Alan Gordon Illustrations- Journals, blog 1 Bibliographical

1. Me, Myself, & I

"Our ideas held no water, but we used 'em like a dam." - Modest Mouse

1- Me, Myself & I 2-Politics 3-Art 4-Race 5-Consumerism 6-Children 7-Media & Society 8-General 9-Heroes next

(August 2007) What's in a name?

My son Asher XT Gordon was born in 2004. My wife and I labored over names; we both knew that it had to mean something special. Something for us, something for him, and something for the future.

I was exposed to charged racial situations early in my life. At this point, I think that it is important for me to point out that I have not had an abundance of black friends. I am not pretending. But, I have had a few good friends and acquaintances throughout my life, which makes these incidents (by percentage) all the more powerful. I may not have had a lot of black friends, but I have had even fewer real heroes.

In grade school, I moved from nearly all white suburbs to a nearly all black city school. My first experience with race was with a “troubled” boy (whom I befriended) named Cecil Cooper. He was black, and I invited Cecil over for dinner one day, and he abruptly asked “how do your parents feel about black people?” I didn’t really know the answer to this, and I was surprised by the question. I remember thinking: What difference does it make if you’re black? That’s how naive I was. This was the first of many experiences of being reminded and confronted by race while growing up. Sometimes it would go under my radar, sometimes it would raise my awareness, and other times it would raise my anger. I went from the white middle class suburbs to the inner city, and then back to the upper class suburbs. My education placement went from average (middle class), to top tier (inner city), to bottom tier (upper class). That upper class placement never let me forget where I came from. I was that white kid from the city, a place where poor people lived. Later on, there was the time I went into a record store with my black friend Al, and after leaving he pointed out that they had heat-sealed his bag shut, but not mine. There was the high school bon fire where my black friend Derek had numerous racial comments directed solely at him by the one of the sheriffs who busted it up. There was the boyfriend from Kentucky of the girl having a small college house party who pulled out a Ku Klux Klan outfit and told nigger jokes as soon as the “negroes” left the party (true story). Race is so prevalent to my history, that it is intricately interwoven into who I am.

I grew up during the 70’s- with heroes like Hank Arron, and Muhammad Ali. I grew up during the dawn of Hip Hop, and was exposed to Run DMC in 1983, and regularly believed that the dawn of rap was the music of the revolution. In my first college literature class I was exposed to the works of James Baldwin, Langston Hughes, and the Harlem Renaissance. When I read the autobiography of Malcolm X in 1987, it literally changed my life. I heard one of the most moving political speeches of my life come from Jesse Jackson at the 1988 Democratic convention ("You must never stop dreaming. Face the pain of reality- yes, but don't stop with the way things are. Dream of things as they ought to be."). When I was turned on to Malcolm, the prevailing mentality from the white population was that he was a violent reverse-racist (which is in itself a misnomer). I came away with a different idea of Malcolm. His life and the changes within his short life were deeply inspirational.

I saw Malcolm X as a hero. Not make believe, but a real hero. And like I stated earlier, I did not have an abundance of real heroes. The short facts are: In his youth, his family was subjected to horrific crimes ranging from racial humiliation to murder. His life followed a road of crime, hustling, and superficial coping mechanisms. In prison he was exposed to Islam and education. He returned to a childhood love of knowledge and changed his life to move away from avoidance to confrontation. He became a leader out of a love for his people, and as a necessary defense (some may say offense) in racist America. He advocated change “By Any Means Necessary”, and was a vocal critic of race, American history, and the government. He had the courage to confront his own convictions, and he did by constantly evolving his philosophy until his murder in 1965 at the age of 39.

As of this writing, I’m 39.

I was once asked at a conference to name the most educated, and well rounded individual I could think of, and why. I named Malcolm X (to the obvious shock of my educational counterparts). I explained that he was the total package. He is the high water mark of how good and admirable a human being can become, no matter where they start out. He was versatile in knowledge, had ferocious oratory skills, legendary convictions, he sweated truth and bled honesty. Always fiery, but never showy- he liked to Make it Plain. That’s the way he preferred to be introduced. How could I not have someone of this caliber, this American hero, this example of what I think the human race should strive to be- factor into the name of my son? For many people Malcolm X is the past- a history of what was. For me, he is the future of what will be.

