|
Greetings Digesters!1It's a rainy and windy day here at the Mothership and the rain is promising to continue unabated for the next 30 hours or so: Wildfire season has come to an end and today we start the Burn season!
Somewhat tolerable jazz is on the hi-fi. 2 Jack the cat is more effusive than usual. We are in the midst of a big storm and a staff-member-who-shall-not-be-named is excited for his(/her?) chocolate-banana strudel from the Big Sur Bakery, which he'll(/she'll?) eat in about two hours .3, 4
In fact, Black Friday just went by so why not juxtapose the Black Friday experience at the Library with that of the rest of commercial society?
Check it out below (and after that, the Digest commences!!):
Oops, sorry, one more thing, and non-sequiturially, we'd like to point out that we are getting close to the new year and your year end deductible donation! GO HERE!
| |
"Be Like Henry," the Irish Times saysIt's a tough world out there. 5 The temptation to become bitter can, at times, seems irresistible and preordained.
But don't do it, write's the Irish Times' Padraig O'Morain, citing and expounding on Henry's words of wisdom on turning 80: "If you can keep from growing sour, surly, bitter and cynical, man you’ve got it half licked.” Read the whole thing!
| |
|
"Writing is an Exercise in Freedom"By Heart is a series in the Atlantic which authors share and discuss their all-time favorite passages in literature.
Click here to read how author Jane Smiley looks to Charles Dickens' "To Our Mutual Friend" for inspiration on how to harness the spontaneous, liberating energy that comes from writing imagery.
| |
Check out Magnus' chat with Lee OtterOn Nov. 24th, Magnus spoke with our friend and neighbor Lee Otter. Conversation focused on the redwood habitat, The Naval Facility, the Scenic Byway, the Multi-Agency Council, the Coastal Commission and Lee’s lifelong love of the Big Sur Coast, and much more.
| |
Meanwhile...over at Instagram 6
| |
"Henry and Friends" by Willam Webb continued...
Florian Steiner Tarzan dire semper veritas
Florian is like a constantly erupting volcano, from which the prudent will maintain a healthy distance. Henry told me that in 1963 he thought twice about going to Italy, Florian's native land, for fear of encountering him. Then, when travelling in the south of France and crossing through Cros de Cagnes, he asked Vincent Berge, his driver, to speed up, while he slid down in his seat to make himself invisible. Florian's mother lived in that town and Henry wasn't taking any chances that her son might be visiting. Not that Henry didn't appreciate Florian, it simply took too much out of him to be in his company. With all his intensity, Florian is immensely engaging. His outgoing friendliness took command of situations instantly. Wherever he went, he was always "in charge." He especially loved Brazil. On a trip into the Mato Grosso, he stopped by a rural whorehouse and made a fantastic series of photographs of the ladies, concentrating on the madam, an enormous whale of a woman. The record is one, not of poverty and ugliness, but of playfulness and warmth, and with a touch of sadness. Florian obviously set the tone for the session, which is reflected in the title he gave the series of pictures, "A Day With My Mother Mato Grosso." Florian's photographic style was to grab images as fast as he could work his battered Pentax, then selecting from these the strongest. A familiar way of working. Less familiar was his reliance upon scrounged film and paper, usually severely outdated, development under primitive conditions with tired solutions, a dip or two in some brew called wash water. Blow ups were often at billboard size, and so casually exposed in the printing that no two of the same subject were ever remotely alike. But these photographs have great power, are evidence of a keenly sensitive eye, whether in his revealing portraits, frank eroticism, or joking commentaries. On one of his more recent visits to Big Sur, Florian lost most of his life's work in negatives, a loss so devastating that he felt he would have to give up photography forever. While he was fulfilling a liason with a lady he'd met, his rented car parked on the highway was invaded and his duffle bag, containing the negatives, was stolen. Various items from the bag were later found tossed out along the highway, but the negatives never reappeared. One may well ask, why did he haul his life's work around the world in a duffle bag? That was Florian; he didn't do things as others would.
| |
I met Florian at Emil's in Big Sur, in 1962. We hit it off immediately. He had met Henry a few days earlier and already had made a number of "images" of him. When I saw these, along with some photographs he had taken of Aldous Huxley at Esalen, and some of Ezra Pound when he was confined at St. Elizabeth's, I was deeply impressed and wanted to work with him. Before long we'd set up a few sessions, and found that we made a good team, and we worked together many times after that.
