"Odiferous!"

 

Good Sunday Morning, y'all.

The rains from the night before not only washed away the last vestige of pollen from off of the cars, but in the misty morning also cleared out the air. The catbird is back and just in time to inspect the progress of my and our neighbor's blueberries. It's an annual event!

About a month or so ago, when I'd take Pierre for his morning constitutional, I would commune with all the sights, sounds and smells of the dawn.

But the dawn didn't always smell so great. Usually, I send the dog out in my shorts and tee shirt. I read somewhere that as a part of that partnership with nature one should walk barefoot on the lawn... It's kinda an Indian thing!

Still, something very subtle but unmistakably in the air surrounded me. It wasn't the dog's pee or his poop. It wasn't the night jasmine on the trellis next to the bird bath. It wasn't the smell of the grass I cut days before. It didn't seem to be from somewhere. It kinda seemed to follow me as I "went American Indian" all over the yard.

I smelled my shirt and smelled my shorts. I'm no longer flexible enough to smell my feet but for certain their was a dis-stink order coming from me... Every day.

It never dawned on me that my diet was the culprit. For a week or more, I was eating a combination of roasted garlic hummus and a garlic cheese that I mistakenly bought at Whole Foods. The unforgivable morning odor disappeared when, over time, I finished consuming both aromatic snacks. A week or so later I finally figured it all out.

It reminds me of a receptionist at a local CPA firm where my wife worked as an assistant to one of the partners. The woman used to pop cloves of garlic like candy and no one could place where the odor came from until one of the partners saw her chomping down on a clove or two. It was like seeping through her pores.

I don't remember if the receptionist was fired, asked to refrain from such a snack and by doing so was attacked by a blood sucking Transylvanian, or sent downstairs into bowels of the building to file tax returns forever. Funny...

Guess you are what you eat... and drink!

Second cup, y'all...

Copyright 2021/ Ben Bensen III

"It Just Doesn't Make Any Sense... Does it?"

One of many photos I shot using Mark as a model.

On Sunday, about one month ago, CBS's "60minutes" aired a segment about UFO's. I was intrigued when a female pilot along with her wingman sighted and documented with radar and a gun camera an alien spacecraft. The first thing I thought about, with a chuckle, was that McCandlish is at it again. As has been lately her habit, my wife followed the added information about UFO's and the government's stance on such things. 

Naturally, Area 51 came into her view on the laptop which took her a step further that just shocked her and me. Mark McCandlish was found dead from a shotgun blast to the head. Preliminary report say suicide in his home in Redding, CA. That just didn't make any sense.  

I first met Mark in Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, CA. We didn't spend much time together because he was majoring in car design and I was majoring in illustration. Graduating a year or so earlier than Mark did, I met him again as a fellow employee working as a designer and tech illustrator at General Dynamics/ Pomona Division. Apparently, he became disenchanted with the career opportunities afforded him in Detroit. 

We worked on a few projects together. One was an involved cutaway I started of the Phalanx Defense System. While I enjoyed doing cutaways, Mark reveled in it. Eventually, I was taken off the project to work another brochure. Here's the revised version of the one we worked on.

"R2D2" with a 20mm Gatlin gun!

Mark was working on another gun system cutaway when I left GD for the freelance world. I believe he only stayed for two years. I believe a year after he quit, in 1983, the Electronics Division left for San Diego creating the breakup of the graphics group. Because he lived in South Pasadena, where I also lived, we'd carpool the long trip from there to Pomona. After he quit, Mark would come by my studio and hang. On occasion, I'd ask him to pose for me for a storyboard I was working on. We did try working together on a project or two, but I knew it would not workout because Mark was so meticulous to the point of actually trying too hard and in the presentation art business speed is of the utmost.

Mark loved working with the technical engineers making change after change!

