Disclaimer/Intro:

It seems that I am compelled to write a blog entry when someone (animal, vegetable, mineral--no minerals yet) has departed this earthly realm. Maybe I'll revisit this blog thing more often. Who knows?

RICK BAGLIONI TRIBUTE BLOG ENTRY

How do you encapsulate a 55 year roller coaster of a friendship into a bunch of words? There are simply too many anecdotes, events and occurrences to possibly list them all. From tales that originate out of our neighborhood (even though Rick lived about 5 blocks away) where we first met at age 7, to grammar school and beyond. A long time ago, I was persuaded by Rick and his Mom to join the Cub Scouts (the junior version of the Boy Scouts). The Cub Scout experience didn't last long which was probably a good thing for all concerned.

     However, that and regular interaction, conversation, and meeting up in the school playground led to the beginnings of a friendship. If memory serves, it was possibly baseball cards(?) then Matchbox cars, then some comic books that were the unifying hobbies we had. Both of our parents were aware of, and stayed on top of our burgeoning collections, lest they clutter up our rooms and the house in general (mine less so).

At some point in the early to mid '70s, Rick became the proud owner of a portable GE stereo phonograph (jokingly referred to as the Close-n-Play). Until a few years later, this served as our gateway to another dimension. Rick's (and my) record collection started to grow (45s, LPs) and then small cassette players and of course, cassettes. We began to frequent (as best we could) local record stores, where there was much to explore and learn (on our own and through record store employee/gurus). Oddly, or perhaps there was some strategy to this, we hardly ever bought the same record. I guess this was to cover as much musical ground as possible. FM radio was helpful in hearing new sounds, but at times, ,their selections were somewhat repetitive.

Aside from the music obsessions, and stamp collecting, and button collecting, Rick had a healthy interest in art and design. He had the neatest handwriting (many, many hand labelled cassette cases in miniature printing) and his inherited gift for precision architectural style rendering found its way into his artwork. In a way, intentional or not, his art had a futuristic feel to it.

Rick liked to be the center of attention, and had a real gift for mimicry. This included doing accents, facial expressions and other mannerisms, and was not limited in any way. He copuld easily recite dialogue from an obscure cartoon, a scene from a favorite film, or a conversation (with all of the nuances) from years before.

Our concert going experiences weere many (and varied). From very informal performances in a loft or basement-type setting, to large concert halls, the willingness to seek out the unusual and different carried over to that as well. I attended many unique musical events at Rick's urging.

Rick's gift communication led to a brief stint at a New Rochelle, NY radio station, where he had (for a brief time) a Saturday morning radio show (where he managed to play Iggy Pop to a mostly conservative audience). His gift for languages (English, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese) enabled him to pursue a teaching career. We would frequently run into students of his, who thanked him profusely for helping them assimilate into American culture, whether this meant finding a new job, furthering their education or just broadening their language skills. Speaking of languages, Rick invented a language of his own. This mainly involved the insertion of the letter "n" into every word. We would have regular discussions or "dinscunsions" if you like, about what to call this, It was either going to be called Englinch, Ninglish or Nenglench.

He had very strong opinions. If Rick liked something, he would let you know. If he didn't like something (or someone), he would REALLY let you know. He was passionate about everything, and his voice (and temper) would rise with the retelling of an anecdote.

On a different and more personal note, when I was in my own hour of need, aside from certain members of my family, Rick was there for me 100%. While I stayed with him and rebuilt the broken pieces of my existence, we became even closer friends. While on opposite ends of the spectrum politically, we managed to find common ground in everything else. Eventually, we moved in opposite directions, and our communications were mainly limited to phone, and the occasional get together. We still talked about life, music, and many other topics (carefully side-stepping politics). Rick was still a music obsessive, and his tastes had really branched out. I don't think that anyone could keep up with him in that regard.

