resin which covers the entire work from top to bottom. I estimate it to weigh about thirty pounds. In real life, the concrete area on the top of the piece looks like water at certain angles. The blue area in the center bottom is about two inches thick and simulates the water of Ogallala. This piece was inspired by studying the last great depression which was combined with a tragic dust bowl. After years of struggle and suffering, it occurred to someone to search, and what was found was one of the greatest natural water reserves ever discovered, just beneath their feet. The symbolism of this could not be more powerful to me - in the words of Wattles, that I quoted in an earlier blog post, 'never look at the visible supply. Look always at the limitless riches in formless substance and KNOW...' This piece is meant as a visual reminder that there is ALWAYS a solution - and further, the solution really lies deep within each one of us. If we learn the process of shedding fear and begin to trust a world, a universe really, of unlimited potential - there will always be another Ogallala.

Reviews are in for 'Black Gold' ~ Paintings & Prose

It's official! The reviews are in for "Black Gold' available now at Lulu.com:


http://tinyurl.com/2bkx9za

Thanks so much – here is what some of you have said about'Black Gold"


Rob! Gorgeous...wow! You truly amaze me. I love this bending of your medium into text and image. It's very generous and rich and communicative. And your bringing in your science understanding with your philiosophical relflections and putting the two together with this sort of sensual visual imaginings....it's nice! Like all the parts of you coming together. The parts of you I know. My Father's Kingdom is a kick-ass painting! I wasn't able to really see the first image though on this computer...I need to see it on my mac. But I also really liked the second image. I love that you would tackle such anintensely big and troubling and immediate issue. I want more, Rob! ~ Fred Betz

My student is late or thinks we stopped for two weeks and I jumped at the chance to read and pour into your book. I am so moved! It is fabulous! I feel I need a better writingvocabulary to communicate how wonderful it is! ~ Robin Pedrero

I finally had the chance to read your lovely book. The format is wonderful; the paintings and what they represent are haunting; and the words are lyrical and extremely thought-provoking. Well done, my friend! ~ Beth Stafford

Hey Robert, The first thing you know old Jed is not a millionaire! The 1% of theworld that has 99% of the wealth does not want the rest of us to know the realimpact of the ravaging of the worlds resources. There is a storm coming where ...food, fuel, andcurrency will continue to be the keystones of struggle and the 1% in chargewill not be physically affected by it, not in my lifetime anyway. Nor do Ithink they will be morally affected as they have already sold what little soulsthey had for their continued participation as the masters of their universe.One can only hope they will crumble from the inside out before they suck thewhole thing dry... Wow, all that from your art... NICE!!! ~ Anthony House

People like you who express depth are what move me to the core and MOVE me ~ Thank you for being not only my colleague Robert, but a friend ~ Your work is truly catalytic ~ Thank you ! ~ Sian Lindemann

Thank you everyone – that really moved me so much


A full color version is available at Lulu.com - just follow the link below:


http://tinyurl.com/2bkx9za

Please...

