Kenney Mencher

Iconography: Pisano, Martini, Duccio, Giotto and Lorenzetti

2012-02-01T16:44:00.001-08:00

"Caller I.D." oil on canvas 36"x36"x1.5" inches framed

2012-01-28T09:00:00.000-08:00

"Well, well. You're the first woman I've ever met who said yes when she meant yes."

I'd like to invite you to the next three receptions of my show "Renovated Reputations"

Fiction, Art, and Fun!

Gray Finder oil on panel 16"x20"	Santa Clara University, California January 9 - February 5th Reception: Thursday February 2, 2012 5PM-7PM Unfortunately the art building does not have a physical street address. It is located on the Alameda, at the intersection of Bellomy St, Park Ave, and the Alameda. If you look on google maps, the building name is visible there.
Ginger Bread 10"x8" oil paint on canvas panel	Elliott Fouts Gallery, Sacramento California February 4th - March 1st, 2012. Reception: Saturday February 11th 6PM-9PM 4749 J. Street Sacramento, CA 95819 Phone (916) 736-1429
Phil A. Buster oil on masonite panel 10"x8"	Ohlone College, Fremont California February 7th - March 9th Reception, Saturday, February 25, 2012 6PM - 8PM Louie Meager Art Gallery in the Smith Center at Ohlone College, 43600 Mission Blvd. Fremont, California 94539

Perspectives: Saint Francis, Cimabue and Giotto

2012-01-27T19:12:00.001-08:00

Write a story about Gray Finder and Win the Pencil Drawing of Gray

2012-01-25T21:32:00.000-08:00

Write a story about Gray Finder and Win the Pencil Drawing of Gray

Contest Ends Monday January 30th

Round #2 of Renovated Reputations will culminate in three shows.

Santa Clara University, California
January 9 - February 5th
Reception: Thursday February 2, 2012
It is located on the Alameda, at the intersection of Bellomy St, Park Ave, and the Alameda.

Ohlone College, Fremont California
February 7th - March 9th
Reception, Saturday, February 25, 2012
6PM - 8PM
Louie Meager Art Gallery
Ohlone College, 43600 Mission Blvd.
Fremont, California 94539

Elliott Fouts Gallery, Sacramento California
February 4th - March 1st, 2012.

The story you write should be a "Flash Fiction" which is a complete story in one thousand or fewer words.

The story you write should be a "Flash Fiction" which is a complete story in one thousand or fewer words. Please post the story in the comment section, you will have to provide your name and an email address in order to be qualified to win or you can e-mail me at kmencher@ohlone.edu with your info.

There is a problem with how many characters can post (only about 4,000) so if you cannot post it.

E-mail it to me at kmencher@ohlone.edu

This is the second version of this show!

Stories will be published in a vintage style newspaper catalog and the gallery will be converted into a 1930 or 40's cabaret set and students will be acting the stories out as monologues at some of the events at the college in the art gallery.

More competitions posted on my website at:
http://www.kenney-mencher.com/

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These came in by e-mail:

By Denise Nomura

My father was that type of guy who rarely ever smiled. Of course, at first glance, he looks like the kind of guy who would be enthusiastic and very humorous. If only that were the case. He's the type of guy who was rarely ever impressed. His father, my grandpa, was that way, so I suppose I see where he gets it. Also, he's the CEO of an extremely successful banking company, so I guess his job requires him to be that way.
So my whole life, I've tried to do something impressive enough to win a blue-moon smile from my dad. I played football, baseball, and basketball; got 4.0's in high school; graduated the top of my class. I was just basically the ideal kid. Or at least from the surface. Because of the pressure of school, my extra-curriculars, and trying to impress my father; I did almost every drug you can think of. You'd think it would interfere with my school life, but I would never allow that. Even if I was high off my ass; I still attended every class, did every assignment, even took exams a couple of times. Because what's worse than his mutual look, was his disappointed look. Which I learned in the fourth grade when I dropped the winning touchdown pass in my junior football team's final game. After that, I vowed to my young self to never see that face ever again.
When my grandma passed away, I flew home from college to comfort my father. Because his own father was so hard on him, his mom had to be his comfort zone. She welcomed his father's disappointments with open arms and a batch of cookies. She was the most important person in the world to my father, so I knew he would take her passing very hard.
As, I had suspected, my father was in his study with a bottle of whiskey in hand.
"Hi dad." I whispered. Partially because I felt I was interrupting, and he wasn't exactly the friendliest drunk in the world. But I figured that seeing his only son after being away at college for so long, who came home simply to console him, would change that.
I was wrong. He looked up at me with an irritated glare. "Huh." He said, as though the only greeting I deserved for interrupting his wallowing was a simple grunt.
"Okay, I'll just come back later." I half whimpered as I let myself out.
In that second, it's as though all of the seeded resentment and that feeling of overall feeling unappreciated took over my body as I turned around and slammed the door open. "You know what dad?!" I yelled. He sat up, startled. "Yeah, it sucks that grandma's gone, but you know what sucks even more!? Leaving all of your classes behind, the week before finals, just to come home to be a shoulder to lean on for the one person that would never appreciate it!" As I was saying this, my father had a look of shock plastered on his face. "And you know what?! Fuck this! I don't need to be here for you when you've never been there for me!" And with that, I leaned in, grabbed the door handle, and slammed it behind me as I strode out of the house in a rage.
Before I knew it, I was at my old dealer's house. We greeted each other and then immediately got down to business. After I went to college, I forgot how good it felt to light up. I think I blacked out for a while, only to be woken up by my cell phone. It was my mother.
"Danny, where are you?" She asked with concern in her voice.
"I'm at a friend's house, ma. What'dya want?" I didn't mean to sound so snooty towards her, but I couldn't help it.
"Grandma's funeral is in an hour. I hope you have your speech down because you're speaking first. I just wanted to let you know before we left. Do you need a ride, sweetie?" My stomach dropped into my friend's basement...
"No, it's okay, mom. I'll walk there." At that moment, I realized that our church was a city away.
"Are you sure, baby? We can always swing by to get you." I didn't want my mother to see me in this state, also, I needed to sober up.
"Yeah, it's totally fine, mom. I need to get a little off my mind anyways."
"Okay, hun. See you there!"
"'Kay, thanks, mom." As I hung up the phone, I got up and ran out of the house. I nearly fell down the stairs on my friend's porch, but in that moment, I didn't care. I just needed to remember exactly where I was, and how to get to the church. It took what seemed like fifteen minutes, which probably only took one, but I finally oriented myself and started sprinting.
I got to the church four minutes early, and in that time, I realized that I went to my grandmother's funeral in an old band tee, some ripped jeans, and a pair of Chuck Taylors. I shook my head to forget about it, because there was nothing I could do at this point. I thought of, what I thought, was the perfect speech in two minutes. Then I instantly went to look for my mother.
Thank God, my father was nowhere to be found. Not only would it be awkward because I had just yelled at him for the first time ever on the day of his dear mother's funeral... But because I was so insanely under-dressed, I would almost instantly earn a "disappointed look," and that's the last thing I needed at this point. My mother pulled me to the front, where we sat.
In what seemed like seconds, I was being called up to make my speech. I was so nervous. Usually public speaking was my forte. But I was still a bit high, I was feeling self-conscious about my attire, and I knew I would be making this speech in front of my father. I got up to the podium, looked around to find my father's face. And when I finally did, I felt my stomach drop again. But this time, I felt this salty taste in my mouth....
Yes, I threw up at my grandma's funeral. In front of every one. On her casket.
I was so embarrassed. I only stayed for mere seconds to see the disgust on my family's faces. Then I left as fast as I could and just started running. Before I knew it, I was home. I ran upstairs to my old room as fast as I could, and just hid under my covers. I began to sob in embarrassment. I must've cried myself to sleep, because when I woke up, it was night time.
I dare not go downstairs, or anywhere for that matter. So I stayed in my room and just tried to think of anything but today.
Nearly minutes after I awoke, I heard the front door open. I looked up at the ceiling and asked why he was so cruel to me. As soon as the door shut, I heard my father's deep footsteps come up the stairs. I clamped my eyes shut and pretended the best that I could to be asleep. Of course, it would look worse that I was sleeping after I had just ruined my grandmother's wedding, but it beat facing my father that night.
My door opened, and I heard him walk towards my bed. He turned on my desk lamp and sat next to me on my bed.
"Turn around, I know you're up." He said with certainty.
His confidence showed me that I wasn't fooling anyone, so I turned over right away. I looked at him as he sat there, facing forward, with his elbows on his knees and his shoulders slumped. He finally turned to look at me, gave me the faintest, yet largest smile I'd ever seen from him, and said, "So how high were you?"

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Life inBlack and White by Patrick Nelson

Gray slammed his fist into thesteering wheel, but the weak little bleating of his mini cooper's horn couldn'tcome close to expressing the rage he felt right then. Other drivers on the rampmerging onto the freeway with him this sunny afternoon responded in kind byblaring their horns too. They assumed he was complaining about theirdriving. They had no idea that thesource of his anger was not them but a certain mutton-chopped slacker someeight miles away that he was racing off to confront.

He looked at the giant dent andmultitude of scratches on the hood. He glared frequently at the spiderweb-likecracks in his windshield. His mental snapshot of the smashed headlamps dangling from their socketsturned red in his hot brain.

Heknew it was Kirby. He didn't even have to hear the eyewitness accounts of thedozens of student and faculty onlookers--no--gawkers that told him how this skinny kid with the crazy hair wentto town on the professor's little car with an aluminum softball bat. Some wereeven still laughing when Gray came out and discovered the rape of his mini.

No matter what he thinks Gray did, hehad no right to do that to his car! Gray thought back to his confrontation withthe boy two days before. He hadn't hit him or threatened him, well, he had threatened him a little...but Graywas not serious. How could he be? He was just a man, a professor who wassticking his nose where it didn't belong. He was just just looking out for hisfriend and former student, Eliza. He was helping her because she would neverask for it and he felt somewhere deep inside that she really needed it, right?That's why he stepped out of his usual mind-your-own-business and just getthrough life pathway and ran headlong into her problems.

Gray never felt close to anybody hiswhole life: his mother, his few girlfriends or his fellow workers at thecommunity college. No extracurricular activities moved him. The only thing thatcreated even a brief spike in the flatline that his life had become was art. Hecould only connect with other people through its study or its actual creation.Some students and one or two other artists in the area where allowed into hissocial foyer, and they were not permitted to even hang up their coats or hatsthere. They were kept at arm's length, politely and charmingly entertained byGray, his art, and his knowledge of it.

Then came Eliza. She was as differentas Arp was to El Greco. She understood art on the emotional level that Graydid, but she also lived life as art.As he tried to teach her the tactics and antics of the masters. She tried toteach him how to live beyond the canvas or the clay. He had always felt lifewas beneath art and had never really felt alive unless he was somehow tethered to it. Yoked. She stretched his umbilicaland made him see a glimpse of the world and why it had inspired so many to putit down with oil and brush. The awe and the anguish that drove men mad or tothe easel, or both. Why they createdor recreated.

From the first day in his class, Elizaand Gray became great friends. Sheasked him out for coffee that firsttime. They continued from there spending many hours together in and out of theclassroom and the galleries and museums. He even grew to love her. Not in asexual way, that would ruin the magical friendship he had discovered. Besides,he was up for tenure and if there was even a whiff of inappropriate behavior,well, that just made him cringe.

She came close to snapping the lineand making Gray actually become a real walking, talking human, but in the endhe became afraid. Through a few fretful days and nights of not answering hisphone, he managed to push Eliza back out into the cold. It was the only way hewas equipped to deal with it...

Many months later, he managed tofeebly explain to her why their friendship had to "reduce." She saidshe already knew why but wished he had handled it better. He did too, and nowfelt even worse about what he had done to her.

He hadn't spoken with her for monthswhen he heard two friends of Eliza's talking about "the poor girl."Gray got up the courage to ask them if she was ill. Since they knew about hisfriendship with her, they told him her dirty little secret.

Gray had not known she was seeingsomeone seriously. Why would he? He was the one who pushed her away. But tohear of the abuse and that this new lover had started her "using" wassimply unbelievable to him. She always seemed so strong and smart. How could asilly, stupid boyfriend bring her so low? No, he didn't believe it. Yet...hefelt like he should do something. Something to help her, but what?

That same day, he came up with the idea totalk to the boyfriend. He looked up her current address in the registrar'soffice. He drove to her house, knocked on the door and was invited in by theboy. Eliza wasn't home, but Gray could come in and wait as she should be backany minute. Gray came in, sat down and wondered what Eliza saw in thispurposefully disheveled little bald baboon.

