Ellie Watts-Russell

I went to visit the Kerouac House writer in residence, Ellie Watts-Russell, on a warm sunny afternoon. When she writes she cuts herself off from all distractions. The cell phone is turned off the night before and the computer is off to avoid the distraction of Facebook. She was getting close to the end of the novel she was working on, entitled "The Lodge", and and she didn't want to rush to the finish line. Usually when she writes she shares her work with another writer to get his opinion while she reads his work. Since she was working alone at the Kerouac House she spends more time proof reading her work. This is what she was doing when I joined her on the porch to sketch.

Born in 1979, Ellie is a graduate of Andrew Motion's Creative Writing course at Royal Holloway. In 2006 she was appointed Writer-In-Residence at HMP Ashwell, an all male prison in Rutland. She speaks with a charming British accent. A petite hummingbird necklace adorned her neck. We sat quietly for more than an hour as she worked. Her Oxford dictionary and thesaurus were on hand and she occasionally consulted with them. Her Moleskin notebook seemed to bulge at the seems. Her keys, attached to a mountain climbers clasp were partially tucked into her notebook. The glass of ice water sweated as she worked. I can't wait till "The Lodge" hits book stores.

On the Tip of Your Tongue

Mad About Words sponsored a writing workshop with Ellie Watts-Russell the current writer in residence at the Kerouac house. She organized the workshop to explore the power of taste, sound and touch as artistic triggers. The workshop began in the Kerouac house living room where she asked everyone to introduce themselves and point out one quirky fact from their lives. Ellie worked in a men's prison. The man in front of me said the smell of bacon always reminded him of his time in the navy. A woman related that she electrocuted herself in the kitchen once. Every person offered a fascinating taste and I wanted to hear more. An excerpt was read from several authors who explored the senses in their writing. One paragraph was from Jack Kerouac's Darma Bums, where he described his ascent up a rocky mountainside. It was vivid and clear. Ellie had a sweet British accent, and she would acknowledge writing she loved as "Brilliant."

Ellie then asked everyone a series of questions which would help indicate if you were a visual, aural, or tactile author. One question was, after buying an item of IKEA furniture would you,
A. Read the instructions.
B. Ask a friend for advice or
C. Start building and learn as you go.
I was sketching but I am fairly sure I am a visual person. Besides I haven't fully smelled anything since I moved to Florida.

Ellie then invited everyone to the back room of the house. There she had items to stimulate the senses. For smell there was a large Magnolia blossom floating in a clear bowl of water. For touch there was a brown puddle in a paper plate that held it's form when lifted like some primordial ooze. For taste there was some cotton candy which had collapsed in the Florida heat forming compact pancakes of multicolored sweetness. Ellie was mortified and put out some fresh "candy floss" but everyone picked up and tasted the hardened masses. On the wall there were photos. A man pushed a large block of ice. A long line of people struggled up a dune. A young girls face was illuminated by her laptop.

Then everyone sat down to write. Many authors sat outside to enjoy the beautiful day. I finished my sketch as they wrote. I wanted to get home to Terry so I didn't stick around to hear what everyone wrote. I thanked Ellie for letting me sit in and started home. On the drive back I passed a black limo and a hearse. It seemed sad that only two cars followed. Later a gleaming white hearse and limo made a left turn down the Orange Blossom Trail. A large white SUV screeched to a halt in the middle of the intersection and two men in white suits jumped out to direct traffic so that the insanely long line of cars could breeze through. As an artist or author we always hope we can touch many lives with whatever we create. I wondered if my funeral would have one car or a long line in tow. It is a vain glorious thing to ponder but what matters is that I leave something behind, and that I never let my senses grow dull. Howl at the moon and rush off in search of the next sketch.

Caitlin Doyle at Infusion Tea

"Art transcends its limitations only by staying within them." Flannery Oconnor.

I went to a reading by the Kerouac House resident author, Caitlin Doyle. I had spent a wonderful evening sketching Caitlin as she worked on her poetry. I came to realize that poetry like art takes plenty of hard work. I was pleased and relieved that Caitlin had been able to relax and made major headway towards finishing the poem she was working on called "The Ship." I felt a warm glow of satisfaction when she announced that she planned to read the poem at Infusion. I had been witness to the birth of its creation.

To give you a flavor of the poem, you can read an excerpt of it below with the first two stanzas and the beginning of the third stanza. Caitlin plans to include the poem in her book manuscript, the project on which she is working while at the Kerouac House, so if you look for Caitlin’s book in the future you will be able to read the complete piece.

