The Funeral

On the day of the funeral I had to arrive early as a pallbearer to help get the sealed coffin into the church. The 6 men in black suits slid the box out of the Hurst and then started struggling up the few steps up to the entrance. The black iron railings were to narrow and we couldn’t fit through. We had to back it down and then go up the wheel chair ramp instead. A gurney helped when we got to the church door which we also would not have fit through. I sat in the second pew alone. My brother Wayne sat in the the pew in front of me with his wife Jennifer and two of his three boys. His wife put her arm around him. The organist began playing “Amazing Grace” and I started to well up. The organ music went on and on. A cousin of mom’s sitting behind me stated humming and singing the songs to herself and I found myself getting annoyed. I kept my anger in check focusing my attention on the Hawaiian flowers on top of the casket. A large leaf had been crushed inside the coffin lid when it was closed. I wanted to go up and free it but I sat numbly.
There was a short sermon which I didn’t really notice, and several hymns requiring standing and then sitting again. I went through the motions exhausted. Finally the pastor started talking about the last time he had visited Ruth in Ellen Memorial Health Care Center. He had dropped his bible as he got out of his car and he couldn’t find it. When he got to mom’s room he found she had her own bible on the night stand beside her. It’s cover was worn and the pages tattered from so much use. When he opened it he found many passages that she loved were already highlighted. She was on morphine and not able to talk and he read to her for the longest time. When he recited the lords prayed she raised her hand up to him. He held her hand through the prayer and she smiled. She was devout and a firm believer right up to her last breath.
The pastor then asked if anyone would like to get up and say a few words. Loretta Ernst, Ruth’s step daughter from her last marriage to Ken Krause got up. She began to talk about how happy her dad was when he and Ruth were dating back in 1995. She called her dad about something and he said he couldn’t talk long since he was expecting a call from “Ruthy.” She kept the conversation short and when she hung up the phone she realized she had forgotten to tell him something. She called him right back. He answered in a sultry voice she had never heard before saying, “Hello blue eyes.” She said, “Dad my eyes are brown.” Everyone in the church laughed. I laughed and began to cry. I have only net Loretta two times in my life and here she was showing me a side of my mom I had never seen.
Walter got up and said, “Wow this is harder than I thought.” He started to tear up. “I knew Ruth for 44 years and to me she was and would always be mom. She was there when my mom died. Ruth and I would sometimes argue about religion. She would say, “You say your a christian but you’re not living up to it.” In the end I would have to admit she was right.” He said, “For putting up with me, she deserved sainthood.” Then he pointed out her shrill high pitched and earth shattering way that she had of sneezing. When she sneezed birds would take flight and deer would turn and bolt into the woods. Once again everyone laughed.
After the service when we had maneuvered the casket back into the Hurst, the director shook my hand firmly and said, “I’d like to meet you again sometime, well not under these circumstances mind you…Uhm you know what I mean.”
That evening around the dinner table after drinking many cups of wine, all the children talked about the stupid things they had done in their youth. I found out things about my older brothers and sisters I had never known before. Walter arranged for a final farewell celebration by setting off large fireworks mortars in Ruth’s honor down near the pond. There were three mortar tubes and they kept trying to set up three blasts at once. The trouble was that there were only two lighters that Walter had picked up at the dollar store. Ben instructed me to wait three seconds after he lit his mortar fuse. I waited but then could not get the fuse to light. The darn lighter wouldn’t stay lit. I was still leaning towards the tube when the Ben’s mortar blast sent me jumping back. The hot flash blinded me for a second and the noise caused my ears to ring. I never did light the darn fuse, and I handed the lighter off to one of the kids. The men behaved like kids and the kids tried to act like men. I just wanted to make sure I had both my hands when all was said and done. Some of the fireworks circular blasts were so close to the ground that the sparks would come withing inches of our faces and many sparks remained glowing embers on the ground. With each new mortar blast we would all shout out, “OOOOh Ahhhh, that was a pretty one.” Cindy who is from California was particularly excited. Fireworks are banned out there. These sudden bursts of light and noise lighting up the cold starry sky were the perfect way to celebrate life’s short journey.

