As mentioned earlier, yesterday was opening night of my outlaw art exhibit, a scheme dreamed up in a bar two months ago that came to its last-minute but highly successful fruition, in that same bar, last night.
Here’s the story. Two guys own a bar on Fort Avenue in Baltimore. Long ago it was called the End Zone. When they bought it five or so years ago, they reopened it as the Idle Hour, a more upscale — but not annoyingly so — establishment. I passed by it everyday on my way to the park, and the owners became friends with my dog Ace. I became a semi-regular customer.
As a semi-regular customer, I, like a lot of other customers, noticed that a man often appeared in a window across the street — staring out, often for long periods of time, from his second-floor room above what was until recently a hardware store.
While nobody knew much about the man — commonly referred to as The Window Guy — he became, among customers, an instant legend, and a source of intrigue. His frequent appearances at his window led customers, who could see him through the Idle Hour’s front window, to start speculating — both on what he was up to and what his story was.
Often, he’d appear in his T-shirt or no shirt at all. While a lot of upscale establishments might be mortified and embarassed by such a spectacle, in full view of their customers, the owners of the tavern, though part of the gentrification that has and continues to take place in the neighborhood, took it in stride. As they’d shown by giving the bar, which had been through several incarnations, its original name back, they’re they types that have some appreciation for the neighborhood’s history, for its traditions, and for the curious mix of textures — from polyester to silk, from knit Izod to “wifebeater” T – that is south Baltimore
They also have an appreciation for art, and every month or so they feature the work of a new artist on their nail-hole riddled, wood-paneled walls.
How cool would it be, I thought to myself, and then shared with a select few others, to sneak in an exhibit, without the owners’ knowledge, in which every picture on every wall was one of The Window Guy?
For the next couple of months, I took my camera with me, and surreptitiously photographed the Window Guy when he was at his window, and out on the street. Conspiring with the bartending staff, I learned there would be a lull between exhibits — Lindsay Petrick was taking her work down, and agreed to do so a couple of days early, leaving a small window of opportunity until Jes Contro puts her art up.
On Friday, while the owners were out, I put up more than 30 framed photographs of The Window Guy, managing to get them up in an hour thanks to help from some friends — particularly the Baltimore Sun’s Sam Sessa , who I’d invited to see the exhibit but instead ended up hanging much of it, and Beau Seidel, who earlier Friday helped build the set for Bruce Springsteen’s concert.
As a practical joke, it went off without a hitch. Both owners walked in to see the previously bare walls covered with Window Guy art. While I was a little worried about how they might react to the unauthorized exhibit, both seemed to get a good laugh out of it. More surprisingly yet, it was a major hit, with about a third of the photos being sold on opening night — almost enough to recoup my investment.
One person even called it “very post modern,” which, since I’m not sure what that is, I will take as a compliment.
The exhibit is entitled “John: The Man in the Window.” Other than knowing his first name, I intentionally didn’t research John’s background, or talk to him, because the exhibit was more about mystery, speculations and assumptions than about the reality. But I’m thinking the reality — learning about the man behind the enigma — might make for a good sequel.
Though I intended it as a one-night-only exhibit, the owners decided they will keep it up for a few more days — so feel free to drop by and see it. Chances are, while looking at the photos of The Window Guy, you’ll see the actual Window Guy as well, who, at this point, isn’t aware that there is an exhibit hanging in tribute to him across the street.
The Idle Hour is located at 201 E. Fort Ave.
It’s rare that we post something that has absolutely no connection to dogs, but there’s an art exhibit opening tonight that is so stunning, so original, so cutting edge, so mine, that we can’t resist.
The festivities begin at 6 p.m. at the Idle Hour, 201 E. Fort Avenue in Baltimore, and everyone’s invited.
The one-night-only “outlaw art” exhibit is unique in two ways: The owners of the Idle Hour aren’t aware that it’s being installed, and the subject is not aware he is the subject, and likely never will be.
That’s all we can say at this point.
In this cut and paste world in which we’ve come to value getting it done quickly and cheaply over getting it done with class, style or individuality, maybe it’s not all that surprising that Ohio’s “dog-friendly” license plate features the image of a pooch who’s not from from Toledo, or Dayton, or Cincinnati, or even Cleveland or Akron.
No, Ohio’s steel-stamped icon for dog friendliness hails from … Louisiana … by way of Missouri, and the Internet.
How Mac, a 9-year-old yellow Lab from Monroe, La., ended up as the face of dog-friendliness on Ohio’s license plate is a story that began when J.J. and Mary Linda Huggins sent a photo of Mac to Missouri artist Debbie Stonebraker for the purposes of having a portrait painted.
Mac’s picture joined hundreds of others on Stonebraker’s website.
The good folks at The Ohio Pet Fund, rather than going into their own dog-friendly backyard, went online looking for a dog, browsed Stonebraker’s website, and chose Louisiana Mac as Ohio’s dog, according to an Associated Press story — one that ran in the Fort Wayne Journal Gazette under the headline “Apparently the dogs in Ohio aren’t friendly enough … Louisiana pooch ends up on Buckeye license plates.”
Louisiana Mac is the latest addition to the Ohio Pet Fund’s pet-friendly license plate line. The dog-friendly plate joins a cat-friendly plate and a generic pet friendly plate, illustrated with a cartoon. Proceeds from the sale of the plates go towards low-cost spay and neutering programs.
[[ This is a content summary only. Visit my website for full links, other content, and more! ]]
It’s considered impolite, yet everyone slips up occasionally. How can anyone be blamed for mixing up the name of a dog with that of its owner, especially when the dog is Henry and his owner goes by Rags?Even still, Dick Sebastian resolved he would not make that particular mistake, or any similar one, at the small-dog run in Washington Square Park he started frequenting a few years ago with his wife, Susie, and his dog, Kitty (grounds for more confusion, but that was someone else’s problem). He whipped up cartoony illustrations of all the dogs at the run who, like Kitty, arrived like clockwork for the morning shift, and turned them into a chart labeled with their names. Mr. Sebastian sometimes brought the work in progress to the dog run, and over time, even owners who were not part of the regular crew — many of them part of a downtown, arty scene — asked if their pets could be included, or agreed when approached by Mr. Sebastian.
From there, Mr. Sebastian, a retired surgeon who is now 71, started experimenting with more serious portraiture, sketching some of the dogs he had come to know better than many of his friends’ grandchildren. He started with Sidney, an aristocratic, standoffish pug belonging to Roberta Bayley, a former punk-rock photographer turned dog photographer. Everyone marveled at the images.
“I thought he really captured her weirdness,” said Ms. Bayley, sitting, as she always does, beside her sedentary, aloof pet on a bench. “She’s very into herself and quiet and serenity.”
Mr. Sebastian estimates that in less than a year, he drew and presented around 50 dog portraits to their owners, as gifts — in most cases, to great appreciation.
To read the full story, and see some of the drawings, head on over to [Source: The New York Times.]
