How to use this Page

Art by Joon Mo Kang for the NY Times

There is an interesting item in today's NY Times Book Review. It touches upon the burst of outrage initiated in an essay by Ruth Graham. In it she poses the question: should  adults should be embarrassed to read novels geared for the young adult market? You can read her essay here. And the Times item from today's Book Review is here.

I was too busy to really catch the recent debate myself and therefore I was curious as to what all the anger was about. So today I went to Slate and read the essay. And you know what? I largely agree with Ruth Graham, to some extent. At the risk of having to dodge rocks thrown in my direction, I have to say: adults who spend most of their time reading YA, or at least certain  YA books,  are not reading at an appropriate age level. Some years back, I tried to find out what all the hoopla was about "Twilight." I could not endure even getting past the first several pages. It was horrible writing. Truly awful. The worst romance novels are a better read. And, I confess to having read my share of those, too, at some point. In fact, the essentially YA bestseller of 1971, LOVE STORY, as bad as THAT was was even better. And, if the Twilight series were to comprise a good portion of an adults reading list, I would have to think, "Well, I guess other books are just too complex."

And then there are books like The Book Thief.  Was that really supposed to be YA? I think not. That is one of the most beautiful and poetic  books I have ever read, bar none. So, am I dismissing an entire genre or just a portion of that genre? I guess I am dismissing a portion of YA books--the teen-romance portion. Don't get me wrong-- I love romance and happen to be married to my high school sweetheart, so I remember those years clearly and fondly. But teenage romance is something I do not want to spend a great deal of time reading about. Been there, done that. And I also know adult romance is far more enjoyable--and interesting.

Another challenge I cannot do: Teen Tragedy. I cannot bring myself to read "The Fault in out Stars" because as a mother of young adults, reading about young adults with cancer is the last thing I want to occupy my brain with. And I don't want to read about young adults in comas, nor young adults in car accidents, nor young adults in dystopian societies who are fighting for their very existence. Because any time I have to read about young people having their lives threatened or ended too soon, I project my own worry of my own kids into their situations. I worry enough about my own kids. I don't need to fret about fictional kids. It is also why I never watch movies where anything bad happens to kids or animals, but that s another discussion altogether.

Of course, this is not to say I would not enjoy writing YA novels or even Middle Grade novels. I would. I am working on a couple now. After all, I write picture books; I can hear the voices of my inner child very clearly. I can also hear the voices of my inner 13 year old and my inner 18 year old quite well, too, thank you very much. I guess that when I read, I prefer listening to adults.

This is so in tune with my pulp fiction covers and Fancy Nancy YA book jacket, that I HAVE to share a  link sent to me by my friend Liz for "Vinatge Valentines WTF." And if you these are strange, wait until you see the rest of the fantastic collection.

I live for this kind of photography: haunting shots of once lively and active places, now in ruins. There is something that hits a nerve somewhere within me that makes me look at the disintegration of old structures, and see it not just as it is, but as it must have been. 

There's a lot to read and a lot to see in this wonderful photo essay about  New York's North Brother Island and abandoned Riverside Hospital from The Kingston Lounge, which may soon become another favorite photo blog for me, right up there with Shorpy. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves and the history tell it's own story.

Simms Tabak was one of very favorite illustrators, if not THE favorite. He very recently passed away and since I find that this blog seems more and more to be about losing artists who have touched me, it would be terribly remiss to not talk about Simms.

Although I got to know his books through reading them to my youngest son, Ben, I actually got to know his art when I first used one of his designs to wallpaper the room of my middle son, Mike. That was more than 22 years ago. Sadly, I cannot find a single image to post to show that lovely wallpaper. And it has been long papered over. It do remember that it was leaping kids, a boy and a girl, doing jumping jacks or something to that effect. If anyone has any left or knows where I can get some, PLEASE contact me!

