The House of Hebe

The Fifth Street entrance to the WPL. It was the building's main entrance until 1987
when the Johnson Street entrance was opened to alleviate congestion.

This is going to fall into the "Why would I care?" category for potential readers of this blog.

The Winona Public Library was a special place for me as a child and a younger man. When I was young, it was a place where I could be quiet–nay, expected to be quiet!–and not have to fear the oratorial repercussions from anyone regarding such, and how not running at the mouth at all times is somehow less than what I should be contributing to society as an upstanding, normal human being. (This was a frequent discussion had at me by teachers, parents, friends of my parents, parents of friends, other students, for most of my first 18 years.) It was a place where learning was fostered and exploring other worlds, other points of view, and thusly broadening and questioning my horizons as a bi-product, was de rigueur, and the other side of the mirror as far as the environment I was subjected to at home.

The second floor book shelves. You can see the little red
skull icons on the spine tags on the right. There are little
red rocket ships for science fiction / fantasy as well. 

 If you want more historical information on the building, you can read an excellent write-up here, on the WPL's own website. These pictures were snapped this past August, when I stepped inside to revisit for the first time in decades. It looked about the same, though, as the old cliche goes, somewhat smaller than I remembered it.

The glass floors of the third and fourth floor book rooms.

Before the Winona Middle School was condemned (a long overdue decision, believe me,) it was right next door, nestled up against the back of the library. When I was in junior high, as soon as the bell rang for the day, I would often walk next door and set myself up in the reading room with a small stack of books until someone could pick me up.

Statue of Hebe in the Reading Room.

The Winona Public Library was where I fell in love with dinosaurs and where I found the Crestwood House monster movie books (pictured below), based on classic monster movies from the 1930s and 40s. I must've checked each book out about a hundred times. Apparently they've become quite the collector's item, as they're going for ridiculous prices on Amazon and eBay.  It was simultaneously mind boggling and comforting to know that there were other people out there that had somehow cultivated the same tastes I had; even at nine years-old it was reassuring that the world didn't just cater to the standard set of interests that seemed to be endemic to most of the people I met or knew. Here were books that fed these interests, in a place where I wasn't judged for indulging in them, while at home I was often lambasted for liking "monsters and make-believe", when the preferred route prescribed by my parents was more in the areas of discharging firearms and riding ATVs through mud pits.

The Winona Public Library is where I met Tarzan, Johnny Dixon, The Shadow (there were cassette libraries in the books-on-tape section with old time radio shows on them), Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury, James Bond, Stanislaw Lem, Charles Beaumont, H.P. Lovecraft, Terry Pratchett, and so many more. When I became interested in art–really interested, not just copying images from comic books into notebooks to see if I could draw Wolverine the way the pros did–it was where I went to learn about art: art history, different artists from different time periods, art techniques...anything beyond the ubiquitous Terry Redlin and Maija prints that my relatives and their associates seemed to believe were the sum total of true artistic expression.

Factual information and education seem to have fallen into disrepair in the world around me. I know that that's a sweeping generalization made by an aging misanthrope, but we have these alleged wonder machines in the palms of our hands that are supposed to be able to connect us to answers–any answer to any conceivable question–in mere seconds, but what we've cultivated is a planet actually utilizing "alternative facts" and so distracted and disconnected from each other, that someone actually had to create a visual calling program called Facetime, so people could actually engage in some without pulling their eyes away from their cellphones. 

But I digress.

I think it's important that libraries remain an accessible social institution. We need houses of knowledge and resources and wisdom and escape that cater to all people from all walks of life on the same level. It's important that we have impartial knowledge to pass on to future generations, should, heaven help us, they be interested in "actual facts" at that point.

Long live the public library system, and long live the Winona Public Library; the refuge for an introverted child with interests and ideas beyond counting out life in increments of factory shifts between beer binges, hunting trips and "reality television".

Jimmie Lunceford

Here's a Doodle-A-Day card with a quick portrait I did of big band leader/ alto saxophonist Jimmie Lunceford. You can see him in action directing his swing orchestra in the 1935 short below.

Kong Goes Surfing

Here's another Doodle-A-Day card from yesterday.