(April 2008) Thunder's End

In September of 1993 at the age of 78, my father passed away. In October of 1993, I took a part time job working in an animal hospital. I wanted the job because I loved animals, and I needed to do something extra that felt soothing. One day in October I came in to find a large German Sheppard half in a large cage, and half on a blanket on the floor of the back exam area. It was alive, but just laying there. His name was Thunder. Thunder suffered from a common problem with large dogs. His stomach had twisted and he could not ingest food, nor process anything in his bowel. At the time it was a $600 surgery to fix the problem. All day I sat around and petted him, waiting to see if he was going to have surgery or if he was going to be put down. ALL DAY I waited. The whole time I was petting him I was thinking about my father being in intensive care for 3 months. There was medication being administered to ease the discomfort, and an IV, and everything we could do to make him comfortable. Just at closing, the owner came in. He was a gruff man in his 30's that looked like a trucker. He could not pay for the surgery and opted to put Thunder down. I held Thunder on my lap while they injected him. I made the decision to have my father taken off of life support less than a month prior. I felt his breathing slow, I felt his heart stop, and then Thunder was not there…my father was not there- they were just gone. There was a body, but no dog. There was a body, but no person. Whatever my father was- what was left was not what I knew.

At the same time as this event I was teaching Illustration at R.I.T., and I did a painting demonstration for every class I taught. I thought that this was a great chance to show students that the depth of visual art can hit on many levels. That the idea was to capture the change of that moment, from life to death. Something “real” and something missing. Chaos to nothing. Sound to silence. And in my head, maybe to understand the weight of my fathers death. This painting hangs in my dining room and represents one of the great turning points of my life- the one where I had to suddenly pay attention.

I find myself thinking about this a lot- that moment when what makes us "us"...goes away. That moment when we just return to being a random selection of stuck together carbon. I titled it “Thunders End” for a few reasons. Obviously it was the end of this dog’s life. But more importantly there was a painting by Andrew Wyeth called Distant Thunder. Many people have characterized this painting as a signal to the oncoming turbulence of the mid to late 60's. It was painted prior to the mass social upheaval and change (The dog is said to have his ear perked at the thunder which represents the coming social change). I was a big fan of his work, and it just clicked: "Distant Thunder...Thunder's End". His painting may have symbolized the social upheaval breaking the peace of the nap. My painting was more about the internal struggle and loss of my father. I am not comparing my work to Andrew Wyeth, I am bringing Wyeth into my understanding. I have 2 or 3 paintings that I think are actually important. Not just as art, but as markers for my life. This is one of the most important.

(June2008) Horror and Home both begin with H-O...

I am a huge lifelong fan of horror films. Sitting down to watch a new Horror movie is as good as opening a new sketchbook, it has endless possibilities. When I was a kid, my father used to order 8 millimeter parts of horror movies to show me on weekends. I grew up with Lon Chaney, giant city crushing tarantulas, and Godzilla like they were my family. My big radioactive family. I routinely read Famous Monsters of Filmland, and eventually Fangoria magazine. I loved to be scared, I loved the unknown, the monsters, the danger, and the anticipation of what might be in the dark.

I was 6 when I started watching old horror movies via 8mm. 8 when I was dropped off with friends to see Godzilla Saturday matinee’s, 9 when I moved into a house that had the same Amityville horror house demonic windows, and 10 when I walked to the theater at night with friends to watch the Exorcist. 11 when I was snuck into a drive-in inside a box to see Dawn of the Dead (which was originally rated X), and 12 when I first saw Halloween in the theater. Everyone has something that they use to add spice to life. For some it is the faith in religion, some believe in UFO’s, some ghosts, some space travel, some visit psychics, or read romance novels. It’s what we can’t get a hold of that sometimes gets a hold of us. I like the darker side of myself. I like to feel the fear. To possibly face something so dark that it consumes me.

I have always received the odd look for reading about serial killers, or the supernatural. In fifth grade a phone call was made to my mother because I was reading Rosemary’s Baby at school…and this caused some alarm in my teacher. In junior high school (a time of terror for everyone), I was ridiculed for not having bikini-clad chick pics up in my locker. Instead I had Michael Myers, zombies, and monsters. And yes- I pretty much set myself up for junior high brutality with that stylish locker decor'. But, I have always been myself and not part of the pack. I remember a 7th grade health class where everyone was asked what their favorite movie was. We all went around in a circle shouting out the movie we loved. EVERY kid in that class said either "Meatballs" or "Caddyshack"...except me. I blurted out "Dawn of the Dead". That was another phone call home. I did it not to be different, but because it was my favorite movie...I mean c'mon...a zombie got the top of his head cut off by a helicopter!