I just discovered a wonderful video created based on his Old Lady WHo Swallowed a Fly book. It is narrated and the music sung by Cindy Lauper. I think this may be the best video adaptation of a kids' book I have ever seen. It seems that I cannot embed it. But go to Youtube and watch. It is totally worth the time.

I think my very favrotie book was the Caldecott wining, Joseph Had a Little Overcoat.

I think that this book is everything one can want in a children's book. It is has a page turning quality, with a lovely repetitive rhythm. It is fun. It is also beautifully illustrated, without being tight and self important and self congratulatory, not to mention pretentious, which is what so many kids' book art is. Not this book. The art has a wonderful mock-primitive feel that is actually extremely sophisticated and extraordinarily satisfying, from an artist's point of view. Any artist, even in the absence of liking kids' books, would love and appreciate this artwork. The art stands completely on its own. To be honest, a lot of art for kids' books may hold up in the children's book

It's been a Loooooong while since I was able to carve out blogging time. I am hoping that I can get back on schedule after a solid year of non-stop art work with books and fabrics.

Mind you, I am not complaining. I am thrilled to have the illustration work and the inspiration to create. But balance it always good, and so, after having stuffed myself silly with work this year and stuffed myself silly with food over the Thanksgiving weekend, it is time to regroup, step back, and assess. 

So stop back and visit me again soon. I'll be posting  some "deep thoughts" something later this week.

Somewhere in the 80s, I was out with three friends of mine, all Asian. I can't remember exactly how or why, but the discussion turned to Charlie Chan. "Oh, I loved Charlie Chan," I said, sincerely and innocently. "Those were my favorite old movies!" And they were. My husband and I used to watch them religiously back in Buffalo in the 70s, where one of the local stations would broadcast one every week at around 11 o'clock. It was my first experience with appointment television since counting the minutes until five o'clock waiting for the Mickey Mouse Club twenty years earlier. 

"Ugh. You can't be serious," was the collective reply of my friends. "He is one of the worst stereotypes for Asians."

I felt like someone hit me in the chest. First, to think that I would willingly subscribe to that kind of thinking about people was an embarrassment. But, more important, I did not even see the reason for their disgust with the character (and hopefully, not me). My husband and I loved him and loved son number one (played by Warner Oland and Keye Luke respectively). In my mind, Charllie made everyone else around him look positively stupid, goofy, awkward, and incapable of seeing the details. He, on the other hand, was brilliant, had a fantastic gift for dry humor, and was all-knowing and all-seeing without being obnoxious. What's not to love? What better kind of stereotype can one ask for?

Reading the August 9th edition of the New Yorker yesterday I came upon a wonderful review by Jill Lepore of a brand new book by Yunte Huang: Charlie Chan: The Untold Story of the Honorable Detective and His Rendezvous With American History. Ms. Lepore offers some enjoyable information about Earl Derr Biggers, the author who first brought to character of Chan to book form and  the  movies themselves. But, even better, is reading about Huang's book which reveals that Charlie Chan was based on an actual Chinese detective with the Honolulu police force, by the name of Chang Apana, who was a legend in his own time for solving crimes. There are more wonderful facts to glean from the book, so get a hold of it and dig in. It is available now for pre-order (I made sure to order mine, you betcha).

 Just as intriguing to me, is the story about the author, Yunte Huang. Mr. Huang was born and brought up in China, and may well have no

 All photos courtesy of Cakewrecks

Here is the problem when you like to blog and when you also like to read the blogs of others: it all takes time, and on any given day, I seem to have less and less of it. Truth be known, when it comes to choosing between entertaining myself reading what other people have written or attempting to wax poetic myself and share my thoughts with readers, I choose--you guessed it--entertaining myself! Surprise, surprise!

In the blog post before this one, I wrote about getting in my daily dose of pick-me-up at Awkward Family Photos. Love the site. Can't stay away. Can't stop laughing. 

