Evolutions '08

What better way to take a break between the two political conventions than to motor up to the North Shore where Dick Buckley once again produced a jewel of an art show on scenic Marblehead Neck. Arrayed attractively on the grounds of a patron's home, the work of a dozen visual artists was presented amid the natural splendor. This year, Dick arranged for a several musical artists to add a pleasant melodic complement to the event. Musical Artists included: Barbara Alex and friends, Ted Sink, David Ward, Donald Tower and Lisa Walkins. Master sound engineer Jim Merritt applied his skills to ensure that the musical performances blended perfectly with the show's ambiance. If this isn't the best "12 Hours of Art" presented anywhere, I don't know what is.

Among the visual artists showing their work was our own, Mark Malloy with eight new pieces showing a new direction in his work. One of his earlier pieces is shown above; Dick Buckley, who's creative talents are a match for his organizational skills; Bob Bartlett presenting his graceful "kinetic constructs"; the hauntingly electric illustrations of Meghann Brideau; the crisp architectural illustrations of Winthrop's own Frank Constantino; American Impressionist Carol Dearborn; The realistic decorating talents Lena Fransioli; Meghan Gargano's abstract interpretation of natural scenes; Ceramic sculptor Richard Gilson's evocative work; the decorative finishes of Kasia Mirowska; Fran Morey's work “Capturing the grace, energy and majesty of a unique era of sail”; the exciting work of multi-faceted Mark Wholey; and the intriguing pencil sketches of Jesa Damora.

Also included in this year's show were two film pieces: "Tarrantino's Mind" by a pair of Brazillian Directors and a six-minute episode of "Undercover Cheerleaders" by Bryan Buckley.

For More Background on the show and its artisis, click HERE for the site of North Shore Artists. The site also includes links to individual artist websites.

Mark your calendars for next Labor Day week end and lets see if Dick Buckley can outdo this year's production which by all accounts was a grand-slam home run.

A Literary Salon in Norwell

A new Norwell salon is creating quite a buzz on the South Shore and beyond. Developed and operated by our friend Kathleen Cosgrove, The Peacock Style & Color Lounge, located at 707 Main Street, not only provides cutting edge (pun intended) salon services, but also has a bit of a literary flair. How many salons do you know of that have a cast of characters? If you want to find out just how the adventures of Penelope Peahen, her sister Flo and Flo’s husband Ernest play out amid this state-of-the-art styling emporium, you’ll just have to pay them a visit.

We met Kathleen through our membership in the South Shore Writers Club where she balanced her writing interests with her career in the corporate arena. When she opened the Peacock, she achieved a long-held entrepreneurial goal. We are glad to see that she is not leaving her literary talents behind.

Take a look at the website, catch up on Penelope, then come on down and re-do your do.

http://www.peacockstyle.com/

On the Road, Once Again

A seven-day bus trip is about as hellish as it sounds, but as a way to see some spectacular natural sights, it was well worth it. Traveling through the Grand Canyon and several other national parks and monuments was an amazing experience, especially for those of us who have spent most of our lives on the east coast. The splendor of the vistas, created by nature, was awesome and outdone only by the massive scale. The Grand Canyon is over 275 miles long, which is about the distance from Boston to Syracuse, NY! So it is nearly impossible to see it all, perhaps in a lifetime. Moreover, a given vista changes with the time of day and the play of natural light, so that even a static view offers a changing scene.

Among the many contrasts was the difference between seeing the Grand Canyon exclusively from the rim (no mule rides down to the canyon floor for this cowboy) and the visiting Zion National Park in Utah where we actually stayed down on the canyon floor and were able to view the majestic rock formations from the ground up.

But when it comes to contrasts, nothing could match the wrenching change in traveling from the natural wonders of Zion to the man-made vulgarity of Las Vegas where we spent the last two days. The Tour Company maintained that it needed a terminal point that provided adequate air service to get everyone home. While this might make some logistic sense, it would have been fine with me if they had just dropped us at the Las Vegas airport. This, my first, trip to “Vegas” came at an interesting time in that our state governor has recently recommended the establishment of at least three casinos in Massachusetts as an easy way to generate an expected flood of new tax revenues and create new jobs. While, admittedly, Las Vegas takes the gambling-as-industry concept to absurd heights, a few days in Las Vegas makes one wonder if this the direction we should take. The View will have much more to say on this in future posts.

