The Guitar in painting and sculpture

I'm an amateur guitar maker; a hack, really. But I enjoy the challenge, the feel of the materials, and most of all, that amazing sensation when this thing of wood and glue and bone and metal, this oddly shaped box you've been toiling on for months, suddenly starts making sound, then music, and becomes...a guitar.


There's something deep in this process, for humans have been making music since we found a voice, and possibly before that, when we beat two rocks together and started tapping our feet. Yet the guitar is a relatively modern instrument, as these things go. The modern classical guitar goes back to Torres in the mid 1800's, and the modern steel string even later than that. But these forms that feel so natural to us were the product of hundreds (perhaps thousands) of years of work by talented craftsmen, the shapes and styles of the time dictating their product, evolving with those times to lead us to where we are now.


I'm not an art historian by any means, but while on this New York trip I keep finding myself photographing the guitar (and it's ancestors) in various forms and paintings. These are a few highlights.


The intarsia from “The Studiolo From the Ducal Palace at Gubbio (1478 – 82)” is a true masterwork. Four full walls have been painstakingly inlaid with contrasting woods to create hundreds of small vignettes that relate to the life and interests of its patron, Frederico da Montefeltro, Duke of Urbino. Surprisingly, several panels depict the Italian ancestors of the guitar. In the example here, we see several instruments, with a lute (perhaps an oud), prominent in the upper panel. (Just a guess, but with its thin neck and raised bridge, I think that the lower panel shows something in the viol family.) The wood work is superb, and though the colors have mellowed over time and are hard to see in the dim lighting of the exhibit, the three dimensionality of the work shines through.


Moving forward to 1649 with Laurent de La Hyre's, “Allegory of Music,” we find a woman tuning a Theorbo, or Arch Lute. (Think of a lute on steroids.) Next to her shoulder sits a songbird, suggesting the interplay between natural music (the bird) and modern, human music. What I find interesting is what is around her. The mess of other instruments, the sheet music strewn haphazardly over her desk, the constant fiddling with the tuners. For all of its classical trappings, it's a very human scene; change the instruments and you might as well be in my office.

We jump ahead over two hundred years to Edouard Manet's, “The Spanish Singer” (1860), where we find a young man playing something very recognizable to us. By this time, the modern guitar had come into being, with six strings, sized perfectly for salon performance. He wears a dashing wide-brimmed hat and billowing shirt with his leg up in the air, as if he's just about to hit a perfect power-chord. But here's a startling thing. Compare this image with the late, great rock guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughn, and tell me there's no similarities. The “rock-god” goes back a long, long way, doesn't it? (I can't help but mention all the things that are wrong with the player in this picture. His fingers are all over the place, the pose completely unsuited for actually playing a guitar. He's even holding it the wrong way around! After all, Manet painted a model, not a guitarist. But then again,
rock stars don't need to know what they're doing, do they?)


Picasso's “At the Lapin Agile” (1905) is rightly celebrated as a masterwork of his early period. Picasso himself sits clutching a glass of Pernod while his then girlfriend, Germaine Pichot, looks away, bored and indifferent. Behind them, the club's owner, Frede Gerade, plays a guitar. Striking for it's bold use of color and innovative perspective, I've always been struck by the ennui of the characters. Once again we see the guitar prominently figuring in what we would now describe as, “Too cool for school.” The main figures are listening to the music, particularly Germaine, but they certainly don't want to show any interest in it. That would be so un-cool.


Through my travels I kept wanting to find a piece of sculpture depicting the guitar. But it was when I came across these two instruments at the Met that I had a vision. These are the two most famous classical guitars of all time. The one of the left built by Manuel Ramirez in 1912, the other built by Hermann Houser in 1937. These were the guitars of the great Andres Segovia. And as I stared open mouthed at the pair, I realized that the guitar itself IS sculpture. Of course it is. With flowing curves reminiscent of a women's body, carefully planned and delicately executed intarsia, the colors of the woods blending and playing off of each other to create a beautiful object, this is functional sculpture at the highest level.

My work in building guitars may not equal the masterpieces depicted here, but I feel much more grounded in my quest. People have been creating, playing and enjoying the instrument for centuries, and if I can bring a beautiful sound to others, and perhaps create a worthwhile sculpture in the process, I am only adding to the history and tradition of the great and nobel beast: the guitar.

Blown away at MoMA

When I came to NYC I had three specific goals in mind. First, to drum up new business, since the Seattle market has tanked faster than Nicholas Cage's career. Second, to visit Coney Island and ride the Cyclone (probably doing that this weekend). And third, to visit the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA).


Oh. My. Goodness.


I arrived about five minutes before they opened at 10:30 am, and spent the entire day in the museum, not leaving until they kicked everybody out about a quarter after five. I even ate lunch in one of their cafes. (That one hurt the pocketbook, let me tell you.)