But my other, equally enjoyable place to visit and find a smile on my face and maybe even tears of laughter in my eyes is CAKE WRECKS. Cake Wrecks is exactly that--a blog devoted to the so-called professionally done cakes one can buy in a bakery, supermarket, or wherever, that are, in a word, wrecks. As defined by Jen Yates, the genius behind the site and the book that came out of the site:

 WHAT IS A WRECK?

"A Cake Wreck is any cake that is unintentionally sad, silly, creepy, inappropriate - you name it. A Wreck is not necessarily a poorly-made cake; it's simply one I find funny, for any of a number of reasons. Anyone who has ever smeared frosting on a baked good has made a Wreck at one time or another, so I'm not here to vilify decorators: Cake Wrecks is just about finding the funny in unexpected, sugar-filled places."

All photos courtesy Awkward Family Photos

Addicted. Totally. And without remorse of any kind. It's my computer and I. It's not just that I love using it as a tool to create art. It's the web. The Internet is my worst vice and my greatest enjoyment. I am always on it. My husband has even said that someday he expects to come home find me stuck INSIDE the monitor, like some sort of Twilight Zone episode.

 
I can justify it to some extent, because I am not a TV watcher of any significance. I'd rather be on line, checking out everything from eBay to newspapers to blogs by other artists and writers then sitting in front of some mindless sitcom or self important drama. I've even discovered a whole cache of blogs that write about vintage stuff and collecting, which is what this very blog started out as about 5 years ago. There is no end to the kind of information I suddenly find myself interested in. Hey--wanna  know more about scroll saws? Ask me!

Lately, however, my addiction to the net has to do with something more essential: getting my daily dose of humor. And my top choice of enjoyment?  AWKWARD FAMILY PHOTOS.

In past posts I have confessed to an obsession with the passing of time. I have had this obsession all my life. I am not sure why, but I have. On New Year's Eve, 1958, I wanted my grandparents to get me a jar with a lid.

"Why?" they asked.
"Because I want to save some some 1958 air," I told them. "Then I will have a little bit of 1958 forever."

When I look back on this memory, it makes me smile and shake my head at the way a kid's mind works--or at least the way MY mind worked. But I also still feel more or less the same way: very aware of the passing of time and wanting to preserve the present moment for future reference and for experiencing it once more. I guess you could say my little jar of air was my child's version of a time machine. But even though I am not filling jars with the air of time anymore, I still feel pretty much the same now as I did then. It's why I love antiques. It's why I play jukeboxes. It's why I will watch anything produced by Ken Burns. It is also why I read the obituary from my on line, home town newspaper every day: The Journal News, Rockland County section.

Yeah, I know. That sounds like something your grandmother would enjoy doing. Still, I do it. Everyday. Sometimes I see the names of parents of high school friends. Every now and then, I see the names of the high school friends themselves. Believe me, that is sobering. The strange part is that when I see no names that are familiar to me, I have a macabre sense of disappointment: no news, nothing of interest. And then, when I do, I wish I hadn't, because I would really have enjoyed seeing that person again at some point in the imaginary future, even though I have not spoken to him or her for that past 35 years.

One of the nice parts about reading obits is that I also check up on who else died, as reported by the Associated Press. In their little sidebar I learned that Killer Kowalski died even before I saw it in the Times. I learned that silent film star Anita Page passed away at 98. I read about famous Peanuts animator Bill Melendez. And I learned about the death of Jim Hoyt.

Who is Jim Hoyt? Jim Hoyt was the last surviving veteran of a group of four soldiers who liberated Buchenwald concentration camp. Jim Hoyt was a an extraordinary guy and an ordinary guy at the same time, because Jim Hoyt was part of a generation of countless soldiers who fought bravely and namelessly in a war unlike any other, where there was a clearly defined evil of great magnitude that needed defeating. Jim Hoyt lived a quiet life, was not a person of renown, and we would most likely never know about him except that he participated in The Oxford Project.