Gray didn't intend for it to turn intothe shouting match and he certainly didn't know where the threats to "bashhis fucking face in" came from, but then again, Gray wasn't a master ofsocial interaction. He left the boyfriend there before Eliza returned, but hehad flexed his ego and his intellect and left the young man saying he wouldn'thurt her anymore. How had he even gotten the boy to admit his abuse? It stillboggled his mind. It felt good, though. For the next two days, he had aswagger, a social emergence. He felt good about himself. It didn't matter thatit came at the baby-man's expense. He found himself chatting with strangers andsmiling at women. He even agreed to meet some of the other teachers for asoftball game that weekend. He felt good about helping Eliza and that sort ofmultiplied in his life creating a healthy dividend of human interaction.

Now, these two days later, he wasswerving in front of a Benz delivery truck because he almost missed the exit.He gave the angry driver the finger and took the ramp at top speed. He never drovethis fast. What was wrong with him? It was as if he were floating six feetabove himself yelling to stop when someone else was behind the wheel.

He slammed on his brakes in Eliza'sfront lawn and one of his sickly headlamps flew free of the mini cooper andbounced across the grass. Whatever fire and ire that had almost died in hisfurnace was reborn.

"Little fucker's gonna pay!"He fumed.

He flew across to the porch and sawthe door was open. He heard a woman inside crying. Eliza. As he entered, hespied an aluminum softball bat by the dining room table and snatched itgripping it firmly. His resolve was bolstered by the sobbing of his dearfriend. He now saw himself in his mind as a knight coming to save a woman indanger. He pictured pulling the boy off Eliza and giving him the beatingintended for her.

He was shocked and sickened by thereality he found. Eliza was laying on the floor by the bed. She was holdingKirby's hand tightly. Kirby was laying on the unmade bed with a blank stare anda needle in his arm. Death of Marat came to mind.

Elizalooked up through a tangle of tear-soaked black hair. Anger took her featuresand distorted them into an ugly grimace.

"This is your fault!" Shecroaked between sobs. "Why couldn't you just leave us alone? Why did youhave to become human? Did you feel like you had to fucking save me?"

Gray slumped back against the doorframe.

"You came here and just made itworse!" she howled.

Gray couldn't bring himself to evenlook at her so he just stared down at the bat he held limply in his hand. Helet go of it and it pinged to the carpet.

On his way home, Gray got a call fromone of the other teachers.

"Hey, Gray!" he said overthe static. "We still on for softball?"

Gray said, "no" and hung up.

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Power of Hope by Payal Gupta

"You are of no any good. You can't do anything. Go away; you are the burden to the family and society."

He was silent, there was something burning and keeping his hope intact.

There was calm on his face but his heart was burning like volcano, eyes were full of hope.

Though his mouth was shut but seems it is saying, wait.

Days and nights, weeks and month, year after year pass by.

"What are you doing man? Why don't you do anything good, this will not result to anything?"

"Look what this guy is doing, painting all the time", mocked Sally, ha -ha- ha.

“What you said sally”, asked sarcastically David, “Oh yes painting”.

The day came, Gray paintings made their ways into the annual art exhibition.

There were all praise for his thoughts behind his paintings; he gave his painting the power of silence.

Seems his paintings were saying silently, keep your faith intact, no hurdle can stop you.

“Ladies and Gentleman, It's my pleasure to introduce you Mr. Gray”, Prof. Matt said in his introductory speech.

“Meet the Picasso of our time Mr. Gray; all his paintings are giving message of peace, hope brother hood without speaking a word”.

Mr. Gray would you like to say something!.

“HOPE”, that's what only Gray said in his feeble but firm voice.

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by Stephanie Pellegrini

Gray Finder looks like your average Joe, he could be the man that works behind the meat counter at the grocery store or the post man that drops off the mail. But here’s something you would never guess about Finder, when he was 35 years old he witnessed a bank robbery, at least that's what he claimed. The cops had questioned him after the incident and Gray had told the police all the details he remembered from that Wednesday morning in March.

Finder looked nervous in the small interview room of the police department. He couldn't stop tapping his empty coke can on the metal table. When the officer finally showed up Gray sat straight up in his chair and started from the beginning. It was about 11:30 am when he walked into the bank because he was on his lunch break, depositing a check. He remembers being at the counter with the teller and hearing loud scream behind him coming through the doors. When Gray turned around he saw a 5'8" white male with a ski mask. All he remembers from his face were these round piercing eyes and the deep voice that demanded he get down to the floor.

Everyone in the bank stayed on the floor and waited for the police in hope that they would come to their rescue. Gray mentioned that the man in the ski mask was in the bank vault for approximately two minutes and thirty seconds and then walking out with bills and jewels in a bag. Finder being very helpful provided a sketch from what he remembers, of the mans eyes before the robber walked right out the front door.

The police took Gray Finders interview and sketch and continued to search for more evidence of this mystery bank robber. Gray Finder left the police station that very same day of the robbery at 4:00 pm in the afternoon. The police tried to contact him a week later with some follow up questions but Gray Finder was never found. The police finally had gotten the security footage from the bank a few weeks after the robbery and viewed the tapes. While they watched the tapes they noticed that in the time frame of the robbery they didn't notice Gray on the floor by the teller desk like he explained. In fact they never saw anyone who half resembled Gray Finder that whole morning who came into the bank. The detectives also noticed that the bag was in no way see through so they questioned how Finder knew how much money and jewels were stolen that day along with the exact time frame he was in the vault.

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The Man In Grey by Tyler Polani

He was 6 feet 5 inches, broad shoulders and big feet. He always wore a grey polo, black slacks with black dress shoes. He had always lived in town and everyone knew him, but no one knew his name. No one ever asked because it had never seemed that important, he was known and people had respect for him. When others laughed hysterically, he would only grin. There was much mystery and secrecy behind this man. He always minded his own business, never seen during the day, only at night at restaurants or bars with fellow townsmen. It was unknown as to where this man lived or what he even did for a living. One day a little girl walked up to him and asked, "What's your name mister?" He smiled big, for the first time ever seen, and replied, "The man in grey."

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The Lost and Not Found by Gregory Bush

Gray Finder was a college professor at a prestigious university on the east coast. Amongst his colleagues, Finder was a reserved fellow. Even his students found him quite odd; some students would say that at the end of lectures he would be the first one out the door. Unbeknownst to his students and colleagues, Gray Finder came from a family of hunters. Specifically speaking, the hunters in his family hunted down legendary creatures such as Wolfman and Dracula. Through generations, every male in the Finder family managed to hunt down a legendary creature; in a sense, it has become tradition. However, that tradition had come to a complete stop on the day of December 20, 1991. Before Gray became a college professor, he would go on trips with his father. These were no ordinary father-son trips, these were days even weeks long trips to hunt down the legendary, Sasquatch. On the night of December 20th, Gray Finder was sitting in his tent along with his father telling ghost stories. It was a stormy night; the winds pulled the trees back and forward. Gray’s father heard a sound and told his son, “Stay here, it could be the Sasquatch!” Gray’s father ran out to see for himself carrying a flashlight and a rifle. Gray screams “Dad No,” as he stumbles and trips into a puddle of mud. His father takes his attention from the sound to see his son covered in mud. The wind is so strong that it knocks Gray’s father over and him dropping the flash light in the process. All of a sudden, the father and son see a shadowy figure in the near distance. A roar is heard from the direction of the figure. As the figure comes closer, the roars get louder. It turns out that the dark figure is in fact the Sasquatch. Gray’s father tells him not to move as the Sasquatch won’t be able to smell or see him since he’s covered in mud. Gray is only a couple of feet from the tent. The Sasquatch sees that the flashlight is still on and shining its light on the tent. The Sasquatch begins walking toward the tent in which Gray mistakenly believes that it’s coming for him. With Gray full of fear, he goes against his father’s order and runs toward him. The beast nearly grabs a hold of the boy but is shot at by Gray’s father. In an act of rage, the Sasquatch with its sharp claws slashes father’s face. Soon after, the large creature goes off into the woods to tend to its wound. As his father lied in his own blood, Gray sat right by him. With his last words, he told Gray “I’m sorry… son.” The young Gray Finder told his father that he should not be sorry in that he gave his life for his son. After his father gave his last breath, Gray vowed to hunt down the Sasquatch for him and his father. In 2011, it is the day of his father’s death; Gray plans on keeping the promise he made to his father. A whole month as gone by and Gray Finder has yet to return from his search.

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Gray Finder by Laura Gonsalves

Gray Finder finished his contraption that he predicted would cause a ripple in the space-time continuum, thus creating a window for time travel. Working for the U.S. government for the war effort afforded him the use of equipment not readily available to the public. His device essentially consisted of two electrically charged metal plates inside of a vacuum, thus creating an environment that has no gravity. Since gravity and time are interrelated, if you negate gravity, you can negate time. It was time to test the device. He stepped into the “Faraday cage” housing the device and sat in the chair that he placed in the center, inside of a shed in his backyard. He thought for a moment before flipping the switch. Would he fry himself beyond recognition? This was the moment he had been preparing for throughout all the years of college and research, studying math and physics, pouring over all of Einstein’s work. If he was correct, he would find a way to time travel.

He flipped the switch on the electrical cable that powered the generators. Everything went black for Gray. When he came to, he found himself flat on his back laying on grass. Where was he? He stood up and looked around and the shed was gone that housed his device. He was in someone’s back yard but seeming not his own. He glanced into the back patio sliding door and looked into the house and saw pictures on the wall, none of which looked familiar. His heart was now pounding with fear and excitement. He saw unfamiliar devices in the house with a large black screen on the wall. He saw a divice on the kitchen table that looked like a telephone, but with no cable. He walked around to the gate and walked out the driveway down the street. Looking at the address, the address was the same has his own address, 3671 but the house looked nothing like his. He saw the street sign, “Miramar Street and Skyline Boulevard”. This was his house but somehow changed. He wanted to knock on the door but it appeared that no one was home. There was a sign in front of the house that said, “For Sale, Bank Foreclosure”. Gray was now scared out of his wits.

He had to somehow find the date. He walked to Skyline Boulevard to see if he could find any familiar surroundings. He saw a store with people going in and out of called “7-11”. He walked in and looked at a newspaper. The date said July 30, 2012. He asked the store clerk what day it was and he replied, “It’s Sunday”. No he said, “What is todays date?” The store clerk looking somewhat annoyed at this point said, “It’s the 30^th”. That seemed to solidify what Gray suspected. He was catapulted into the future. His device worked. “My God”, he thought. That is my house, and the cars look so different. What to do now? Should he tell anyone? Who could he tell? No-one knew about his time travel experiment. Before he powered up his device it was April 5, 1944. His hands were now trembling with fear. He thought for a moment. I have to buy this newspaper to see what’s happening. He looked at the newspaper and saw the price, $1.50. That was almost all the money he had in his pocket. He paid for the newspaper in quarters. “Wow these are silver”, said the store clerk. He replied, “Yes they are”. The store clerk replied, “Are you sure you want to pay for that newspaper with these coins? They may be worth something...” Each bit of conversation only hammered home that fact that he was way far away from anything familiar with no apparent way to get back. The neighborhood he lived in was now changed permanently. Gray took the newspaper and walked outside and vomited. The store clerk leaned over the counter and asked, “Are you OK?” Gray just walked away very quickly. There were now stores where there was once and empty field at the end of Skyline Boulevard. Gray found a coffee shop with tables and chairs in front called “Starbucks”. He sat down and read the newspaper. The headline read, “Occupy Oakland Protesters Storm City Hall”, “Drone Strikes Resume on Pakistan”. Gray though, is the U.S. now at war with Pakistan? That made no sense at all. What about the war with Germany and Japan? Was that war over? It didn’t appear as if there were Germans and Japanese soldiers in charge anywhere. All this was a bit much for Gray to accept all at once. “And what about my wife?” Gray though “Was she still alive?” And why did I land in the year 2012? Why not 2500? Why not 3000 or why not 1493 or some other date in the past? It’s not like there was a dial to select the year to travel to. This was all too new a concept to conceive of. There was only one thing left to do. Search though public records. There must be a way to find out what happened to the device, and what of his wife? Was he considered missing or dead? Gray made his way to the public library and asked the librarian information on how to find death records. He did not find his wife deceased, but he did find on microfiche his own recorded disappearance, April 5, 1944. But now what would he do? Try to contact her? There was only one thing to do. Try to recreate his device.

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Wordsof Wisdom by Tara Ingraham

"Dad, I can’tafford the funeral.” Jeff finally blurted after a pregnant silence that hadbeen building since early morning.

Ralph set hiscondescending expression upon his son for the first time since he’d been thereand muttered, “Now why in blue blazes are you worrying about that?”

Jeff stared blankly athis father “Why wouldn’t I be concerned? Don’t you want to be buried next tomom in Olive Oaks Cemetery? You know that even if you were cremated theywouldn’t let me place you in her coffin”.

