The Works of Alan

To put Alan into simple terms, if that is possible; he is about attitude. Not the kind that has been popularized in the Hip Hop world or the malaise of the television scriptwriters, but the attitude of looking ahead. Alan understands that we are not prisoners of our past or defined by others critiques, but Alan understands that our collective future can in fact set us free. This is a symbolic freedom, the freedom of the imagination, the freedom of the creative to explore the conventions of the day.

I attended one of Alan’s lectures, which he stated, “If I’m going to do something that is provocative or artistically relevant, I have to be prepared to put myself in a place where I feel unsafe, not completely in control. I have no fear of failure whatsoever… because often out of that uncertainty something is salvaged… something that is worthwhile comes out of the creation…. As a result… I don’t even mind the stares but look forward to them…. I then live in Freedom without any fears. This is the artist’s life. Living a life in the status without the quo….”

I find it interesting as Alan and I explore our conversations on Freedom Hill located at the ranch where he makes his home with his lovely partner Annie, how the circle of societies critics sit in obtuse judgment. As Alan points out, the great American songwriter Woody Guthrie and his song “This Land is Your Land” was banned in it’s day because the powers of darkness claimed Woody’s song carried Communist influences. Alan laughs at the thought of ” This Land is your land, this land is my land, from California to the New York Island; from the redwood forest to the Gulf Stream waters, this land was made for you and me!” The spin placed on this simple song, openly interpreted in a court of law as Communistic by a few in power that wished to stop the creative vision of a songwriter. Moreover, some wanted Woody jailed for 20 years for sedition and treason by spreading Communist propaganda. The power of darkness that attempted to control Americans… could not stop “This Land is Your Land” from becoming an American standard fair. Things do change. People do broaden their horizons to allow thoughts and feelings to arise anew. But sometimes… not without a fight.

Alan’s exuberance lives within the vision of photography, music, literature and painting. He feels that the arts are essential to our cultural health and the arcing of our American life. With all of the controversies that have visited Alan, he has maintained a cool maturity of outlook. By itself, Alan’s vigor is not enough. Courage is also needed. When vision and courage combine, composure becomes Alan’s state of affairs. Alan has been challenged by the powers of darkness, but through his poise and attitude we have all learned – the power of darkness is not as powerful as we all supposed. As Alan has said on many occasions, ” We will always have the challenges, there will always be people who will stand in the way of growing our culture. But we have something they don’t… a reason to fight, a reason to create, and a reason to think the thoughts of freedom and live within the Frontier of the Imagination.”

The Sun was slowly sinking over the moon lit Western Mountains. I followed him at his long plodding unruly pace. He was pondering… I was panting… trying to keep up with him… hoping that the sound of my footsteps would not disturb his seeming meditation. Alan stops. I stop. He seems to muse over a stone on the ruff landscape. As Alan reaches down and gently lifts the stone… turning it between his fingers and then replaces it exactly as it had lain.

Alan had found some meaning in that stone. Alan befuddles the Hell out of me. Ok, now following the mystery man up to the top of Freedom Hill Alan finally sits and begins speaking almost in a whisper.

“This is sacred ground…. Your are sitting on sacred ground.”

“What?” I ask… “do you want me to pray?”

It took a few moments… then Alan said, “No John… all I want is you to be still and quiet, just still and quiet. That’s all… Just listen to the gentle breeze flowing through the cedars… feel the earth beneath your loins… the breeze carries a whispering message from those beneath us… the earth you feel below is their temple… the ancestors are buried here.”

I took a deep breath, the scent of the nearby cedars filled my lungs as I sat in the lotus position upon Freedom Hill and tried to feel what Alan was saying.

The wind pushes one way, then another as if I could almost hear what Alan was trying to say. But what was the message? That my soul, myself, is swaying?… that I have no anchor?

Alan, meanwhile looks over the southern plain with its gathering winds blowing dust storms across the valley. It’s seems almost a harbinger of some trouble lying ahead. Yet I ask him nothing, as deep in concentration as he is. Yet I know that he will tell me if danger is near. I also have a keen sense of danger, tho mine is physical, Alan’s is spiritual.

We continue to reside upon Freedom Hill, not looking nor talking at one another. My throat is parched. I want water…. Hell, I want a beer. Anything wet. Yet Alan still looks to the southern dust cloud. He’s starting to piss me off. Finally, Alan looks over his shoulder at me and says, - “Did you see it?”

“See what?” I said.

“In the south… the distant south,” Alan said with somewhat a surprise in his voice.

“Yeah”, I said, ” I saw a dust storm.”

The was a brief pause…

“Ok,” said Alan, “Let’s get something to drink… I’m thirsty.”

I stood up on cramped knees with a wobble from my rubber-band legs as we proceeded down Freedom Hill. I sensed that Alan feels a sorrow for me for I have not felt what he wanted me to feel or sense. I know that my body aches from this trek yet I think Alan soul aches more because he has not shown me what he wanted to reveal… this is not his fault. I have always been a bit stupid when it comes to things that really matter most.

As we descended to the base of Freedom Hill, Alan stops walking and turns to me and smiles… “My friend… we are on a long journey.”

“I don’t like to travel as much as I used to and lots of places I don’t really want to go back to… I guess because” —

“Hush John,” Alan says… “I don’t mean a physical journey.”

I think to myself… here we go on some metaphysical trip I won’t understand. Next he’ll probably give me a Zen riddle to ponder on … the endless sound of one hand clapping or if a tree falls in the forest and there’s no one around to hear it… does it make a sound? Hell, of course it does just ask the bloody squirrels… it scared the crap out of them.

“John… on most journeys one can stop, reverse direction and go back home. We don’t have that option. Forward is our only direction. We have basically burned all the bridges behind us and the rivers can’t be re-crossed,” Alan said somberly.

 more to come….

posted by john williams

From the General Assembly of the United Nations

Articles from The Universal Declaration of Human Rights

Article 19

Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers….

Article 27

1. Everyone has the right freely to participate in the cultural life of the community, to enjoy the arts and to share in scientific advancement and its benefits.

2. Everyone has the right to the protection of the moral and material interests resulting from any scientific, literary or artistic production of which he is the author.

 … enough said….

I was helping Alan crate up three of his exquisite portraitures bound to the Smithsonian this afternoon. Alan always speaks gentle of his work as if each item was his child. I find this amazing… that Alan… such a great talent that he is, attracts such hatred from those people… who just don’t get it.

The total lack of sophistication in this area is deafening.

For those who know me, I am the Executive Director for The Society for the Cultural Arts. I grew up in this area. I have seen first hand the workings of the KKK, the prejudices against Jews and Catholics, against Blacks, against Mexicans and any other person who didn’t fit into the mode of the selected few of Fremont County. This undertow of hatred and anger is still… very much alive and thriving in Fremont County. (So much for the Universal Declaration of Human Rights from the United Nations, The U.S. Constitution and the State of Colorado Constitution)

I know all the people, attorneys and the such; involved in Alan’s case and those who first tried to extract money from Alan. But then again, Alan’s nature which I can’t understand and don’t agree with, forgives the people involved with this… even as we crate up his work.