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Among the emails waiting for me on my return was a brief message from old friend, and Abington Minister, Stan Duncan, who I met through our membership in the South Shore Writers Club. Stan’s new book, If You Lived Here, You’d be Home by Now, is close to being released. You can get a preview peek at:

www.lulu.com/content/782924

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The trip, with a few exceptions, was exciting and inspiring, but as Dorothy would say, there's no place like home.

A Maine Event

The stated occasion of yesterday’s gathering was to celebrate the wedding anniversary of our friends, Ruth and Dick Coakley, who, on July 6th, had clocked (calendared?) fifty years of marriage. The fact that this event was taking place two months after the fact is the least of the unusual aspects of this affair. At the time, a marvelous gala was held, where the couples’ seven children and twenty grandchildren were joined by a large crowd of friends and family to wish them well in a much more traditional manner. But this was something different. This was a group of old friends gathering to celebrate a grand friendship.

We gathered at Chauncey Creek in southern Maine, a lobster-in-the-rough venue featuring outdoor tables, a BYOB policy and the best lobster in the state. In spite of a spectacular river view, the place falls squarely into the category of rustic dining. But what better place to gather for the group loosely organized under the “Cheap Eats” banner. The “Cheaps” were a group of young women who started throwing an occasional girls night out to gain a respite from the demands of raising young families. The locale would shift among various local restaurants, none of which provided white table cloths or cloth napkins. But the food was always good, the wine supply ample and the premises always able to withstand the barely-controlled hilarity of this fun-loving group. As time went on, situations changed, but the group continued its nights of camaraderie. And on those other occasions, where husbands and other friends were included, we found that same camaraderie through comfortable banter, good conversation and, above all, laughs, many, many laughs. Over the years, some of us have moved away, but the Winchester-based nucleus can always rally the troops. We have gathered to celebrate our children’s graduations, and then, later on, their weddings. We have tried to be there for each other on more solemn occasions, and as of late, ogle the pictures of grandchildren


Dick was a Dorchester boy (St. Mark’s parish) who met Ruthie when he went to work at Boston Edison, back in the fifties. They were married in Winchester’s Immaculate Conception Church on July 6, 1957. Boston Edison marked their marriage by immediately showing Ruthie the door. No married women allowed! So off they went to start their lives which would eventually include their wonderful family. When asked for the secret of such a long successful marriage, Dick answered, “patience”, A concise, and apt, formula for success, especially today where it seems as though all personal needs must be met before the end of the next commercial.

So we talked, ate lobster, drank some wine, and, best of all, had a lot of laughs until finally, the manager suggested that all those potential paying customers clustered on the dock might like the use of a table or two, sometime before first snowfall. So we packed up the cars, and headed back down I-95 under the grey skies of late summer thunderstorms that were unable to blot out the re-kindled glow of warm friendship.

The View on the Arts

If you grew up in the Boston area, you know that there is a local version of the Mason-Dixon Line. This line runs on an east-west bearing through the Prudential Center and has a tradition that dictates that those of us from the south side of town, who feel the need to re-locate, must move south, while denizens of the northern burbs must gravitate towards the top of the map. And even though I lived, for a time in a northwestern suburb (what can I tell you, I have a mixed marriage, I married a northside girl), my trip yesterday up Rte 1A to Marblehead had the feel of venturing into uncharted waters. Revere, Lynn, Nahant (oops, wrong turn), Swampscott and finally onto Marblehead felt a little like following the Yellow Brick Road. But as we drove over the causeway towards achingly-scenic Marblehead Neck, the sun sparkled on the ocean to our right and the impossibly-large number of sailboats in the Harbor off to our left, and I began to realize the spectacular panoramic secrets that those north shore types have been keeping from us provincials.

As part of the ongoing effort at supporting the contention that The View reflects a renaissance outlook, we went up to visit The Labor Day showing of The Evolutions ’07 Art Exhibit, featuring the work of local artists. We had added motivation for this trip, which will become obvious shortly.

Among the seventeen artists exhibiting their work in a wide variety of media, we were intrigued by one particular artist, a young man who, by day, works in the fast-paced world of advertising as an art director for a Boston Ad agency, and who practices his long-time painting avocation in his off hours. Working in oils, he applies an uncanny sense of color and texture to evoke contrasting images of haunting serenity and static energy, an approach that flirts with whimsy against a stark graphic orientation, clearly a metaphor for the constraints of modern life. After viewing his work, you begin to wonder what he might produce if he were to focus all of his many talents on his painting. But, of course, this would come at the expense of his other great passion, that of graphic design. And no reclusive artists he. Mark brings well-honed interpersonal and communications skills to the challenges of client relations, which has made him a man to be reckoned with in the Ad biz. Mark Malloy graduated from the Rhode Island School of Design where his extensive innate abilities were nurtured and developed in the school’s renowned neo-abstract, constructionistic, perspective-obsessed tradition. (okay, your right, I made that last part up). In any case, I encourage you to visit his studio and view some of his work using the highlighted link to the left.