The Oxford Project, from an editorial quote on Amazon:

In 1984, photographer Peter Feldstein set out to photograph every single resident of his town, Oxford, Iowa (pop. 676). He converted an abandoned storefront on Main Street into a makeshift studio and posted fliers inviting people to stop by. At first they trickled in slowly, but in the end, nearly all of Oxford stood before Feldstein's lens. Twenty years later, Feldstein decided to do it again. Only this time he invited writer Stephen G. Bloom to join him, and together they went in search of the same Oxford residents Feldstein had originally shot two decades earlier. Some had moved. Most had stayed. Others had passed away. All were marked by the passage of time.

In a place like Oxford, not only does everyone know everyone else, but also everyone else's brothers, sisters, parents, grandparents, lovers, secrets, failures, dreams, and favorite pot luck recipes. This intricate web of human connections between neighbors friends, and family, is the mainstay of small town American life, a disappearing culture that is unforgettably captured in Feldstein's candid black-and-white portraiture and Bloom's astonishing rural storytell

You can visit the Oxford Project website and read some of the stories and see some of the pictures. That is where I went on to read about Jim Hoyt, who's obituary via AP I just happened to catch one day while checking the daily obits at the Journal News. I had never heard of Jim Hoyt, and I had never heard of The Oxford Project, but I am so glad to have discovered both of them. It is incredibly fascinating to see a picture of a person and a picture of the same person 20 years later. That kind of thing has always been my favorite part of the Ken Burns documentaries, and here is an entire book of aging faces, and what makes it even better is that these are ordinary citizens, living ordinary lives that are as meaningful and interesting as any celebrity or historical figure.

This book will be available on the 16th of this month. You can read more on the Amazon link. Needless to say, I have already ordered a copy. If I had thought about it, I would have created this book myself. It is, as they say, "right up my alley."

I do have one question for Stephen Bloom and Peter Feldstein: did you save any 1984 air?

EDITED TO ADD: Please take a moment to read the comment left by photographer and Oxford Project creator, Peter Feldstein. He shares a touching bit of information and an update on Jim Hoyt.

Let me first admit to this:

I was one of the old fart parents who was so saddened to see the provocative photo of Miley Cyrus in Vanity Fair recently. To me, the picture was clearly sensuous in a way that it should not have been for a 15 year old. It's especially bothersome since I think that she is a quite talented and charismatic little performer, who has great comic timing and the chance to mature in into a comedienne of the first order in films and TV shows. As far as I am concerned she does not need to sell herself as sexy. Funny is sexy in a better way.

So, with that in mind, I found it ironic (or was it some sort of cosmos putting me in my place?) that my pre-ordered copy this book by Paula Uruburu arrived:

AMERCIAN EVE
EVELYN NESBIT, STANFORD WHITE
The Birth of the "It" Girl"
and the
CRIME OF THE CENTURY

For those of you unfamiliar with the story of Evelyn Nesbit, she was the first real American superstar and the first "media created" celebrity. The very abbreviated story goes like this:

The mother--Evelyn Florence Mackenzie Nesbit-- found herself impoverished in Pennsylvania when her lawyer husband died very suddenly, leaving his family penniless. During the next several years the mother and her two children shuffled around the state from relative to boarding house and back again until Florence Evelyn, the younger, who was always a strikingly beautiful little girl , is "discovered" by an elderly female artist in Philadelphia. Before very long, she is posing for painters in the area and is the sole support of her family.

They move to New York City, where she continues to pose for well respected artists such as Beckwith and Church and for those studying in such places as The Art Students' League. In addition, she is photographed. And that face becomes "the face" of the turn of the century on everything you can think of: magazines, newspapers, postcards, chocolates, calendars, soaps, and so forth. She is the inspiration behind the "Gibson girl." To say she epitomized a look of the times, is an understatement. She WAS the look and the face of the times.