The Wake

As I sketched the Hessling Funeral home, groups of high school kids came running down the slanted uphill driveway. I was leaning back against a parking meter and twice I had to sit up so people could shove coins in the slot. A pickup truck pulled into the parking lot and the man pulled out a lawn mower and started mowing the lawn.
The wake was an eternally long period of sitting and waiting from 2 to 4 and then 7 to 9 PM. Ruth’s body was lying in a solid and sturdy looking casket. A small table toward the foot of the casket has a picture of a neatly trimmed Christ. My sister Carol found a statue of Betty Boop with a bright red boa to put at the table at the head of the casket. Ruth was a fan of Betty Boop and had a collection of them. At breakfast in her home I put in a Betty Boop animated short and watched her sinuous cycled animation.
My sister Carol had been put in charge of making sure I did not do a drawing of Ruth in her casket. She said, “I know you love drawing, but… no drawing the coffin, I’d think you’d freak everybody out.” Juanita and Gail also also kept a close eye on me. I knew Ruth would not want me to do such a drawing but being told it was forbidden made it tempting. Had I tried, I would have been kicked out of my own mothers funeral. Gail told me that if I sketched mom she would haunt me for eternity. Ruth was always concerned that she only be photographed or drawn when she looked her best. The mortician had done a good job of removing any hint of wrinkles and pain from moms face. She wore one of the leis and two others were dangling from the edges of the casket lid. Large red Victorian floor lamps lit the front of the room with a warm red glow. There were large flower arrangements from the children and grand children and people in town.
I once did a drawing of my father, Art, when he had Leukemia. Ruth found the drawing and ripped it out of my sketchbook and destroyed it. I later did more drawings of my father but all of them were from memory, done in the waiting room.
Honesdale Pennsylvania is a small town and everyone knows each other. Gail and Juanita live in Honesdale and friends and co-workers kept coming in and hugging them and offering condolences. I sat lined up against the wall with the rest of the 6 Thorspecken children and we spoke amongst ourselves never being embraced by the people from town. I realized it is hard to cry without touch. My family sat around and joked and told stories to pass the time. I couldn’t take all the banter. It was all just so much noise. I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts.
I finally went to a back parlor of the funeral home and started sketching. I made sure to place a relative strategically to block any view of the casket. Old photos of Ruth were on display and a digital frame displayed photos of her grandchildren. Kyle and Jack, two of my nephews, watched my every move as I did the sketch. Kyle is a budding artist himself, and I was proud when he showed up to the second half of the wake with his own sketchbook tucked under his arm. My brother in law Walter kept borrowing my sketchbook to show to his friends. I met the owner of a downtown gallery and she was one person who held my hand for the longest time when she greeted me. I found myself talking excitedly about art for a while before, out of the corner of my eye, I again caught the image of mom lying in the front of the room alone and ignored. I did stand in front of the casket for a long time memorizing her features and the gentle turn of her thin wrists with her fingers folded calmly on her belly. This lifeless image is however not one I want to hold onto and I will never commit it to paper.