He was one-of-a-kind and will forever be missed. His presence is still felt, and to me, he is still with us (especially when I'm in a record store). The only difference is that now he is slightly invisible. He would have laughed at that. 

Rest in Peace, Rick.

A RICK PLAYLIST OF SORTS:

Don't Cry No Tears - Neil Young

No Dark Things - Echo and the Bunnymen

The Main Thing - Roxy Music

Thank You America - Cabaret Voltaire

Us and Them - Pink Floyd

Arc-Lite - LOOP

Honeymooners

Little Rascals

Boardwalk Empire

Scarface

Blade Runner

2020 An unclear vision.

Wow, that's an unsettling title. But, these are unsettling and uncertain times.

I'm back on here after a five year (plus) absence. It's not that I had nothing to write about...au contraire. Much has changed. The trajectory I was on was increasingly downward (societal? yes, monetarily? yes). Some might call it a spiral but it was more of a zig zag, but downwards nonetheless.
  At a certain point, I relocated from Westchester County to Brooklyn. Thanks to the generosity of family and friend (and girlfriend), I was able to remain afloat for a while and get "it" together. Things have settled down quite a bit (even though there were a few moves within Brooklyn). Jobs became closer to what I do and have to offer (art related). I can't stress enough how important that is. I have had so many jobs over the years that had absolutely nothing to do with art. I know there are some who feel that this enabled me to put all of my artistic ideas directly into my art. Having been on both sides though, it feels better to have an art job. As a recent arts instructor (for children), I take great satisfaction in imparting art wisdom to them.
   My animated work (which is a solo endeavor) is also satisfying, but the nature of the beast is time consumption. Perhaps that is why I've only done three animated shorts (plus one in progress). I have to get back into the music thing (self-taught and extremely DIY-ish). After years (decades?) of trying to be in a loosely-knit "band", I am happily experimenting on a solo basis (although not as much in the past year with my most recent move--but that is changing). I am open to collaborative music making again, but it has to feel right.
  Trying to keep this from sounding diary-like or confessional, but perhaps that what a blog is at times. So, back to my artwork. I'm always torn between maintaining a style and full-out experimentation. I find this odd because the artists I admire have a very strong style that runs through their entire body of work. Through the wonder of youtube and online picture archives, we are able to view massive amounts of artwork. I also gravitate towards that which is experimental, and admire artists that are always searching--that takes bravery (of sorts).
Finally, for now, let's all use this alone time wisely (in the midst of the covid-19 home isolation). Listen to doctors and scientists, and stay safe.

Love to all, Robert

Photos. Left: Bearded mysterious selfie (2 years ago?). Right: Evening cascade. (I think that's the title) Acrylic on masonite., 2017. 

FABIAN MANDRAKE SCHAAD (MARCH 30TH-ish, 2002 - JANUARY 15, 2015) RIP. ABOUT A CAT...

An exceptional cat has left the Earthly building. This was an handsome gentleman, able to effortlessly win over countless human female hearts (female cats--not so much from I had observed), but also won admiration from cat non-fanciers. They had to admit it. He was big, elegant and sophisticated.

Anyway, ten years earlier, at the local animal shelter, I had been looking for a replacement cat. It was less than two weeks since my PREVIOUS (capitalized for the memory impaired) cat Macguffin had died suddenly in the middle of the night. I also, at one time had a cat named Courageous. He was not courageous by any stretch, and fled the coop. Macguffin and I had an unusual relationship in that he was a grouch, and did nothing to hide it. He dealt out affection sparingly, as if it was only being dangled before us humans in order to secure favors, treats, or maintenance. I had it in mind that I wanted to get a black cat...mainly because they look so cool (bad luck be damned) and they go with everything. They make any piece of furniture that they sit on look cooler, and they evoke a sense of mystery, etc.