Florian's work should become known, but that's not likely to happen while he is still in control of it. He desperately wants recognition, but makes it almost impossible. He is so prolific but so disorganized that to take in the scope of his work is much too difficult unless he directs the task. And that he can't do.
One time I set him up with my publisher and good friend, Dick Grossman, who then headed Grossman Publishers, a division of Viking Press. An appointment was made and I told Florian how to find the nice offices on Madison Avenue, where Dick was expecting to see some representative prints, drawn from a tidy portfolio. Professional, in other words.
Florian never travelled light, despite long experience. On this occasion he arrived at Grossman Publishers with an elevator full of his gear, all bundled into cowskins, full cow, Holstein, with the hair on the outside, grease on the inside, and tied up with ropes. As he got into the reception area he began to unpack this cargo and had it strewn all over the place by the time Grossman arrived on the scene: boxes of outdated film and photographic paper, sheaves of typescript, leather boots, badly dented Pentax cameras, socks, dirty underwear, toothpaste.
While Dick is fairly unflappable with the bizarre, at least the New York variety, I can imagine his dismay when he entered the reception area. In any event, the stuff was scraped together and hauled into Dick's office, in a procession which had to wend its way past a row of office cubicles. At each one Florian stopped to check out the inhabitant and, if female, would pause to exchange a few pleasantries. Always the gentleman, always funny and always loud, and very Italian, by the time they reached Dick's office Florian had won over the entire floor. He is incredibly engaging the first time around!
Dick tried to restore order by dragging Florian off to an early lunch, which he thought he might be able to endure for most of the rest of the day. But it was hopeless. The scene at the restaurant was one of loud laughter, pontification about uptight New York, flirting with any female that looked slightly eligible, generally disrupting the rest of the diners. Nor had it calmed down when, after a premature retreat, they got back to the office, for Florian had handed a sheaf of his pornographic cartoons to the receptionist as they were leaving for the restaurant. By now the drawings had circulated up and down the aisles and everyone was breathless from laughter. Grossman gave up, got into the spirit of things, and let it all go. After all, it was only money he was losing. But publish this guy? No way! (To be continued in the next Digest!)
| |
Philip Glass is too busy to think about his legacy 7
What's the old saying? "By the time you finish reading this sentence, Philip Glass wrote an opera."
Zachary Woolfe writes as much in the Times: "At 82, Mr. Glass does remarkably little dwelling on the past.
"In fact, he is in the process of curtailing his busy touring schedule, so that he can focus on what is already a prodigious rate of composition..."
| |
"Goodbye to the Digest" (sic)Thanks again for reading, everybody. We'll let the Marcells 8, 9 take us home!
Your friends,
Magnus, Mike, Iguana John, and Jack
| |
1 - The header photo is a shot of Henry Miller and Florian Steiner from the "Henry and Friends" by
William Webb
2 - Sean turned Mike on to this amazing site -- infinite mixtapes! Check out Expansions" and "Memory Lane" in particular
3 - The line was very long and the strudel wasn't cheap. But worth every penny.
4 - The line was so long. Heather the barista exemplified "grace under fire."
6 - (L to R) - Impassioned picking locals (IPL), wedding bliss courtesy of @blake789, and boogie-ing (boogying?) to “Sweet Home Alabama” (seriously!) at the Big Sur Food and Wine Fest
7 - It's just that he doesn't worry about his legacy because he's too busy writing operas as you read this AND the Times article. ;)
8 - We know what you're thinking, and YES, it's the same Marcells that sang "Blue Moon!!!" 10
10 - Check out Fred Arismen's irreverent take on doo-wop and "Blue Moon" in particular.
| |
|
|
|
|