“Anti-Semitism is a fact of life, Alan says, but Art is Art. You can see examples of my work, or the very styles of my work in any gallery, museum or book throughout the world. Look John, remember, it was legal to round up the Jewish population, send them off to work camps and exterminate them. It was the German’s “tough on crime mentality” that we have adopted in the U.S. … but the point is, it was very… very… legal. Jews, Christians, Intellectuals, Gays and Lesbians, Gypsies and the Handicaped all suffered the same fate. Just because something is legal, doesn’t make it right. And John, Mandela and the ANC defeated apartheid in South Africa not all that long ago, and apartheid was legal. It’s the same dance, just different partners.”

So… so… directly and with much fanfare Fremont County is trying to “draw a circle” around Alan. The propaganda machine, which I mean The Canon City Daily Record that acts like a mouthpiece for local Law Enforcement and has used a great deal of ink on Alan. I do want to say this; The Canon City Daily Record in the past was a very prestigious and respected daily newspaper. The reporters of that day took on the KKK and their supporters to task and fought the good fight. But its current worth is confined to lining our litter box and that is on a good day.

Alan has many supporters. It’s really quite amazing the number of people who phone him on any given day or just show up at his studio which he now calls “The Ministry of Culture”. Their concerns are valid, saddenedby the course of events from the people Alan loved and trusted and are still amazed by the work Alan churns out.

Alan is, an artist’s artist.

I am Alan’s personal curator and it’s up to me to catalog and archive Alan’s work from the last four years. Currently, much of Alan’s work has been confiscated by the Canon City Police Department last April 30^{th along with his computers, music and books. Alan refers to the images that were taken from his studio as his “lost souls.” Thousands and thousands of images that haven’t a thing to do with his case are being held for no other reason other than – they can do it. If Alan photographed something then obviously there must be something wrong with it– goes their reasoning.}

Yet Alan just smiles at this injustice. There’s a deeper knowing or calm that he has and I don’t. He’s quiet and unruffled by all the noise around him. People do want him dead; to destroy the elegance that is his creative base. This vulgar state of affairs created by people who live within their own vulgar language are responsible for this very dark day.

“Just breathe John… nice big deep breaths,” Alan tells me as we just finish crating up his work. “Look, someone may take another shot at me and this time they don’t miss. But my work that is part of the permanent gallery and museum collections will outlast me. It’s my contribution to our culture, and that John… is more than anything anyone has done in Fremont County… EVER! Culture John… Culture.”

“Sure… but it’s not fair,” I snapped.

“Life isn’t fair John,” Alan snapped back, “but look, who else do you know that can say they met the late Princess Diana, or played pinochle with a group of fashion designers and models including Gianni Versace at his Italian Mansion on Ocean Drive in South Beach, or photographing Piccadilly Circus in London around midnight or shaking President Obama’s hand; met Pope John Paul !! twice. I’ve done more in my almost 53 years than most people around here can dream about. It’s not where you live John, it’s how you live.”

“But do you call this living?” I asked greatly agitated, and I’m agitated most of the time, but around Alan, new heights are always reached.

“Sure I do,” Alan smiled. “Since all this happened… what have we done?” Alan came back with, “Look, my novel “The Earthkeeper of Dean Gardens” is about to be published and distributed throughout the U.S… and it’s being turned into a graphic novel, and I am negotiating the movie rights as we speak. Which is too bad, I knew a few of people from around here who would have been perfect for a role or two. Oh well, but our magazine “The Colony” will be launched next month. The Ministry of Culture is almost finished, and my daybook series “Teach Fish to Whisper Scripture” is completed and has already been sent to the publisher. And… don’t forget about the Wind Farm, John… that’s a monster project and will directly impact this area will hi-tech jobs and renewable energy for every home in this area.”

“I still can’t believe you’re going forward with the Wind Farm,” I said still disbelieving.

“Oh course I am,” Alan smiled. “When are people going to figure out – it’s never been about me. Like it or not, this is my community too. I am personally answering President Obama’s call for energy independence. So instead of sitting on my butt and bitching about change or singing “Barack the Magic Negro” as so many people do around here, I’m taking action and doing something about it. Belligerent people are soon forgotten through the passage of time. The only ones who are remembered are the doers… and I already made one mark back 2002 in this area.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.

“Your favorite newspaper John, The Canon City Daily Record,” Alan laughed, “the cover of the Wednesday August 28th 2002 issue, just above the fold is me. It was during the Canon City Clock Tower controversy and I built a coalition of people to oppose the building of The Clock Tower in front of Randy Keller’s business on Main Street in Canon City. To make a long story short, we won and the Clock Tower rests where it is, as it should be.”

“But I still don’t get it,” I said.

“Straw arguments,” Alan replied. “A straw argument is based only within a person’s mind and has nothing to do with reality, but the problem a straw argument creates is that it’s spoken with such moral certainty that people start to believe the empty words. I knew during the Clock Tower issue that the opposition had communicated a straw argument. It was easily defeated because I called their illusion… and that is when the fun begins.

“FUN!!!! You call this FUN?” I yelled.

“Sure John, on one level it is fun. On another it’s very dangerous, and yet, on another it’s a lesson to be learned… so on and so forth. But the point is, you have to be awake and pay attention to the world around you,” Alan said as he stood up and I could see what was coming.

!! Attention Western Civilization, Alan Shouted !!

!!! Alan the Photographer is Responsible for it’s Moral Decline!!!

“Oh crap… there goes Alan on another George Carlin rant,” I said to myself with nobody listening… and off he went!!!

!!! Oh Yes – Alan’s such a non-conformist… when he is at a nudist colony he wants to wear clothes !!! when he’s at a public pool he wants to be naked !!! Beware Western Civilization here comes Alan !!! Alan eats fast food in the slow lane – has soft music on his hard drive – photographs space and stores it in cyberspace – is hyper about colors and calmly prints in black and white - Beware Western Civilization here comes Alan – he’s upset that Jesus can walk on water and fish only in the good places – loves salty foods as long as it is bland – hates popcorn but loves rice crispys – considers consistency inconsistent – considers death as equal opportunity - beware Western Civilization, here comes Alan… where censorship is sponsorship with all the wrong people - loves irony but hates to iron – considers nudity a protest against clothes and clothes someone’s fashionable error to hide fat legs (usually the fat designer) – the flaws in laws are equal to bad in-laws – I consider a Bronx accent birth control as well as a toddler at 2:00 am with 101 fever throwing up on you – and no thank you Jackson Pollock your splash painting still looks like my ex-wife whilst under a black-light giving birth or was it giving directions?, I don’t know I never listened to her - beware Western Civilization here comes Alan… that spinning car tires are equal to spinning minds, the difference being you can always stop the car!!!”

“Are you about done?!!” I said over Alan’s voice of the ages.