“Why not, just haul outthe old shovel and pick-ax and make sure to tip-off the fat-ass grave keeperwith a stogie, a pack of Bud-Lights and a half decent porn magazine! Itshouldn’t take that long for you to pry her open and throw me in. Old Rosie didn’thave any complaints about that particular department when she was up andkicking so I don’t think she’ll have them now.”

“Ralph, I can’t believeyou’re seriously contemplating breaking into Rosie’s tomb!”

“Hey! Watch that mouthof yours before I tan your hide so bad you won’t be able to recognize it for aweek as my going away present to you! It’s father or Sir to you and mom to yourmother; you hear!”

“Why are you being sopig-headed today? Did the cancer reach your brain and bring out a second personalityor have I done something to piss you off or what; because you weren’t like thisbefore! If it’s because of the money I’ll take double or triple shifts at thispoint if I have to so just stop acting like a perverted jack-ass!”

“Good! You’re no longermoping around like Eeyore from ‘Winnie the Pooh’ when he’s lost his tail.Besides; I have all the money you could possibly need to set up the funeral soyou don’t need to worry about it.”

“What?”

“I said I already havethe money for my funeral. And I’ve already made the arrangements so you don’tneed to lose any sleep over it, but the thought that you’re willing to workyour ass off is a nice compliment I guess. Honestly I just like pushing yourbuttons because you’ve been brooding for so long that I got irritated.”

“Why didn’t you tell methis before?”

“You didn’t ask. Thatand I figured you thought I had enough brains to take care of my own issues. Imean honestly; it’s not like I didn’t think the day would come when I kickedthe bucket. I just got the short end of the straw when it came to who would gofirst.”

“What do you mean? Momdied first.”

“She sure did! And so Ihad to deal with the pain of life without her. How funny that I always saidthat I would be the first to go. Oh well, at least I have the dog to keep mecompany and her medical bills are about as bad as mine.”

“Wait! Wait! Back upfor a second. Where did you come up with the money? Didn’t it all go towardsthe hospital bills?”

”What did you think wedid with all your allowance money throughout the years?”

“I had an allowance?”

“Sure. Since you werefour years old we were saving ten dollars a week for you to go to college, butby the time you graduated we had more than enough to see you through and thensome; unless you were a complete idiot and wrecked a Mercedes bens or something.”

”Why didn’t you tell meabout this when I was growing up?”

“So you wouldn’t doanything stupid with it for one thing, to have a bit of a cushion if you didand because it wasn’t necessary or the only thing it was being saved for aftera time. It was our money so we used it when we needed it to deal with our ownissues once you were taken care of, and now it’s come in handy for the issue ofpaying for my medical expenses and fairly soon, unless God is being a prick withme or all the physicians in this building are complete morons, my funeral soyou don’t have to lose any sleep over double or triple shifts as you put it.”

“You really thought Iwas that untrustworthy when I was young?”

“Jeff, I have trustedyou to make dinners for me after having huge fights were I know your imaginingkilling me in some slow and probably painful manner. I have trusted you withthe keys to my house for the last 42 years; even after that wild party you hadthat cost us over five thousand dollars in damages. I still let you pick whatwe do for holidays sometimes; even after the skydiving incident when you pukedin mid-air with me right behind you. Jeff, I have trusted you behind the wheelof a car with me in it after seeing how you drove with your friends in collegethrough the number of speeding tickets and that u-tube video where you nearlyhad a collision due to driving on the wrong side of the road. If that isn’t atrue demonstration of trust then there is no such thing.”

They remained silentonce again considering one another. “Fine” Jeff finally stated with a smirk,“Then, tell me this: If there was anything else you wanted before God decidesto send a demon to come stick a pitchfork in your ass and ditch you in the mostsecluded part of hell so nobody needs to listen to you anymore, what would itbe?”

Ralph closed his eyes andthought for a moment, then with a look of exaltation he smirked back at his sonand whispered, “a stogie, a pack of Bud-Lights and a half decent porn magazine”.

Matt O'Malley the Winner of the Ginger Bread Fiction Contest

2012-01-25T21:27:00.000-08:00

Primordial Dreams—Matt O’Malley

“This is it?” Ginger’s roommate frowned as he looked at the petite Edwardian containing window displays of colorful teapots, trays, cups and saucers.

“Yup. We’re here.” Ginger replied cheerfully from the passenger side of the car.

“Looks like crap.” He said giving a disgusting look. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

Ginger’s roommate climbed out of the car and headed for the door of the teahouse as Ginger watched from the inside of his car. Her roommate seemed to revel in his size; walking with his shoulders back, arms cocked slightly out as if he was holding the handlebars of an invisible motorcycle. When he reached the door of the teahouse he called out, “You coming?”

Ginger tried exiting the car but a Catahua tree blocked her egress and she had to squeeze herself out which not only erased her smile but also any doubts she had of her current plans. Inside, and the hostess and Ginger followed her roommate as he maneuvered his barrel shaped body around the room until he found the table that suited him. Ginger placed an order as her roommate pulled an extra chair over from a nearby table. Her roommate then removed the hat that covered his apish dome and placed it along with his coat upon the chair he had dragged to the table.

Ginger had convinced her roommate to join her on this little journey to the far-flung town of Bolinas through subtle manipulation. She knew what he expected if he acquiesced to treating her like a woman once in a blue moon, the inevitable demand of tit for tat, something she was sure she’d avoid this afternoon.

Ginger slouched forward in her chair, her arms hanging to her sides below her knees as she prepared for what she often considered to be worst then sex with her roommate, his talking. Talking, talking and more talking. He began with a story he had told her yesterday. It was the same story he had told her a week before and several more times before that. And he did this all the time, the rehashing of a story ad-nauseam. It brought Ginger to the realization early on in their relationship that either he was stupid or he just liked hearing his head rattle. His endless monologues gave her heartburn and a nervous twitch that caused her to pound her chest to relieve the heartburn and to scratch at the itchy spot that would develop in her armpits.

And the way he told stories was like the way he had sex; selfishly, relentless, and indulgent, whereas she was not allowed to get a single word in edgewise. He would not allow her the satisfaction; that was until she learned a trick, a way to get him to momentarily pull back from his onslaught of repetitive storytelling.

The trick Ginger learned early on was to get him to eat, which he performed extremely well in a primordial sort of way; mouth open, smacking and slurping all the while. As he ate with his head inches from his plate, he would sometimes gasp for air just to say a few words but then it was back to his feasting upon whatever was in front of him. Once his plate was cleared of food of any substance, he would take a finger to wipe away any excess residue from his trough and clean his finger pornographically.

A multi-tiered pyramid shaped tray carrying scones, small sandwiches, cakes, berries and petit fours was brought to their table and Ginger’s roommate cried “That’s it?” His face resembled a young boy who just saw his dog run over by a truck. Ginger nodded and he quickly grabbed at the tray, snatching handfuls of items and piling them high on his tiny plate.

Ginger had taken her roommate to this teahouse for its location and to throw him slightly off-guard as she hoped the atmosphere of the area might soothe the savage beast enough that he could be caught unawares. It was just a matter of time before she could make her move and until then, she would just continue sitting here, feeling like a captive animal stuck watching a freak show. Ginger furrowed her brow as she pinched, picked and tasted a doorstop shaped scone.

Her roommate emptied the tray, ordered a replacement, and a pot of coffee before announcing “I gotta take a shit.” He stood and added, “And after this, maybe outside, you and I can drive somewhere and you know what they say, Ginger settles the stomach.” He laughed at his old joke Ginger heard so many times before.

As soon as he left the room, Ginger saw herself reaching into his coat pocket and taking his wallet and car keys. She then took his hat, ran from the teahouse to jump and swing from a branch of the Catahua tree before letting out a hoot and landing in the street near the driver side of his car. Ginger unlocked the car and then with the hand that still held her roommate’s hat, she curled her arm and quickly extended it as if she was going to throw a Frisbee.

But Ginger didn’t release the hat. Instead she flicked the hat into the air to catch it upon her head. She then pushed it back with her index finger and brought her finger down to her mouth to blow as if cooling a smoking gun.

Bolinas, far from the city and with no regular bus, boat or taxi transportation back, it would be hours, Ginger thought, if not days, before he was able to make it to their apartment and by then she would be gone and have him out of her life forever. She would just keep his cherished hat as a memento to remember what she did not want in a man.

Ginger’s roommate returned from the restroom, poured himself a cup of coffee and asked “Bout ready to go?”

Ginger, hatless and glassy eyed, nodded.

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All of the stories really seemed to hang together in this round of stories so I would like to publish them all in the upcoming catalog for the show at Ohlone because they all describe a facet of the portrait and they all work equally well. I think all the stories were winners so please send me some info where I can send all of you a watercolor or drawing.. Unfortunately I only have one drawing of Ginger so I think the story I liked the best was Matt O’Malley’s.

Ginger it seems, despite her smile in her portrait is actually a young woman of many sorrows ranging from jilted ex-lover to a lonely woman looking for a lover, even if just for one moment. The common thread through all the stories seems to be Ginger’s relationships to other people, especially men, and how they affect her inner thoughts and outward behavior.

I had a moment of sadness when I got to the end of Matt O’Malley’s story. The way he describes Ginger’s thoughts and her roommate’s behaviors was extremely clever and even slightly misleading. Wow! I don’t even want to give it away the ending but it contains pathos.

First, there’s Ginger’s relationship to herself. God can’t help Ginger to forgive her sins so in Mary C. Charest’s story Ginger literally needs to reflect on her own sins and either forgive herself or at the very least let herself off the hook.

“Ginger Bread” by Elizabeth Hodson and “Nickname” by Karlena Lee the motif of Ginger’s nickname, revolve around sex and loneliness. In one story Ginger’s nickname is a reward and in the other a reminder of something she’s lost. In one story she has sex and in the other she is witness to it. In one case there’s an erotically charged encounter which dispels her loneliness and in the other Ginger is accidentally witness to her lover’s erotic dalliance and it ends up creating loneliness in for her. In each case we are a witness to Ginger’s thoughts and emotions.

Mindy Nguyen also describes Ginger’s thoughts but this time we are not empathically linked to her. Instead we see them more through her ex boyfriend’s eyes. Isaac and Ginger have their own stories. It’s pretty clear that Ginger is looking to connect, but, I’ll leave you to decide why Isaac doesn’t want to connect with her. It’s a bit of an enigma to me.

Also a bit of a mystery is Ashley Mitcheom’s version of Ginger. The opening paragraph reminded me a bit of Emily Dickenson’s “Certain Slant of Light.” What put Ginger in that state of mind that seems to make a moment feel like days or hours?

The notable exception where Ginger’s thoughts and motivations are not explored is in Stephen Rogers’ story. Is Ginger really the Samaritan she appears to be or is she some sort of procuress for a more sinister purpose? Since we don’t know what she’s thinking we don’t know who she is and what she’s doing.

Thanks for writing!

Kenney

Read them all here:
http://kenney-mencher.blogspot.com/2012/01/write-story-about-ginger-bread-and-win.html

More competitions coming soon!

http://www.kenney-mencher.com/

Alyson B. Stanfield and Artbizblog

2012-01-25T08:02:00.000-08:00

I'm subscribed to a newsletter by Alyson B. Stanfield. She runs a blog and a service called Artbizblog this came to me this morning and I thought it had some good nuggets that I would share with you guys.

http://artbizblog.com/smartist

15 Steps to Take After Completing Your Artwork

On the heels of last week’s post about the importance of systems, here’s a system framework inspired by a question from Kerry Thompson.

What do you do after you’ve finished a work?

Finish the Details
The work shouldn’t be considered complete until you do the following with the physical piece.

Sign it! Sign it wherever you can, and however you do it best..
Add the date on the front, back, or underneath – where and when it’s appropriate for your medium.
Many artists don’t like to date their work on the front because it doesn’t look as fresh. That’s fine, but date it somewhere. Dating is a way that helps you claim credit for copyright and will be used by the curator that mounts a retrospective of your work in 30 years.
Again, if appropriate for your medium,make an identification card for the back that includes the complete credit line: Name, title, media, dimensions, and price. This is enormously helpful for venues.

Document It

Record details in your inventory database. Don’t let that artwork out of your site until you have done this.
Have artwork photographed, or do it yourself if you have the proper equipment.
Name image files according to your standard. Images are easier to find if they are all named in the same manner. I suggest starting the file name with your name:
lastname-abbreviatedtitle-imagesize.jpg
Add the image to your inventory record for that piece.
Resize images to three or four standard sizes that you use most often. Create a digital file folder for each artwork and differentiate your digital images using your naming convention. This takes some time to do now, but it will save you time and frustrations in the future. Using the example above, your image files might look like this:
      hart-redsky-600.jpg
      hart-redsky-300.jpg
      hart-redsky-72-300px.jpg
      hart-redsky-72-200px.jpg
File a copyright claim athttp://copyright.gov if this is part of your practice.