1000 Miles of Silence


I drove straight through. As I write this I am seated in the Himilayan Institute in downtown Honesdale, Pennsylvania. The stereo is playing gentle Indian music with the distinctive sounds of a sitar and drums. A singer chants ohmmmm. The Institute’s coffee bar is the only place in town with a WiFi connection. Yesterday I left Orlando at 9AM and I drove into my step-mom’s driveway at 4AM . The last time I drove this route I had my stereo blasting the whole trip. I let the music sway my mood up and down the whole way. This time I drove in silence. My spirit needed the rest. I stared straight ahead a the vanishing point at the end of the infinite road ahead of me. The road soared beneath my feet. My sketchbook sat on the passenger seat as my co-pilot. I fueled myself with peanut butter cookies and Mountain Dew. Once my right eye teared up, probably from eye strain. I put on my sunglasses but soon took them off so I could see the vibrant spring colors unfiltered.
By the time I got to Pennsylvania, it was dark and many of the big rigs were parked on the exit ramps. I got lost several times, once in Baltimore and once on the hilly winding side roads around Harrisburg. when I finally found my way back to the main highway, I was exhausted. Driving past Scranton at three in the morning, my spirit soared. The highway hugged the side of a mountain and in the pitch black, I felt like I was flying. The lights of Scranton could be seen stretching out to the horizon and I was flying above them at eighty miles an hour. I imagined myself flying the Spirit of Saint Lewis safely across the Atlantic. My darn right eye is watering up again as I write this. I can still write with one eye open.
On the final miles driving through the mountainous back roads, I started to see flashes of darkness that would dart in front of my truck. I knew there were plenty of deer up here, so I would pull my foot off of the accelerator. My eyes were playing tricks on me. The dark flashes were phantoms, figments of my overactive imagination and tired retinas. When I rolled into my step-mom’s empty driveway, I was ready to sleep sitting up. I opened the front door and the first thing I saw in the empty house, was a plaque that said, “Having a friend is a comfort that can never be taken away. ” I have no idea what friend might have given Ruth this plaque or even if she is alive. I dropped onto the couch and fell asleep thinking nothing lasts.
The next morning I went outside to sketch Ruth’s former home. Huge bumble bees crawled into the light purple blooms of the Rhododendrons near the porch. The light was radiant and bright. As I sketched, a Fed Ex truck pulled in the driveway. when the driver pulled out a package and started walking to the front door, I got up, thinking I might have to sign for it. My foot was asleep so I stood stamping, trying to bring it back to life. The driver left before I was able to walk. I realized that he hadn’t even noticed I was there. I took the package to my step-sister Juanita, who lived next door. She opened it up and discovered two beautiful Hawaiian leis. My father and Ruth visited the islands many times. Ruth will be wearing these leis for her wake. Juanita asked me to bring the flowers to the funeral home downtown. As I drove I kept getting calls from my step-sister, Gail, since she was concerned that no one was there, and she didn’t want me to leave the flowers at the door. Mr Hessling greeted me at the side door and crushed my hand with his firm handshake. Gail wanted to talk to him, so I handed him my cell phone. He started joking with her saying that he had given the flowers to his wife for secretary’s day. He joked with me as well but I felt a bit uncomfortable since Ruth’s body was probably lying in the next room.

The Arts and Social Responsibility

Billy Collins the former US poet laureate, Jules Feiffer, a Pulitzer prize-winning cartoonist, novelist , playwright and screenwriter and Marsha Norman a Pulitzer prize-winning playwright all came together at the Annie Russell Theater at Rollins College to discuss the arts and social responsibility. Feiffer kicked off the discussion by pointing out that most of his cartoons were about the narrative of social injustice. He was fascinated by the way politicians would say one thing and mean something entirely different. In his mind fear is the most common human emotion.He saw Death of a Salesman when he was a young boy and he was truck by the way the family in that play never told the truth to one another. He saw his own family mirrored in the hidden meanings of what was left unsaid on the stage. He felt that the play “Waiting for Gordot” was a play with cartoon dialogue which as a cartoonist he could identify with.
Marsha Norman discussed how her play “Night Mother” came to fruition. She was angry at having just lost a job and she found herself in a new city not knowing anyone. She wrote the play from that place of anger feeling she had nothing to loose since no one would ever produce the play. The play was about time and anger and the end of a certain journey. As it turns out this was the play that won her the Pulitzer Prize. She said winning that award gave her the four word title in front of her name but little else. Writing her next play she knew she had to start from scratch and anything she produced would always be compared to the former high water mark. She started discussing how the intermission is so important in a play. The audience has met the characters and seen the obstacles. She compared the audience to a jury. She felt it is important for the audience to deliberate during the intermission. When the audience returns it is important that no key moment be staged in the first few minutes since audience members are still adjusting to the seats and thinking about their neighbors and any annoyances. Then she wants the audience to feel they are on stage with the characters. She said the brains main function is to predict and at all times the audience is making predictions and judgments.
In a question and answer session after the talk, a student asked the open ended question which has the most elusive answer, “What should I be doing if I want to write a great play?” I was surprised at the simple and obvious answer Marsha offered. She said, “Write some short one act scenes of dialogue. One could be a love scene, an argument and a scene where one character wants something the other character has. Then get some friends to rehearse these scenes and perform them in public places like a cafeteria or a park. The people in these public places will be your audience and see how they react. Keep writing. Write some more.”