“I am now…” Alan said with a smile slightly panting.

“Geez,” I really couldn’t come up with anything else to say. With that, Alan popped out the door of his studio and called his dog Penrod to go play sticks; and left me to consider his weirdness. And then on the top of Alan’s lungs I heard him shout…

“John… the Constitution is the bedrock of our civilization… but at the end of the day, it’s all about Art. Everything IS Art. It always has been about Art. The Constitution protects everyone, including artists who create art… writers who create words… dancers who create dances… standup comics who make jokes… don’t think for a moment I don’t know that!!!!! This story has just begun!!!!”

“I just… just don’t understand,” I said quietly to myself. But then it dawned on me. I am currently reading the book “Defiance” by Nechama Tec. This incredible story, now a motion picture, about Tuvia, Asael, and Zus Bielski and their fight to create a safe haven for Jewish refugees in the mist of the hell-on-earth during World War II has captured my imagination. This is an amazing true story that is engrossing and as far as I’m concerned has rewritten the story of the modern Jewish Hero; and if Alan was alive during this time he’d be right in the middle of it. But it was a line from the book on page 188 that jumped out a grabbed me.

“Diversity sometimes translates into contradictory demands and disobedience. Another closely connected, yet basic, reason for nonconformity can be traced to excessive Jewish individuality.”

Hmmm… excessive Jewish individuality… I would say with all candor that this phrase perhaps best describes Alan and his artistic view of the world.

But unlike Alan, I do have something to say with a little more clarity. I may have been raised a Lutheran but like Alan, I have a heart of a Zionist. The Society for the Cultural Arts and many others firmly stand shoulder to shoulder with Alan.

For the time to act is now….
JC Williams

The following is an selection from Alan’s soon to be published Day Book series; “Teach Fish to Whisper Scripture.” An “ignis fatuus” approach of images and thought…

Posted by J C Williams

Defy Mediocrity…

I took a quiet moment on Freedom Hill.

It was just after he spoke his oath of office. The columns of clouds roared past me… other than the voiceless words hidden in the wind, silence.

I could feel my Father… my Grandfather… standing next to me, sharing history of the moment… it was a new beginning for the people of this country and my ancestors are part of it. The flagstones that are placed through their efforts became the pathways of today’s thought. They … Defy Mediocrity.

How wonderful to feel them…to know that they live inside – around and through me.

No person, no structure, no rule of law can take this moment away from me… nor my passions, my strength or my critical photographers’ eye… this moment is – just is. The talents rise like a swelling tide of hope that explode in this moment – it belongs to my family…nobody else… this is not self-centered – self –seeking or selfish in any way. Its just celebration of change…it’s Defying Mediocrity…

No limitations in either direction…we survived the eight years of madness… we became a people of spectacles… we hid within the event, we became the madness of Rome… our Government taught us how to hide the corruption through the passing of the bread… nothing new…nothing lasting. The people of this time sought blame in others… the others who are doers… those with vision… but alas, this thought for another time.

Today is a celebration… two million people on the mall today and I alone…stand in Freedom on Freedom Hill.

I welcome the change… I welcome all of you who are with me in spirit… the creators… the doers, those with the vision… those who build and never seek to destroy others.

Hope never dies… I will always… Defy Mediocrity

Alan
Thoughts from Freedom Hill
At The Ministry of Culture

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

John C. Williams and The Society for the Cultural Arts

Mr. John C. Williams announced today, the formation of The Society for the Cultural Arts, a Colorado Non-Profit organization.

The stated goals of the SCA (The Society for the Cultural Arts) include working with organizations and talented individuals for the benefit of the arts, humanities and green technologies. In the past, with the coordinated efforts of small businesses of Southern Colorado and the Fremont County school district, the SCA had collected and distributed hundreds of educational materials for the Northern Cheyenne Indian Reservation in Lame Deer Montana for the reservation’s school.

“We will continue with our educational outreach programs,” stated founder Mr. John C. Williams, then added, ” but the SCA will be working with fierce urgency to address the issues of the financially disenfranchised in our community – identify workable solutions and then transform those solutions into action. I harbor no illusions, no one person can do it alone but collectively, we shall make a difference.”

A Statement from Mr. John C. Williams

Yes we can – why we can – how we can… That is our call to action as American Citizens. Our local area can know longer hide behind the myth that we are a small town. In the past, the propagation of this myth was nothing more than an excuse to allow others to tell the citizenry of this area, what to think – what to do—and how to do it. With the advent of the Internet and other mass communication outlets, we the people of this area can draw our news and information from world-wide sources. Having access to this information shapes our decision making process’ and connects us to the points of view as varied as time and the mainstream allows. It’s not where we live, but how we live.

In this dire economic collapse we seek leaders and not administrators which our area is ripe with. Thankfully, the words of President Obama has brought focus to this issue…

” What is required is a new declaration of independence, not just in our nation, but in our own lives – from ideology and small thinking, prejudice and bigotry – an appeal not to our easy instincts but to our better angels.”

In the course of the next three months, the SCA will explore the issues of bringing hi-tech jobs to southern Colorado. Through the initiatives and partnerships of our State and Federal government, the subject of Energy independence through renewable technologies shall be foremost in SCA’s efforts. In addition to SCA’s Green technology programs, the SCA will be sponsoring local and regional artists through our partnerships and statewide gallery projects and hosting lectures by notable artists.

The SCA is self-evolving, always listening to the concerns and to the opinions of our local citizenry… and taking action with solutions that cedes to the betterment to our Colorado Community.

Contact Information:
The Society for the Cultural Arts
Mr. John C. Williams
719-248-9857

I received a morning call from Alan at an uncivilized time.

As I picked up the phone I tried to say good morning but it came out more of a grunt from some extinct beastie of the Jurassic period. My brain and mouth had yet to connect. Without saying hello, Alan went right into…

“I see you’re a graduate from the school of telephone etiquette John,” Alan said with a whip of his sardonic humor.

“EEEEERrrrrr,” I think I replied, but I’m still unsure.

“I have to talk to you about the Ministry of Culture,” Alan replied.

As I tried to figure out what Alan was saying, a rather long pause ensued as blood started to enter my foggy-brain-conciseness.

“Alan,” I said sharply, ” It’s 6:30 in the morning… it’s windy as hell out. Go back to bed!”

“John,” Alan retorted, ” It’s 6:30 here in Jerry Springerville but it’s 12:30 in London. Get yourself together and come over.”

“What the hell does London have to do with it?” I still have a hard time with Alan’s reasoning.

Not a bloody thing.. but people are pulsing all over the world and I want “us” to join that pulse.” Alan said excitedly.

It was the way Alan said “US”. As if we were about to board a cruise ship. I resigned this moment to Alan’s artistic temperament. I never question why Alan does what he does… I just wish he’d allow all of us at least eight hours of sleep. For all of you who don’t know, Alan is up early; he is also up late, very late. He must sleep because Annie complains about his snoring but God knows whenever that may be. I do know, and Alan has said this on more than one occasion, “if you go by the studio at 2:30 in the morning and don’t see a light on – call 911.. for I am sure, that I’m dead.” This is so… so… “Alanesque.”