Tell People About It

Blog about the work. Be sure the complete credit line is visible with the image, and that viewers will know it's for sale.
Edit the text from your blog into a descriptive sentence that you can use on your website or social media profiles.
Add the descriptive sentence to your inventory database. When you do this, the sentence will always be with the work, and you can copy and paste it with abandon.
Upload the image to your website. Double check to make sure that your name and credit line is visible whenever the image is enlarged.
Upload the image to any online sales venues you use. (Etsy, RedBubble, etc.)
Share your newly completed work on social media sites.

What did I forget? Leave a comment on the Art Biz Blog.

http://artbizblog.com/after-complete

Some great videos on how to study.

2012-01-24T08:56:00.000-08:00

Some great videos on how to study. I think there were some valuable nuggets in these videos but I think only the students who already know how to study will watch them all:
http://www.samford.edu/how-to-study/

Video 1: Beliefs That Make You Fail...Or Succeed
Video 2: What Students Should Understand About How People Learn
Video 4: Putting the Principles for Optimizing Learning into Practice
Video 5: I Blew the Exam, Now What?

Introduction to Linear Perspective

2012-01-24T08:43:00.001-08:00

Another video for my students at Ohlone College. A ten minute review of how one and two point perspective work.

Rembrandt et moi

2012-01-22T23:56:00.001-08:00

Je ne suis pas de Rembrandt, mais je pense que je peux apprendre de lui. Certaines des choses que j'aime le plus à son sujet sont les choses formelles. La lumière et l'ombre lourde (clair obscur) son empâtements épais de peinture et de la composition magnifique.


Harmony Dissing en rouge, huile sur toile 24 "x24"

Henri Matisse, l'Harmonie en rouge (le dessert)

J'ai aussi creuser son contenu. L'humanité qui irradie son travail. Dans ce ainting p, Aristote avec un buste d'Homère de Rembrandt, 1653, je pense que Rembrandt ongles l'idée d'un patrimoine artistique et les rêves de chaque personne créative quand on regarde en arrière sur leur patrimoine. Homer est vraiment le premier grand penseur du monde grec du monde 800BCE et Aristote était son héritier dès l'âge d'or d'Athènes plus de quatre cents ans plus tard. Je pensais à tout cela quand j'ai fait cette peinture.

C'est un de mes étudiants préférés, qui était à moitié italien et moitié afro-américain et il a vécu dans deux mondes. L'héritage qu'il a étudié avec moi était un eurocentrique blanc et je voulais montrer comment il avait ce contexte d'artistes européens comme Matisse dans le fond.

Je pensais aussi que dans son monde il ya eu une mésentente entre le passé classique que je lui apprendre avec le monde actuel.

Acheter Harmony Dissing en rouge sur Etsy

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Posts similaires sur la technique et l'usage et l'abus de l'histoire de l'art:

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Rembrandt and Me

2012-01-22T23:24:00.000-08:00

Aristotle with a Bust of Homer by Rembrandt, 1653

I'm no Rembrandt but I do think that I can learn from him. Some of the things that I like best about him are the formal things. The heavy light and shadow (chiaroscuro) his thick impastos of paint and the wonderful composition.


Dissing Harmony in Red, oil on canvas 24"x24"

Henri Matisse, Harmony in Red (The Dessert)

I also dig his content. The humanity that his work radiates. In this painting, Aristotle with a Bust of Homer by Rembrandt, 1653, I think Rembrandt nails the idea of an artistic heritage and the dreams of every creative person when looking back at their heritage. Homer is really the first great thinker of the Greek world from around 800BCE and Aristotle was his heir from the Athenian Golden age more than four hundred years later. I was thinking of all this when I made this painting.

This is one of my favorite students who was half Italian and half African American and he lived in two worlds. The heritage he was studying with me was a white Eurocentric one and I wanted to show how he had this background of European artists like Matisse in the background.

I was also thinking that in his world there was a disharmony between the classical past that I educating him in with the present world.

Buy Dissing Harmony in Red on ETSY

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Similar blog posts about technique and the use and misuse of art history:

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Honey and Salt oil on panel 14x11 oil on masoniteB

2012-01-22T09:00:00.000-08:00

Buy her on ETSY

STRANGERS ON A TRAIN (1951)

Senator Morton (Leo G. Carroll): “Poor unfortunate girl.”

Barbara Morton (Patricia Hitchcock): “She was a tramp.”

Senator: “She was a human being. Let me remind you that even the most unworthy of us has a right to life and the pursuit of happiness.”

Barbara: “From what I hear she pursued it in all directions.”

SORRY, WRONG NUMBER

2012-01-20T21:28:00.000-08:00

Standard Deviation 16"x20"x1.5"

inches oil on canvas film noir style painting

by Kenney Mencher

SORRY, WRONG NUMBER (1948)Henry Stevenson (Burt Lancaster) to wife Leona (Barbara Stanwyck):

“I want you to do something. I want you to get yourself out of the bed, and get over to the window and scream as loud as you can. Otherwise you only have another three minutes to live.”

Buy this on Etsy

Censorship

2012-01-18T09:40:00.001-08:00

████ ██ █ ████ everything ███ █████ is █████ ████ ████ fine ████ ███ █ ██████ love █████ ██████ ███ your █████ ████ government. https://www.google.com/landing/takeaction/

A portrait is a likeness in which something is wrong with the mouth.

2012-01-16T19:30:00.000-08:00

I just finished a portrait commission of my two neighbors from down the street. Took me two weeks and several scraping downs and restarts. I really hope they like it!

Advice on on line classes? The tests?

2012-01-13T14:15:00.000-08:00

Those of you who took on-line classes. How did the teachers give tests. Were they open for 24 hours? Did they say it was open book? Advice please?

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Here are some of the responses I got back from my fellow teachers at Ohlone:

I teach online and hybrid classes and have lots of thoughts about online exams. Whether you are concerned about content, format or security, there are ways to set up the test to maximize all three.

with a single attempt and limited time allowed to complete the exam.

With regard to security, unless you are having students take the online exam right in front of you there are some things that cannot be avoided. Such as ensuring the person enrolled is the actual person taking the exam, and whether they access their text while taking it.

With the former I have no solution to offer. However, with regard to the latter I usually make an exam to be available for 48 hours, and allow open book, but give only one attempt and limit the time allowed to take the exam, with a forced close/submission.

I also include short answer and/or essay questions requiring critical thinking and not a rote answer from the text. So even if they have their book in front of them, the answers won't all be there.

As Kim Stiles noted, It is true that students can review exams if they have access to their grade. But they cannot review them until the exams have been graded. If the exams are set up with all closed-ended questions, the grading will be automatic and immediate, so students taking the exam earlier would be able to review and share the answers with others who have not yet taken the test. But students can also tell others about thequestions on the exam after taking it and before review is available.

However, if you include any questions that require manual grading, like short answer or essay, the grading is not automatic and students will not be able to review their exams until grading is complete. If you put off grading the exams until after the exam period has been closed, the scenario described by Kim Stiles can be avoided.

Giving online exams can provide quality assessments of student learning and be convenient for the instructor. The trick is knowing the limits and working around them.

I hope this information helps.

Good luck,

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Please be aware that as long as students have access to their grades on their grade center in Blackboard they will have access to the test. All they do is click their grade in their grade center and they get to review the test "unlimited times" regardless of how you program or set up the exam.

In nursing, we give all our exams on-line and the exam content has to remain secure. Until this glitch gets fixed, I am not allowing students access to the Blackboard grade center. They get their grade immediately after the exam when we allow them to review the exam immediately after taking it in a proctored environment and then I block access to the exam for the class and that is it.

I would advise testing your exam settings- with a student through their view of all aspects of the course and what they can click on- before going live with an exam whose content you want to have secure. If they are doing exams at home, your test content is not secure anyway so you can ignore this email.
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You can set a time limit for the test and then also have a period of time in which they an go in and take it. For instance, you could give them 30 minutes for 25 questions and then give them a week in which to do it. Once they open it they have only 30 min. Also, you can randomize the order (which I recommend) and you can also make a pool and give student different questions. I never state it is open book, but you just have to know it is. If you limit the time, they may have trouble if they had never read the material. If the point is to just have them look at particular material, then don't bother with a time limit. Anyhow, I thought I would chime in.
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My experience is to make them available for 24 hours but limit the time the student has to finish the exam once they begin. Blackboard supports this. You can also randomize the questions and randomize the multiple choice answers ( don't use "all the above" or "none of the above"). It is best to use as many essay or short answer questions as possible. Hiding the results of the exam until all exams are complete reduces collaboration.

Online exams are obviously not the same as monitored exams. This does not mean that an online exam can't be just as effective in validating a students level of understanding. Usually the exams in online courses comprise less of the overall grade than for in-class courses but if properly constructed, they can effectively assist in determining a students level of understanding.

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I'm just setting up my first tests on Blackboard. You can set a test to be available for a certain amount of time (such as 24 hours or a week period). You can also set the test to be taken in one sitting, or so the student can return and do it in parts.

Personally, my quizzes are set for 30 minutes in one sitting, but available all week. This accounts for students who may have conflicting schedules. The clock starts when the student initiates the test and is set to save all answers when the time expires. It's closed book, on the honor system.
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Rarely allow them from home. Online testing from within the classroom atmosphere. Use the lockdown browser to minimize net searches. Usually build questions in a format that open book would not help.
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First, I upload the test bank from the instructor's resource site into a POOL. Then I create tests using the Pool of questions. This way, you do not have to type the entire test.

After creating the test, you have to make it available to students and choose all of your options. I make the test available for a certain time (say 7 days). You can have students submit the test and NOT have the answers show until ALL students have finished it. I ALWAYS time the test and FORCE COMPLETION. In addition, I always RANDOMIZE the questions so that students cannot work together. In addition, I TELL students that the test has software that will make the test CRASH if they use the Internet or click away from the site (this is not true--I tried to embed the code, but the test crashed with it. So now, I just put the warning message--kind of like a fake BAY ALARM sign).

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Dfferent ways. Sometimes they are just quizzes designed to reinforce the subject matter. These generally are not timed and are open for a week or weeks.

Big tests, such as Midterm, final, are timed, and are available only for the amount of time it takes to give the test. "Adaptive Release" can be used to accommodate the various schedules of different students. Or you can insist that they all take it at the same time, though this works against the online thing.

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I always do the tests on a Sunday. I tell the students that in my syllabus and email them before the semester even starts. That way they can plan their schedule. (I map out my online schedule in advance so the test days are posted.)

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KENNY PEINT by Lawren Farber

2012-01-12T17:56:00.000-08:00

KENNY PEINT by Lawren Farber

Artey Peint, Fifth Avenue’s most famous contemporary art dealer, was deep into his Sunday routine. His wife had myriad shopping stops to make. Artey’s sole job was to babysit little Kenny.

The small house in the Bronx was brand new -- 1950’s style. Dark brick one story, it had a row of windows along the length of the house, high up, to illuminate the long hall. The high up windows bathed the white hall walls in bright light. The house was shaped somewhat like the letter “T”.

The long hall opened upon the living room. Artey lay on the long couch against the far wall. On the floor, beside the couch, was a scotch and soda.

Artey lay on his side. He reached down and sipped the cocktail. He could see 4-year old little Kenny playing in the hall.

Artey scanned theSunday New York TimesArt & Leisure section to note any mention of his Fifth Avenue gallery. He took another sip, placed the glass on the carpet and returned to the paper. The small print made him drowsy. Soon Artey nodded off.

The bright sunlight from the living room window made Artey warm -- a bit too warm. Half asleep, he heard singing. His angelic son sang while engrossed in wonder: “La, la, la, la, lah. Loomy louie lew... LA..... la... LAH” Artey opened one eye sleepily.

Suddenly Dad was wide awake, both eyes bugging out of his head. Kenny was standing looking at the wall, His brown corduroys rolled up at the bottom, revealing a red plaid cuff and a pair of Buster Brown shoes, plain as can be. Kenny’s T-shirt looked like a deKoonig.

Kenny stood just like he had so often seen his father stand. The weight of his little body rested on his left leg which was half a foot behind his right leg. His right foot tapped the carpet. His left arm wound across his stomach and knotted the side of his T-shirt. Kenny’s right arm held something long and thin, like a yellow #2 pencil.

Kenny rocked forward onto his right foot and touched the wall with the bright yellow stick: “There.... an here.... an there.... an.... th... tTHERE.” The tiny body bent in half and Kenny twirled the yellow stick in a tiny plastic cup, lifted it and placed the tip into another plastic cup.

Squinting, Artey could see there were three, maybe four cups just against the wall.

Kenny touched the wall with the bright yellow stick again. Artey could hear him say “ green”... then a lilting song “Green, green, green, green... GREEN!” Kenny rocked back on his left leg and smiled.

It finally hit him. I’m supposed to be watching him and Kenny is painting a mural on the hall wall. Jeeze Louise!