The Ship

The August I was grounded for sneaking out
at night, so stuck indoors I was homesick
for anywhere but home, my dad showed me how
to make a ship fit in a bottle – the trick,
string-rigged masts pulled full sail only once the hull
had been inserted through the bottle’s neck.
If wrongly put together, the ship could wreck

halfway inside, a tangle of strings and shards.
Mine cracked in two before the stern made it through,
as if to say: 'better broken than contained'.
But my dad answered it with a tube of glue.
The parts seemed to come back in place by choice.
He raised the sails and corked the bottle to seal
the ship inside the glass. I watched the keel

rise on invisible waves day after day…

The poem then goes on to continue its exploration of freedom and containment in the speaker’s coming-of-age experience, as embodied by the metaphor of the ship and enacted in the tension between looseness and restriction within the poem’s rhythm and form.

To satiate my need for a suger rush, I ordered a banana split vegan cupcake and the iced tea of the day. Rachel Kapitan showed me some poems she is crafting which take the form of architecture. For the open mic that followed Caitlin's reading, Rachel first recited from memory a Robert Frost poem titled "Stopping be Woods on a Snowy Evening." Hearing the familiar poems lines was comforting. She faltered for a moment and the poets in the audience were on the verge of shouting out the familiar lines...

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep

She then read her own poem that involved a Kafkaesque form of sexual performance art. It had an anger and vehemence that caused the audience to howl. The evenings endless variety was exhilarating.

Caitlin Doyle

I met the present resident author of the Kerouac house, Caitlin Doyle, at Rachel Kapitan's reading of her short stories at Neon Forest. We became Facebook friends and after a quick exchange of messages, I arranged to sketch her on a Friday evening after I finished work at Full Sail. I was nervous and excited when I parked in front of the Kerouac house. It was dark outside but a warm light filtered through the 1950s styled curtains. I knocked and the old door shook on its hinges.

Caitlin welcomed me and made her way to the kitchen table where her computer and note pads were set up. She offered me water but I just wanted to get right to work. I explained that the sketch might take a couple of hours and I would be quiet as a mouse. There was some sort of scurrying scratchy noise that came from the kitchen or back of the house. I asked, "What was that?" She got up and went into the dark kitchen looking at the ceiling. "I don't know" she said, "This house makes some strange noises." She was a bit self conscious at first about writing while I sketched. She thought she might not be able to concentrate. She explained that she had been painted by an artist once before, and he talked to himself the whole time which made her want to laugh.

Soon we were both working, lost in the moment. She was working on a series of poems about objects in bottles. The poem she was working on went through multiple drafts. She worked with pencil on paper. Occasionally we both erased and made frantic adjustments. Pencils and pens scratched away in unison. A smoke detector or security device made faint chirping sounds but soon those sounds were erased from my thoughts as the sketch took form. She only glanced at the computer a few times, referring to a thesaurus. There is a shared energy that comes when creative people work together in the same room. This must be what life was like in Victorian times when people gathered in parlors and spent quiet creative time together rather than passively staring at a TV.

Later we had a fascinating discussion on the similarities between our art forms. I explained that creating a sketch on location was much like a jig saw puzzle where all the pieces are constantly in motion not only on a two dimensional plane, but deep in space. I would commit to a puzzle piece and lock it in place in the sketch making compositional adjustments around it. She said poetry is much the same only the pieces are words. Her poems have a predefined rhyme scheme but then she needs to find ways to break up the pattern making it organic and unpredictable. She erased and changed lines until the poem took form, its meaning and depth growing in the process.

After the first sketch was done, Caitlin said she had made serious headway on the poem she was working on called "The Ship." She had been so focused, that she forgot I was there. Since she was comfortable, and we were both getting plenty of work done, I asked if she minded me doing a second sketch. She agreed. I made bolder choices and allowed the second sketch to take form with ease. Caitlin had to review a You Tube video of one of her poetry readings. I leaned forward to listen. Some of the poems were light hearted and fun while others had a dark profound meaning. One poem titled "The Doll Museum" was about the lessons dolls have taught through the ages and the loss of a sister to a surgeons scalpel. Something about the innocent description of the light, lifelike doll followed by sudden loss hit me hard. Later Caitlin let me know she never had a sister. The poem was told from the vantage point of a friend who had lost her sister.