Over the years, we seldom communicated especially after he moved to Redding, CA. I got a call from him talking about his UFO discoveries and Area 51 sometime around the mid nineties.  I don't really have a specific timeline on these phone conversations except to say that I was mildly interested and I suppose Mark could sense that. I do remember being "anchored" to the ground by Little Leaguers. I now feel rather guilty for not entertaining Mark's findings, but he was always kinda nerdy trying to be some part of a group or philosophy but was just not quite fitting in. He was a very good illustrator especially when it came to the nuts and bolts of some design. Mark really had an understanding about how things worked and if he didn't, he sure as hell would look it up. I did follow his many illustrative Popular Science covers until the computer changed all that. 

In 2001, we moved back to Louisiana, and heard some things about him getting in the hair of the powers that be asking questions and finding parts to the puzzle that were ignored or hidden from the view of the general public. Therein, lays the many conspiracy theories that abound. Apparently, Mark felt certain that this whole UFO phenomenon was "a carefully protected technology co-opted by an as-yet-unknown group, and the sequestration of this technology has provided that organization tremendous leverage in world politics, finance and international conflicts over the past five decades."

Skeptics are suspicious of the fact that Mark offered to give testimony to the Senate Intelligence Committee and contacted Senator Marco Rubio on this just prior to his death… His potential testimony along with his obsession with building the ARV (ALIEN REPRODUCTION VEHICLE) probably got him killed.

"Americans’ long-running fascination with U.F.O.s has intensified in recent weeks in anticipation of the release of the government report, expected to be released to Congress by June 25th."

It's kinda hard to wrap my head around all of these conspiracies nowadays. It is especially hard being an old friend and fellow artist and Art Center Alum. I have lost so many friends by suicide the first thing I think is, "That's impossible...not her... not him. It just doesn't make any sense!"

Does it?

Copyright 2021/Ben Bensen III

 

Good “Memorial Day” Monday,

Edible fruit designs for my wife...

 “Tap” into a bit of reflection sometime around 3pm…Nationwide!

Copyright 2021/ Ben Bensen III

"Cruisin' With My Paint Brush"

On site painting at a coffeehouse CarShow...

"Little Deuce Coupe" was blasting on the stage PA system as I sat down with my friend Al to have my first cup. I don't know if Frank was a Beach Boy fan, but I was sending GiddyUp and a few "community papers" car crazy hints all week long.

Halfway through my first cup, Cathy Rodriguez, dropped by with En Plein Air intentions, so we walked the back driveway to check out the classics and find a spot in the shade that would work for the four hour cruise.

There were some great setups with a wide variety of cars to paint.

But, I found a shady place between two blue SS Chevelles and a 1937 delivery truck.

One of the fun things about painting at shows is the people that come by to see what I'm up to and the comments they make.

"Can I, um... can I look over your shoulder?"

"No," I'd say, quoting a Talking Heads song entitled, "For Artists Only"... "You can't see it till it's FINISHED!"

You know, I could've finished the painting, maybe not to my satisfaction, but completed if I hadn't spent so much time entertaining myself with the many visitors. It was so good to see people I haven't seen in years or, at least, since Covid.

One ten year old boy, who, I assume was the son of the owner of the delivery truck would come by every hour or so to see my progress.

"Sir, when you finished, can I have the painting?"

"I don't know, man. I don't give away paintings until I sign it and I only sign it if I am satisfied with it," I replied.

"It looks good to me now," he said.

"You'll have to wait till I start putting some paint on the sketch, first!" I said.

"And, thank you," I said. You can't make a good painting from a bad drawing!"

My instructional comment about the arts fell upon deaf ears!

In between the many stories and wonderful kudos I received from the visitors as well as the classic car owners, the boy would return to peruse and once again ask if I was finished.

"Mister, mister, he said. Are you gonna put the writing on the door?"

"It sure is looking good to me," he later commented.

After about the four or five visits over a period of four hours, I caved in.

"I tell you what, here's my business card with my email address," I said, handing over to him one of my cards.

"In about a week, when the paint dries and I can fix the wheels, you send me an email and we'll see if I like it enough to sign it."

"Okay?"

