The Patron Saint of What no.

"First you will hate Peter. Then you will hate the day you were born."

-Peter Porcal

Passing it on.

  I was thinking the other day about how Maestro Porcal could very well be one of the last remaining scholars on earth. At least one of the last that has devoted his life to sharing wisdom with the peasants rather than lining up in the patent office. Peter says often, to the immediate discomfort of his students, "Peter will die soon. But you, beautiful children, will never die." 
  This is a ruse. I wouldn't be surprised if he had lived through the renaissance itself, conversed with Michelangelo ("Mike" as he calls him), or lectured in greek to a group of budding philosophers. We all love the posh way he dresses but I think he's more suited to a toga when he stands proud in front of his bright-eyed pupils.
  Peter Porcal has been a part of the Florence program since it began about 36 years ago. My high school art teacher was taught by this man in Florence the year I was born, yet she still finds every opportunity to speak highly of him. There's something to be said about a man who chooses to remain in the company of individuals that have such an interesting and sometimes volatile relationship with their emotions. I just don't know what that thing to be said happens to be.
  I do know that he cares for people. Not just the people he's being paid to care for, because I don't think that he gives a flying fart about how much he's being paid, but anybody that could appreciate what he has to offer. 
  We were in Venice for a weekend in October to absorb the history of a sinking city. Peter took us on quite the hike from cathedral to cathedral with barely a seat in between. Most of us are in our early to mid twenties and were exhausted, but Peter kept his composure in spite of the limp he was walking with.
  I remember I was  leaning against the railing on a ferry heading across the canal on the way back to our hostel when he baffled me. He was closer to the middle of the "standing room only" and there were about three passengers between him and myself. One of the passengers was a young blind man of about 25. He seemed to be handling the sway of the boat but you could tell it strained him more than was comfortable. I'm not going to lie and tell you I would've helped him. If he had fallen I would have caught him of course but I must've assumed he was used to being troubled with balance on the ferry and stood aside, cautiously watching, making sure not to stare. This was all in a few moments. Peter reacted so quickly. He was somewhat unstable himself yet in a blur of greyish hair and polite requests, he stabilized the man with a friendly arm. This should have made us all look bad but that's not Peter's style. In fact, I may have been the only one to notice (purely by chance) his subtle act of kindness. I watched as Peter's presence and conversation put a smile on the man's face. My little understanding of Italian told me they were strangers to each other, engaging only in small talk. But I think Peter knows that for some people, small talk can do big things. 
  I hope I don't betray his modesty in writing this but I thought that those who know him would enjoy that simple, character reinforcing story of Peter. And for those that don't know him, it might be nice to know that there are a few people out there that don't abuse their influence. There are people who respect the power they have as a mentor to young people in transition. Even after 36 years of being worshipped.

Everyday on our Knees.

"We have met the enemy and he is us"

-Pogo

Reconsidering rosaries.

  Mass is in service in the congregation of creative people. A church that gives certain sects of christianity a run for their money in number of tears shed and minds lost. There is no priest. There are no pews. Not even a confession booth or delicious little wafers. Only desperate newcomers and somewhat less desperate veterans searching for that sweet moment when inspiration hits. Their bodies convulse and they fall to the ground with hands stretched out, scraping along a canvas or notebook. They may speak in tongues but that's usually a result of a bit too much sacramental wine (A popular ritual). This moment is so fleeting. It's cruelty incarnate. 

  But have you heard the good news? Two men, in the early 1990s wrote a book. It has been my bible as of September 2010, passed on to our Florence community by another David Bayles and Ted Orland witness. The name of the book is "Art & Fear: Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking" and it is good. 

  If your art is an obsession and a lover like it is to most of us, then it would be safe to say that your process doesn't follow reason. Your art is an abusive spouse but it's way too good in bed for you to leave it. Fortunately though, Human rights do not yet apply to your art (however sentient it may seem sometimes) and it is generally accepted to gag and bind it until it meets only your needs. This book is a supportive friend with a knack for tying knots. 

An excerpt from the introduction:

  "THIS BOOK IS ABOUT MAKING ART. Ordinary art. Ordinary art means something like: all art not made by Mozart. After all, art is rarely made by Mozart-like people--essentially (statistically speaking) there aren't any people like that. But while geniuses may get made once-a-century or so, good art gets made all the time." 

-Art & Fear by David Bayles and Ted Orland