The strength of poetry is that it never feels like fiction, it strips a soul bare unquestioned. Caitlin told me her last name Doyle means black stranger. With her jet black hair and poems that have a sharp cunning edge, the name is a perfect fit. She is reading some of her poems tonight at Infusion Tea (1600 Edgewater Drive, College Park) starting at 7pm. Come on out to what is sure to be a great evening of poetry.

Woolite

Mona Washington the author in residence at the Kerouac House, hosted a reading of her one act play Woolite. Mona began as the narrator setting the scene. In a laundry room, a male character played by Dennis Neil, is doing a load of laundry when he stuffs something in his pocket. The female character played by Val Gamble enters. The couple flirts and cuddles affectionately. It becomes apparent that they are a loving married couple. As they hug, Val notices the bulge in her husbands pocket. She pulls out a pair of woman's panties, not hers. What followed was a long argument in which she questions her husbands fidelity. She comes to realize she almost wished he had cheated on her since THIS could not be discussed with anyone. The play was laugh out loud funny at times. For instance she suddenly realized that he must have been a panty thief in college.

The question and answer session after the reading was just as outlandish and funny. As one member of the audience said, "Every rabbit has her habit." During the argument, the husband counters with the fact that she is very loud in bed. Of course she was getting her freak on within the confines of the marrage while he was sniffing other women's panties. How men and women vary in defining infidelity is explored with great comic effect.

There was a going away party for Mona with snacks and wine after the reading. Rachel Leona Kapitan told me a bit about the book she is working on. Scott Donald, one of the partners at Neon Forest, arrived after the reading and told me about how the gallery was doing. Mona and I discussed the possibility of working on a graphic novel together. The story centers around a young college art student who moves to Orlando and discovers the thriving quirky art scene. Who knows where this story might lead?

Phenomenal Conundrum

Back in Orlando, I found I had time to kill between scheduled sketch assignments. I was coming from Baldwin Park where the opening of a French furnishings store turned out to be an uninspiring subject. I drove to College Park where Mona Washington was going to have a reading of one of her plays at the Kerouac House. I was early so I stopped at infusion tea and ordered an Italian Gelato. Sitting on a comfortable couch in the back of the room, I was reminded of a scene in "Eat Pray Love" where the main character sits quietly in a bustling Italian square savoring a Gelato and enjoying being alone taking in the scene around her. As I savored my Gelato, using the delicate little spoon, I noticed Rachel Kapitan sitting at a table near the door, looking a bit corporate yet very edgy, working on a laptop probably writing up a storm.

In the far corner, a guitarist got behind the mic and started strumming. His friend worked the knobs on a speaker and walked into the middle of the room to check the sound levels. When he was satisfied, he sat down and started playing the drum. They had a warm, mellow soothing sound and I moved closer. A group of women had just abandoned the front table, so I sat down and started sketching. I really had to rush the sketch since I only had an hour before the Kerouac house reading. One of the women returned and she jokingly raised an eye brow and pointed at me as she picked up her full cup of tea. I laughed as she quickly made her way to the door to catch up with her friends.

The musicians were Alexander Gunn and Raymond Hussmann and they called themselves "Phenomenal Conundrum." They hail from Washington D.C. and they had been performing the Pirate Bars along Florida's coast before sharing their music at Infusion Tea. They had some paintings from a friend leaning against the wall beside them. On the guitar a message was scrawled that said, "This machine kills Fascists." As I got close to finishing the sketch, I saw Rachel walk past the plate glass windows. I knew she was looking forward to Mona's play reading, so I knew I was out of time. The Kerouac house is only a few blocks from Infusion. The sketch was finished with a mad flurry of watercolor washes. I left in the middle of a song, fanning the sketchbook to try and dry the washes.

Mona Washington - Playwright

Mona Washington is the present resident writer at the Kerouac House. We met at a reading she did at Infusion Tea. She saw the sketch I did and invited me over to the Kerouac House to do a sketch of her as she worked. I have always approached each resident author with the idea of sketching them and this was the first time the stars lined up. As I was sketching Mona at the kitchen table, she was doing online research for the play she was working on. The play is about freed slaves after the Civil War who are not entirely free. She was researching how female slaves were often used sexually by their owners. After years of this kind of treatment, a slaves body is not entirely her own. A male slave who was trained as a blacksmith had a relationship with this female slave and he was shocked by her promiscuity. She just wanted to feel good.

