John Moore, American Painter
John Moore (CBC Class of 1958) is a renowned American artist and painter. He is regarded as an important contemporary American Realist. His paintings are included in the collections of The Philadelphia Museum of Art, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, and The Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
John is the subject of a Documentary movie that a filmmaker, John Thornton, has been working on about John's work for the last six months or so. His videos are posted on YouTube and have been shown on PBS (Channel 12) in Philadelphia. John Thornton has this to say about John Moore:
"John Moore is one of the "New Realists" who emerged in the 1960's artists who wanted to bring back representational painting. He went to Washington University and then Yale for graduate school in the 1960's. He told me, "My undergraduate paintings had a German Expressionist base which was moving towards abstraction. But at Yale, It did not take me long to realize the abstract painters were much more committed to abstraction than I was. I tried to buy into the game, but it wasn't happening. I always veered back to the specific, tangible physical facts that I could see." John Moore is now 81, and his aim has always been to create paintings that move people, that show viewers our shared humanity. He has succeeded wildly."
Here is the link to the film about John Moore.
John is Professor Emeritus of Fine Arts in The School of Design at the University of Pennsylvania and served as chair of the Fine Arts Department from 1999–2009. John holds a Bachelor of Fine Arts from Washington University, St. Louis, Missouri and a Master of Fine Arts from Yale University, New Haven, Connecticut.
He is represented by Hirschl & Adler Modern in New York and by Locks Gallery, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
Jim & Karen Vogelsang
Frank Windler, Poetry and Watercolors
Frank writes, "Around 12 years ago I took a watercolor class on the Queen Mary while sailing to England and have been painting ever since.
As for the poetry I have been writing for almost fifty years and as with most things some good and others only I can love.
Close Your Eyes and Listen
Close your eyes and listen.
No I mean really listen. Do you hear it??
Is it the wind in the trees you hear or perhaps the night noises of the tiny creatures that inhabit the night?
No you are not really listening .
There, listen past all the background noise of the night and you will hear it.
Only a whisper at first but really listen hard and it will become a roar and the night creatures large and small, the howling gale and even the thunder storms of Summer's night will be silenced. There. You hear it now. Don't you??
It was only one hearty laugh at first and then it became several and then so many. Laughs filled with joy and gusto . Do you recognize the laughter??? Need some help? Oh you got It now.
Our lives may fade as we age and then death but the laughter lives on, it still lives within the walls of our lives. Hear your father's laughter at a joke or old tv show.
Hear your mother's joy at I love Lucy. Hear them all. You only need to listen. Really listen. Every laugh is still there.
Oh. Lest I forget the laughter is loudest at 3am.
Practice listening and it will happen. You will even hear the laughter that happened long before you.
I was listening one Fall night and thought I heard my father laughing at me as I tried to take my first steps but the laughter was from a much taller man. He was very angular and a bit bent over. It was a warm and well oiled laugh and very unmistakable.
It was Mr Lincoln from Illinois laughing at young Tad as he took a boyish tumble on the new White House hard wood floor. The spinner of yarns the teller of truths. The great emancipator.
One night I thought I heard him laughing but then I saw the tears.
At frost I thought it was because he had lost young Tad and then I knew. I really knew.
It was tears for his enslaved brothers. He too could hear their exhausted laughter as they watched their small children tumble across a dirt floor in shanty town.
Laughter that fades into the night as exhaustion overcomes and a few hours sleep are stolen so that he might labor in the great master's fields another day.
Hot sun. Sweat. Back aching. Watching his woman and children labor under the hot sun. Come running out of Kentucky. Come charging out of Illinois. The sun is hot. The injustice intolerable.
Save my children funny looking man from Illinois.
They are all little Tad Lincoln. All the same. Children don't laugh as much in the cotton fields of Virginia as they do on the hard wood floor of the White House.
Remember I said Listen.
Really listen.
Frank WINDLER. 3am. October 23, 2015
Take My Hand My Brother
Take my hand, My Brother, as it is strong—and
I will lift you up as we age together.
Hear my words, My Brother, they will give you
hope as our memories fade.
Be not afraid. The strength and wisdom of
Brothers will light our path and all the
darkness of mind and body will disappear.
Brothers for life sharing the joys of living and
the sadness of death—as we part from one
another for only the blink of an eye.
Remember, My Brother, "Eye has not seen, ear
has not heard what God has prepared for those
that love Him."
Take my hand, My Brother.
It is strong.
—Frank Windler '58
A Poem for Tom Maher
Click on the image below to view an enlargeable version
The Shoes
I can't remember their faces;
they've faded into the gray dust of their ashes,
I can't remember their cries;
they've been obscured by the roar of the furnaces,
I can't remember their dreams for their children;
they're buried with the dust of their remains.
But I cannot forget their shoes,
left behind as they were herded to their deaths.
Shoes of every size, color and shape,
as different as the children of Israel who wore them.
Shoes that followed them to work each day,
shoes that laughed at family feasts, shoes that
Cried at the birth or death of a family member.
Oh, I can't forget the shoes
haunted by the spirits of those who walked within them.
Never forget the shoes.............................
I closed my eyes in February
and when I opened them in March my world was gone.
Sidewalks without people, performers without an audience,
and churches empty of all except God.
Birds were still singing,
Spring was breaking free of winter,
But silence walked the streets and spoke of fear,
and whispered of death.
Go hide, wash death from your hands,
listen to the truths and half truths
and then turn your back and run
and hide from the evil virus-man. Virus man will get you if you look him in the eye
so run, run and hide in your mother's skirt.
War, famine, holocaust not even death
can separate man from man like a single strand of DNA.