With the enthusiasm only a ten year old can possess, he smiled, put the card in his jeans front pocket and skipped back to his parents and the 1937 delivery truck. It will be interesting to see if he actually follows through with the offer.

Looking back over yesterday's activities including the many bands on the stage as well as Frank's harmonizing with his daughter's wonderful vocals, I wanna thank all those who came by to visit and said such nice things to me about the painting.

That was awfully sweet!

I never got to complete the car wheels, but people loved seeing the progress over the three or four hour attempt. I later finished, at home, the wheels in the spirit of the original effort.

Later in the day, after cleaning myself up and wiping the paint off my forehead, I sat down with some friends from Gus's and had a beer and the best fully loaded hamburger I've had in years. Thanks Scott Penton!

Second cup, y'all...

Copyright 2021/Ben Bensen III

Saint Philomena,” I said. “I Looked Her Up And She's Got "Saint Cred!"

A Gift...

 Good Throwback Thursday Morning, y'all.

Continued from yesterday's Facebook post... sorta!

"Oh, by the way, Saint Philomena,” I said. “I looked her up and she's got "Saint Cred!"

"She's got what?" he asked.

After explaining my rather pithy statement to Larry, he agreed that she helped him with his mesothelioma and had credibility.

I let him talk and reiterated that IF there is a heaven and that IF there’s a hierarchy up there, that he should rank pretty high on the charts. No one deserves it more than Badass Larry!

Rick disagreed with my "Doubting Thomas" comment. We briefly got into a discussion about heaven and the hierarchy of angels.

Rick was someone I have seen over the years at GiddyUp, but seldom had much to say to him. He was a rather frail, diminutive man that always wore a bebop hat and pretty much sat alone with his coffee.

Larry decided to hit the john, and when he did, Rick told about the motorcycle accident he had as a kid in 1961 where he lost control, hit a ditch, flew into a barbed wire fence and hit his head on one of the fence posts.

Brain surgery saved his life but the physical after affects are readily apparent. To this day, Rick needs a ride to and fro and his occasionally distant stare while standing outside appears to be nothing more than him searching for his ride.

Rick seems to have, over the many years, made the necessary adjustments to survive, and I told him so. I thanked him for letting me into an important part of his life.

When Larry returned, after more discussions about theology, he invited me to come with him to his pickup truck.

"Hey, Mr. Ben, I got sumpthin' I want you to have," he said.

"Hey, c'mon man," I said. You don't owe me anything. I did you portrait 'cuz I wanted to and gave it to you 'cuz you like it!"

"No, no, that's not what I'm talking about," he said as he opened the glove compartment of his truck. It was full of little plastic cases.

He hands me this carved wooden cross encased in a plastic.

My first thought besides thank you was that I don't keep these kind of religious things around in my life. Prayer cards for your wallet, scapulas on a string for hanging on the bedpost, medals on necklaces of assorted icons, miniature rosaries and framed paintings of religious heroes are a thing of my past.

Respected, but not my kind of faith.

"I want you to have this cross to maybe carry in your briefcase or in the car," he said.

"I get them at the Abbey and give them to people I care about!"

"I told you about the Abbey and my attending my own Mass outside around the pond, right?"

"Yes, you did, but..."

"Larry, this is really sweet of you to think of me this way," I replied.

With a grin from ear to ear, he goes to great length to tell me about gift.

"This is very special and I will keep in my car to protect me from myself," I said.

"Especially nowadays since St. Christopher has lost some "Street Cred!"

We laughed as we walked back to the coffeehouse. I picked up my belongings, and with my mini-tree, said my goodbyes to the baristas, to Rick and to Larry, who decided to linger over another cup.

"You take care, now Ben," Larry said.

I smiled back at him and waved high... my wooden chaperone.

Second Giddy Up cup...

Copyright 2021/Ben Bensen III

"Rock, Scissors... Paper?"

Coffee table entertainment...

 Good "fly away" Friday Morning, everybody.

When I saw this yesterday, it was too late for a Throwback post.