For the record, I do not plan on killing anyone…I actually detest real violence. In my art I have a reoccurring fascination for the broken mind, but that does not transfer to burying any bodies stuffed into foot lockers in my basement. I also am a strict skeptic. I want to believe, but I am hard pressed to see proof. There is a lot of difference between a leap of faith and a leap of logic. That makes me an oddity. For most psychologists, I would be red-flagged for my fascinations. Horror, serial killers, and the occult tends to do that. When I was a kid, most school officials just thought I was odd. Oh how the times have changed! In that today- I may be scheduled for extensive testing to be sure that I would not one day show up with a duffle bag filled with automatic weapons. That's what happens when you use profiles to judge in a superficial manner-over actually talking with people. You miss the context of real life, and therefore the real person. If the me from 25 years ago were to visit a contemporary school setting, I would not be wearing all black (I detest that also)- I would still be that average kid. I did not look the part that was expected of me, and I still don't. Adult expectations are tough on all kids. I take pride in that part of me as an individual person, and that I survived the expectations. And as a person, horror is simply a part of who I am. Horror is a tie to my father, and serial killers are a tie to the interest in the darkness of human beings sparked by horror films. The occult has always been a what if? scenario for me to entertain myself with when real life needs a bit of mystery. Life should have some unknown elements- real life causes real feelings. When stressed or anxious or depressed or angry- some people choose to exercise. Some choose to meditate, or eat a half gallon of ice cream, or yell, or tune out, or drink, smoke, break things…I choose horror films. It’s like being home. It’s my comfort spot. It's a spot where the scary things are make believe.

(August 2008) The Wall within

"We don't need no education. We don't need no thought control. Hey- Teachers leave those kids alone! All in all we're just another brick in the wall."

I had no idea what I was listening to as a teen when I put Pink Floyd’s the Wall on my record player for the first time in 1982, but I knew it was something important. I had no idea why so many people wanted me to watch this new fangled V-H-S of a movie based on the album. You can just sense when you are witnessing creative genius unfold in front of you. It pulls up the shades to let the light in, and that is what this music did to me- it blasted the light into me. It planted the very first seed of doubt in large political or social movements. It fed the small lil’ part of me inside that was hiding an individual. It’s only now that I am older, how much I realize the powerful effect and the importance of that message. (That's Roger Waters spray painting "No Thought Control" on Israel's separation barrier in Bethlehem.)

As a teen, I fell into the group in “need of direction”- but there was very little there to offer me anything substantial. The adults in my life were very removed, some cared- and some didn’t. That’s life, but every kid desperately desires help- whether they admit it or not. I had friends who were all over the board; some studious-some slacker, some racist-some political, some sexist-some old school, some innocent-some guilty, some tuned out-and some tuned in. They were all products of the adults in their lives. That IS what adults are, every adult is a guide and a teacher- whether they admit it or not. What the Wall did for my generation x was to reinforce the belief that we do not need to fall in line like everyone else. That individualism keeps a society honest. It spoke to us in a way that only true art can- to the core of our being. That is the importance of art. It made us believe that we can rise up, that in the end- we can win…even if winning only means that we get to stand up before being slapped down. It exposed those slippery slopes that lead to dubious power, slopes that are created by a weakness and insulated against through bully-like behavior later in life. It strengthened an old-core-moral standing that we all contain the ability to make the right choice, even after many wrongs. And it shined a light on the growing disconnection of youth and adults. God this music is good!

I credit this story- this music- this creative genius with starting me on my path of self examination, and my interest in community equality. I am not crediting it with making me Mother Teresa (I am far from it), or making me utilize every hour to help mankind- just in being a piece of the puzzle that gave me direction when I really needed a map. All along my life's way, at any point- I could have taken a different path. What kept me on the right path was music like the Wall. And to all of those moral activists preaching that music is what ruins youth, I give you one more rebellious Johnny Cash middle finger to tell you that music is part of what saved me. How many have been saved by censorship?

So whenever I am overwhelmed by the struggle of financial life as an artist...when I am hounded by those barking about 401K's, and money-money-money, and expensive cars-vacations- success and failure, or the grand technology running every aspect of our lives...when I watch CNN-or FOX news-or read a newspaper, or see the latest self-help craze (scientology, mediums talking to the dead, or kabbalah anyone?) or hear just about any politician- I just need to put this CD on to feel strong again. It led to the right path- one of free and independent thought.

1- Me, Myself & I 2-Politics 3-Art 4-Race 5-Consumerism 6-Children 7-Media & Society 8-General 9-Heroes nextt