Artey bolted upright and swung his legs off the couch. Over went the scotch, darkening the beige carpet. He looked down and the “S” word floated near his ankles and flew beneath the couch.

He was standing, then taking long strides down the hall.

“KENNY! What are You DOING?”

The beige carpet surrounding Kenny had a Jackson Pollack patch. Kenny turned a smiling face to his father. His eyes were as wide as Caravaggio’s self-portrait; the black smudges of paint on Kenny’s face enhanced the effect.

Artey glowered down at the little imp. Dad took a deep breath. He was about to let loose when he noticed Kenny’s wall painting.

Artey’s head turned to the right. He smiled. The subtle pastel and earth tone colors were brilliantly placed. Dad pivoted on his left foot to face the wall completely, striking the same pose Kenny had copied: the weight of Dad’s body rested on his left leg which was half a foot behind his right leg. His right foot tapped the carpet. His left arm wound across his stomach and knotted the side of his shirt.

There was a gentle horizon line -- two elongated thin black brush strokes, one going a third of the horizontal distance of this invisibly bounded canvas, the second line began a bit above the first and slid horizontal like a tadpole’s tail. Light green brush strokes swept from top right to bottom left, one after another. Then darkish green, the same angle, then dry straw leaves, then wind-swept sand. On the first slope of the second horizon line stood a dark brown shack, black rectangles were placed where doors and windows should be. Writhing on the sand, legs out like a sniper’s crawling through the brush, left elbow dug into the sand, there lay a representation of Dad with his right arm reaching out. He wore green khakis and a mauve shirt. The painting was of Dad with an empty blurry expression on his face, a wan smile on his lips as his hand touched the Dewar’s bottle.

Artey’s mouth dropped open. In his head he saidwell, there go the Sunday afternoon cocktails. He gave Kenny a huge smile and scooped him up, wet paint, brush and all and said “Well, my little Wyeth, haven’t you been a busy star this afternoon! I can’t wait to hear what Mom has to say.” And Artey danced with Kenny down the hall, through the living room and out the patio doors into the sunlight.

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A whiff of Edward Hopper, a blast of Mickey Spillane,a rrowf of David Lynch!

Round #2 of Renovated Reputations will culminate in three more shows.

Santa Clara University, California
January 9 - February 5th
Reception: Thursday February 2, 2012

Ohlone College, Fremont California
February 7th - March 9th
Reception, Saturday, February 25, 2012
6PM - 8PM

Elliott Fouts Gallery, Sacramento California
February 4th - March 1st, 2012.

The story you write should be a "Flash Fiction" whichis a complete story in one thousand or fewer words.

Stories will be published in a vintage style newspapercatalog and the gallery will be converted into a 1930 or 40's cabaret setand students will be acting the stories out as monologues at some of theevents at the college in the art gallery.
You could win a drawing of your own in exchange for apiece of flash fiction!

Renovated Reputations is the result of aninternet blogging project in which paintings and assemblages based on vintageand antique vernacular photography are the inspiration for short fiction. The blog, which gets between one hundred to two hundred and fifty visitorsa day, is the nexus point. Each week between seven to ten authorsfrom the U.S. and U.K. submitted short fiction of one thousand words orless compete to win an original work of art that is the basis for the story. The stories and assemblages are then coupled with great graphic designand photo illustration to create an environment that compliment the two.

The catalog is a collaborative joint between myself, anartist with a national reputation and proven track record. (I’m alsoa professor of Art and Art History at Ohlone College in Fremont where Ialso am the director of the Louie Meager Art Museum)
So far the authors are a dirty dozen or so such as authorprofessor Mark Brosamer, mystery writer Matt O'Malley, pulp authorSteven D. Rogers of PulpFest fame, Dreamworks animator/cartoonist BrianNewlin, columnist Gigi De Vault and others.
http://kenney-mencher.blogspot.com/

We're going to have a photobooth for the show for participantsto play with and vintage costumes.

Of course I'll send the authors free copies of the newspaperstyle catalogs.
I may also print an illustrated monograph that will includesome of the stories and pictures.

Sincerely (I mean it!)

Kenney Mencher

Here are two of the books that were designed as catalogs. (Click the book for a preview.)

New Video for My Art History Students: Giotto, Dante and the Arena Chapel

2012-01-11T17:11:00.001-08:00

A Video for My Art History Students: Renaissance Art Intro to Florence

2012-01-11T11:57:00.000-08:00

Démonstration: Dessin de la Sphère en charbon de bois

2012-01-09T15:08:00.001-08:00

Ceci est un tutoriel pour mon dessin et la peinture à des étudiants du Collège Ohlone. (Mais n'hésitez pas à utiliser si vous le souhaitez.)

La sphère est la base pour un grand nombre de formes que vous aurez à dessiner et à peindre. Voici un diagramme de l'aérographe de la sphère que vous devez utiliser pour parler des formes individuelles. J'ai un fichier PDF que vous pouvez télécharger des formes de base à imprimer et dessiner ici.

http://www.kenney-mencher.com/basic_shapes_press_high_quality.pdf

Je commence par l'aide d'un crayon fusain et je suis tenue du crayon le chemin Humphrey Bogart dans ces vieux films tient sa cigarette.

Je dessine avec des lignes très légers, mais toujours remarquez comment boiteux ma sphère, c'est quand je dessine c'est à main levée. (Je ne suis pas Giotto!)

La ligne horizontale du fond est conçu pour me donner une ligne à dessiner l'ombre de forme elliptique.

J'ai mis entre parenthèses à chaque extrémité de la ligne horizontale de sorte que les bords de l'ellipse sera mieux.

Puis-je connecter les arches.

Terminer la forme.

Une meilleure façon! Utiliser un compas pour dessiner le cercle!

C'est ce qu'on appelle l'ellipse et le guide. Vous l'avez aligné avec la ligne horizontale que j'ai utilisé comme guide d'ombre.

Voyez combien agréable guides de dessin peut-il faire? Je suis toujours vas utiliser mon dessin à main levée mais. Juste me tenir honnête!

Dessin à l'arrière de la table po

C'est un bâton de charbon de bois compressé. C'est un moyen rapide pour remplir les valeurs de sorte qu'il fera le dessin se produire plus rapidement. Mon professeur Irwin Greenberg utiliser pour dire que "Big peintres utiliser un gros pinceau." Je pense que la même chose s'applique aux matériaux de dessin.

Il est vraiment important pour le travail de fond au premier plan.

Ombrage dans le fond de grandes rafles.

Ensuite, j'ai passer l'ombre portée de l'.

En utilisant une souche de même les tonalités hors. Vous n'avez pas à vous mais il ne l'aide!

Une gomme pétri que vous pouvez utiliser pour nettoyer les bords. Vous pouvez même l'utiliser pour bavures et diplômé de la transition des tons et des ombres. Que j'appelle le «effaceur bien pétrie."

Ajout de la demi-teintes de la sphère.

Maintenant, je suis perplexe. Temps de même quelques tons en. J'ai aussi l'utiliser sur l'ombre portée.

Pour en revenir au gros morceau de charbon compressé de retravailler tout le dessin. C'est une bonne idée de penser à le dessin comme une entité complète et travailler tout le dessin autant que possible. Pensez à la façon d'une valeur ou à l'ombre concerne les autres.

Développer le dessin dans la profondeur un peu plus.

Maintenant, je utiliser un crayon de charbon de bois plus petits bords de redéfinir et de fixer le dessin. J'ai besoin de faire de la forme plus précise.

La lumière réfléchie ou ambiante sur la sphère est trop lumineux donc je vais avoir la salir et de réduire sa valeur par dessouchage et de bavures dans ce domaine.

Suivant je rentre avec le crayon et faire une sorte de vitrage et des tonalités moyennes par la lumière hachures griffonnés ou éclos lignes à travers les formes. C'est une façon de développer la structure de valeur et de faire une série de marques qui font du dessin un peu plus riche et plus intéressante.

Suivant assombrissant le fond de développer plus d'une arête de la sphère.

Plus de tonalité sur la table.

Travailler plus tons et avec la gomme pétrie de lisser les transitions et les bavures.

La version finale.

Plus "Comment faire" articles et didacticiels

La figure de l'homme

Démonstration: Dessin de la préparation de skeleton Front de Dessin de la vie

Comment dessiner un portrait

Les réputations Rénové: Une installation de collaboration de Peintures, Fiction, Musique et meubles vintage
par Kenney Mencher, Patrick Nelson et d'autres à:
Le Musée d'art de Los Gatos, Californie
4 Tait Ave Los Gatos, CA 95030
Décembre 1 - Janvier 6
Réception: Samedi Décembre 3, 2011 17:00-20:00
Présentez-vous dans le costume et entrer dans le photomaton! Vous pouvez finir par être mon prochain tableau!
Prix: GRATUIT
Téléphone: (408) 395-7386
Le Musée d'art de Los Gatos présente Reputations Rénové, une expérience immersive d'exposition présentant des oeuvres conçues comme une collaboration dans la peinture, la fiction créative, et le design. A la fois noir, bohème et de la pâte dans le style, les œuvres invitent le spectateur à l'intérieur et pas assis un certain temps, découvrir leurs histoires et l'engagement des étincelles.
Plus d'infos sur:
http://www.kenney-mencher.com/

Write a story about Ginger Bread and Win the Pencil Drawing of Ginger

2012-01-09T09:59:00.000-08:00

Write a story about
Ginger Bread
and
Win the Pencil Drawing of Ginger

Contest Ends
Monday January 23rd

Ginger Bread

By ElizabethHodson

I woke up with anauseating feeling that has been haunting me for some time now. I cannot seemto get the motivation to get out of bed. I am scheduled to work in two hours. Iplaced one foot on the floor, and my other foot followed. One-step at a time, Imade my way to the bathroom. After filling up the bath with hot water, Islipped my panties slowly down my legs, and took off my white t-shirt that Iwear to bed every night. I got into the bath and washed all of yesterday off ofmy body to start this new day. When I get out of the bath, I wipe the steam offof the mirror, and look at my face, breasts, and phis. I thought to myself, “Ilong for a man to touch me”, as my hands made their way down to my phis. Iclose my eyes, and imagine being the most beautiful woman any man has everimagined. I opened my eyes, looked at the clock, and realized what time it was.

Thirty minutesuntil work, “Shit”! I screamed out loud, because I have been late for work toomany times recently. When I walked into the coffee shop, I received a less thanwelcoming hello from Michael, my boss.

“You are tenminutes late, what is the excuse this time?

“I am sorry, Mike. I over slept my alarm”.

“I am serious,this is the last time, Ginger, or your ass is fired”.

I grabbed myapron, and got right to work. I approached a man that I have seen several timesin the shop.

“Hey, what can Iget you today”? I asked Semi convincingly.

The man looked right at me; I glanced upfrom my pad of paper, and smirked as soon as I looked into his eyes.

“Iwill take a hot chocolate; do you guys have any ginger bread cookies”? The man asked.

“Yes, we do, Iwill be right back”, I responded.

I returned with the man’s hot chocolateand ginger bread cookie.

“Thank you,Ginger”, the man responded happily.

“You are welcome”,I responded, trying to maintain a smile.

On my breaks, I usuallygo outside and have a cup of coffee and a smoke. On my last break of the day, Irested my head on the wall of the coffee shop building, took a drag of mycigarette, closed my eyes, and exhaled. When I opened my eyes, the man I servedearlier was standing in front of me.

He said to me, “You know smoking is bad foryou”,

I looked at himwith a blank stare, put my cigarette out, and said, “Have a nice day”. I had thesame plans I had as almost every night. I was going to meet her friends at thelocal pub, go home, eat something not so healthy, and pass. I walked out of thecoffee shop, locked the door, and as I turned around, the same man from earlier,was right in front of me, yet again.

“I thought you guys were still open at this hour,”the man asked.

I gave him thesame blank stare I gave him earlier.

“Really,is that the pickup line you want to use”? I said mockingly.

Ilooked at the man awaiting a smile, the man smiles back at me.

“Would you like to come with me”? The man saysmaintaining the smile.

Ireply courteously, “Where to”?

Theman grabs my hand, and walks me to his car,

“Well,do you want to come with me?

“Yes,I do”, I respond with reluctance.

We end up at his place;

When I get to the door, I look at it asif I found a place where I belong. We walk into the bedroom; he tosses his keyson the table and settles in. I proceed to take off my sweater with a un- surefeeling of what is supposed to happen. I take off the remainder of my clothes,leaving just my panties on. The man sits down on the bed, and looks at my bodyfrom head to toe.

“Ginger, comesit down on the bed”, the man said slyly. There is a mirror behind the bed, andI cannot help but to look for a second time today, at my breasts, belly, andthen I place my hands on my phis. I look at the man with confidence, and then slidemy panties off. I get onto the bed and sit on his warm body.