Mona had on her lucky Police tee shirt. This was the shirt she was wearing last time I sketched her. The Gato Negro red wine we were drinking was sweet and delicious. Mona read aloud from some of the sites she found using the Google search engine. She read to me from a KKK website and I told her about a KKK demonstration that I had witnessed in Maitland. Jack Kerouac glanced over at us from his framed in place of honor in the kitchen. Mona started offering suggestions for residencies that I should apply for. As we talked she was firing off e-mails to my home computer. She is an incredibly giving person and that evening she opened my eyes to creative opportunities that I didn't know existed.

On November 12th at 8pm Mona is going to read from her work in progress at the Kerouac House (on the corner of Shady Lane and Clouser in College Park.) Mona's work is insightful and deeply moving, you don't want to miss it.

Mona Washington Reads at Infusion Tea

Monthly author readings have resumed at Infusion Tea. Mona Washington who is the new resident author at the Kerouac House, read from a work in progress. Terry had never been to Infusion before so she asked that I get there a half hour early so we could talk for a while before I started sketching. I got a last minute call that T-shirts I had ordered for the ColORLANDO event were ready to be picked up. I called Terry to let her know I was bound to be late. I parked two blocks away from Mother Falcon, where I had ordered the shirts. I called Terry as I walked and again after I had the shirts in hand. I got to Infusion just as Naomi Butterfield was getting up to the podium to get things started. There was little time for conversation before I got to work. When Mona got up to read, Terry mouthed, "I'm going."
Mona's story had to do with a married couple who no longer knew how to communicate. The romantic spark of their youth had burned out. The husband created a promiscuous mistress in his mind that satisfied his sexual desires whenever he wanted. As Mona said, "They fell into a pattern where they didn't treat each other with even the respect they might show a taxi driver." The couple went to a marriage counselor where they talked about their feelings and how they felt about their feelings. They then fell right back into old established patterns of behavior. The husband hinted at his wife's weight when he suggested she shouldn't have ice cream. She tortured him by licking the ice cream cone with pornographic delight. The only exchanges the couple seemed capable of were clandestine attempts to destroy each other's egos.
After the reading was over, Mona confessed that she needed help resolving issues in the story. I hadn't realized that the man's mistress was imaginary. The sexual exploits were so vividly descriptive, that it seemed more real than the bickering. A discussion followed, but little insight was offered on how things might be structured better. In the break that followed, Rachel Kapitan, who had been serving tea from behind the counter, walked up to Mona and started offering suggestions which the author listened to intently. She was delighted, shouting, "This is much better advice than what I have ever gotten at writing workshops." She jotted down Rachel's number so they could get together and chat some more. Mona's play "The Mason Jar" will be read by the Bleeker Street Theater Company in Greenwich Village in NYC on Monday, October 4th. If you happen to be passing through NYC be sure to check it out.

Emily Carr

Emily Carr read from her book, "Directions for Flying: A Young Wife's Almanac" at Cavanagh's Fine Wines (1215 Edgewater Drive). I rather liked the intimate warmth of Cavanagh's. There were a few tables nestled between the free standing wine racks. I ordered a house white wine and blocked in the background before Emily started to read. The proprietor bought a bowl of popcorn and placed it on my table. Most of the people who came for the reading were still crowded around the bar located in the far corner of the establishment. Darlyn Finch, an amazing poet in her own right, said hello and joined me at my table.
When Emily stood up on a small step stool to reach the microphone, she seemed small and delicate. Her right arm is decorated with a poem she wrote over time line by line, each line being tattooed in a new color. The upper part of the tattoo has a tree branch and a lone sparrow. This collection of poems she explained tells an ongoing story which changed with the seasons. The book of poems is broken up into months from April to March with three poems per month. One poem involved thoughts behind sitting in an abortion office and realizing that she must follow through. The myriad of thoughts and rationalizations hit a deep human chord. Many of the poems were dark and brooding yet a sparrow seems to light up each unexpectedly. "Directions for Flying" won the 2009 Furniture Press Poetry Award.
Emily is the current resident author at the Kerouac House. At the Kerouac House I got to see "The Nest" which is a spot in the corner of the living room where Emily placed a mattress on the floor . She surrounded this spot with knick knacks she has gathered in her travels, a heart shaped snow globe, an Elvis post card and tiny glass figurines. The nest made for a cozy little artistic fortress.