I remember having a book like this of paper airplanes as well as a book on constructing paper birds. It was not as thorough a compilation of historical aircraft like this one is. Paging through the book, the planes are pretty well crafted. Looks like I might have a try on one of those.

Unfortunately, there's no P-47 Thunderbolt. What's wrong with these people!

The ones I built as a kid did not look as good as these, but like these paper replicas, they're not very aerodynamic. As for the paper birds, I insisted on hanging a few from a tree in the backyard. They didn't do too well in this... um... environment!

Says something about my perception of form and function, doesn't it? My artistic DNA is lacking a few links, I think... ha!

It brings to mind a conversation I had once with aviation artist guru, Nixon Galloway, seated backwards on our flight to D.C. in a military C-141 transport.

He told me about a club of aviation "enthusiasts" that build these incredibly light, flyable, balsa airplanes that are powered by flies.

Yeh, that's right... Flies!

He told me it was pretty competitive group. For example, one "enthusiast" realized the pinning the bug to the fuselage was not as effective as super gluing the bugs legs to the plane.

The pin's weight negatively affected the plane's flight characteristics as well as the aircraft's ability to sustain flight. I thought for a moment or two, there was no one up there on his flight deck, ya know? Maybe, old Nick Galloway was on final approach or, at the very least, needed a "crosscheck!"

Pretty wild...

Anyway, on the cover of the book is an invitation to take one of the pages and "make a plane!"

I just might do that...

Third cup... I need it!

Copyright 2021/Ben Bensen III

"Sweating Bullets!"

Another Holy Shirt Subject...

 Good Saturday Morning, all bodies.

Last Saturday, at the Scenic Rivers Gallery show, my friend, Peggy Usner, noticed that I was wearing a new shirt. I don't know how she knew that other than the fact that I haven't bought any shirts since my stay in Palm Springs with the American Society of Aviation Artists three years ago and had seen over time every shirt I ever owned.

"Did you buy a new shirt?" she asked.

"Yes, I did. Why?"

With a twinkle in her eye she said that I forgot to take a tag off. I froze. I froze because a few days earlier, I bought three or four shirts and none of them fit once I tried them on at home. Two of the four were on hangars and the other two were created by structural engineers intent on making the deconstruction most difficult.

And, of course, once the shirts were taken apart in order to expose hidden internal assumptions and be analyzed, it was nearly impossible to put back together again. The shirts never looked as good as they did all neatly packed firm and tight.

On one shirt, which I came close to buying, I confidently snapped the plastic line that held the last possible deterrent. I was so sure it would fit, but it didn't.

"You shouldn't have broken that seal," my wife belatedly commented.

"They won't take it back now even if you have the receipt," she said.

Well, I certainly wasn't gonna keep a shirt that I'm not gonna ever wear, I thought to myself.

"Maybe, I'll just donate it to some needy shirtless dude," I said.

While stuffing all the deconstructed parts to the shirts in the original bag it dawned on me that I could mend the plastic strap by heating a screwdriver and melting the two ends back together again.

It always worked in my model airplane building days when glue no longer worked to hold two broken pieces together. Oh, the tactics of a fashionably covert shopper.

Once the tricky operation was completed, I tugged at the plastic cord with the label attached and it held together perfectly. The proof of my handiwork would be vindicated at the return desk...

... or sent to jail for defrauding J.C. Penney.

So, with the tags securely intact, I carefully rebuilt the two shirts that I had originally stuffed back into the shopping bag. I rebuilt them to the best of my knowledge with stickers, pins, collar inserts, cardboard backing and tissue paper folding them ever so neatly and hiding the repaired labels so the cashier would not suspect a thing.

Sweating bullets as the cashier took the two shirts off the hangers and placed them aside, she took the receipt out of the bag and never even checked to see my "cloak and dagger" handiwork.

It was a bit of a tense moment when she looked me straight in the eye and then... handed me my refund. I thanked her and walked off looking back to see her take the bagged shirts and throw them in with the other returnables.

Double Oh Seven styled stuff, I tell ya!

Copyright 2021/Ben Bensen III