With the cat out of the bag, you now realize that this artist is my son, Mark, whose career I have watched with more than a little interest, long before his talents became widely recognized. Would that I be able to claim some credit for Mark’s talents, but my artistic abilities are sadly lacking. More likely, he inherited his acute color sense and aesthetic incisiveness from his mother’s talented genes. I did, however, note a glimmer of my influence at the art show when I saw the utilitarian, but attractive easels that Mark had constructed to exhibit his work. Hammering nails into boards is something I can relate to.

Several of Mark’s pieces sported “sold” tags yesterday and with the show continuing for another day, it would seem that collectors are slowly warming to the idea of owning an original by Mark. Seeing that I still posses a number of pieces from, shall we say, his early years, perhaps I will someday have the opportunity to contribute to his retrospective.

In the meantime, it’s very rewarding to see someone you love excel at something he loves.

Old Friends and Memories

We moved to Larchmont, NY in 1980, and soon met our neighbors, Jim and Eileen Hughes and the Gorman’s, Chris and Bridget. So began a splendid friendship that is nearing its 30th anniversary.

Last weekend, we took advantage of the Gorman’s trip to Cape Cod for a family wedding to lure Eileen and Jim up for a few days of re-connection and reminiscing. During this two-day memory-fest, we all enjoyed recalling our many friends and the highlights of life in greater Mamaroneck and especially the Larchmont Shore Club. We recalled our excursions that ranged from the theatres of Manhattan to the West Point gridiron and one truly memorable trek around Italy.

On Monday morning, we piled into the car for a planned trip to the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum, forty-seven miles up the road in Boston. As we exited the Expressway in Dorchester, we caught our first glimpse of the JFK. Situated on a spit of land that juts out into Boston harbor, the distinctive architecture of I.M. Pei was visible for miles, gleaming against the bright summer sky, its sleek black and white design contrasting nicely with the red brick architecture of the nearby University of Massachusetts. While we had all made previous visits, the facility has evolved continuously since its dedication in 1979. We were all struck by the fresh view that its exhibits provided of the 35th president and his times.

For all of us, the early sixties was a magic time. While Dwight Eisenhower had been a towering hero of World War II, we saw him through the hazy ignorance of our youth as a dowdy old man of our parent’s generation. When John F. Kennedy was elected it was as if the skies had opened to perpetual sunshine. We now had our own president, handsome and quick-witted, who would lead us out of the depths of cold war despair into a new golden age where we would loose the restraints of the old antiquated ways and soar into a limitless future.

Watching the videos of his stirring speeches and the quick give and take of his press conferences brought back the public JFK, every bit a young leader. The snippets of more casual moments showed that the qualities we so admired were an integral part of the man and not just put on for special occasions. And those of us from Boston, and knew where Hyannis Port was located, puffed up even greater with hometown pride.

But the limitless future was not to last and on that terrible Friday afternoon, each of us would learn that our hero was gone, shot down in far away Texas by a muddled punk with a cheap rifle. And then it was all gone and our worldly urbane leader was replaced with a graceless homespun cracker with a funny accent. Under different circumstances, it all might have been fodder for countless jokes. But the jokes were few and far between as this bumbling replacement led us into a meat grinder foreign war that tore our country apart.

I hadn't expected to be as moved by visiting the JFK as I was. But during a weekend of remembering old times with good friends, the sounds and images of those thousand days brought back memories of a long-ago time of brief splendor.

A Rising Star

Kudos to Brian Malloy for completing the work for his M.B.A at B.U. to which he commuted via the M.B.T.A. Another feather in the cap of one of the fastest-rising stars in the firmament of Boston investment juggernaut, Fidelity. In his ongoing efforts to accumulate acronyms, Brian is reported to have his sights now set on a C.F.A.

Brian is, of course, part of the (in)famous Malloy Troika which also includes Kevin and Chris and which is a key cog in Fidelity’s financial empire, according to Roland, a source who is known to be “close to Ned’s ear”. Brian, who also dabbles in Boston real estate, is clearly a man to watch.