Go Phillies!

I flew out of Philadelphia International airport today, only a few hours before the Phillies won the World Series and the place went berserk. I lived in Philadelphia in 1980 when the Phillies last won the Series, and late that night so long ago, a group of friends walked downtown to witness the Championship frenzy, including a bunch of happy anarchists who overturned the big truck delivering newspapers, creating an improvised ticker-tape parade of newsprint flying through the brisk October air. In honor of that night, and in preparation for this one, before I flew out today I went out with my brother to turn over some police cars and throw beer bottles into groups of unsuspecting pedestrians. Whoo!! Go Phillies! Mike Schmidt! Larry Bowa! Steve Carlton! Ryan Howard! Brad Lidge! Johnny Callison! Cookie Rojas! Okay, I don't think those last two guys won a series, but they were Phillies, so go them!!!

Love from Wilson World,

Tom 

Avant-Bored

I went to an art show recently, and this was the star of the show, under spotlights and on a pedestal in the center of the room. A wheelchair that's actually a bed of nails, with a blood red cross in the middle of it. Get it? Wheelchair? Nails? Cross? The funny thing is that some young artist actually thinks it's a statement, and not the echo of ten thousand other boring art pieces that use Christian imagery as a punching bag for the unimaginative. Oh, if only one of these sad clowns could paint, or draw, or play the kazoo, or come up with an original idea... 

Phoenix!

What an interesting time I had in Phoenix! I went to a coffee house concert, and watched some singer/songwriters angrily wail about America, and pain, and the horrible people in America who cause all the pain (none of them were in the room, I guess they were talking about "other" people). They were bathed clean, with fresh clothing and guitars that cost them - or the parents they ridicule in their songs - a couple of thousand dollars, while behind them were some paintings that condensed the evening more than any song about how messed up their family is, or America. A child, snide and petulant with a crash helmet, next to the only hope we seem to have - a colorful, yet phony superhero.

I'm working on my singer/songwriter album right now. "The Mirror Into Which I Look" is what I'm thinking about calling it. I'll take the cover photo as soon as I can find some good train tracks near my house. Some songs I'm really excited about:

1) Thanks for the guitar, Dad, you capitalist pig

2) There is no "I" in team, so I'm not on one

3) Blah Blah Blah, when do I get to talk?

4) Sunshine on my shoulders makes my black leather jacket hot

5) Aren't they stupid? (not us)

Love from Wilson World,

Tom 

Dallas!

I had a great time at the Improv last week, and took this photo of a grandpa showing his little boy some shiny cars in a restaurant parking lot. My grandpa had a shiny car, an old Cadillac that he polished to a perfect sheen, using Q-tips for the difficult edges and chrome. He was quite a character. An early memory I have is when our next door neighbor put a fence around his yard and I put my foot on it. The guy told me to get off his fence, and my grandfather stepped over the fence, took out a huge wad of cash and waved it in his face, swearing that if he ever talked to his grandson like that again he was going to put him in the hospital and pay the bill.

Hooray for grandfathers! And one day maybe we'll have universal health care, so we can punch jerks in the face without worrying about hospital bills!

Love from Wilson World,

Tom

Sad Clown

This sad clown painting is clearly depicting a sad clown/bodybuilder who is sad that the circus announced random drug testing for steroids. Check out those shoulders! The "sad clown" is as tired a theme as there is, and comedians are always asked questions based on the assumption that they must be insane and filled with stifled anguish to want to get onstage and make people laugh. After all, to do that you must be crazy and sad, right?

I'm going to start a series of paintings featuring happy accountants. 

Third Day!

I met the members of the band "Third Day" a while ago, and they're great guys who've always given us a warm welcome to their fabulous shows. Last night we went to see them in a giant amphitheater, along with Switchfoot, Jars of Clay, and the incredible Robert Randolph and his Family Band. It was an amazing concert, and we had a great time, singing and dancing and adjusting our protective earplugs, since we were in the tenth row and every beat of the drum actually felt like a CPR heart massage.

Thanks to Dave, Nathan, Mac, and all the really fabulous guys from Third Day for  wonderful night, and if you haven't heard of him, go find Robert Randolph and His Family Band on itunes. Whoop-dee-do that's good stuff.

Song of the Lark

This painting, "The Song of the Lark" is so beautiful that the great novelist Willa Cather wrote a book inspired by this farm girl singing a song at sunset. It hangs in a little corner of the museum, dwarfed by giant paintings of mythic figures and rich snobs, quietly supreme in its peaceful subtlety. Of course, if this farm girl lived today, her friends would convince her to wear a glittery halter top and audition for 'American Idol." 

Maybe it's better to stand in a field and sing a song to yourself as a bird flies overhead at sunset. 

Paintings matter

More from the Art Institute of Chicago. In the middle of so many old portraits of "Commander Josiah Smithensmythe and his dog," was a gorgeous painting called "The Captive Slave." Painted in 1827, the colors remain vibrant, and the subject remains anguished. Only paintings can do that bit of breathtaking magic - take us back for a moment to 1827 and into the mind of the man who sat to have this painting made. There were far more people gazing thoughtfully into this man's haunted face than any other expensive portrait of another snob with his children and gloves.

Love from Wilson World,

Tom