“Ok.. I’ll be over in an hour,” I said resigning my protest.

“Goooood Boy Mr. John,” Alan said, dripping in sarcasm.

As I turned off Rt. 50 towards Alan and Annie’s home, Alan words “Ministry of Culture” kept cycling from side to side in my mind. As usual, I have no idea what he was talking about. It was a warm January day with the sky-clouds causing sunlight to paint the landscape. Adding to the weather mix were gale force winds vaulting off the hogbacks. My small pickup truck was swaying… the tumbleweeds tumbled… the driven dust was dusting, both acting like the supporting cast as the redundant white shopping bags from Wal-Mart have found their way into the low level jet-stream swooshing like ghosts with schizophrenia.

As I made my final turn to Alan and Annie’s home, I could see the top of Freedom Hill.

There sat Alan in his director’s chair swaying to the invisible rhymes of the pulsing wind like a wind chime with his scarlet winter scarf flapping around his face.

There is no way in hell that I’m going up there. So I beeped my horn several times and to my amazement Alan started down Freedom Hill at a very fast pace.

I greeted Alan with my morning scowl as he sauntered by with a focus and determination of a military officer. As we entered Alan’s private studio I was welcomed by the smell of brewing coffee and a plate of warm scones with fresh butter and assortment of jams. The sounds of mournful bagpipes were playing on Alan’s stereo to punctuate this moment as if we were at a Bed and Breakfast in Britain. Alan was playing host today, as we both settled into our chairs and started in with our civilized eats.

“Georgia O’Keeffe, John.” Alan blurted for what seemed like for no rhyme or reason.

“What about her,” I replied not knowing where this was going.

“She moved from New York to Taos, New Mexico because of the light, ” Alan said whilst fumbling with his scone and uncooperative honey-butter.

“The sun shines in New York just as it does in New Mexico Alan. I know, I’ve been there,” I said with finality knowing that Alan couldn’t escape my morning logic.

“No.. No John. You don’t understand,” Alan said. “Painters and photographers are always in search of…

“The Lost Cord!!!” I interrupted with a certain amount of amusement, attempting to move Alan away from one of his serious profundities.

“Hmmm,” Alan corded with his symphonic smile. Taking in a deep breath, exhaled slowly as if he was enjoying one of his Cuban cigars.

“As I was saying… a painter or a photographer, and most of all an architect understands the light. The light is different in Chicago as to the light in London… or Kona on the big island of Hawaii to that of San Francisco. The natural environ of an area is on the same level in personality to that of a magical person. Artists are always looking for magic, and in Georgia O’Keeffe’s case, she found her magic in the light in New Mexico,” Alan said as he poured another hot cupper.

“And you got me up for this?” I said.

“No.. but if you look around this area, and at times, the light holds a certain magic. Not the dusty days of late afternoon that cast a putrid yellow onto a barren landscape that this area is known for. But like today, when the clouds and the sunlight dance together, like an artists brush that reveals the earth tones against wet rocks and cobalt skies contrasting the silver gray clouds. The mystery unfolds. All you have to do is sit and watch the rolling opus of colors and shapes. But you have to be in attendance. Just be there… and open your mind to the environs around you,” Alan said with that strange knowingness that he processes.

“What about the wind? Doesn’t that distract from your own personal opus,” I said somewhat annoyed by the whole reason of being here.

“Sometimes… but it reminds me of the story of when Robert Louis Stevenson wrote his masterpiece, Treasure Island. Robert, while sitting at the Edinburgh Botanical Gardens in Edinburgh Scotland, under gray skies with the wind blowing off the north-sea; the words just came to him. Robert hadn’t traveled, never had met a pirate or ever sailed on a clipper ship, just the environs of sky and land gave him the words through the famous Edinburgh light,” Alan said.

“Just the light?’ I replied and oddly enough had just re-read Treasure Island for the sixth or seventh time last month.

“And speaking about Edinburgh… that is exactly where Harry Potter was composed… same place… same light… and look at the impact Harry has on the entire world,” Alan said with great joy since he has read the entire series and even quotes from the Potter books from time to time.

As we sat there and enjoyed each other’s company whilst downing a traditional morning eats, Alan rose and gathered a pile of papers from the counter space from across the room and then returned to his high-back gray swivel chair.

“The plasticity of peoples interest of the arts at times bothers me,” Alan stated in a most opercula sort of way. It was as if he lifted the lid and said “Abracadabra” here it is.

“It’s where experience and conviction come together… It’s the meticulous treatment of the artist’s statement… it’s where the artist vision triumphed over the sense of sanctimonious objectification projected towards past history to the current history of expression through the creative arts. What is lacking is not the interest in the arts by the general public, but the conviction that a healthy culture is reflected by the arts it supports. Human beings are the only species on this planet that creates a historical record through artistic endeavors. In the end, that is all… a culture is left with,” Alan said whilst reading from his notes buried within the pile of loose pages and then continued.

“Art is the breath of culture… without it, suffocation of the soul… the culture dies. Believe me, there are those out there who want just that… spin, spin, spin… control the thoughts, the actions… and a attempted control of the creative spirit,” Alan said with great conviction.

Okay… then what is needed, or what can any one person do?… If the arts can not be supported by the general public then it’s over. Art gallery closed… concert over, songs go unsung. Right? Is that what you’re saying. I personally think you are wrong because rock concerts still draw a good crowd,” I said over Alan’s recitation.

“Rock-n-Roll will never die John, but believe me, they really tried to kill it,” Alan snapped back, and then said, “But artists need a place to gather, to show their work, to speak the language that artists speak. I know this personally because photography has it’s own language. In the last few months over seven galleries closed in the Colorado Springs area which is insane. The argument goes… due to current economics, or lack of interest, or art is boring, dance is banal etc. All it is… is a fragmented world from a fragmented world-view point. Art is culture. We as a people have to understand, art is part of everything we do… design is part of everything we do… music is part of everything we do…and a gathering point is essential for artists.”

“But if the tendency is to say – art is dead- then what’s the point. I mean, sure there’s a good showing at the Denver Museum of Art, or the Colorado Fine Arts Center and time to time other venues, yet, what’s the real point of it?” I said to the nit on a roll, because I knew what was coming.

“I still can recall the cover of Time Magazine with the question – IS GOD DEAD- and you know what that sparked,” Alan laughed knowing full well the controversy that Time had caused. “The power of words and images, John, the power of words and images.”

With that Alan muddled around his stack of papers and then stopped. Alan came to a legal size yellow piece of paper with bold capital lettering that carried the scent of an overworked Sharpie and then smiled as he pulled it from the stack. He paused for a moment and poured another cup of coffee. As the steam from his coffee rose from his cup, almost as a cloud of thoughts from his mind, Alan spoke in clear if not razor affinity to transform his thoughts from words into actions.