When I inquired if any black cats were to be had/adopted, someone there showed me a cage, isolated from the other cats. Inside it contained a striped cat, and what looked like several black cats curled up together. I was told that there was only one black cat in there. I took a quick look, couldn't decide and went home. The next day (I think), I called up and went back to take another look at the black cat, with the plan to adopt him. He was somewhat reluctantly pulled out of the cage and held out towards me. The TEMPORARY name they had for him was Mushball, because he was so mellow. That moniker had to go. Well, he bit my hand very gently (no pressure at all on the bite) and looked up at me as if to say..."Uh-oh. Is that frowned upon?" It was then that I decided on the spot to bring him home. He had attitude!

At home, he was very well-behaved, as one might expect (or hope) any houseguest would be. At one point, I let him know that this was his home, and that he could relax and be himself. Apparently, that could be likened to flipping a lightswitch inside him, because within minutes he was racing around, barreling into doors, taking flying leaps, doing cartwheels (ok, maybe not cartwheels) and all sorts of tomcatfoolery. Eventually, he settled in and we became best pals. His name was determined by reading off a list of names for a male cat in an even tone of voice. When I said "Fabian", he lit up. And Fabian you shall be.

He averaged around 18 pounds, so when he jumped up on your lap, you knew it. Spoiled? Of course. When he walked around in here, he looked like a panther. He had a slow and elegant way of walking.

Everything was going great until about 5+ years ago, when Fabian began to have seizures. Seizures in animals, not unlike an epileptic seizure in an human I suppose, are horrific to witness. The cause was unknown, but the medication proved miraculous. He slowed down a little bit, but still liked to run the length of the place (usually post-poop), as well as all manner of playing (cat owners will know).

Fabian and I had telepathy, and I would test it every now and then. Without saying anything, knowing full well he was asleep or just in another part of my place, I would ask him to come and hang out. Might take a minute or two...sometimes less than that, and he would jump up, or at least come up to me. When I was out for an extended period of time, he would sometimes greet me at the door, and in his way, be very talkative...as if he had lots to fill me in on.

He was a great companion, and would snuggle up and generate a lot of warmth. He would also jump up on my chest and do the kneading/massage/purring thing for at least 10-15 minutes, which often relaxed me to the point of passing out. Maybe it was all part of a plan...

Here then, some choice Fabian moments:

Once, I was running late for a doctor's appointment, and Fabian was insistent on playing and acting silly. In the way people speak to pets, I said, "Not now. I've got to find this form." He gave me a sarcastic look, walked immediately over to a stack of same size unopened envelopes, took a swing at the middle of the stack, and the EXACT envelope with the referral slip fell onto the floor before me.
"You're good!" I told him.

Another time, I was feeling rather depressed about any number of things and went into the bathroom. As I glanced into his litter box, there was a perfectly pooped-out smiley face. I burst out laughing. Such hidden talent!! Sorry, no photos.

Thirdly, I was on the phone one time, sitting on the floor and hearing something unnerving/depressing and Fabian came over and patted me on the shoulder with his paw as if to imply that it would be all right.

Lastly, and this is miraculous. The other night (Thursday), I got home around 9pm. Fabian was waitng at the door. We hung out for about an hour, and nothing seemed particulary different, as it was hard to gauge his response/reaction to the latest additional medicine, other than he appeared to hate the taste. Then, I decided it was medicine time. I was giving him his nightly medicine dosage(s), and he was laid back and looking up at me. He started to emit very human-like sounds, and  said, I SWEAR (in a very similar sound/human voice approximation as the youtube video of a huskie saying the same thing) "I LOVE YOU." I was taken aback, and said that was very sweet and I loved him too. I set him down gently. He staggered into the living room and emitted 3-4 VERY LOUD guttural yowls. I'd never heard him like this and gently put my hand on his back. Again (I SWEAR I SERIOUSLY HEARD THIS), a very (pained) voice emerged from him. RO-B-ER-R-T!!