Love is a Force

Eulogy For A Mentor: Sir Laszlo Ispanky

Sir Laszlo Ispanky, husband, father, friend, mentor, artist. Born 1919 in Budapest, Hungary. He was the youngest of 10 children, served in the Hungarian Army, was a POW in Siberia for 11 months and for all of that, had a wicked sense of humor. “Be good, or be bad, but just be careful.” he’d always say.
Laszlo came into my life through the great fortune of marrying a beautiful, young nurse, Susan Toft. In the ‘early years’, before marrying Laszlo, Suzie lived with my parents Rudy and Valeria Girandola and my four brothers and sister. To this day, we refer to her as Aunt Suzie. Laszlo had a great eye for beauty, which is what drew him to Aunt Suzie, but he was smart as well. As a nurse, always caring for people, Suzie gave such loving care to Laszlo right to his very last days. After Suze and Laszlo were married, they continued to come over on a regular basis, always with bags and bags of food, which was VERY welcome by our large family. Every year of our childhood we spent Christmas with Suzy and Laszlo and eventually, Jason, their son, who is really like a baby brother to us. They would give us gift after gift, making each of us feel so special, like my sister Chrissy, as her birthday was Christmas day, or Neal, Suszie’s godchild. For me, always amazing art books, tools, paints, easels and stretchers.
When I was fifteen, Laszlo purchased a painting from me. It was oil on canvas (both of which he had supplied). What I didn’t quite realize then, but thinking back now, was that around the same time he was adding a piece of mine to his ‘collection,’ President Gerald Ford was selecting pieces of his to give to heads of state around the world.
During Christmas, or other days, whenever we visited, I never missed a chance to make my way into his studio. Always in awe, I would look at books stacked floor to ceiling (20 foot ceilings), each and every one with pieces of paper slips stuck here and there making notations for a seemingly endless range of work. Works capturing early Americana, like “George Washington Kneeling in Prayer at Valley Forge,” or “Betsy Ross,” sewing the first American Flag or bold, visionary and powerful works like “Let There Be Light,” “Wind” and “Storm.” And of course, the greatest thrill I had was seeing those works in clay, not yet cast, knowing I was one of the first to see them. How little I realized one was destined for Anwar Sedat, or Princess Grace or Liberace. I didn’t quite grasp that this man provided the inspiration to those who inspired the world. What I knew, was he inspired me.
As I worked my way through school, Laszlo continued to give me boxes and boxes of paints. He even hired me to make some canvas for him. When I had a studio of my own, I would on occasion find him and Aunt Suzy just outside the studio window, peering in with smiles of encouragement on their faces.
Many years later, after Laszlo had fallen very ill and his memory was all but gone, I was called for the most significant commission of my life. I was asked to create a sculpture honoring firefighters who lost their lives saving others in the twin towers. My first stop was to Suzy and Laszlo’s house. Laszlo was sitting at the table being fed by nurse Suzy. I explained to him why I was there.
“You remember Lotsy,” aunt Suzie prompted, “the towers, the firefighters who died?”
“Yes.” he nodded. His eyes began to burn with passion as he shot out a series of questions. “How high up will it be?” I told him. “Indoor or out?” I told him. He stared me in the eye and gave me the most profound advice of my life.
“What you must do is make something that will make everyone go…” and Laszlo dropped his jaw in an expression of amazement. He was instructing me to make something amazing.
“Go in the studio and take anything you need.” Aunt Suzie chimed in. Laszlo nodded in agreement.
A few weeks later, I was told by Aunt Suzie that they’d visit my studio again, this time to see the sculpture in process. I worked through the night trying to get something more than just a drawing and wire finished. I put chunks and chunks of his clay onto the board, heating them in the oven so I could move faster. Finally, they arrived. Suzie brought his walker around and helped Laszlo out of his side of the car. Slowly he made his way over to the clay and was seated in a chair just in front. He smiled although he looked frail and tired as he began inspecting the piece. He lifted his head towards me and with a puzzled look pointed at the featureless clay that was waiting to be sculpted.
“Whose face goes here?” he asked me. I showed him the photograph of one of the men.
“Paulie,” I explained, realizing I had not impressed him in the least with the clay sitting there, amporphous. He gave me a look that takes about 90 years and a stay in a Siberian concentration camp to perfect.
“Well do it!” His eyes locked onto mine with all the ferocity of a college football coach. It was a power that projected straight through his eyes.
Feeling suddenly called to action, I grabbed his tools and began sculpting away at the clay that would be the face of Paulie, carving deep into where the eyes would go. Laszlo’s eyes lit up with approval and excitement. At a break, I asked him if he would touch his hand to Paulie’s outstretched (and as yet unsculpted) hand, so that Suzie could get a picture of us both. He looked down with an expression almost of disdain. I couldn’t quite make it out.
“Please,” I asked, “just for one second.”
He looked down again and touched his hand to the clay, then quickly pulled it away. I thought for sure I had now asked too much of this old man. I thought the clay was too cold and uncomfortable to his touch. He looked again at the unformed hand and then did something that took my breath away. This frail man reached down to his chair and lifted it, and turned it in one motion so that he was facing the sculpture square on. In the next moment, he grabbed the outstretched hand with both of his and began plying and changing the formless clay until it truly resembled a hand. His eyes darted about the floor.
“He’s looking for his tools.” Aunt Suzie explained.
I quickly grabbed one and thrust it into his hand. Laszlo reached towards the hand and began cutting the line in the palm, just above the thumb. This line, he had explained to me from my first waking moment as an artist, was the life line of a man or woman. It wrapped down around the thumb, cutting around the wrist. This man, with little left in his life, took his last energy and breathed it into my sculpture. Five minutes passed like an eternity. Finally, he dropped the tool and looked pleadingly at me.
“Will you ask Suzie to bring me home now?” and nodded in her direction. She came and collected him. As I watched him leave my studio, I understood his final lesson of art. This man, whose artwork circles the globe, embodied that energy we call ‘art.’ He didn’t possess it, it possessed him, and did what it would with him. He was a man who inspired those who inspired nations. Sir Laszlo Ispanky, husband, father, artist and mentor was a force of nature whom I had the honor of being inspired by.