On July 17, 1961 Michael Dean Chambers II was born in Vicenza, Italy. A simple lad, he thought he might one day become a world champion marble player, or perhaps enjoy the easy life of a garbage man riding on the back of the truck, his eye peeled for treasures hidden in the um, peels, and coffee grounds and such.
In case you ever start to take yourself, or especially your art, too seriously you should spend a little time with New York’s inflatable art vamp, the Grande Dame of ribald performance art, Pat Oleszko.
She’s a complete loon.
Pat has cut a sassy swath from burlesque dives to NYC’s Museum of Modern Art, with her unrepentant comic, and social critiques using film, performances, and installations.
She has even performed “Shakespeare in the Bark.”
Here she is as “The Pasta Madonna” from the Roamin’ Holiday: A View From a Broad.
And here as “The Glad-He-Ate-Her” from the Roamin’ Holiday: A View From a Broad.
Go see lots more at her website and then, lean out a window wherever you are, and shout out “HeARTy Birthday, Pat Oleszko!” because today’s her happy day!!
If Jackson Pollock was still — and still is a state Jackson Pollock was rarely in — dancing with a loaded brush around a canvas today, it would be to the tune of “Happy Birthday!”
He would be one hundred and two. That’s like a gazillion and two in paint spatter!
I don’t like to let these occasions pass without acknowledgment so I’d have Jackson over.
Of course he would bring his talented wife Lee Krasner
And we’d talk art critics, because all joking aside, I always wonder what the artist is thinking when you have one critic like Clement Greenberg who says “I knew Jackson was the greatest painter this country had produced.”
While at the same time you have Robert Coates calling Pollock’s work “mere unorganized explosions of random energy, and therefore meaningless.”
Shoot. I’d throw more than paint at that!
Then we’d have a couple of shots of whiskey and a couple of pieces of this wonder bar:
And then I’d probably suggest a nap because by the time you’re 102 you’ve earned one.
On January 19th, 1839 Paul Cezanne was born in Aix-en-Provence, in Provence in the South of France.
Today he would be 175 years old! Go Paul!
If the Cezannes were in town I’d invite Paul and his wife Hortense over to celebrate.
I’d serve wine. And probably fruit — though Paul may have been quite sick of fruit as apparently Hortense was quite careless in her housekeeping and left fruit lying around all over the place. At least that’s what it looks like to me.
I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t you think maybe that skull was a little hint that forgetting to put away the fruit might be getting a wee bit old?
So ixnay on the uitfray, I’d just serve Paul and Hortense wine and cake.