99 candles

Author Nelson Algren would have been 99 today, and next year Chicago and maybe a few other places on the map will surely celebrate the centennial of his birth and life and work--hopefully in an offbeat and left-of-center manner, to match Algren's personality. This picture was taken by photographer Art Shay in about 1949 and shows Algren looking over a manuscript in his Wicker Park apartment. Shay was a good friend of Algren's and followed him around taking pictures during this time and for several years after, getting a glimpse of Chicago through Nelson's wise and weary eyes. The photos are now compiled into a book called Chicago's Nelson Algren (Seven Stories Press), and you can also see more of them through The Steven Daiter Gallery's on-line exhibit, all fascinating visuals to accompany this great writer's often poignant, often funny, often tragic words.

"An old wino dragging a pair of mottled suspenders to the floor wandered in from somewhere and asked wonderingly: 'You fellows remember me?' When none remembered he repeated the question to himself, with moving lips, as though he himself had nearly forgotten. Yet with each pulse beat his blood demanded to know, once and for all before it went cold for keeps, who remembered him and his mottled suspenders...."

Nelson Algren, The Man With The Golden Arm

sunrises and thunder showers

Arthur Dove (1880-1946) was one of America's first abstract painters and a collage artist as well, attempting to convey with his work the purest essence of whatever subject he had chosen. He wasn't greatly popular in his lifetime but has a strong reputation now and can be found in many major museums, and the Amon Carter Museum in Fort Worth even has an umbrella designed with one of his paintings in mind. I know that the commercialization of art on everyday objects like mousepads and coffee mugs or tote bags is a touchy subject, but I'm not so sure that Arthur would have minded his Thunder Shower being turned into an umbrella. Because the umbrella theoretically will be outside in the essence of the rainy atmosphere he was trying to express, making the art umbrella of Arthur almost interactive.

Click here and here to read more about Mr. Dove, who once noted how the beaks of seagulls "look like ivory thrown slowly through space...."

(pictured -- Arthur Dove's Sunrise, 1924 -- now at The Milwaukee Public Museum)

the many moods of joseph

Artist Joseph Stella (June 13, 1877-1946) was born in Italy but came to New York as a young man to study pharmacology and medicine. The medical career was soon overwhelmed by Stella's increasing love of and talent for art, and Stella would eventually become a U.S. citizen and be considered one of America's finest 20th century painters. His interests were diverse and so were the subjects and styles of his works, ranging from realistic sketches and illustrations, Futurist-like portraits of the Brooklyn Bridge and Coney Island, fruit, flowers and tropical landscapes, the Virgin Mary, and whatever happened to his next phase of fascination. (Sounds like a definite Gemini.) He also liked experimenting with different materials and methods; the Dying Lotus pictured here is part of Dartmouth's Hood Museum collection and was done with pastels, colored crayon, and metalpoint. Stella himself said that from 1921 on he:

complied without any reserve with every genuine appeal to my artistic faculties...trampling those infantile barricades erected by tottering self-appointed dictators infesting the art fields....

That quote is from an article focusing on Joseph Stella's Pittsburgh drawings, which were used to illustrate how unfairly laborers, miners and immigrants were being treated at that time (circa 1908). Like Picasso, Stella went through different artistic periods, making it much more interesting for himself--and for us to follow his life's work and unique versatility.

without a trace

Lew Welch was one of the Beat Generation's West Coast members, starting out studying Literature with other Beat poets Gary Snyder and Philip Whalen at Reed College. He had a nervous breakdown in Chicago, pieced it together then worked as an advertising copywriter, then left it all to focus on his poetry and leading a truer life. He drove a cab in San Francisco and wrote some fine poems about the experience, and he also drove Jack Kerouac from San Francisco to New York in 1959--a long road trip that involved many stopovers and drinking binges and crazy poetic creations. In Big Sur, Kerouac's novel about his California sojourns, Lew Welch is Dave Wain, a lanky, loquacious, redheaded free spirit who drives a jeep named Willie all over the place. Kerouac (Jack Duluoz in the novel) notes that while Neal Cassady a/k/a Cody a/k/a Dean Moriarty had been the great cross-country driver to inspire On the Road, Cody still had driverly jealousy about his rival Dave's skill behind the wheel:

[Dave] comes blattin down to the bar in his jeepster driving that marvelous way he does (once he was a cab-driver) talking all the time and never making a mistake, in fact as good a driver as Cody altho I cant imagine anybody being that good and asked Cody about it the next day -- But old jealous drivers always point out faults and complain, "Ah well that Dave Wain of yours doesnt take his curves right, he eases up and sometimes even pokes the brake a little instead of just ridin that old curve around on increased power, man you gotta work those curves...."

Towards the end of his life, Lew Welch was starting to come into his own as a poet, but issues with alcohol and depression kept pulling him down into darker places. He disappeared into the California woodlands with a rifle in 1971 at the age of 44; he had left a suicide note, but his body was never found. It's highly unlikely, but since nothing of Lew was ever recovered we can always hope he just felt the need to walk away from a flawed life and didn't pull the trigger. Maybe he even started fresh under the name Dave Wain and he's 81 and living in Costa Rica and/or surfing the Internet right now in a quiet place. Or maybe he just vanished into the proverbial thin air and became part of the landscape he loved so much.