Dr. Sketchy’s – Tatame Lounge

I decided to relax for an evening and work with a model. Dr. Sketchy’s meets every first Wednesday of each month at Tatame Lounge (223 West Fairbanks Road). I found a parking spot right around the corner from the Lounge and when I walked in people were already drawing. With the first set of poses the model was dressed as a 1960’s housewife. She had a voluptuous figure and was a joy to sketch. I quickly sketched her figure and then focused my attention on all the fellow artists at work. Seated next to me was Joey Fisher who knew of my blog and asked me about my approach to a sketch. I explained how I block the picture in and we spoke for a few minutes between sets.
A waitress explained the specials for the night and I was looking forward to getting a sake but she never came back. I think the fact that I never stop working when I start a sketch throws people off and they are afraid to approach me. The light hanging above the spot I sat at was burned out. Joey managed to get a staff member to come over and replace the bulb. After the bulb was replaced, it immediately flickered off again. Something was wrong with the bulb connection. Jennifer Gwynne Oliver a fellow Former Disney artist came over and lent me her book light. I had a book light but I liked hers better it had a gentle warm glow whereas mine was way to bright.
Towards the end of the posing session a large group entered the bar and they crowded around the back of the room where I was seated. Things got loud and soon most of the artists were chatting it up as well. When it came time for the Dr. Sketchy’s competition, I was nowhere near finished with my sketch. The prize was a Disney book which I honestly didn’t want anyway so I didn’t compete. If you don’t compete, you can’t loose. Before I knew it the evenings sketching session was over. I left with a single sketch which makes me wonder if I got my $5 worth for the evenings modeling session.

Paxia

I went to Paxia (2611 Edgewater Drive, College Park) to see the start of a $30 wine tasting crawl. For $30 these folks could order a wine at each of five different bars on the route. As I approached the Mexican themed restaurant and bar, I noticed a crowd of women strutting towards the place in tight low cut dresses. Inside I was told that tonight was also five dollar tequila night. The crowd gathering for the bar crawl congregated down at the far end of the bar. I sat in a cushy red leather chair in the corner of the room and started sketching. A waitress came over and asked me if I wanted anything, I decided to order a tequila so I would blend in. I didn’t know what tequila to order so I let her pick one for me. A few minutes later my dainty little glass arrived half full of a clear pink fluid. I tool a small sip and swallowed. I had to exhale at it went down my throat and my eyes watered. I would take another sip periodically allowing the liquid to evaporate on my tongue. I avoided the whole, swallowing step, for as long as possible.
The crowd that had gathered for the crawl soon left for their next stop. Singles would sit at the bar periodically and order appetizers and a drink. Eaves dropping I found out one woman had worked as a waitress in Vail Colorado and she told the couple next to her all about how beautiful Colorado was. The couple had been to Vail and they thought it would be an expensive place to live. The woman assured them that if you know where to shop, Vail is very affordable. I started feeling like I was among jet setters. One woman ordered a drink then started counting a thick wad of bills as she sat at the bar.
Terry called from work and she agreed to come to Paxia for a drink since I was almost finished with my sketch. When she joined me she ordered a Margarita and an appetizer. I put my sketch away and turned to my cup of tequila which I had barely touched. Terry was shocked that I had ordered a tequila and she asked the waitress if she could water it down with Margarita mix. The waitress agreed to do so at no extra charge.
The TV was showing some game show where a woman was trying to blow a soap bubble through a hoop a few yards away. Three people at the bar were watching intently and shouting encouragement. The woman got the bubble through the hoop and won something like $75,000. She later lost everything when she was trying to blow a deck of playing cards off of the neck of a beer bottle without letting the Joker fall. I became mesmerized by all the close up shots of the woman pursing her lips and gently blowing. I am convinced this is card trick is impossible, and I am still annoyed that she didn’t keep the bubble money. Now I know what I am missing since I no longer have time to watch TV.
The food was good and the Marguerite Terry ordered was delicious. I swallowed my tequila plus mix in one last gulp. I was really tempted to order a Margarita but I had to drive home. I left satisfied with a sketch under my arm and I am so happy Terry decided to join me on one of my outings. I suspect we will return some day for a full dinner.

