Titles, Inc.

No Moon, No Stars

It was a dark and gloomy night and I was glad I was not driving.

Then I remembered a dark night when I was alone in my car at the wheel. It was a dark night, a very dark night, a black night. I was returning from a book association board meeting which lasted too long.  (They all do, don’t they?) It was out of my neighborhood and before the days of GPS.

This road had no street lamps, little traffic. I drove with my eyes glued to the tail lights of the car ahead of me. I was following it on blind faith, literally. Suddenly his red light blinked, he made a sharp right turn off the road and was gone. He was home free. Me? I figured I had about a mile ahead of me until my turn–off corner. Did I say it was pitch black outside?

I hastily looked at my rear view mirror and saw a stream of cars now following me. Cleverly I pulled over to the right and crawled almost to a stop, allowing the car behind me to move ahead. I watched as the whole line of them imitated my act.  No sir, I was lead navigator and was not being relieved of that honor. Bravely, timidly, blindly I pulled ahead, with my face thrust forward almost on the window as if that would help. I realized if I zigged where the road zagged, we would have an enormous pile-up I wouldn’t even get to see. It was with enormous relief that I approached what instinct told me was my turn-off and on to a better-lit street. 

What did I learn from that experience?  Nothing.

---Florence

 

He's The Greatest

There’s no such thing as too much adulation. Stephen Daiter Gallery had a one man, Art Shay photo show. It did include one picture each by Henri Cartier-Bresson, Weegee, Robert Frank, Walker Evans, and W. Eugene Smith for historic interest. I said, ''If everyone shows up who says he will, they won’t fit through the door.” They all showed up, but it is such a large gallery, they all did fit in, all 500-600 of them. I shook so many hands, smiled and smiled and wished I knew who many of the congratulatory people were. There was a cross-over of customers to my rare book shop and Art’s photo collectors.

Tony Fitzpatrick returned to Chicago from his trip to NY a few days early to be able to attend the event. Can’t overlook Tony. Tony is a large man. A big man. With a wool hat on his head. He looks like a truck driver of a moving van. Tony is an actor who writes his one-man plays and performs them on stage. On the stage he floats. He is mesmerizing. After Tony’s show I bought one of his published art books while in the lobby waiting with a crowd for autographs. He recognized Art by reputation, we had lunch with him sometime later, and now here he is at Art’s show. We will have lunch again we both promised.

Tim Anderson, artist, was there. Some time ago we had dinner in a group and Tim drew a profile of Art on a napkin. They passed it down to me and I protested, “You don’t have the nose right. Art has a little nose, not bulbous.” He asked for the napkin back, wet the nose and corrected it. I said, “Now you can sign it,” and after he did, I very carefully tucked it into my purse. I haven’t seen it since. Probably, unthinkingly, I pulled it out to wipe a dripping nose.

Another couple put off their trip back to their home in Paris so they could attend this show.

A young lady rescheduled her long-planned trip to Europe to attend Art’s photo show.

Billy Corgan was there surrounded by awed rock music lovers. The Smashing Pumpkins were memorable. Billy is writing and traveling, performing. Can’t miss him in a crowd either. He’s the very tall, adorable fellow with the shiny bald head. (On him it looks great.)

Someone pointed out a runner-up Nobel Prize winner in cancer prevention research. I was impressed. See, you don’t have to be in the arts to want to look at Art’s photos. I could list the people in finance, but I won’t. I can’t overlook the divorce lawyer –- stunning, tall, slender, her long, straight hair flowing past her shoulders. That’s a divorce lawyer?

Look at all the people asking Art for his autograph!

Let me report that Art is NOT impossible to live with after all this adulation. Ladies, you know what I mean.

--- Florence

Art at Apple

That Apple store in Chicago’s downtown is humongous. And staffed with so many young people in distinctive red smocks. (I was told the red was for the Christmas season, that blue is the regular color.) But you all know that - I am probably the only one who had not been into an Apple store until now.

Art had been invited to present a slide show/lecture there. They had two large screens set up on each side of the lectern, all up on a platform, chairs loosely set around. Big, enthusiastic crowd, all seemingly with cameras and shooting Art, and each other, all night. I saw a lot of rotten pictures of me. Someone once commented after looking through old photo albums how beautiful I looked in every picture. Well, duh, I tore up everyone I didn’t like. Now it’s saved forever in cyberspace up in a Cloud somewhere. I don’t understand it, but if I can’t edit, I sure don’t like it. It was a well-received program, boisterous applause, everyone shaking hands all around. I met a lot of nice people I only knew by name before. (Hi, Chuck Sudo and team, Chicagoist.com).

We had been picked up at our suburban home by a friend who brought along another friend and we stopped for an early dinner before the Event. When I saw the size of the food covering my platter, I neatly cut it in two, the tilapia with the almonds, along with spinach and asparagus, taking half home, easy to do in the winter with the car’s temperature equivalent to the refrigerator.

So when our friend of good cheer, Dan, invited us all to continue the evening over drinks, Art and I looked at each other and both demurred.

It had been a delightful, fun-filled evening that didn’t need that drink to top it off.

--- Florence