The depth and breadth of the art is astounding. From Pollock to Warhol, O'Keeffe and Stieglitz, to Hopper, Lichtenstein, Picasso, Monet, Van Gogh, Weston, Miro.....on and on it went. Every time I turned a corner there was something amazing, something I had only seen in books, something I had no idea was there.


I remember glancing across a hall and seeing, no, it couldn't be... Monet's “Water Lilies.” But it was. Three immense panels of genius, and on the opposite wall another huge panel, all of different seasons in his gardens. Gentle, serene, warm. I could feel the breezes of France and smell the musty odors of the pond. He took me to a very special place, one I won't soon forget.


Then there was Jackson Pollock's “One: Number 31.” This nearly brought me to tears. I know it's easy to dismiss Pollock's work as just paint splashed on canvas, but it's so much more. Those drips and drabs are carefully placed and perfectly balanced, and it all comes together to create....anger? Perhaps. To me it spoke of the dark places in my mind that want to do everything at once, and wind up tangled around themselves, preventing anything at all from happening, leading to panic, frustration, and eventually, catharsis, as I find my own way to overcome those inner obstacles.

So much more. Van Gogh's “Starry Night,” perhaps the most famous painting I've ever seen in person, is just as dramatic as you'd expect. The paint is layered on thick, with slashing, agitated swirls that are somehow controlled. You can literally feel him fighting against his pain and resentment as he worked the pallet knife.


Picasso's “Three Musicians,” which made me miss my guitar that much more.


My biggest discovery was Ellsworth Kelly's “Line Form Color.” Some of you may remember “Squares”, a small book of Pop Art inspired abstract photographs I put out several years ago. Well, I was standing on the shoulders of giants, even if I didn't know it at the time. Kelly painted these in 1951, nearly 60 years before my exploration of the subject.

So much. Just so very, very much. I'm exhausted and elated, humbled and buoyed, discouraged and inspired, and those aren't contradictions. Those are the emotions of humanity; light verses dark, pain verses pleasure. Those are the emotions of great art.

I Come to New York for work, and find the Caribbean instead

So I'm on my New York adventure, seeing the sights, enjoying the sounds and smells (?!?) of the big city, when I discover that I'm staying in Crown Heights, the heart of the Caribbean in America. Imagine my surprise when I also discover that I'm here during their biggest festival of the year, the West African Labor Day Parade.

It actually started the night before, with the celebration of J'ouvert, a holiday which originating in Trinidad when West African slaves, banned from the white masquerade balls, started their own backyard BBQs and dance parties. Music, dancing and food became intrinsically linked to Carnival, and that's what I found myself smack-dab in the middle.

And what a time it was! Though the first part of the parade was simply all the candidates for New York offices (I saw Anthony Weiner, for whatever that's worth), it eventually turned into a full-on Carnival on the East Coast, with huge samba/calypso troupes in elaborate costumes dancing to ear-pounding music.


What fun, and what amazing food! I now know exactly what I want to do with my Jerk Chicken recipe, and if I can get it just right (might take a few tries), I'll let you know here how to make it yourself. It's that perfect combination of brown sugar, lime juice and spice that takes a basic BBQ'd chicken and makes it unforgeable.

Now, if I can just tear myself away from all the sights and experiences that New York has to offer, maybe I'll find some work. Stay tuned!

I Couldn't Agree More

In the past week I've seen this simple stencil appear around Wallingford (the neighborhood in Seattle I live in) with surprising regularity.

While I've luckily never directly been involved with somebody on heroin, I've known enough addicts to know that this quick tag speaks the truth.

If you're stuck, try to find help.

If you're in the thick of it, know that there are ways out.

People are here for you, whether you believe it or not.

Remember Spring?

I'm glad to say it's been a busy spring and summer, but I haven't had a chance to say hi.

So, "Hi!"

And since summer in Seattle is over (all three weeks of it), I figured I'd take a moment to remember what a beautiful spring we had with this picture of a bee.

Doesn't she look happy with her nose all jammed into the flower like that? Fuzzy little body scrunched up trying to suck that nectar dry?

Do you ever wonder how the flower feels?

Screw Anne Geddes

As the Supreme Court says, "Parody is Legal!"

Irish Soda Bread

I know a lot of you have been jonesing for the bread book, and all I can say is that it's coming. Patience people! In the mean time, here's a killer quick bread for you to try.

Great Irish Soda Bread should be more like a giant biscuit or scone than a sandwich bread. Crumbly, and with a satisfying hint of sweetness, it should have a solid feel that can stand up to a hearty stew. Normally that extra texture would come from the course milled flours used in traditional Irish baking, but wheat bran plus all-purpose and whole-wheat flours makes a delicious and easy to find substitute.

And the best part is how fast it all comes together. From the time you pull out the mixing bowl to the time you're slathering the bread with butter is just about two hours.