Awakening the Dragon Boat

Leslie Silvia gave me a tip that a Dragon Boat was going to be launched at Lake Fairview at the Orlando Rowing Club. As I approached the park, pink balloons let me know I was at the right place. After I parked I walked up towards the lake because I could see the dragon boat on a trailer behind a pick up truck. There was a chain link fence between me and the boat so I walked the length of the fence looking for an entry. I didn’t find one, all the entrances were locked up. I walked back the other way towards a crowd of people many of them wearing pink shirts. As I approached this crowd underneath a picnic pavilion, Leslie saw me and approached. She gave me a program and explained what was about to happen. Before the boat would be launched, there would be opening remarks and a performance of the Orlando Taiko Dojo. I set up and started sketching the performers. The rhythmic drumming didn’t last very long and I rushed to get as much detail into the sketch as I could before they left the stage. I was just starting to apply color as the group stopped and prepared to go home. I had chosen to sit at the table where the performers had left their supplies so when they were done I found myself surrounded. A little boy saw me working and stood right in front of me watching me work. His friend tried to convince him to go play on the swings but he stood transfixed. I had to lean side to side so I could see around him.
When a new Dragon Boat is launched a black mark is painted on the center of the dragon’s eye. According to legend, the dotting of the eye awakens the dragon, and grants the boat and it’s racers good luck. Dragon boat racing commemorates the life of Qu Yuan who lived in the third century BC. He was a minister who advocated reforms for his home state of Chu. The king refused to listen and Qu Yuan was banished. When Qu Yuan heard his home had been invaded, he drowned himself in the Mi Lo river. Local fishermen rushed out in boats in an attempt to save him. They beat drums and thrashed the water with paddles in an attempt to keep fish from eating his body. Rice dumplings were thrown in the water to try and lure the fish away.
When I finished this sketch, I walked out to the water where a dragon dance had just stopped. All of the women in pink shirts turned out to be breast cancer survivors and they were the dragon boat’s crew for the maiden voyage. I followed them out to the dock where the boat was moored and considered getting a sketch as they loaded into the boat but the moment was gone in an instant. The boat had been funded by Harriet Lake and named for her daughter and breast cancer survivor Shelly Lake and Harriet’s sister Isabel Etter. The warriors paddled the boat gently off shore and then they threw pink and red carnations into the water to commemorate people they knew who had died from breast cancer. The flowers floated gently back to the dock in the afternoon breeze. The women in the boat were known as Warriors on water (WOW). A woman sat at the each end of the boat and the woman in back shouted out a beat for the rowers to synchronize to. The sun was setting creating bright orange flashed on the water, as the warriors gracefully cruised out to the center of the lake and back. I stood on the edge of the lake for the longest time thinking I might get one more sketch, but I decided it would be dark before I finished. I simply etched the image in my mind and vowed to return to sketch another day.

67 Books – The Last Book

When the reader list was first announced, Book 67 was listed as TBA. Brian had been asked all week long who the final reader would be, and ha always responded that he was trying to get a “name,” some celebrity reader. But, Of course, when all was said and done, the final reader of the 67 Books project was Brian Feldman. For his hour, he chose, “The Complete Beatles:v. 1:A-I” arranged by Todd Lowry. Keyvan Acosta, (Book 62), accompanied him on guitar and they both sang their hearts out. Brian noted that Kevyan looks like John Lennon reincarnated. Brian shouted out to the people passing in the street, “Is it anyone’s birthday?” Someone shouted back “Yes!” Then Brian and Kevyan broke into “You say it’s your birthday, Happy birthday to you!”
Soon there was a small crowd of people gathered in the street. Some people also were gathered at the different levels of the parking garage across the street. To do this sketch I sat down on the roof and leaned back against the ledge of the overhang. I was right at the feet of the performers looking up. Tommy Wingo, (Book 7), grabbed a kite which had been used earlier in the day during the reading of “The Giving Tree” written by Shel Silverstein, and read by Davey Rocker (Book 64). Brian was dancing all over the stage and one point, fell off the back of the stage, but he was fine. During one song, he held the mic down so I could belt out a line. I sang, a bit off key at first but I recovered. I was surprised when people applauded.
Everyone loves The Beatles and the crowd responded to each and every song. When the performance was over, Brian and Kevyan walked back away from the ledge acting like they were going down stairs. Brian coached the crowd explaining that they should be going wild so they could return for an encore. The crowd obliged. After the final song, In My Life, Brian and Kevyan bowed 67 times; one bow for every reader who had contributed to the project. With that, Brian closed the book, and 67 Books was officially over.