“John, this is why I asked you to come to the ranch this morning,” Alan said, then reading from the yellow paper’s large Sharpie words. “With the help of other liked minded people, Annie and I are transforming the ranch to become a center and gathering point for artists to meet. Our target point will be to launch the first phase this spring. We plan to sponsor lectures for the performing arts, visual arts, media and digital arts and the literary arts. We have already established a network with interdisciplinary and multi-disciplinary organizations for the advancement of new artists who reside in the State of Colorado. We will focus our efforts to hold exhibitions and to create publications of performances being given in the fields of dance, photography, literature, media arts, music and performance art - all are our goals.”

I sat there and thought for a moment, knowing full well the enormity of this… this idea of Alan’s and the controversy that will follow. Alan can’t get out of bed without somebody calling foul in this community.

“Have you thought this one through?.. I mean, you know, how the people are around here,’ I said with great concern.

Look John, anti-culturalist have been around for a very long time. Here, there, everywhere. This is the era of OBAMA. It’s time for “change” to become the standard not just for Annie and I, but everyone - everywhere who wish to participant. We have to listen to our better angels and include those who hate us to those who love us. My table is large and long and a seat is reserved for everyone. Besides, I never look back… it interferes with the now.

“Okay… but it’s still out there,” I said trying to make my point. “So what are you calling this gathering place?”

“The Ministry of Culture,” Alan said with a very odd smile.

“The Ministry of Culture?” I answered back. “Is this a nod to George Orwell from his book 1984?”

“I think… more in the lines of Animal Farm since the general public is slowly moving in that direction”, Alan said with a laugh. “That skinny guy with the Clark Gabel mustache would roll over in his grave if he knew how prophetic his words have become. But Orwell isn’t the reason,” Alan said with a note of authority.

“Then what is? I asked.

“I lived for a short time in Oxford England and on the weekends, I would commute by train to Paddington Station just a few blocks from Hyde Park in London. From there I would walk throughout London and I loved the way the British named their governmental agencies the Ministry of this or the Ministry of that… I thought it was so grand, I still do. But when JK Rowling wrote her Harry Potter books, she named the center of the wizarding world the Ministry of Magic. She followed suit to the world she knew. I still feel a great connection to the United Kingdom… in some ways I never left. So it was only natural for me to name this next big event in my life, The Ministry of Culture. The circle is large enough to include everyone,” Alan said, and with that Alan closed his file folder and reached for another scone.

As the bagpipes continued to whine from Alan’s stereo, I walked to the window and looked out to a large blue building that lies just 40 yards or so from Alan’s private studio. Renovation’s have already begun on the blue building that is the heart of his Ministry of Culture, and I can see… the flagpole at the pitch of the roof flying the Union Jack in the steady but strong breeze. The Ministry of Culture has come to Penrose Colorado.

A Conversation with Alan of Alanworks

“It’s about time,” I said. Waiting for Alan is not my favorite time play. Alan has been going on to me for a while about Freedom Hill. As always, the cryptic Alan wasn’t saying much but was in his steady mode of “just doing” and not talking.

It was a very warm and waxing day in December as Alan lumbered up to the door of his private studio. Typical Alan, hat on backwards, sunglasses perched on his slightly hooked nose with an oversized walking stick that has been carved to look like a wizards staff. Alan has many quirky parts to him. Alan’s gate has always been oddly fast. It appears that he is being pulled through the air and not walking. I could never figure that one out. At times he looks like an executive right off Wall Street, and others, Picassos Aryan younger brother, but always camera in hand or at least, photographing people, places or things with that mind of his.

“What the Hell is that?” I said, eyeing a long string of animal bones hanging from a pine tree like a wind chime outside of his private studio.

“You see how that tree is split apart at the bottom of the trunk,” Alan darted his words with what seems to be the obvious.

“Yea,” I said.

“Bones in a split apart tree, right?” Alan questioned.

“Yea, but I still don’t get it,” I said.

“It’s a post modernist sculpture, and I call it… “BONAPARTE,” Alan said with a straight face.

“Ok idiot, then what the hell is this?” Alan had found a small, antique door that was once painted a teal color. The door was partially buried next to his Bonaparte tree and resembled in an odd way the monolith from 2001. Alan had placed medium sized river stones around the door and a created a stone pathway leading away from the planted teal door.

“Let me guess,” I said. “It’s a knock-knock joke!”

“No… but I like your idea of it,” Alan laughed. “It’s for Ann, for all that she’s done for me. A small token on how I feel.”

As Alan said “feel”, his voice started to trail off. Staring at the door, almost… with laser-set eyes.

“It’s really quite simple,” Alan said, “I entitled it… I-A’DOOR’YOU…”

I smiled but I don’t think I’ll ever understand him. Alan has a uniquely styled sense of humor that can be silly and serious all at the same time. You can really get a sense about him after a few moments like these. There is an immediate knowing… that Alan is not from around here.

Alan unlocked his studio door, as we entered the sounds of composer Philip Glass were detonating from his stereo. Surreal in structural orchestration, Philip Glass is one of Alan’s favorite modern composers.

“As I wrote in my last book,” Alan roared over the music, “I think Philip Glass should rewrite the National anthem. After all, Francis Scott Key pinched the music from the British, I think we either rewrite the melody or pay a license fee to the Queen every time we sing it.”

“I don’t think it works that way Alan,” I roared back. I see why Alan likes this CD. As I looked over the titles, it’s Glass’ interpretation of David Bowie’s Heroes, Brian Eno’s Low, all Alan’s favorite people wrapped into Glass’s symphonic wave of musical thought.

I have known Alan for around four years now. I have seen people throw all sorts of hatred at him, and at the same time, praise him for the photographic work he creates. Even his harshest critics concede his talent. But I have never seen Alan down, distraught or angry about the buzz around him. And if anyone has the right to be angry, it’s him. Somehow Alan makes things work. His nature is that of a gentle person and I have heard him say over and over again, it’s always about the higher road.

As Alan sat behind his large desk, there was an oversized book open with photographs and postcards that Alan had taken and glued to the blank pages. A great deal of handwritten notes with small to large multi-colored lettering scrawled almost in a random fashion jumping from page to page. The lettering had a feel of a cubist drawing that the scrawled words hid in.

“New book?” I inquired.

“No.. just windows John, windows…,” Alan said quietly.

“I give up with you sometimes…;” I grunted.

“In this book John, contains the most influential, or should I say, had created the most extensive visual appreciation in my life. Actually, it changed everything,” Alan laughed. “What seemed lifetimes ago, a small group of us were in Paris and we enrolled in a day study at the Louvre. Our assignment was to write our experiences of the artwork as our instructor toured us around the many galleries. At the end of the day, we were to write “our impressions” of the day and if our exposure to the masterworks at the Louvre had left any lasting effect. We all had an hour or two for our write-ups. As my comrades wrote their hearts out, I had an epiphany of sorts. I no longer looked upon a painting in a frame that hung on the wall… as just a painting.”