Thought evil was dark, had horns, and snarled like a rabid animal.
Oh no, evil comes in silence and leaves our streets empty
and drives people to cling to the ordinary in hopes of surviving.
Go down Moses set my people free
drown the evil virus-man in the deep Red Sea.
Grab that single strand by its evil tail,
throw water on it and melt that ugly witch.
Amen, Amen I say to you
and this too will pass.
Remembering Leonard
by Frank Windler
I now know that when Leonard left us
the void he left was immense. Dance with me.
"Dance with me til the end of love."
I watch the trees blowing in the wind of my life .
Dancing and singing a joyful song and suddenly still.
Only to dance again and laughing at the sky above.
Can leaves cry tears of a life of missed opportunities?
I think so.
Laugh at me crazy leaves of life
as I wander alone
until you fall dead to the ground and then who is Laughing?
Julie Windler, Functional Potter
I began to throw in the early 70's (1970s, not my age) in Mississippi. It just began as a lark, something interesting to try; then I was hooked. I continued my pottery in Virginia: showing in galleries, in craft shows and as a potter-in-residence. My son, who was a baby at the time, slept in his basket below the display table at craft shows, and watched me throw from his swing.
Then back to Georgia where I continued my pottery for several more years. That period included teaching pottery on the library channel, receiving a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts for an arts and crafts television show and eventually moving onto full time television production.
We lived in Atlanta for 25+ years where I continued my television career and growing our family, pottery took a back seat. In Atlanta, I was a television producer and staff announcer with WXIA-TV (and occasionally on-camera), then joined CNN as a news producer and eventually WSB-TV as a producer.
Many years later, I returned home to Rome, Georgia as a Realtor with the family business. And then wonderfully, ..rediscovering my pottery 12-15 years ago.. It's been fun coming full circle. I know, I'e probably made everyone dizzy by now reading this—try being me!
Visit Julie's own website, The Riverside Potter, for further examples of her work and more information.
Jeff Wiener
Jeff writes:
"Years ago I was involved in music. (Kind of on the side.)
I had my day job and worked for a time on weekends at local clubs.
With the help of our classmate and good friend Jack Goelz I went to Nashville and cut some sides of my music. It was fun.
But after a time it was too much to handle so I gave up on that dream and just did shows with a group for about 20 years and that more than satisfied the itch.
The point of all of this is that I enjoyed the process of the writing of the lyrics—the music just came out of the words.
I never was a musician; singing came too easily!"
My Friend
I have come to say goodbye to you my friend
for i believe that we will never meet again
we sailed the world on magic streams,
strolled in fields of childhood dreams:
life won't ever be the same again, my friend
Why does all the magic fade away my friend.
stones were gold and flip cards sold,
and we were mountain men.
there were dogfights in the blue,
the pirate ships we made heave to,
so many things to see and with you my friend.
i never thought i'd grow to be a man
in a world so strange to me,
where there's no time
for games of boys to be played.
Gone are the mountains where we'd roam,
the jungle trees that we'd call home,
and the animals we talked to
they've all gone my friend.
My mom and dad they understood
and helped to make the days so good,
for they knew you once as i did then.
and they knew the day would come
,when i'd no longer hear the drums of childhood
and we'd never run again my friend.
Still, there's a chance
that we may meet again., my friend,
and taste the days that were so sweet again.
i have a son who will soon
be meeting you and then
it just might be
i'll catch a glimpse of you my friend.
of you my friend.
Ken Perry, Greenware Chess Set
I made this chess set using the Craft shop at Ft. Leonard Wood (during Vietnam). It took approximately 300 hrs from start to finish. I still have it, but most folks are afraid to play with it although it isn't fragile.
- Mix Greenware with water and but into mold for 36 hrs.
- Remove Greenware pieces and using Exacto Knives , remove mold seams and improve detail( especially the Castle brick )
- Use a high intensity Kiln ,fire Greenware
- Using Ceramic paint coat Black and White pieces and paint faces, detail Castles
- Fire first coat
- Cover all pieces with Pearl and fire
- Gold Coat feet of pieces and Final Fire
NOTA—here were many pieces broken in the "Cleaning and Painting" process as well as air pockets in fired Greenware.
Gary Hach
While sharing the same "'Shelter-in-Place" restrictions as the rest of us, Gary has found a way to keep creative and productive, building model planes such as the B-24 Liberator, B-17 and B-25 shown below.
The Consolidated B-24 Liberator is an American heavy bomber, designed by Consolidated Aircraft of San Diego, California
At its inception, the B-24 was a modern design featuring a highly efficient shoulder-mounted, high aspect ratio Davis wing. The wing gave the Liberator a high cruise speed, long range and the ability to carry a heavy bomb load. Early RAF Liberators were the first aircraft to cross the Atlantic Ocean as a matter of routine. In comparison with its contemporaries, the B-24 was relatively difficult to fly and had poor low-speed performance; it also had a lower ceiling and was less robust than the Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress.
While aircrews tended to prefer the B-17, General Staff favored the B-24 and procured it in huge numbers for a wide variety of roles. At approximately 18,500 units—including 8,685 manufactured by Ford Motor Company—it holds records as the world's most produced bomber, heavy bomber, multi-engine aircraft, and American military aircraft in history.
Gary says, "The models come in kits with all the plastic parts on what they call trees and the total amount of parts is somewhere around 2 to 300. Many of these detail parts have to be painted before assembly. I really enjoy it and I have built probably around 17 to 20 models in my lifetime,Most of them are World War II airplanes with a couple of tanks and ships thrown in."