“What is yourname”?

“My name is Everett”.

“What do you dofor a living”?

“I teach,Darling”.

I smiled and placed Everett inside of mythrobbing phis.

We made love allnight; Everett fed me what I had been craving. He fed into every need her hearthad desired. Afterwards I cuddled myself into his body feeling his warmthsmelling him, taking it in, he was there with me.

Everett takes adeep breath, and says, “I have to get up early to teach a class”.

I slip out ofbed, and put my clothes on; Everett comes behind me, and whispers in my ear, “MyGinger bread, so sweet, so pretty”.

“I will beseeing you, Everett”. I walk out, not knowing if I meant what I had just said.The next morning, I actually showed up for work on time, I did not sleep a wink.I waited all day to see Everett, but he never showed. When I got home, I ran ahot bath, and looked in the mirror. I felt something, but it was not sadness, butgratefulness. Everett certainly was a teacher, but not the kind I envisionedthat he was. Even though I never saw him again, he taught me that I was stillgood enough, and I was not alone, even if it was just for the one night that wespent together.

____________________________________________________

Nickname by Karlena Lee

Sixo’clock, Sharon walked into the room, plopped her bag on the table, and let outa deep sign. Typically she looks forwardto class, but today was probably one of the worst days of her life. The teacher asked, “Is everything okay,Ginger?” She knew the teacher didn’t really care about her answer, so she justput on a fake smile and replied, “Ya, I am just tired.” As the teacher walked away she remembered howmuch she hated that nick name. Itreminded her of too much. Today theywere to pair off, take turns and paint portraits of each other. Everyone paired up immediately and the onlyperson left was Nick or as all the girls in the class called referred to him as“Sexy Nick,” since there were three other Nicks in the class. Sharon neverreally noticed, but she could see what all the other girls saw. Trying to be friendly she playfully said, “Iguess you’re stuck with me.” He just smiled and they both sat down. She thought Nick was the best, so she was alittle excited to see how he would paint her. Sharon was in no mood to paint, but luckily Nick offered to gofirst. Nick pulled out his materials andstarted to paint. Trying to makeconversation Nick said, “Interesting hat.” She paused for a long time and slowly responded, “It’s my boyfriends.”Nick responded with a simple “o” and he continued painting. After that it got quiet between the two ofthem.

Sharon mind trailed off to a few hours ago. Today her boss informed her that due to somecut backs she would be laid off. Feelingrejected and useless she went back to the apartment hopefully to confide in herboyfriend only to be rejected again. When Shannon entered the apartment she heard the shower running. She needed to confide to someone so sheentered the bathroom only to find her man with some other woman. After that a cascade of screaming, yelling,and running occurred. The other womanhad left in a rush and tears were streaming down Sharon’s face, but she had aterrifying expression on her face. Herboyfriend still dripping wet tried to plea, “I am sorry Ginger. I won’t do it again my Gingerbread.” She used to love it when he called her bythat nickname and she wanted to forgive him, but she just couldn’t. Instead she slapped him across the face,quickly grabbed a coat and hat and stormed out the door.

Out of nowhere Nick said,“You don’t have to force a smile.”

“I want to lookgood. You are the best in the class.” Nick slightly blushed and smiled. After five minutes of silence Sharon brokethe silence with, “It is my exes.”

“Excuse me?” he responded.

“The hat. I was in arush, it’s sort of complicated.”

“I have time. And it’snot like you are going anywhere any time soon” he said with a smile andcuriosity. Strangely Sharon feltcomfortable, so she started her story. “It all started with a simple nickname, Gingerbread…”

__________________________________________________

By Mindy Nguyen

He iscaught off-guard, and in his shock he does not consider turning around andwalking away. The woman walking in hisdirection spots him after a moment, smiles brightly, and to his horror, speedsher pace so that she can join him under the awning.

“It’s pouring!” she says with ashudder, shaking her umbrella dry and splattering droplets on his newshoes. “Hello, Isaac!” she says at last,hugging him fiercely and soaking his coat with hers. “It’s been ages, hasn’t it? I’m glad I decided to take the long way hometoday, despite the rain, because I’d wanted to stop by the deli. I’ve been hankering for some sauerkraut fordays, and so – “

“That’s very nice, Ginger,” heintervenes, glancing at his watch and taking a step back, hoping she’ll takethe hint. “But I’ve actually got to begoing now – Mary’s told me she’s getting home late so I’ve got to make dinner.”

“And then the deli happened to begiving out free cheese samples today, so…aww, really Izzy? But I just got here.” She pouts, as he expects. She always acts as if they’re still in highschool. “You can spare a few minutes tocatch up with an old girlfriend, can’t you?”

“A few minutes” with Ginger usuallyindicated a few hours, in his experience, but he decides to give in and leadsher to a nearby table. She plops into aseat and leans forward.

“So? What’s life doing to you nowadays?”

“The usual, I guess, Ginger.”

“Well I’ve been so busy youwouldn’t believe it. The restaurant downthat street? You know, the one you saidlooked like a mad circus from the outside? I applied for a waitress position and they actually let me have thejob! You’ve got to go there sometime, soyou can see me in action.”

“I’ll try to remember.”

“So how is Mary, anyway?”

“She’s been better. Her new job keeps her working long hours, soI don’t get to see her as often.”

“Hmm, I see. Reminds me of my brother – I barely see himthese days too. Hardly ever gets up fromhis bed unless he smells something I’m making in the kitchen. I’ve learned that one of his weaknesses isbanana soufflé. Who’d have guessed?” She laughs for some reason – Isaac has noidea how that relates to what he told her.

The conversation persists, and asalways, it’s mainly one-sided. Eventuallyhe stands and tells her he really must go.

“Oh Isaac, it really was funtalking to you,” she stands and gives him one more hug. “Let’s meet at our usual spot at the parknext time, yeah? We should try to talkat least a few times a week.”

He takes a deep breath. “Listen, about that, Ginger. I’ve got to tell you something.”

“What isit?”

“It’s…wellit’s not me. Or you. It’s definitely not you. But Mary doesn’t want me seeing youanymore….Even if it’s just to chat.”

Her eyeswiden in shock. “But…why? We’re just being friends! She…she’s not jealous, is she!? I mean, the two of us haven’t been togethersince college.”

“I knowthere’s nothing between us now, Ginger, I know. But since Mary hardly gets to see me anymore, and I’ve been seeing youmore and more…. Honestly, I can’t blame her for being against all this. I’m surprised she’s only brought it up now.”

Ginger’seyes are welling up. “I…I had no ideashe was worried about that. If I hadknown, I wouldn’t have tried seeing you so often.” She clears her throat, wiping at her eyes withthe back of her hand. “Well…I can’t doanything that would risk your marriage, so…I guess….” “Sorry. I’m so sorry, but this is goodbye, Ginger.”

“Don’t besorry, silly,” she forces a shaky laugh. “I completely understand. Butmaybe…we’ll run into eachother sometime?”

“That wouldbe lovely. I do hope that will be thecase.”

“Right. Well then…I wish you the best, Isaac.”

“Take care,Ginger.”

He’swatching television when he hears the door open and keys being set down on thecounter.

“Hi darling,” Mary leans down andgives Isaac a kiss.

“Welcomehome. How was your day?”

“Oh it wasalright. Things just got a little hecticin the afternoon, but we managed to smooth it all out. How about you?

“Well…I raninto Ginger on the way home.”

“Ginger?” Mary sits down next to him and scootsclose. “Ah right, your ex.” She wraps her arms around him. “How is she? How is her job at the bank coming along?”

“It’s goingfine. As you know, she’s had that jobfor years now, so she’s doing quite well.”

“Well goodfor her. You’ve got to invite her overfor dinner sometime; I hardly ever get to talk to her anymore. That’s it, next Saturday we’re all going toeat together. I’ll cook up somethingspecial. She’s such a nice lady, afterall.”

“Yes, we oughtto. I do hope she can come; she was busywith work the last time we invited her.”

“Shame thatwas. Well I’m going to take a shower andthen I’ll be right down to prepare dinner.”

She headsupstairs. He stares absently at thescreen, not paying much attention at all. He just tries to imagine what Ginger must be doing now. Is she still upset, letting out those tearsthat she’d tried so hard to hold back earlier? Or is she really that simple-minded as to already gotten over the“break-up,” in the kitchen enticing her brother with banana soufflé?

He supposesit doesn’t matter either way.

__________________________________________________
Ashley Mitcheom
Santa Clara University
Basic Drawing

     It was a Tuesday when it happened. As much as Ginger would like to
remember it as yet another gray, wet winter day, it was actually the
first time anyone had seen the sun shine in weeks. She did not hear
ominous sounds of organs, nor did she hear the depressing resonance of a
violin. No, the universe did not feed her sorrow, did not allow her
environment to reflect the gaping hole in her chest that continued to
unravel like someone pulling the thread of an intricately woven sweater.
Instead, the earth was singing. Children were playing. Couples were
skipping in the park, enjoying the sunshine. The old man sat feeding the
birds.
     Ginger felt like she was stumbling helplessly down the street, with
tears streaking her makeup, gasping for breath between sobs. Why
wouldn’t her feet move? Why weren’t the tears coming? So this is what
it feels like, she thought. To die while being alive. To drown while on
dry land.
     Down the street, a 30-something year old suit stood outside a donut
shop with his dog. The dog pulled lightly on the leash, surprised they
had stopped. The man pulled back with too much force, cursing aloud,
startling a lady walking by. The dog cowered at his master’s feet,
quivering and dropping his eyes to the ground. The suit then tied the
dog’s leash to the post and quickly paced around the corner, not looking
back at his dog’s droopy eyes or pathetic whimpers. Despite his owner’s
evident lack of compassion, the dog stood in the same spot staring in
the direction the suit disappeared.
     Minutes passed. Or was it hours?
     There they stood, staring ahead of them but not really seeing
anything ahead of them. Neither has moved their feet, because once you
move, then what? The dog would probably go lie down or pester people
walking by, looking around hoping for a pat on the head or even the
tiniest bit of acknowledgment. And Ginger, what would she do? She felt
just as leashed as the dog. Would she too search for even the tiniest
speck of affection, only to be disappointed a second later?
Majority of people passed the dog up. Some scooted around it, thinking
perhaps that it would attack them. Parents pulled at their children’s
hands when they tried to get too close. Others gave it a quick rub on
the head or scratch behind the ear as they walked by. A few even knelt
down for a quick 15 seconds. No one seemed to notice Ginger. She didn’t
care either way.
      Hours passed. Or was it days?
      Ginger watched the dog. For a second she even considered moving
her feet to go stand by him, but that seemed impossible. For the first
couple minutes, hours, days, the dog vied for anyone’s attention. It
paced, yearning for a touch, look, acknowledgment. He succeeded
occasionally, but each time it turned out to just be a tease, like a few
drops of water after days of dehydration.
     Eventually, and rather surprisingly, the dog turned its back to the
sidewalk of people walking by and laid down, facing the wall. For the
first time since Ginger found herself in the position she was is, she
moved. She cocked her head to the side, clearly surprised by the dog’s
response. Ginger observed as person after person walked by the dog, some
noticeably going to give it attention, but the dog made no movement
toward anyone. Without thinking, Ginger walked toward the dog. She
stopped right next to it, not quite knowing what to do next. She bent
down, but the dog did not lift his head to look at her. Finally, she
opened her mouth: “How are you?” The dog lifted his head toward hers.
They stared at each other. The dog stood up, walked close to Ginger, and
sat in front of her waiting expectantly. She glanced at his tied leash
and smiled for the first time in years… or was it hours?
_____________________________________________________

Primordial Dreams—Matt O’Malley

“This is it?” Ginger’s roommate frowned as he looked at the petite Edwardian containing window displays of colorful teapots, trays, cups and saucers.

“Yup. We’re here.” Ginger replied cheerfully from the passenger side of the car.

“Looks like crap.” He said giving a disgusting look. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

Ginger’s roommate returned from the restroom, poured himself a cup of coffee and asked “Bout ready to go?”

Ginger, hatless and glassy eyed, nodded.

_______________________________________________
GINGER BREAD by Stephen Rogers
http://www.StephenDRogers.com

Ginger sat on the bench. Close but not too close. She extended
a hand holding a nutritional bar coated in chocolate. "You look
like you could use this."

"Thanks." The young girl sniffed before reaching for the treat.
"I'm a little short on cash."

"I've been there. Eat up. I don't mind." Ginger glanced around
the room, brushing the hair away from her face to unblock her
peripheral vision. "When I first came here, I was fighting the
squirrels for acorns."

"Yeah?"

"Didn't have a friend in the world. Then I found The House, and
look at me now." Ginger beamed.

"What's The House?" The young girl moved closer.

"It's a place where everyone is accepted. A place with hot meals
and long showers and beds. They bought me these clothes and this
hat." Ginger nodded. "I'd never had a room of my own before.
And friends. Everybody there wants to be your friend."