“Well, what more can it be,” I asked.

“A window,” laughed Alan and added, “I now see a framed painting or any other form of visual artwork as a window. When I go to a gallery, or a restaurant, or a friend’s home that has artwork, I now look upon them as windows into another world. I also see it as a direct link into the mind of the artist. But mostly, just a window looking out…”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said.

“Sure it does John, just think about it for a moment,” Alan said informally. “Go stand in front of Goya’s black paintings or a Cezanne and you can see the fashion and emotions of that period. A masterwork contains elements of the thoughts and feelings of when the paint hit the canvas. But especially in photography, the subjective passing of “freezing time and space” into a window is so very important. But a window nevertheless. If it’s done right you can almost walk into the frame and converse with the subject, feel the wind or hear the stream that is employed in the composition. Windows John, just windows.

“So what did you write.. as your impressions of your day class at the Lovure?” I asked.

“I simply wrote the word, WINDOWS… turned it in and went off for a coffee. I felt sorry for my friends. They all composed these long sprays of artistic intellectualisms and then had to wait in line for their coffees… Oh well,”Alan said smilingly.

“Oh well is right,” I said. With that Alan closed his window journal, and said, “Time for a walk John. You need the exercise!”

We stood up and exited Alan’s private studio and headed south from the studio into the pastureland that is part of the ancestral Kelly ranch where Alan and Ann make their lovely home. Alan and Ann’s dog “Penrod” or the galloping goofus as Alan calls her, joined us with her high spirits carrying an oversized stick between her teeth.

“Penrod lives for sticks,” Alan said.

“Sticks?” I asked.

“You bet, watch this.” And with that Alan snatched the stick from Penrod’s growling grasp and gave the stick a long throw. Penrod, who resembles a miniature German Shepard took off like a cruise missile after the stick with a trail of dust like a contrail behind her.

“Penrod really takes this seriously,” I said laughing.

“You know it John,” Alan said. Penrod tackled the stick stirring up a cloud of dust and with great fanfare ran back to Alan for another round. ” Penrod would like to play sticks for the next hour or so,” Alan said patting the growling Penrod between her ears.

We walk at a steady incline with Penrod leading the way, passing beautiful cholla and the not so beautiful prickly-pear cacti festooning the area. Rocks of all sizes and shapes from white quartz to granite littered the area; some hidden in purple shaded prairie grasses but most were not. But I was impressed by the hues that stretched out before me. Each color added to the pallet of a photographers or painters dream. Very magical. In a sparse but poignant abbreviation stood a handful of ancient cedar trees.

“The Cedars are really large bonsais John,” spoken as if Alan could read my mind. “They’ve been dwarfed by the combination of altitude and drought and I’m sure most of them are over a hundred years old or more,” Alan said over the steady breeze.

We reached the top of what Alan calls “Freedom Hill” that has a 360-degree, horizon-to-horizon view. The mountains were set in deep blue at this time of day with whitecap ranges in the very distance and closer in runs the foothills that are known as the hogbacks. The hogbacks are rugged crags dotted with Cedar and Pinion trees arching into a plateau then tapering off to the north with Pikes Peak in the expanse acting like an explanation point.

I noticed several piles were long sandstone rocks collected at the top of Freedom Hill. Some of the piled rocks were at least four feet long lying on the ground, some piled on top of one another.

“Did you drag these up here Alan?” I asked.

“No… Ann’s Father did. The rocks are to be a memorial to his parents. Ann’s Father passed away before he could get to it, so I’ll create it in honor for Ann’s Grandparents. I’ll arrange the stones like the ones I’ve seen in the North of Scotland called Standing Pict stones.

“What’s a Pict ?” I asked.

“You mean… who are the Picts?” Alan said in humor. “The Picts were an ancient race of people whom, according to the Romans during their occupation of the British Isles; stood around four feet tall with blue skin and massive hairy arms. The Romans built the Hadrian Wall starting on the western shore, stretching across Scotland and ending at the North Sea on the eastern shore. You can still stand on the Hadrian Wall today. In my opinion, the Romans were scared of these little blue Neanderthals.

“Blue Neanderthals???” I said. Alan is so full of it today I said to myself. “With massive hairy arms..” Alan cut me off.

“Yes. Massive hairy arms,” Alan said with a very straight face. “The Picts would lift these enormous stones, bury one end of them into the ground to create columns of standing stones as far as the eye could see,” Alan said as if I wasn’t there. “The stones are scattered all over the North of Scotland but I don’t think they are related to Stonehenge in Woodstockshire in the south of England. I felt small when I stood next to the standing stones of Stonehenge, they are massive and duly impressive and full of the unknown, but recreating a mini Stonehenge is not what I see for Freedom Hill. Yet I feel that Freedom Hill is a very sacred spot.”

“How could this be sacred?” I asked.

“”When I came up here after I returned home from my forced exile, two things happened at the same time. One where the sounds of words that I heard from the past, the other was a greater understanding about the passions in my life,” Alan said with a serious look on his face.

Words? I asked.

Alan continued, “The first words that came to me I heard was when I was a boy. They were spoken during Ted Kennedy’s eulogy of his brother Robert during Robert’s funeral. I know that Robert Kennedy used them in his campaign 1968 but I believe that George Bernard Shaw actually wrote them. Yet wherever or whomever placed this phrased on paper, the energy of each word came roaring through the sky and sat on the end of my nose.

“Some men see things as they are and say: why? I dream things that never were and say; why not!”

From a political and sociological viewpoint, you can feel the vision and intelligence behind those words. But from a photographer’s point of view, it becomes a creed.”

“And this happened after your exile?” I said over the wind.

“Yes it did,” Alan replied whilst looking over the horizon. “I am not the existentialist philosopher Kostas Axelos but at times I feel like him. My life has been guided by the burning passion of my photographic vision or the ideas that live in that vision, and so that is where the conflicts arise.

“How can vision be conflictive, its just a vision?” I asked with a great deal of seriousness since I felt that Alan has had a lot of time to think about this.

“The day I set foot into this area,” Alan went on. “A negative dialogue started about me. I generally never believe anything said or written about me. Either positive or negative, I just do my work and either the public likes it or they don’t. I have never actively gone after a person as they do here. I strongly believe in the First Amendment, and the rights espoused in the First Amendment protects every person here or anywhere for that matter. I may not agree with you, but I will support your Freedom to say it.

Just the sound of the wind carried Alan’s thoughts…

“Then, quietly… the words - Passion and its reward” came drifting to me. To understand an artistic passion is to understand the dialectic process of metaphor throughout the conflict of opposing forces. The dialectic argument opens the minds and alters the opinions on both sides of the equation. To see this process at work, just look at President Bush at this moment in time. Bush and his Neo-cons almost destroyed our country. The economic mess hopefully will be Bush’s last charge. People have turned sour over Bush in the last six years reflected by the American people in Bush’s approval ratings, and rightly so. But now this joke of a Presidency is over, people are actually feeling sorry for the canary in the oval cage.”