8 oz Whole wheat flour
1.5 oz Wheat bran
6.5 oz All-purpose flour
1 tsp Salt
1 1/8 tsp Baking Soda
2 tbsp Sugar
3 tbsp Unsalted butter
1 1/4 to 1 1/2 cups Buttermilk

1. Preheat the oven to 400 F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a silipat.
2. In a large bowl, mix the flours, bran, salt, baking soda and sugar together.
3. Cut the butter into small pieces and work into the flour with your thumb and fingertips. Once all the butter has been incorporated, it should look gritty.
4. Using a large wooden spoon, slowly mix in 1 1/4 cups of the buttermilk. The dough should be rather wet and sticky. If it seems a bit dry, add the remaining buttermilk. Mix until all the milk is absorbed and it comes together in a large ball.
5. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface. Knead 10 to 12 times, until the dough smooths out. Because this is such a wet dough, a bencher is very handy. Otherwise, keep your hands wet in order to avoid sticking, and get ready to get messy.
6. Form into a large round, about 7-inches in diameter and about two inches high. Place on the prepared baking sheet.
7. With a sharp knife, score a large 'X' onto the top of the bread.
8. Bake for 40 - 45 minutes, until the outside is a deep, golden brown and the internal temperature reaches 180 F.
9. Set on a cooling rack and cover with a clean kitchen towel. Let sit for 45 minutes and dig in!

Hope you enjoy it. Let me know how it works for you.

Copyrights be Damned

So when a good friend of yours asks for a Christmas card picture, what do you do? Well, if your friend happens to be over seven-feet tall, bald and covered with tattoos, your first response probably isn't going to be, "Let's recreate the poster for American Beauty." But that's what we decided to do.

Over the course of two afternoons we made the main shots, then I composited a bunch of rose petals into the background. After some more Photoshop work, Mike found himself floating through Kevin Spacey's midlife-dreams.

Now, to see if one of my printing companies will be able to make this up as a Christmas card. Hee-hee!

It's a Dog's Life

This Sunday makes one month with Kasey, our goofy English Shepherd. It's funny the changes that occur with a rescue dog. The first week and a half were like living with Lassie. This was a dog that was quiet, polite, wanted nothing more than to be petted and get a good meal.

As the days went on, and she became more comfortable with us and started to understand that we weren't going to drop her off in the middle of a field somewhere, she became bolder. Her actual personality began to surface.

Most of it is good. She's wonderful with people. Last week I brought her in to the church to see Suzette. At the same time a group of physically challenged individuals were finishing up their meeting, most of whom were using motorized wheelchairs. Kasey was amazing. She sat quietly while they approached. She even scooted forward so they could pat her on the head. Sometimes that patting was not so gentle, but Kasey was happy as could be.

This is the behavior that makes me think, "Gee, maybe she could be a therapy dog."

Then we take her on a walk and the Wild Child comes out.

It's obvious that she was never socialized to other dogs and animals, and that for a good amount of time she had to hunt for her own food. She doesn't know how to greet other dogs, and given half a chance she will sniff her way through a patch of grass in order to eat a worm or a snail.

But she's getting it. Slowly, with the help of wonderful trainers and a whole lot of effort on our part, she's starting to see that there's a big, wide world of fun out there. A world that if she is calm and behaves she can experience in full. All we have to do is take the time to introduce this world - and the proper manners for approaching it - to her slowly, one step at a time.

And while we do, she's more than welcome to crash on our bed. She's not going anywhere.

It's only fun if you don't have to live there

I was taking a walk after lunch along the waterfront, when I came across this old tree house. It was tucked in the back of a junkyard, next to the studio I was working in.

Aside from it's deeply forboding appearance, it made me wonder what it would be like to have to sleep in a makeshift house, high up in the three.

Would the wind blow through at night, sending in the rain along every crack in every board? Is there a sense of safety, perched above the rest of the world? Is it possible to be comfortable, when your world is reduced to the few scraps you can pull together to shelter yourself from the cold?

As a kid, I always wanted a tree house. Now, seeing this, I have to think twice.

You are so beautiful.....To me.....

To Jesi and Mark:

You may not know it, but your generosity tonight was very important to Suzette and I. We all know the economy is bad, but lately it has been very bad for both of us. Our chances of going out and seeing our friends have been few and far between.

Because of your generosity, you gave us a night out without worry. What an amazing gift that is.

Thank you both so much.

All our love,

- Zech and Suzette

Our Tax Dollars At Work

I wasn't sure what was happening when I heard the groan of a cherry-picker outside my bedroom window at 8:30 am. I certainly didn't expect to see a rough-and-ready young man in red shirt and suspenders changing our old street lights for new energy-efficient LED lights.

But there he was. They say the new lights will use 35% of the electricity of the old lights. Which I hope is true.