I gently scooped him off the floor and held him in my arms/lap while I sat in a chair? "What's wrong, Fabe?" A few more moans, and very deep breaths (he was not maintaining eye contact, but was instead looking skyward) and he seemed to be gone...right in my arms. He went completely limp. Perhaps, re-reading this has made it sink in.

In conclusion, what a magnificent animal. I always told him how lucky I was to have found this particular black cat who was there for me on way too many occasions. Our pets do love us, too.

An update of sorts

Well, it's been a while. Who has time anymore...for anything? I am clearly in the midst of my alternate career (look it up), and as such, have been pounding the pavement in a different method (than the job search way). Hand still hurts though.

But you know what? I somehow found a moment to write this. And that, in itself should be indicative...that we can ALL find the time and make the time to do the things we want to. Like painting, animating, socializing, attending events, searching for that special someone or that special bargain or that special little thing that has been misplaced yet again (I have no idea what that is, just being clever).

So go forth...and conquer your little world. And try to be nice to one another.

Tawk soon-like.

ps It's art season in NY, so stay tuned...

2013 wrap-up...not really.

Well, here we are...almost March 2014. Where did 2013 go? Same place as every year. Into the past.

It was a tumultuous year with several ups (greatly appreciated) and quite a few downs (damn you recovering economy...faster, faster). I suppose the big plus from  having so much free time (not by choice) is that you have time to think. What did I do, what have I done, where should I go? So many unanswered questions. Also, I got to indulge the creative aspects of my life in terms of painting (accelerated pace of late). So without getting preachy, I've been humbled, take nothing for granted and look forward to rebounding sooner rather than later.

     One of these days, real soon, I'll post another painting image and semi-explain it. Meanwhile, go get some fresh air.

Before 2013 gets away from me/us

Hello Dear Reader of December 9, 2013 (and beyond):

It has been awhile since I partook in this particular endeavor. Are blogs passé? I'm not sure...nor do I care. It continues to serve (in its vehicular manner) as a means of transporting my thoughts and ideas to you. Whilst I continue to search for "le job" to keep "le cash" flowing inwards and maintaining a residence, this blog has politely taken the back seat in said vehicle.

Just for the record, I continue to be a good boy...er man, and seek out the best in entertainment and fine/modern/contemporary art stimuli. So that I can absorb it into my being and (for lack of a better term) regurgitate it in the form of some painting, drawing, musical noodle (gotta work on those as well) and animated bit (hand-drawn style, thank you very much) for you.

Also, the elusive love muse needs mentioning...as I never set out to make this journey alone.

So, just a quick blog entry to let you know that I still check in, care, and will rev it up again (sooner rather than later).

Cheers. Don't forget to rest and get plenty of fluids.

Over and Out ('til next time),

Your Humbled Warrior for All (Most) Things Good, Proper and Decent,

Robert

2012. A Year That Was...wrapped up (finally).

All righty. Keeping my word (literally). I promised you a 2012 wrap-up and here it is (almost at 2013's midway point). Well, what happened? What exciting news or info to impart, Robert?

2012 was a year in which a lot more work was done on my paintings (many started, many completed, some framed).

2012 was a year in which I continued to look for work (Apply, apply, apply thyself).

2012 was a year in which I continued to look for love (in all the wrong places. I kid, I kid).

2012 was  a year in which I got to see The Rascals (big for me, as I wanted to see them perform live since I was a small kid).

2012 was a year in which doomsday merchants and fear mongers had predicted Earth's demise (again). The Mayan calendar is continued about a mile away from the known location, and gives us at least an extra 1500 years (and then we'll discover where that one continues...so relax).

2012 was a year in which I was a vendor (1st time) at the Brooklyn Flea Record Fair (see other post).

2012 saw a presidential election, in which I voted (I always vote btw).

Celebrity gossip, record art auction prices and such continued.

Some fine music, animation and films were released (as usual).

But anyway, enough of 2012. It's in the hands of the historians.

Let them rewrite it, and put the revisionist spin on it.