Triple Self Portrait

Yesterday I saw this picture of a Norman Rockwell painting. It was titled "Triple Self Portrait"

The subject matter was pretty racy for a Norman Rockwell painting, so I decided to look it up. Turns out that the picture I had first seen was a parody of an actual Normal Rockwell painting.

"Whew!" I thought.

I may have been that guy at a party and when the conversation turns to Norman Rockwell and I make an ass of myself.

Then I felt a little sad that the racier version wasn't true. I like a little hot sauce in my oatmeal.

The actual painting is a view of the back of Norman's head as he looks into the mirror and paints his self portrait. On the canvas are other famous self portraits for inspiration (Van Gogh, Picasso, etc).

You see the reflection of the artist, the creation of the artist, and the act of the artist creating.

Kinda neat.

This morning as I was reading a book about The Beatles, I discovered that one of Mark Chapman's prized possessions was a lithograph of Norman Rockwell's "Triple Self Portrait"

Funny how one can never come across something and then come across it twice in a few hours.

The Beatle's book I was reading was a book I had been looking for for almost 20 years. I had borrowed it from my guitar teacher for a history report on the 1960's and I remembered having been very fond of it, and meaning to find a copy of my own.

I'm sure I could have found it on the web, but it never crossed my mind to do so, although every time I found my self in a book store, I would pass by the music section just to see if it might be there.

I found it a few weeks ago in a used book store hiding behind a stack of Elvis biographies for a few dollars and held it close to my chest until I could get to the checkout counter.

The book was written by a journalist and one of the Beatles' business managers.

The early stuff was pretty good, the stuff I remembered, but the rest of it, from "Love Me Do." to the five gunshots in front of the Dakota, was all about sex, drugs and the skirmishes between.

Not a lot about the music. In fact, more is spent on Mark Chapman's taste in lithography than the recording of The White Album.

The sixteen year old me was justifiably fascinated by sex, drugs and skirmishes so there is no reason why I shouldn't have loved the book.

But now it just feels cautionary and flat.

As I've grown older, and most of my Gen-Xer brethren might agree, I've grown accustomed not only to experiencing the artists work, but learning how the artist did it and what the artist meant and reconciling that with what the piece meant to us.

VH1 has a lot to answer for.

My album's just about done.

I hesitate to call it my new album because I've been working on it since the Bush Administration.

A few more weeks, a few more tweaks, a few more sleepless nights of "What can I live with?"

But the album itself is only 39 minutes of music.

It's a good listen and I'm proud of it.

and it's almost done.

It's a good listen, but I don't know if it's a great listen.

I do know that the story behind it, the intention behind the creation and the choices made along the way will make it a better listen, so I'm hesitant to release the music without the story.

I want to do what Norman Rockwell did and give you a three dimensional experience.

I want you to listen to it.


And then share with your friends. And I want them to share it with theirs.

Blah Blah Blah Blah.

Actually, I'm just a bit gloomy today because I just finished reading about John Lennon's death. And because the Niner's lost. And because I have ton of stuff to do at work and not enough time to do it in. And because my Martin Jaguar Take Down 40lb Recurve Bow hasn't shown up yet even though the tracking number shows that its being delivered.

And because a piece of art this big and this important can only be finished when hopes and dreams are abandoned . . .

. . . and I have to begin the process of letting go.

Somebody tell a joke.

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