Beyond Beat - David Amram

David Amram returned to Orlando to be a part of, "The Turning Point, a Symposium on Jack Kerouac in Florida." This multi day event took place at different locations around Orlando like, The Grand Bohemian, the Kerouac House, and as pictured here , the White House. The wite house was built by the music director for Circue Sole and he opens his living room each month so people can listen to talented musicians for free.
David played piano as authors got up on stage and read from excerpts from Jack Kerouac books. The performances ere part jazz and part smooth unexpected improvisation that flowed with the words lifting the spoken words to a heightened meaning. A drawing hung on the wall behind Dave as he performed playing a Peruvian wooden flute. Jack though always vibrant seems to always have a sad searching gaze. I had to keep drawing Kerouac even thought he was located behind the spot where Amram was standing. I enjoyed watching the painter on stage as she worked on a painting of Kerouac for the duration of the set.
I feel Kerouac would have likes this event. He would have jumped up on stage with the rest of the authors and shouted his words out to the waiting audience slipping his syntax to the slippery beat.

Writers Workshop - Non-Realistic Writing

Alicia Holmes, writer in residence at the Jack Kerouac House, held an abstract writing workshop. This workshop was organized by Mary Ann de Stefano of Mad About Words. When I arrived at the Kerouac House, the writers, all of them women were already hard at work. They had been encouraged to incorporate some element of the mythical into a short story. I started sketching as everyone was writing in the living room. When I was half-finished with the sketch, Mary Ann called all the writers into the living room to share their work.
One woman wrote a story told from the point of view of a modern day Medusa. She complained of all the statues that littered her front lawn. Neighbors would stop over and admire how lifelike the statues were. Medusa, of course knew they had all been alive. She considered a plane flight to get away from her troubles, but imagined getting upset with fellow passengers and turning them all to stone so that mode of transportation was not an option. If she got upset, the plane would certainly drop from the sky like a meteor.
Kathryn Sullivan, wrote a haunting story about looking at a painting in a museum. Her mind wandered and she felt at peace as she approached the work. In her mind she imagined the work as peaceful and violent all at the same time. She felt that if she reached out, the painting might heal her. She was transfixed and drew closer. Suddenly alarms sounded and a guard asked her to step away from the painting. She had reached out and touched a Jackson Pollock painting. The painting was titled "Lavender Mist."

TheDailyCity.com Mobile Art Show #7

Mark Baratelli of TheDailyCity.com and I discussed the idea of exhibiting my work downtown for some time, and on the third Thursday of March everything fell into place to make this event happen. Mark rented the truck and drove it to Frames Forever & Art Gallery, owned and run by Katie Windish. Katie offered advice on how to hang the work in the truck. I did a huge version of a previous Mobile Art Show sketch and I blew it up so it covered the side of the truck facing the gallery. It was a fairly easy job to tape the large sketch to the truck. I used a hanging strategy I created at FRESH where the sketchbooks were framed in shadow boxes and hung from the ceiling. The plan then was to wallpaper as much of the inside of the truck as I could with prints of sketches I had done over the last year. Hanging this work simply involved two pieces of scotch tape for each sketch; not really as much of a task as I had figured it might be.
When six o'clock rolled around, I met Mark down at the CityArts Factory parking spot. He pulled up and honked. We quickly started taping and hanging Christmas lights, wires and sketches. I managed to drop one of the shadow box frames and it shattered on the floor of the truck. I had to use scotch tape to hold it together for the duration of the show. People started entering the truck and looking around even as we worked. The prints started selling immediately. Every time I walked in the truck I sold one or two prints.
Through Facebook, I arranged with Tamara Gray to get a model who works at Universal Studios dressed up for Mardi Gras and on stilts making her nine feet tall. The idea was that the model, Lyn Sky, would grab people's attention as they walked down the street towards the CityArts Factory openings. We invited artists to come out for a free sketching session right on the sidewalk and perhaps five or seven artists in all came out and took advantage of this free modeling offer. I started this sketch, but kept getting pulled away for radio and TV interviews. There was a Kerouac House fundraiser going on at Urban Flats right up the street. Summer Rodman and Kim Buchheit both from the Kerouac House stopped by and admired the show. Emma Hughes stopped by to pick up an original sketch I had done for her parents. It seemed like my attention was being diverted every few seconds. The sketch of Hannah Miller in her wedding dress sold while Hannah was in the truck looking at other works. She wondered aloud, "Why would they want a sketch of me?"
Just as I sat down and started putting on some final washes on this sketch, I realized the evening was over. Now we had to break down the show and load everything into my truck. After everything was packed away, Mark, Brian Feldman and myself went to IHOP for some pancakes and some lively late night discussion.
The whole quirky show was an exciting whirlwind of activity, a once in a lifetime experience.