The Wild World Of Exotica

Here are some mixed media pieces I did on a small pad of "printmaker's paper" which seems to be a sort of heavy stock combo watercolor / bristol board. I don't know if anyone would actually use it for screen-printing or lithography since the sheets appear to be postcard sized. 

Anywho, a mix of gouache, marker, Copic pen and graphite were used on these odes to the mid-century exotica craze and the floor shows of 1930s night clubs. 

Have I Got Noose For You!

Here's an impulse piece I made in my sketchbook. I wanted to do a bendy stage magician, the old fashioned type that used to travel from town to town, putting on shows at local theaters. I suppose that that's been a dead art for over half a century now. Now you mostly see "illusionists" at prom after-parties, corporate events and with residencies in Las Vegas or something. 

Anywho, I made this colored pencil piece up over the course of an afternoon. When I posted it on Instagram I got a lot of likes. Primarily from prestidigitators who will soon be sorely disappointed to learn I don't post a lot of magic-themed material.

A Night In The Cemetery

One of the amazing things that I've gotten to do over the last few years (this was the fourth, I believe) that falls into the category of "I can't believe I get to experience this!" but somehow had the good fortune to be a part of, is the Trylon Cinema and The Friends of the Cemetery "Cinema In The Cemetery" event. Over the last four Septembers I've gotten to sit in Minneapolis's oldest cemetery, the Pioneers and Soldiers Cemetery on Cedar Avenue, and watch old horror films screened on a small screen erected directly in front of the caretaker's cottage. If you had told monster movie-obsessed child-me that I'd get to sit and watch Vincent Price in The Last Man On Earth or Hammer Films' Dracula in a cemetery, I'd have thought you were either bonkers or trying to sell me a line. 

Not only did that happen, but twice–during the first year, watching El Santo And Blue Demon Against The Monsters, and the following year during Dracula, of all things–the scene was complete with a full, blood-red harvest moon!

This year the program was a little different. The Trylon usually creates a theme, and runs one film per Saturday along that theme for the month of September. One year it was all Hammer Films productions; last year was a month of Vincent Price films, etcetera. This year there was only one outing scheduled, for whatever reason, and it was a showing of the 1924 silent classic The Hands Of Orlac, directed by Robert Wiene and starring Conrad Veidt as the titular Orlac. Being a silent film, of course, the music was crucial, and this was supplied not by pre-recorded soundtrack, but by a live ensemble called Spider Hospital. You can hear a piece of the music here.

I took my sketchbook along and did some doodling during the brief period of waning daylight before the show started. I didn't get much on paper before it was too dark to see, but that's fine. I was there to watch the movie, and the movie was great. The only irksome thing cantankerous old me finds with these outdoor screenings, is the crowd is often a mixed bag. Some old folks who remember the films and have remained fans, some film buffs out to catch a classic in an unique environment, and those who've shown up for a novel experience–usually families looking for something to do besides sit around the house and ask what there is to do. I generally have my Svengoolie shirt on at these things (solidarity is important) and usually get one or two middle-aged guys who point at the glow-in-the-dark design and say "That's what I'd be watching if I wasn't here tonight." 

Some sketches of headstones.

I'm no puritan when it comes to the film viewing experience; unless there's someone gabbing on their cell phone during the picture, or standing in front of the screen, everyone's allowed to have a good time watching a movie. But I've found these things have a tendency to turn into amateur Mystery Science Theater 3000 events. Yes, films from the beginning or middle of the last century have elements that don't translate well to people who don't have the context or reverence for the material that I or other fans of the films might have. Especially when the film is a silent film. Of course there's no dialogue for the actors to utilize to help convey emotion or context, so they have to over emphasize body language and facial expression. Every concerned character becomes a wide-eyed, chest-clutching basket case on the  verge of a nervous breakdown, every swooning lover becomes a creepily melodramatic, bewildered caricature. It looks goofy to the CGI generations and that's understandable, but to constantly lambast and heckle the material and performances as if we were sitting around at the Internet Cat Video Festival gets a bit irritating after a while. Same goes for the guy sitting next to me who spent nearly all of the ninety-two minute running time scrolling through his various social media streams on his cell phone. Apparently the comments he was receiving in response to the comments he made on some picture of something was more riveting than what he'd paid $10 to experience.

I don't know why there aren't more events scheduled this month. Hopefully disgraceful acts like this won't prevent future screenings.