However it works out, it was an up-close and personal look at one of the people who keeps us warm and visible.

Viva electricidad!

There's you, there's me. Let's do this thing!

Hats off to Jesi and Marc!

I've known both of you longer than you've ve been together, and yet I am still proud as punch that you managed to hook up.

May you always listen to each other. May you cook when the other is tired. May you always find a new way to entertain the other, even when that entertainment consistests of the somebody trying to limbo just a little bit lower......

But mostly: My you always be in love.

Signs of the Season - Part 2

The wind comes off the waterfront like a dark knife, cutting even deeper through our clothes than the rain. While the big ships grind their way through Elliot Bay, the rest of us pull inward, hiding from the elements.

We know the cold. We know the wind, the relentless gray. We know the mist that drags the sky down to the ground, until it sits over us as a funeral cowl.

Wind, rain, sleet, fog: These are the things that define fall in the northwest.

Two Patches, Still No Pirates

Over the past three weeks, my grandfather has had cataract surgery on both eyes. So far, the difference has been striking. What used to be yellowish-gray is white again. Signs have words. People are more than indistinct blobs.

For someone who has spent most of their life making images, this is a very special thing, and I for one am very glad that we have the technology to do things like this.

Still, I think the patches would look better if they were made of black leather with a strap to keep them in place. Arr, matey!

Meet Kasey!

This is Kasey, a two-year old Australian Shepard mix, and the newest addition to the Johnson clan.

We rescued Kasey from the Seattle Humane Society. Like so many dogs brought to the pound, we have very little information on where she was before, other than the fact that she was brought in pregnant and severely underweight.

After weening her little brood (and subsequently being spayed), she was brought out into the adoption area, where we met her literally the second she was available.

From the moment I looked into the inquisitive brown eyes and felt her calm, curious nature, I knew this was the dog we were looking for.

Though it's been less than 12 hours since we've had her, she's already wormed her way into our hearts. She's incredibly quiet, happy to go in the car, very gentle with everybody (and animals) she meets, and all in all seems to be the perfect dog. This is not hyperbole, Suzette and I have spent most of today looking at each other and saying, "I've never had a dog like this."

There seems to be only two downsides to Kasey. One is that she sheds, and sheds a LOT. Thank goodness for the nice worker at PetSmart who turned us on to the FURminator, which is going to be a godsend for dealing with her long coat.

The only other issue? She seems to be camera shy.

That is going to change.

Signs of the Season - Part 1

When you come across a flatbed full of Halloween paraphernalia, it can only mean that October is in full swing and that fall is here.

Seeing these made me remember the times when my mom would take my sister and myself through the streets of Wallingford, going from house to house until we could barely lift our candy-laden plastic pumpkins.

I miss those times. I often think how much fun it would be to dress up as Batman, then traipse around the neighborhood begging for treats.

Now days, I fear I wouldn't get any treats, only jail time.

Sigh....

The Accoutrements of Beauty

Let's take a moment to think beyond "end use," to that very first impulse behind the urge to buy. What makes you want to purchase something? To give your money in return for a specific product, yes. But why that product? Why that moment to give away something you've worked hard for?

Often the answer is easy. Because it is necessary for survival: food; mortgage or rent; gas and electric bills so you can stay warm.

But why do we pay for stupid things? Products that nobody actually needs to live, but which may or may not inject a measure of satisfaction into one's daily life.

Pendelton makes a cologne. An artist creates an atomizer out of a dead sea urchin. They are both ways of making ourselves smell better. But why? This isn't the 18th century, when taking a bath was something you did on your wedding day, and rarely before or after. Indoor plumbing has made personal hygiene quick and easy.

Simply put, we want these products because somebody told us we want these products.

And isn't it amazing what happens when somebody tells us to do it? We start to feel an urge; a tingle; a deep-seated unrest that will not -- can not -- be filled until we possess the object in question.

That is why we buy these things, and it is the same reason why humans do so much of what we do.

Because somebody tells us we should.

And on that note: You should all hire me for your product pictures immediately. If you don't, that tingle you feel in the base of your skull will just get worse. Trust me.

Two Pies, No Waiting

Fall has blustered its way into the Pacific Northwest and that means only one thing. Pies!

My wife made two pies today, an amazing apple pie with the last of the apples from our yard, and a killer Shepard's Pie recipe by Gordon Ramsey.

A nice glass of hot chocolate, a good book, and some pie. That's what fall is about.

Wallingford Traffic Circle

I am perfectly fine in having something "art-y" and fun be a centerpiece of a nearby traffic circle, but I'm honestly not sure what to make of this.

An old-school desk and chair left in the dirt? Why?

Is the whole point for it to sit in place, letting ivy and morning glory cover the furniture, eventually rotting to become a physical representation of the loss of public schools in Seattle?

Or did somebody get lazy and just dump some old furniture and skip town?