"Sounds nice." She couldn't hide the yearning.

"I could ask if they have an opening." Ginger quickly added, "If
you're interested."

"I'm interested. If you think they'll have me."

"Don't you worry." Ginger helped the young girl gather her
things. "They'll be thrilled to have you."

Stephen Roger's the Winner of the Max Earnest Flash Fiction Competition

2012-01-09T09:33:00.000-08:00

MAX EARNEST
by Stephen Rogers

The Nose knows: weather, people, what goes on.

Christina now, she didn't know corn. Didn't care to. Back in the old country, her people may have worked the vineyards, but Christina herself found no sustenance in the soil.
Her brother was no different, but he helped their father in the cemetery, and that's where he stayed. He didn't stand out by trying to fit in.

Christina liked to talk. And because she liked to talk she gravitated towards places where talking could be done.

On the average day you might find Christina at the feed store, or in the diner, or outside the barbershop, places frequented by men. Some men talked more than others, but most grew accustomed to the foreign girl who could talk the rain from a cloudless sky.
Wives talked amongst themselves, and they didn't say what they feared most, that their husbands were becoming bewitched.
Christina didn't make advances or even flirt. She was simply there, carefree and unlike anyone else.

And then one day, the community was rocked by an unnatural silence. There was no sign of Christina at the feed store, or in the diner, or outside the barbershop. No sign of her anywhere.
Weeks later, Christina's father, stiff in his black Sunday best, came into town to plead his case to the newspaper.

No one came forward. Christina never came back.

But the crows now seem to favor the southwest corner of a certain field, the rocky section that's rarely planted.

The Nose knows.

Stephen D. Rogers
http:/www.StephenDRogers.com

__________________________________________________

Okay okay okay! I’vereally had a tough time with the holidays and getting it all together between transferringthe furniture and paintings to Santa Clara University’s Art Gallery but now I’mback. . . Really! Here’s the winner of theMax Earnest contest Stephen Rogers.

In a nutshell, Rogers’ story was almost a poem, it kind ofreminded me a little bit of a surrealist bit of writing by Andre Breton orDuchamp. Rogers story was also one ofthe most suggestive without providing too much so my imagination concerning thebackstory was allowed to run free.

Close on Rogers’ heals were Matt O’Malley and PatrickNelson. Patrick e-mailed me andconfessed that his story was too long in terms of the word count but it’sreally a great story and you guys should go back and read it now! Now Mr. O’Malley is totally funny and hassome great images in his story. I likehow O’Malley is kind of a magic realist in which he works with the present daySan Francisco and combines it with a sensibility that goes back decades. It’s almost like a funny “Dark City.” I particularly like how he’s combined analmost hipster sensibility with current events.

Michael West and Mary Charest (yeah I noticed they rhyme) hada wonderful sense of mood and character development. West’sstory is really great for its rhythm and timing. The references to musical composition and thespacing and timing of his story really got hold of me and I read it severaltimes because I liked the mood it put me in. Charest also shares a bit of the esthetic that I like so much about O’Malley’sstory. Charest have me a hipster magicrealist bent to her story she also had a really noir plot and feeling which isa strength.

Peter Vu’s story has a lot in common with Charest andWest. It’s a wonderful noir story with anod to books and films like “The Postman Always Rings Twice.” I really dug his ending and the mood hecreated throughout the story. Nice nicejob!

CJ Jones’ story was just silly fun (kind of like his lastone) so I think he’s on to something here. It matches his art and his sense of humor when you speak with him.

Read them all here:
http://kenney-mencher.blogspot.com/2011/11/write-story-about-max-earnest-and-win.html

More competitions on my site:
http://www.kenney-mencher.com/

Meet me on Friday in the Men's Room

2012-01-02T16:04:00.000-08:00

ArtHaus

presents

MENSROOM

A rotating exhibitionof works in various media by

Gallery and Guest MaleArtists in the PROJECT GALLERY…

January 6 – March 31, 2012

ArtHaus

411 Brannan Street
San Francisco, CA 94107

San Francisco…It’s onlyfitting that as a follow-up to the acclaimed GIRL GROUP exhibition at ArtHaus, Gallerists, James Bacchi andAnnette Schutz ring in the 2012 art season with MENS ROOM, a rotating exhibition of works in various media byArtHaus

Gallery and Guest male artists.This group show opens in the ArtHaus Project Gallery on January 6^thwith a reception for the artists from 6-8pm.

Max Earnest winner will be announced after Christmas

2011-12-24T13:01:00.000-08:00

Hello! Happy Holidays!

I was sick with the flu since Monday and just got out of bed after sleeping many many days away. So I'm a little behind on my reading and judging the show.

Please forgive my not being able to attend to this sooner.

If you entered the contest or would just like a catalog from the last show please e-mail me your address i n an e-mail at kmencher@ohlone.edu.

I'll try to send you something next week.

See ya!

Kenney

Looking for a great indie Bay Area Art School? Try Rob Anderson's

2011-12-19T13:20:00.000-08:00

Rob is a very nice man and I've shown his work at the Louie Meager Art Gallery and he's done demos for me at Ohlone College. I think you'll like the way he teaches.

http://robandersonstudioschool.com/

The Rob Anderson Studio School in San Francisco offers a four-year full time program in classical realist drawing and painting.

It is geared for the student who wants a career in animation, video gaming, fine art painting and drawing, illustration, medical illustration or commissioned portraiture.
Additional part time classes are offered through the Thursday and Saturday programs for artists interested in figure drawing and painting, whether to hone their existing skills or acquire new ones.
A congenial environment and a superior level of instruction is maintained through small classes while tuition is low in comparison to larger art schools.
See a list of Class Descriptions here.
See Rob Anderson’s Artist website.
We are now taking registrations for Fall Classes.

Jailbait a story written by one of my collectors.

2011-12-15T12:44:00.000-08:00

I got a totally charming email from Jackie Cannizzaro. She wrote a story about this painting she bought at my show in Los Gatos. So I'm sharing it with you.
___________________________
"Jailbait" renamed for the purpose of my story to "Hook Up for Vic and Charlene"
by
Jackie Cannizzaro

Vic and Charlene were in high school together. But only Charlene knew it. Vic hadn't noticed Charlene. He was a basketball player and dated the cheer leaders. Not to say he was confident but he had a role and played the part. It would be harder to break the type cast. He's smart enough to keep his basketball letter jacket, dumb enough to be cool, tall enough to play a great game of basketball, short in character maybe, perfect for the 'in' crowd.

Charlene was neither bookish (which would have justified her unbecoming glasses). Charlene had neither a models saunter nor poise (which would have gratified her body's shapelessness). Charlene's straight hair had never blown freely in anyone's red convertible. Girls who rode in convertibles wore hair scarves over big hair with thick sprays of Breck.

Charlene didn't throw her head back in laughter and turn heads. Heads never saw her pass. Was she a nice girl, a naughty girl, a funny girl, a shy girl, a smart girl, a beautiful girl? Somehow she totally missed getting any classification at all.

Like a one way mirror she saw Vic but he didn't see her. She could have had a crush on him but was wise to know a one way crush is just that. . . Like getting hit by the big yellow school bus. So she didn't allow herself.

The 8mm camera fast forward, frames, click-click-click-click to college. Vic's hooked up with a gal much like those he dated in high school. But when he didn't qualify to play college ball she drifted away. That's ok with him as he's enjoying playing the field. Charlene's in college too and her bloom is opening.

Vic and Charlene are both going through hazing unaware of the others locality being at the same school. A variety of character roles and challenges were put in the draw at the men's house. A variety of character roles and challenges were put in the draw at the women's house. Initiation involved carrying out the task each drew. Some roles were linked to play together but the drawing of roles is random. Hook Up, the roles: a traveling businessman seeking an hour of pleasure in the arms of a "professional" woman. These two challenges are drawn by Vic and Charlene unknowing of each in their separate houses.

Vic put streaks of white shoe polish in his hair to appear a seasoned
businessman. He wears his high school graduation suit. The directions in his challenge lead him across campus into a dark corridor and towards a slit of light pouring out a doorway. Inside Charlene is dressed the way she always had wanted to dress for her man. If she ever had a man.

Sitting in the cold leather chair by the shaft of light she shifts from hip to hip to strike the perfect pose. Waiting for whom? For Gadot? For how long she does not know.

The door creaks open. Vic's voice creaks too. His shoes don't creak because they are like lead on his feet as he's frozen to the floor. Upon laying eyes on Charlene he is not sure how far this hazing challenge is supposed to go.

Vic is approving of her slender body sitting in the shadows. She has just enough shape to be inviting. He wants to brush her straight hair away from her parted lips. Charlene's eyes without glasses reveal that she recognizes him. She takes a deep slow breath and begins to speak.

"Hello, Vic."

"How do you know my name?" he asks.

"You and I went to high school together."

Vic says "you and me? But I don't remember you."

Charlene says "but I remember you".

"Wow" Vic says (he never used the biggest vocabulary). "Wow, how did I miss you?"

Charlene says, "What are we supposed to do now?"

Vic handing her is overcoat says "I have a red convertible, would you like to go get a cup of coffee? We've got lots of catching up to do."
________________________________________________

Renovated Reputations: A Collaborative Installationof Paintings, Fiction, Music and Vintage Furniture
by Kenney Mencher, Patrick Nelson and others at:
The Art Museum of Los Gatos, California
4 Tait Ave Los Gatos, CA 95030
December 1 - January 6
Price: FREE
Phone: (408) 395-7386
The Art Museum of Los Gatos presents Renovated Reputations, an immersiveexhibition experience featuring works conceived as a collaboration in painting,creative fiction, and design. At once noir, bohemian and pulp in style,the works invite the viewer to step inside and sit awhile, discover theirstories and spark engagement.
More info at:
http://www.kenney-mencher.com/

Free Demonstration Sunday December 18th Art Museum of Los Gatos

2011-12-14T11:09:00.000-08:00

I'm gonna do a free portrait demonstration on Sunday December 18th at the Art Museum of Los Gatos.
It's free and bring a friend!

Sunday December 18th 12PM-2PM

The Art Museum of Los Gatos, California
4 Tait Ave Los Gatos, CA 95030
Price: FREE
Phone: (408) 395-7386

Renovated Reputations: A Collaborative Installationof Paintings, Fiction, Music and Vintage Furniture
by Kenney Mencher, Patrick Nelson and others at:

The Art Museum of Los Gatos, California
4 Tait Ave Los Gatos, CA 95030
Price: FREE
Phone: (408) 395-7386
The Art Museum of Los Gatos presents Renovated Reputations,
an immersiveexhibition experience featuring works conceived as a collaboration in painting,creative fiction, and design. At once noir, bohemian and pulp in style,the works invite the viewer to step inside and sit awhile, discover theirstories and spark engagement.
More info at:
http://www.kenney-mencher.com/

Stories from the kids of Willow Glen Choir

2011-12-12T08:52:00.000-08:00

A wonderful group of junior high school students who were in a choir came and visited the show. The kids in the Willow Glen Choir did a workshop with me in which they wrote stories to go with the paintings. We pinned theses stories and captions to the wall.
I'm going to post some more in the next couple of days.

Here's what several of them wrote:

Renovated Reputations: A Collaborative Installationof Paintings, Fiction, Music and Vintage Furniture
by Kenney Mencher, Patrick Nelson and others at:
The Art Museum of Los Gatos, California
4 Tait Ave Los Gatos, CA 95030
December 1 - January 6
Reception: Saturday December 3, 2011 5PM-8PM
Show up in costume and get into the photobooth! You may end up being my next painting!
Price: FREE
Phone: (408) 395-7386
The Art Museum of Los Gatos presents Renovated Reputations, an immersiveexhibition experience featuring works conceived as a collaboration in painting,creative fiction, and design. At once noir, bohemian and pulp in style,the works invite the viewer to step inside and sit awhile, discover theirstories and spark engagement.
More info at:
http://www.kenney-mencher.com/

New Art History Videos for my Students

2011-12-11T18:10:00.001-08:00

Jackie Garcia and Karen Martinez a story by two girls.

2011-12-10T11:24:00.001-08:00

A wonderful group of junior high school students who were in a choir came and visited the show. The kids in the Willow Glen Choir did a workshop with me in which they wrote stories to go with the paintings. We pinned theses stories and captions to the wall. Two of the girls, Jackie Garcia and Karen Martinez wrote a story in which they linked all the black and white paintings in the gallery together. Here's what they wrote:

Connecting all the pics:

There's two girls that are getting prepared to go and eat and when they are ready they can get a ride to

the restaurant of Gustave,

but, the three Richard twins don't want them to go

because a man has their son captive in the restaurant, when their son should be with his grampah,

but he's on his couch, while the man's friends who have the boy captive are planning out what to do to the lady's son

then the rest of the guys are waiting to tell the mom thay have her son

then the guy who has her son sees her and thinks for a moment.