Mennello Museum Folk Festival

Thanks to Arts Fest and United Arts, the Mennello Museum was able to host a full day of folk performers at its annual Folk Festival. It was an absolutely gorgeous day for a festival with blue skies and a cool breeze. Terry and I attended last year and we both decided it is one of our favorite events of the year. There are plenty of tents set up with artists of all kinds displaying their wares. We first stopped at the Kerouac House table where Kim Buchheit and Summer Rodman were having a lively discussion. I became infatuated with a book by Kerouac called "Sketches". This is an amazing book in which Kerouac describes scenes and places in bold poetic broad strokes. All of the sketches were lifted from small moleskin notebooks in which he jotted down his notes on the spot. With words he recreates scenes very much the way I sketch every day. It is an inspiring read. I am maybe half way through the book now.
Dawn Schreiner had a tent set up with all her wonderful portraits and doodles. She was sitting in the grass with her children and sketching. Next to her tent was an artist who makes elaborate cigar boxes which are encrusted with glued on objects. I stood and watches as he made a space ship themed box with day glow paint a space shuttle and plenty of beads as planets. I wanted to sketch him, but this was Valentines day, and I had decided to stay focused on my wife and maybe sneak in a sketch of the stage if time allowed.
We had lawn chairs and set them up in front of the stage. As Sarah Purser performed, I felt myself become fully relaxed and at peace. I sat back and enjoyed the sun and view overlooking the lake. It was time to sketch. Travis Blaise who is dating Sarah explained that she is classically trained and in fact performs for the opera. Her voice is stunning and she has a lighthearted humor that is infectious. In the foreground I sketched Gordon Spears who was wearing a distinctive red hat and leaning back talking to a friend. Someone told me that Gordon booked all the acts for the event. Later that night I had to take down my display of sketchbooks at the Cameo Theater and Gordon was there helping Louise Bova as she took down her work. I had never met Gordon before, but here I was bumping into him twice in one day. This town just keeps getting smaller.

Brian Turner Poetry Workshop

At the Kerouac House Brian Turner hosted a Ekphrastic Poetry workshop. Ekphrastic poetry is poetry that is inspired by works of visual art. Brian first spoke about his humble background. He grew up in a family of middle class intellectuals. His father used to read a book to the family at the diner table, but the family never discussed what was read. Brian put himself through college as a machinist. Later like his father he felt the need to serve his country in the military. When he was deployed to Bosnia and then Iraq he wanted need to learn about the country's culture and ways. As a soldier he had to be keenly aware of the environment and the pace of life in the villages and towns. If the pace of life changed something was wrong.
As an exercise Brian asked all the poets to walk through the house and pick and object to write a poem about. From all these separate poems he later compiled the group poem "Tonic".

Tonic

A lone gin bottle sitting on the headboard
labors to inspire the numbing dreams
which-out of love, like musicians
with their instruments laid down-
might serve to keep me company.

The air has turned electric-conducting
all that is about to happen. Through windows
of blue and grey-the air smells of rotten cabbage,
pond scum, rancid sweet fermenting,
stewing, the dark soul of a marriage
overcome by the hive of bees in sheet rock,
layers of winged frenzy sweetened
only by the magnolia out back.

If there's only one thing I have learned-
not from the wandering,
not from the traveling, and
not how Aristotle said it best-
it's how I move, most impressively,
alone. No one stretches me.

It is true. A bottle of gin is only lonely
when it is empty.

This collaborative poem was written by: Susan Shannon Spraker, B.J. Hart, Naomi Butterfield, Julie Dunsworth, Mary Ann deStefano, J. Northlake, Lorie Parker Matejowsky, Mary Elizabeth McIlvane, Kenny S. Murry, Gene Moore, Bernadette Adams Davis, and Brian Turner.