I remained silent as Alan continued his thoughts…

“The dialectic process has open the minds of Bush’s opposing force and are creating a feeling of compassion where compassion never existed. The legacy of the Bush administration was to destroy compassion as reflected in the laws the Bushies passed or even in Bush’s Foreign policy. Bush said over and over, that America is a country of laws. But it is the American people, who traditionally are the compassionate ones that started to warm to Bush because of the dialectic process.

The America people know that we are not a country of laws; we are a country of compassion.

But I found out that living in the area that we do there is a group of people who don’t care… what thinking people, think. Most of this fascist behavior is based on a strange form of God from the bully pulpit or a political Party, or propaganda that they love to generate which leads to unspeakable atrocities. It is the cause of all backlash and criticisms from others because they don’t share your passions, and vilify the people who actually create or do something. But then it dawned on me. It was the same thing that Robert Kennedy campaigned on.

“And what was that?” I asked

“Poverty.” Alan said with a smile. “As strange as it may seem, this area is committed to poverty on many different levels.”

“Take a look to the west John and what do you see?” Alan said pointing his finger to the many large rectangular gray buildings that dot the countryside. “Prison after prison. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard from the leaders of this community… to create jobs in this area, let’s build another prison. That’s not vision, that’s repetition. That’s not leadership, that’s administration of the same.”

“Sure it’s leadership.” I snapped back.

“No John,” Alan said. “It’s not.” Leadership is the Sheriff in Cook County Illinois who refused to evict renters when the banks foreclosed on their apartment building. The renters paid their rent on time but the landlord kept the rent checks and didn’t pay the mortgage. Even under threat of a lawsuit by the bank, the Sheriff refused to evict the renters who didn’t do anything wrong. That’s leadership. Or the grocery stores back east that have pharmacies located in their stores handing out free antibiotics and cold medicines during the flu season. The grocery stores reasoning, ” People shouldn’t have to paid for cold medicine. It’s not their fault for getting sick.” That’s leadership John.”

“That’s unheard of.” I said.

“But take leadership out of the equation and it makes the struggle of life even harder than it generally is,” Alan stated. “Think about John, a leaderless life of poverty reduces a person’s life to its marginal state. The joy, the fun, the mainstream of opportunities disaggregates in front of your eyes. And you find people living quiet lives of desperation. Of course I became a target because I’m awake and aware mentally, and… I’m not from around here. I do, and live my artistic passion.

Alan took a paused then said forcibly …

I’ve never been a person sit there and bitch or call people monsters or take the human element of personality out of life’s equation. I don’t live from one anti-depression drug to another masking life or seeking to control people. I’m an artist and so when melancholy strikes, it becomes source of inspiration… and when I feel great joys, those joys become a form of spiritual awakening. Artists live through the drama of sacrifice and that drama becomes its cultural breath.”

“All this.. on Freedom Hill?” I asked.

Yes John… all this on Freedom Hill… right here in the heart of Penrose Colorado,” Alan said with a smile.

Then Alan turned and looked at me with his hawk set blue eyes and said.

“Some men see things as they are and say: why? I dream things that never were and say; why not!”

After a few moments of silence… Alan, if giving me instructions said in a very resolute way… “John… perhaps it’s time for someone to spark a new industry into this area… perhaps it’s time for someone to create a food bank for the poor of this county… perhaps its time to have a center where people could gather to… for the education of the arts that truly represents the arts… and perhaps it’s time to take the camera out John… Passion and its rewards… John. Passion and its rewards…”

With that, Alan… Penrod in full gallop and myself started down Freedom Hill to the sounds of a western wind and a hint of crimson in the clouds above… just footsteps and a glancing aroma from Annie’s kitchen hiding in the winds…

The above conversation with Alan was written, edited and uploaded by John Williams. Mr. Williams is Alan of Alanworks personal curator and editor. For more information please leave your response and email so Mr. Williams can return your queries.

Meanwhile… Back at the Ranch

By Jenny Wallace and posted by the friends of Photographer Alan Miller

It was during the Colorado Springs Artist Studio tour where I met Alan and his life partner Ann Kelly. Alan was engaged in conversation with photographer Eric Murphy at Eric’s Colorado Springs studio. Alan was commenting on one of Eric’s photographs that reflected the influence of the photographic artist, the late Paul Strand. The depth and clarity of comments that Alan extolled as if drawing his critique from a vast knowledge of an artistic reservoir that he carried around with him for moments like this.

My eavesdropping continued as Alan related his views in regards to the classical foundation of the photograph arts, but also, his direct knowledge having met or studied with many of the photographic artists that influence today’s photographic art world. Or as Alan relates, these artists are not photographers, but painters of light.

“You have to get out and meet these people, sit with them, breathe the same air and understand their insights. Book knowledge without mileage can take you just so far. Get away. Get as far as you can from your photographic point of observation and dive into the pool of experience so the gap between you and your photographic frames are minuscule. Become a painter of light,” he said.

I introduced myself to Alan and Ann, and after a along conversation I was invited to their ranch in Penrose.

“It’s a work in progress,” smiled Alan as I exited my car after the 45-minute drive from Colorado Springs the following day. “The ranch is undergoing a massive face lift to meet the challenges that Ann and I have set up. As Jean Cocteau said, Art is science made clear, and that is our mission. The ranch is being transformed to become a center for serious art studies and heeding the call of President Obama, a working laboratory for Green technology. It is a unique marriage based on the Greek stepping stone model – influenced by the Geometric to the Archaic, and then the Miraculous Grecian periods. The interlacing stepping-stones weave both the arts and sciences that will hallmark a working model of Green energy independence along with the current artistic influences from this area.”

As I entered their home I was engulfed with the sensual flavors that danced from Ann’s kitchen. Ann Kelly is an accomplished artist in her own right. Her floral photography is striking as well as her original tile work that graces their home. Ann is an accomplished gourmet cook and like all homes that reflect a renaissance nature, it is filled with wondrous artwork, books, color and a calm that only an artist can bring to life.

“The epicurean delights that Ann creates gives meaning to the Gods,” smiled Alan, Ann is by far a maestro in her aspirations. Her working knowledge of art and politics are unparalleled. She is by far the smartest person I know in this county and measured by a wonderful nature. Ann doesn’t suffer fools gladly and understands the mercurial substance that often guides humanity.”

After a coffee and a lovely talk with Ann, Alan and I retired to Alan’s private studio that is attached to their main living quarters. Alan was in no mood for repartee, though talkative and somewhat irascible in tone. Alan carries an undercurrent of darkness yet in a wistful way showing the way of an artful warrior that he is.

We reviewed Alan’s current work shot over the last two months. A throwback to the New York style of street shooting that photographer Diane Arbus delivered to the art world all those years ago. The black and white images of expressions and crowds during President Obama’s visit to Pueblo this year; shaped by sharp shadows coalesced by the gray tones filling in the time and space of each frame. As we viewed the many frames Alan explained the meaning behind the work.