Next thing you know he's shining his shoes after he falls in love with the lady!

Renovated Reputations: A Collaborative Installationof Paintings, Fiction, Music and Vintage Furniture
by Kenney Mencher, Patrick Nelson and others at:
The Art Museum of Los Gatos, California
4 Tait Ave Los Gatos, CA 95030
December 1 - January 6
Reception: Saturday December 3, 2011 5PM-8PM
Show up in costume and get into the photobooth! You may end up being my next painting!
Price: FREE
Phone: (408) 395-7386
The Art Museum of Los Gatos presents Renovated Reputations, an immersiveexhibition experience featuring works conceived as a collaboration in painting,creative fiction, and design. At once noir, bohemian and pulp in style,the works invite the viewer to step inside and sit awhile, discover theirstories and spark engagement.
More info at:
http://www.kenney-mencher.com/

New Art History Videos for my Students: Feudal Era and Romanesque

2011-12-09T19:31:00.001-08:00

Review of Renovated Reputations from KQED

2011-12-09T09:59:00.001-08:00

I got a review on KQED. He likes the work but thinks I'm too much of an optimist! Pretty cool and thoughtful review of my work.

Art Review

Kenney Mencher Renovates Reputations at the Art Museum of Los Gatos

By Ben Marks | Dec 12, 2011

Constance Noring Elementary, Kenney Mencher.

On the surface, Kenney Mencher's portraits, sketches, and paintings are traditional, modest affairs. Now on view through January 6, 2012, at the Art Museum of Los Gatos, many of the pictures in his show titled Renovated Reputations are just eight by ten inches, not all that far removed from their diminutive photo-booth and passport-photo sources.
In style, Mencher's art is mostly loose, sometimes evoking the hasty accuracy found on the covers of pulp fiction novels, or perhaps the New Yorker if illustrator Owen Smith's been given that week's assignment. Other paintings suggest the slow-moving, gray grainy monotone of film noir. For his show in Los Gatos, each gallery, regardless of which style prevailed, was outfitted with thrift-store couches and odd pieces of occasional furniture, so his paintings of mischievous school kids, stoic adults and smiling couples felt like family portraits in a home setting, albeit ones with dangling paper tags bearing their titles. To add to this atmosphere at the opening, anyone who cared to could duck into a vintage photo booth to have his or her picture taken (a hat rack crowned with fedoras was available for those who felt like getting into costume).
The props and contrived staging were all part of Mencher's quest to make artworks that tell stories, even if, especially if, those stories are pure fiction. In a social media spin, some of the yarns printed in a newspaper that accompanied the exhibition were written by visitors to Mencher's website, where he invites strangers to pen tales of the people in his work. Winning contributors are rewarded with a sketch or watercolor.
The contest aspect of Mencher's art is a tad gimmicky, but this is not just another cynical ploy to extract free content from writers in exchange for a fleeting bit of fame. Mencher appears to be sincerely energized by the serendipity that results from his online collaborations. Indeed, after his first foray into this new terrain last spring at the ArtHaus in San Francisco, he lined up this second show in Los Gatos and a third in January, 2012, at Santa Clara University. Two more incarnations of the exhibition are scheduled for February, one at Ohlone College in Fremont, where Mencher teaches, another at the Elliott Fouts Gallery in Sacramento.

Memory Game, Kenney Mencher.At their best, Mencher's paintings defy the tropes of their conventions. Memory Game, for example, looks like a scene swiped from 1930s film noir, in which a pair of detectives (think a young Kevin McCarthy and Robert Mitchum) pumps the night clerk of a local boarding house for leads. For all I know, that's exactly the painting's source, but Mencher keeps this old chestnut fresh by giving us a double vision of the scene, seamlessly splitting the canvas into two halves so that the trio of men is presented from different perspectives. Swapping the positions of the detectives makes you think Mencher has merely mirrored his protagonists, but cleverly he has not.

Evan Tually, Kenney Mencher.Other paintings, like the oil on Masonite of a young man unfortunately named Evan Tually are paired with Mencher's fiction, a predictable story of a kid whose father pushes him to confront the bully in his life even though he's no match for his cactus-hurling wife. A sketch of dad smoking a pipe hovers like a ghost behind Mencher's oil of the lad, while a collaged page from a comic book, chronicling dark discoveries late at night in the family bathroom, echo Mencher's melodrama.
Beyond Mencher's pun-hobbled titles (there are simply too many bad jokes here, even for me), I wearied of this world of smiling handsome people in hats, while the sexpot pin-ups that populate some of his canvases feel a long way from his work's Ash Can aspirations. Given the feedback he's getting to his work right now (art is usually a lonely affair), I get why Mencher probably views the world as a particularly sunny place, where, as the faux weather report on his newspaper's front page puts it, the morning promises to be beautiful, extending throughout the day. That's fine for one's life, but his art would benefit, I think, from a bit more messy menace and less cliché. Only a grouch could find nothing to admire here, but at the risk of raining on Mencher's parade, I'm hoping for a doozy of a thunderstorm. In this guy's capable hands, that would be something to see.
Renovated Reputations runs through January 6, 2012, at the Art Museum of Los Gatos. For information visit museumsoflosgatos.org.

A video of the adorable kids at the Art Museum of Los Gatos

2011-12-07T18:48:00.001-08:00

A video of some really cute junior high kids singing "Winter Wonderland" at my show "Renovated Reputations."

Renovated Reputations: A Collaborative Installationof Paintings, Fiction, Music and Vintage Furniture
by Kenney Mencher, Patrick Nelson and others at:
The Art Museum of Los Gatos, California
4 Tait Ave Los Gatos, CA 95030
December 1 - January 6
Reception: Saturday December 3, 2011 5PM-8PM
Show up in costume and get into the photobooth! You may end up being my next painting!
Price: FREE
Phone: (408) 395-7386
The Art Museum of Los Gatos presents Renovated Reputations, an immersiveexhibition experience featuring works conceived as a collaboration in painting,creative fiction, and design. At once noir, bohemian and pulp in style,the works invite the viewer to step inside and sit awhile, discover theirstories and spark engagement.
More info at:
http://www.kenney-mencher.com/

Adorable kids at the Art Museum of Los Gatos

2011-12-06T21:24:00.001-08:00

I'm gonna post some of the kids stories in the next couple of weeks. These kids were so adorable and really really smart. Here are some pictures from the event!

Renovated Reputations: A Collaborative Installationof Paintings, Fiction, Music and Vintage Furniture
by Kenney Mencher, Patrick Nelson and others at:
The Art Museum of Los Gatos, California
4 Tait Ave Los Gatos, CA 95030
December 1 - January 6
Reception: Saturday December 3, 2011 5PM-8PM
Show up in costume and get into the photobooth! You may end up being my next painting!
Price: FREE
Phone: (408) 395-7386
The Art Museum of Los Gatos presents Renovated Reputations, an immersiveexhibition experience featuring works conceived as a collaboration in painting,creative fiction, and design. At once noir, bohemian and pulp in style,the works invite the viewer to step inside and sit awhile, discover theirstories and spark engagement.
More info at:
http://www.kenney-mencher.com/

What's wrong with this picture?

2011-12-06T20:52:00.001-08:00

I got this "story" from a former student who is now at another school. The names have been omitted to protect the idiot, she had in her class.

Okay. Okay. I have yet another something to share with you.
So there I am, in my Art of Mexico class. The professor goes "And we recognize this guy right? Back from the Aztecs? Who was this god with light skin and hair?"
AND NO JOKE this (must have been super high) dude right behind me goes
".......Aristotle?"

Ugly Renaissance Babies

2011-12-05T12:00:00.000-08:00

A new blog I'm following called
Ugly Renaissance Babies
Pretty funny stuff! Here's a sample:

Madonna and Child, Domenico Veneziano or Our Madonna of the Maryjane

2nd Dec 2011 | 69 notes

Rosso Fiorentino. Madonna with Child and Putti. 1522.
Skankalicious Makeup Mary. This is not how faces work.

2nd Dec 2011 | 59 notes

Gerard David, The Rest on the Flight Into Egypt
Invisible piñata!

2nd Dec 2011 | 112 notes

Titian, The Worship of Venus
Ain’t no party like an ugly baby party!

1st Dec 2011 | 198 notes

Le Christ Benissant les Enfants
The Duggar Family: Renaissance Edition

1st Dec 2011 | 77 notes

Aelbert Bouts, Madonna and Child
Jazz hands!
(submitted by Sanchia de Souza)

1st Dec 2011 | 381 notes

Meister des Bartholomäus-Altars, Madonna with the Nut. 1485-1490
This is literal gross anatomy, guys. Our Holy Father of the Disturbing Bone Structure
(submitted by Rick Tulka)

1st Dec 2011 | 79 notes

Madonna and Child by Andrea Previtali, c.1515 or, ” Madonna of the Costanzas”
WHAT AM I GONNA DO WITH ALL THIS PAELLA?!
(submitted by Emmy Waz)

30th Nov 2011 | 322 notes

Garbage Pail Christ

Class: How to Curate and Market Fine Art (Ohlone College Fremont)

2011-12-04T18:36:00.001-08:00

ART-117A Museum and Gallery Techniques
at Ohlone College in Fremont California
with Professor Kenney Mencher

This class is designed to take you through all the aspects of gallery practices for both artists and those who want to become curators or "gallerists."

You will learn how to find galleries and publications that a fit the style of art you make or represent.
Develop public relation strategies. (Mailing lists, contact lists, and networking.)
Photograph and edit photographs of art work.
Design press releases and catalogs using Microsoft Word and or Adobe Indesign.
Pitch a show to a gallery including our own at Ohlone.

Visit the class site for details and schedule:
http://www.kenney-mencher.com/Museum_Calendar.htm

Thanks for coming to my show! It was great seeing so many of you guys!

2011-12-04T11:12:00.001-08:00

Scenes from the photobooth at the reception!

Here are two of the books that were designed as catalogs. (Click the book for a preview.)

My Art Opening Tonight

2011-12-03T11:42:00.001-08:00

Renovated Reputations: A Collaborative Installationof Paintings, Fiction, Music and Vintage Furniture
by Kenney Mencher, Patrick Nelson and others at:
The Art Museum of Los Gatos, California
4 Tait Ave Los Gatos, CA 95030
December 1 - January 6
Reception: Saturday December 3, 2011 5PM-8PM
Show up in costume and get into the photobooth! You may end up being my next painting!
Price: FREE
Phone: (408) 395-7386
The Art Museum of Los Gatos presents Renovated Reputations, an immersiveexhibition experience featuring works conceived as a collaboration in painting,creative fiction, and design. At once noir, bohemian and pulp in style,the works invite the viewer to step inside and sit awhile, discover theirstories and spark engagement.
More info at:
http://www.kenney-mencher.com/

Video for my Students on Islamic Art

2011-12-02T18:16:00.001-08:00

Michael Kirkbride an Artist I like

2011-12-02T10:23:00.001-08:00

If you get a chance, visit a friend's site. Michael Kirkbride has some way cool work that appeals to my taste!
http://www.michaelkirkbride.com/

A blog with a heart.

2011-12-01T22:33:00.001-08:00

One of my friends told me about this blog:

Shit My Students Write

Here's one of the entries.

Posthumous publication

Plato wrote the last days of Socrates, and describes within that document how Socrates comes to accept his death is 399 B.C. The text was written the years following his death but wasn’t officially published by Penguin Classics until 1954.

Video: Drawing the Skeleton Front View preparation for Life Drawing

2011-11-30T18:29:00.001-08:00

A video for my drawing students. This video includes the basic proportions based on a system of even 1/2 units and also includes the armature of shapes that the bones fall into.

More "How to" Articles and Tutorials

The Human Figure

Demonstration: Drawing the Skeleton Front View preparation for Life Drawing
PDF Versions of Lessons of How to Draw the Skeleton
Skeleton: Front PDF
Skeleton: Side PDF
Skeleton: 3/4 PDF

How to draw a portrait

Renovated Reputations: A Collaborative Installationof Paintings, Fiction, Music and Vintage Furniture
by Kenney Mencher, Patrick Nelson and others at:
The Art Museum of Los Gatos, California
4 Tait Ave Los Gatos, CA 95030
December 1 - January 6
Reception: Saturday December 3, 2011 5PM-8PM
Show up in costume and get into the photobooth! You may end up being my next painting!
Price: FREE
Phone: (408) 395-7386
The Art Museum of Los Gatos presents Renovated Reputations, an immersiveexhibition experience featuring works conceived as a collaboration in painting,creative fiction, and design. At once noir, bohemian and pulp in style,the works invite the viewer to step inside and sit awhile, discover theirstories and spark engagement.
More info at:
http://www.kenney-mencher.com/