You must always listen very carefully
Last week I caught a little flack for picking on pseudo &uot;artists,&uot; those that toss a few junk items together and call it art. I’m not opposed to it … I have seen cave dwellings where natives of the time, with no formal education except how to kill their protein food, used a burnt stick to draw pictures on the cave walls. It passed for art then, and does today.
But in defense of my statement, I quote Ginny Ruffner, whose creations adorn the Suffolk Center for Cultural Arts. She works with glass, a material you do not shape on a potter’s wheel.
&uot;The one great thing about being an artist,&uot; she said, &uot;you get to make up stuff and then call it art.&uot;
An artist’s very own words, my redemption.
And Ruffner was described as &uot;one of America’s most popular female glass artists.&uot; I’ve never heard of the lady and must take the reporter’s word for it. But when I think of the reporter’s statement, I believe a bit of artistry took place making it. Then I boiled it down and it became believable … I mean, how many female glass artists are there in this country? For all I know, she may be the only one, and therefore probably the most popular.
It’s that time again
It’s that time of year when politicians are making literally millions of statements defending their lack of action, and attempting to deflect mistakes they made during their current term of fooling constituents. Now their hands are stretched palm up, soliciting dollars to fund their boring campaigns.
During their tenure, many receive dollars from &uot;lobbyists,&uot; for lack of a more exact word, to make things happen.
You’ll know the election is close by when cute &uot;vote for&uot; signs pop up like mushrooms, placed there by fawning assistants. It’s an American tradition we could do without … it’s called &uot;littering.&uot;
It’s not enough that politicians have a team of &uot;intimidators&uot; ready to pounce as you approach the sacred polling places. Watch their eyes as they near you, looking for signs of weakness; they easily spot nervousness, trembling, wobbly knees; they are trained to move in for the kill and hand you a piece of &uot;vote for ____&uot; paper, their smile forcing you to reach for it. But you smile inwardly as you toss it in the nearest trash receptacle, your revenge for the imposition. Nobody, I mean nobody, really knows how you will vote when that curtain puts you in a very special world.
If you were to total up the world’s population, somewhere in the billions, you’d find only a handful are even allowed to vote, to decide who will speak for them.
At least our dear politicians give us a periodic chance to oust them, or stay the course. That’s fair.
It sad, in a way, that such a small percentage of even registered voters, go to the polls. But in another way that’s good … they either don’t care or have no inkling how wrong choices can affect their lives. These are &uot;twinkle-toes&uot; riding the wind, bounced by the waves, not even wise enough to complain about anything.
You have noticed, I’m sure, that our Council members have taken great precautions to see that everything is arranged so that they don’t miss out being reelected if they choose to run for mayor and lose. Even at this low level of government, there is a streak of cautiousness in politicians. It matters not that our opportunity to pick the mayor is put off at least until 2008. Remember, every now and then you get a chance to oust a Council member.
The only election I recall missing since I was 18 years old was during World War II. If there was such a thing as an absentee ballot, the word never reached our combat zone. I would gladly have gone home to vote, but nobody offered it. I can hardly wait for November.