67 Books – The Readers Seat

An hour after hearing my stepmother,Ruth Krause, had died, it was my turn to read on the roof of the public library. As I approached, I saw Emma Hughes reading from Perelandra by C.S. Lewis. I sat next to her grandfather, leaned over to him and asked, “Was she ever an actress?” He replied, “I’m a bit of an actor myself and taught her many things when she was younger.” She came to one passage where a character shouts out “I am the universe!” She shouted it out with such conviction! It had to be a liberating moment. Sultana said to me that she had almost cried several times as she was reading “The Alchemist” since it moved her so deeply. I started thinking to myself that I just might start crying if I try and read now. I decided I would not let that happen.
I wasn’t feeling motivated to give a dramatic read of the book I had bought, “The Fountainhead” by Ayn Rand. My growing nervousness was also fueled as a Facebook event page had been created inviting artists to come out and sketch me while I read. Nine people had confirmed that they would come out and I was thinking to myself that they might have an opportunity to watch me break down. I noticed several homeless people listening to Emma’s reading and I started to consider that any one of them might be willing to read the book for me if I offered a reasonable salary. Finally, at the last moment, I convinced the sound man, Tommy Wingo, to read for me. Just as in Cyrano de Bergerac, I went out to the readers chair overlooking the street and sat down, while Tommy set up a mic at the back of the roof where he could not be seen and began to read. At first I think I did a decent job lip syncing to what he read. People walking past really didn’t notice, but the artists gathered in the street soon knew what was up and they all laughed. Lip syncing actually dries out your mouth rather fast, so I took a sip of water while Tommy was reading behind me and he didn’t skip a beat.
Seated on the sidewalk below, three artists were sketching: Amanda Chadwick, who was the culprit behind the “Sketch the Sketcher” event page, A.J. Martin, who is Amanda’s boyfriend, and Sultana Fatima Ali who returned for the occasion. Sultana had informed me that she read “The Fountainhead” on her trip through the Himalayas. Her sketch was curious in that the banners blew in the opposite direction compared to the other artists sketches. Dan Ginader had also stopped by with his wife and daughter Jozie. Emma Hughes and Keyvan Acosta were there knitting. Since I wasn’t reading, I could do what came naturally, and I started to sketch the view from the readers seat. My lips moved constantly as I blocked in the sketch. I knew I only had an hour so I rushed to get it finished. Jessica Mariko walked by and laughed out loud when she saw how far off my lip syncing was. I waved and forgot about moving my lips for a moment. It was so nice to be able to laugh. Soon there would be expectations of entirely different forms of expression.

67 Books -The Alchemist

Sultana Fatima Ali read “The Alchemist” by Paulo Coelho, as part of the final day of 67 Books on the rooftop over the entryway to Orlando Public Library. I was to read later that day, so I decided I would stop and listen and sketch. Behind Sultana, beautiful colored banners fluttered in the breeze. The story immediately entranced me, holding me in its grip. It followed the story of a young shepherd boy named Santiago, who was on a journey to fulfill his personal legend. It is easy to identify with this young shepherd as he seeks to find his treasure in the pyramids of Egypt. This book has been translated into 67 languages and sold over 65 million copies. Most of these sales were all from word of mouth. The book is even available free online.
The author discussed how he had to overcome many obstacles. From childhood, he was given the idea that fulfilling his destiny is impossible. Growing up, everyone enforced this idea. The second obstacle is love, the fear of giving up everything to pursue this distant dream. Another obstacle is fear of defeat. Yet defeats will come and must be faced. When these defeats are overcome, and they always are, then life can be faced with confidence and euphoria. According to Paulo, “The secret to life, is to fall seven times and get up eight times.”
I was disappointed when Sultana had to stop reading. Santiago had not found his personal legend yet, he had just started down that road. This is a book I will be picking up soon to read for myself.
After the reading was over I got a message on my cell phone. It was from my sister Carol, and read, “She passed. I’ll call u when i get there and know more.” This news caused my stomach to tighten and contract. She was talking about my stepmother, Ruth Krause, who I had just visited in Honesdale Pennsylvania a month before. I stood on the sidewalk stunned. Not knowing what to do, or how to act, I walked to the History Center and started sketching the high school children who were doing chalk drawings all around the public square. I pushed all thoughts of a funeral out of my mind and concentrated on the sketch at hand.