Tess Adamski

I met Tess at a writers workshop being held at the Keouac house. Tess designed the tattoo on her back herself and I found out that her tattoo artist in Toronto was named Thor, which happens to be my nickname. The tattoo consists of the last paragraph from Jack's novel, "On the Road." On the wall were photos of Jack writing in this very room. The center photo was the photo she used as reference for her tattoo. The red and green color scheme was far to perfect, there had to be a greater force at work here. There was something surreal about the whole experience. Tess refereed to it as Kerouacendipity.
"Like most people I read On The Road at age 17...and Jack answered and validated a lot of internal questions and thoughts that had me in a teenage turmoil. Growing up in an idyllic childhood in a small town...I always wanted out, feeling I should be somewhere else-so unlike my friends and family and wondering what is wrong with me? Why do I feel so unhappy? Jack let me know I wasn't crazy and it was alright to see myself on the road out of my hometown. That was the pivotal point in my life.
Then it was a sweet progression into his works and life. With a background in classic literature, I spent my time with London, Fitzgerald etc...then comes Kerouac...whose writing touched me so deeply on a personal level from the honest passion that he created with the same 26 letters offered to everyone. Yet he created such a unique voice...I developed a real familiarity that was very comforting...like finding the perfect lover without all the mortal complications.
The more I delved into his personal life, I found myself becoming very protective of TiJean, sympathizing with the bombardment of misunderstanding that plagued his life and legacy of work. And so now, I am at a point in my life where I can devote my time to constant study of
Kerouac...working on a book to promote a further understanding of his writing genius. His voice is still an important voice to be heard and like hearing a great piece of music...reading Kerouac
once, is not enough. I've always thought that Kerouac could give sight to a blind man...the true historian of mankind...no one has documented the minuteness of sights, sounds and feeling of man like Jack... and he makes everyone of those details so poetic and soulfully important that it makes you glad you're alive and a part of it.
Jack once said...Life is my art. And now I ink myself with his art-his words.... an eternal
canvas of the purest poetry of life....and it's kinda nice to know that Jack always has my back."
-Tess Adamski

Kimberly Elkins Interview

Ever since Kimberly stepped foot in the Kerouac house as the new resident author, I seem to have been buzzing around her like an annoying mosquito trying to convince her to let me do a sketch of her at work. The very first night she stepped foot in the house was the evening when "txt" was being performed. If you recall that performance had some of the most sexually explicit offensive and downright insane dialogue being written by the audience in real time on iPhones and blackberries. Genius that I am, I chose a moment right after the performance to excitedly talk to her about my idea of sketching resident authors. To me she seemed shocked. I realized she was just getting to know her surroundings. She looked out the kitchen window for the first time. I don't know if she felt at home yet. I had spoken to soon. At several other gatherings I threw my proposals at her with no effect. I know that in a crowded social setting I am always a bit adrift. Timing and simple social graces seem to slip when I need them the most.
I was excited to discover that two Full Sail documentary film makers, Lyle Kastrati and Robert Navarro, had succeeded where I had failed. They landed an interview with Kimberly. Since I had already sketched a David Amram Interview in the Kerouac house I realized I just had to sit back relax and learn about Kimberly and her writing process through the video interview with her. The interview went great. She is writing a historical novel about a woman named Laura Bridgeman who is deaf, dumb, blind, and mute, she can only experience the world thru the sense of touch. Laura helped teach Annie Sullivan who later became Hellen Keller's teacher. Laura was a huge celebrity in her day. I found it interesting that Kimberly said that no matter how well researched the book might be, some part of herself would be reflected in Laura.
Kimberly and I talked in her kitchen this day, I felt for the first time as one artist to another. She told me something that I find reassuring and useful. She said that not having a great memory is actually a good thing for a fiction writer. It allows the writer to feel and interpret rather than just report the facts. I find myself walking that fine line every day writing this blog, am I just reporting, or am I expressing how I actually felt as I did a sketch? Do my other senses fall to the wayside as I sketch? Is my perception of myself and my identity dependent on the feedback I get from my subject?

David Amram and Me

David Amram is a force of nature, he is a musician, composer, shaman and inspiration. He often stresses the importance of looking for the beauty in the worthless things in life, for those are often the most priceless. David was a good friend of Kerouac and he said Kerouac at any party would always gravitate towards the person in the room who looked the most insecure. It is this giving, encouraging spirit that separated Kerouac from the average artist. David kept stressing the importance of realizing there is beauty all around us, and that a thing of beauty is a joy forever. He pointed out that you don't have to travel to Europe or Asia to find this beauty. It is right in your back yard, just look around. He stressed the importance of what he called, the University of Hangoutology. If you hang out at a spot long enough you truly begin to discover its secrets. He also likes to point out the importance of spontaneity as a part of the whole experience.
As part of the presentation David showed a video of a performance he gave years ago at the History Center in Orlando. I was shocked when in the foreground of the first shot I saw a younger version of myself in a stiff button down long sleeve shirt and a full head of hair. I was sketching away as usual unnoticed by anyone. It was that evening that lead me to years later decide to go to the Kerouac house and sketch it. It seems like life keeps coming at me in oblique angles. Lines are no longer straight, but instead curve in and around toward the source. I seemed so young and exuberant in the footage and yet I seemed stiff and insecure, like I was dresses up for the corporate role I had to play. I am left wondering in what ways I have changed since that time. The journey continues and David is still there to remind me to keep my eyes open for the wild, wonderful, frenetic, crazy, spontaneous, outlandish, world that has yet to be sketched.

Caroline Kerouac Blake Tribute

Jack Kerouac's sister Caroline died in 1964. For years her grave was an unmarked spot below an old Maple tree in Greenwood Cemetery in Downtown Orlando. Members of the Kerouac Project arranged to have a stone marker placed on the spot on March 13th of 2009. Yesterday a small group of Kerouac supporters gathered to honor Caroline, who Jack had nicknamed Nin.
It was a beautiful morning. As I searched for the site I saw several squirrels scrambling between headstones and then up a tree. The birds were chirping joyously. Once I found the site. I leaned my artists chair up against a tree, leaned back and started to sketch. I knew the dedication would not take long so I had to lay in the background and stones fast. Bob Kealing who was going to pay tribute, had been called away on a news story, he had to cover the Casey Anthony case down at the Orange County Court House. Kim Buchheit took his place and did a wonderful and moving job. David Amram, a multi talented performer, played a hand carved courting flute whose warm tones drifted through the morning air.
This days events left me with an impression that art leaves behind a life affirming and ever propagating force that spurs the next generation to keep creating. Get out, find people with amazing stories and listen and learn. David Amram now 78 years old and Pete Seeger about to turn 90 years old are proof that some creative flames burn bright well into old age.
Caroline Kerouac Blake
October 25, 1918 - September 19, 1964
Mother, Daughter, Sister, Wife
World War II Veteran
JE ME SOUVIENSTI NIN ( I remember little Nin)

Richard Goodman on Burroughs and Kerouac

In 1944, Kerouac, Ginsberg and Burroughs all met in the span of two days at Columbia University in NYC. Burroughs began living with Joan Vollmer Adams in an apartment they shared with Jack Kerouac and Edie Parker.
Burroughs and Kerouac got into trouble with the law when Lucien Carr, killed David Kammerer in a confrontation over Kammerer's incessant and unwanted homosexual advances. Lucian had allowed Kammerer to hang out with him for years and Richard speculated that perhaps Lucian was a bit of a masochist. The killing happened in Riverside Park in Manhattan's upper west side. After the killing Carr sought out Kerouac, who helped him dispose of the knife and some of Kammerer's belongings. Kerouac may have had a somewhat loose moral code based on necessity yet he was very generous to fellow writers and friends. Kerouac was arrested as an accessory after the fact and served time in jail. He married Edie Parker so her parents would bail him out of jail. The marriage was annulled one year later.
This incident inspired Burroughs and Kerouac to collaborate on a novel entitled And the Hippos Were Boiled in Their Tanks. This title came from a WWII news radio broadcast. It was the broadcasters last pitch before signing off. Completed in 1945, the two young authors were unable to get it published, but the manuscript was finally published in November 2008 by Grove Press and Penguin Books. Plans are in the works to make it into a movie.
Richard Goodman personally met Burroughs after he sent him a letter and Burroughs wrote him back. Richard had those letters and showed them to people after the talk.

Jack Kerouac's Birthday

Jack Kerouac was born March 12th, 1922. Were he alive today he would be 89 years old. He died at the age of 47 which is how old I am today. In his memory I went to the house where his sister Nin lived through the late 1950's at 1219 Yates Street in College Park. Jack often came to stay starting in 1954 for varying lengths of time. When he was here in 1956 "On the Road" was about to be accepted by Viking Press for publication. Jack then rented rooms in a house for himself and his mother around the corner on Clouser Avenue. He soon shipped out to Tangier.
Ed White suggested to Kerouac that he sketch the streets like a painter but with words. Kerouac filled 15 pocket sized notebooks with "sketch poems". After completing "On the Road" Jack sat down at his typewriter and wrote the manuscript that came to be known as "Book of Sketches". As an artist who has also taken to the streets I identify with that endeavor.
This house sits in an old quiet neighborhood. Weeds sprout up between the sidewalks and curbs are broken and worn with age. Children are at play everywhere. Three girls next door ride there bikes and scream to each other until mom calls them in for dinner. A train whistle can be heard in the distance.

Do you know what this homestead,
this ranch is? -- what
my statue and responsibility, in it
is? It's a footing from which I can
be my childlike self forever.
--Kerouac