“The Obama campaign was the singular most important event in modern American politics since President Kennedy, Alan said deeply. I didn’t just study President Obama, I digested his message and put into action in the most pragmatic way that I know how. Throughout my life, I’ve always approached my projects as a laboratory of social experiments reflecting classical influences and expressing these influences through photography. The vicissitudes of living reflects the permanence of art throughout the ages. Photography is the one bar of the cross; the other is music - pure image to pure tone — from the eye to the mind, from the ear to the mind. Art and Music has always been with us. We will forget the wars and battles, the critics and the detractors, what will outlast all of them will be the human creative spirit. In the end, what lasts, is art and music. It is a true reflection of a healthy community and a culture. President Obama has inspired the American people in so many different ways. But the point is, he has inspired. Instead of tearing people down, or creating a frenzied narrative of personal destruction, President Obama reintroduced the American people to the pulse of the America dream.”

Alan and I spoke for over three hours about the history of the expressionist and their influence on modern photography. Our conversation was focused and clear and politics became the main weavers thread through the generational experiences that artists had to endure. Radicalism as the flash point has been tempered by expressional actions as Alan laughed by summing up a point, “Don’t trust anyone under 30.” It’s all about taking the higher road. My work has always been about focusing on the roots and never the branches. Creating beauty is a life well spent, but understand that everything I’ve created in this life can be traced back to expressionism. The eternal artistic image pulses through me as it does you.”

To sum up our conversation, I can say that Alan’s commitment to photography articulates his ambition. To Alan, photography transforms the intangible into the tangible. He believes photography transmutes the matter of thought into ideology and influences post-modern literacy throughout society that lends credence to our cultural metaphor. Alan added, photography’s philosophical role continues to shape cultures and politics, and is at the heart of mass communication. As we shift from the printed newspaper to the electronic newspaper via the web, it is still the photographer that leads the way. To Alan’s artistic heart, it’s all metaphor. As what Communism was to Diego Rivera is what Theosophy was for Yeats – it’s the ageless source of metaphor that Alan sees. The placement of mass electronic communication married with the undercurrent of artistic vision is the way to maintain the dialectic process of metaphor throughout the conflict of opposing forces.

As far as opposing forces, Alan speaks with authority about the overwhelming arrogance of the last eight years and the trickle down anything goes mentality now reflected from local municipalities, to the Federal government and how that thoughtstream is coming to a close. As Joe Klein wrote in Time magazine, “At the end of a Presidency (Bush) of stupefying ineptitude, Bush has become the lamest of all possible ducks.”

According to Alan, a new age of infused cultural awareness is upon us. The past eurocentric points of view has made the Bush political machine meaningless to the rest of the world. Alan stated that America has lost its role as a compassionate listener and partner. Instead, we became a society of “Got Ya’s” feeding off the American citizenry from anti-culturist and fear mongering on all levels. Under Bush, any cultural dialogue became suspect and leadership vanished. We became a society of administrators not leaders.

With a deep smile Alan said in measured words, “All photographers should pull out the stops forced upon us and focus our cameras with the vitality of a new life. In the postscript to the book, To Seek a Newer World, Robert Kennedy had called it “thoughtless folly” to attempt to solve problems and take action unguided by ultimate moral aims and values, adding that only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly.”

” It is the artist and photographers job to achieve greatly, create greatly, record and document greatly every step of the way. And on occasion, raise our fists into the air and feel the powerful spirit of the artist flowing trough us,” Alan said with his fist raised.

As we left Alan’s private studio, tacked on the back of his door is a picture of Nelson Mandela’s clench fist from the issue of Time magazine of last summer. In a scrawling script from Alan’s own hand, he had posted a note that hangs under the Mandela fist that reads… I’ve gone to look for myself, if I should return before I get back, keep me here with good music and a good glass of red wine. I shouldn’t be long.

Renaissance, truly renaissance.

Jenny is a freelance writer and travels around the Western United States in her RV, with her cat, laptop and assorted friends. Meeting the remarkable men and women of the arts and crafts movement and the spiritual community that shapes the culture of the United States.

Posted by the Friends of Alan and Alanworks Studio–

The November Awakening
Our Opinion with Photographer Alan Miller

Question: Why Obama?
Answer: Intelligent Change.

For me, this trip to the ballot box has come full circle. It started in what seems like several lifetimes ago. On very cold night, my late Father and I traveled to downtown Chicago to hear Robert F. Kennedy speak. This was my first political rally. The auditorium burned with the famous and uncomfortable Chicago winter dry heat that can chap your lips in a second. Sprawled out in front of us was a stage filled with “The Richard J. Daley Machine Democrats” as my Father pointed out the many notables.

To the right of the stage sat a skinny young man with a mop of hair and a smile that was too big for his face. He was Robert F. Kennedy.

After all these years I can’t recall Kennedy’s words, just a feeling and the impression he had left me. As my Father said, when it comes to public speakers and politicians, some have it and others don’t. All I can recall is, Robert F. Kennedy’s words caused a reaction in me. I was moved. Kennedy definitely had it.

Without any difficulty, those same impression’s rose in me after attending one of President Obama’s campaign rallies. I could see President Obama’s vision. I could see the spirit of Kennedy, of Lincoln, of King, of Malcolm and Mandela, and the many others who came before. Robert F. Kennedy could have easily said the words of President Obama, calling on our Better Angels and the change we need. Their spirit is of the same nature. We have waited a long time for this.

We have barely survived the Bush Administration and their downlinks. Bush’s approach to Government promoted and perfected policies of cruelty, injustice and intolerance on the United States citizenry and our Allies throughout the world over the past eight years.

Republican Senator McCain and Gov. Palin lost their Presidential bid due to their promotion of divisiveness and their vain attempt to create a fragmented world from their fragmented world viewpoint… without any wave of possibilities of liberty or creative expression unless McCain/Palin were in charge. Unity of the American people was not McCain/Palin’s theme.

McCain/Palin would have continued the last eight years of the Bush nightmare. Where once we had the freedom to object, think and live freely or in my case, lived within the arts as I thought fit, Bush replaced it with censorship and systems of surveillance coercing our conformity, submission or imprisonment. Remember the contrived story and national lie of Jessica Lynch launched from the oval office or the mishandling of Hurricane Katrina: only topped by the insanity of Dick Cheney’s One Percent Doctrine, to Abu Ghraid and Bush’s Guantanamo?

The difference between the Republican Neocon view and that of a free and enlighten Democratic society is that the Republican Neocon believe the American people are ignorant and the free flow of information to the American people must be controlled as the people themselves. The politically enlightened Democratic society must profess transparency in government with a free and open debate of the issues. The Republican Neocon uses ignorance to create a prescribed reality for a predicted outcome. In the Bush Administration, the keyword was fear and the outcome was simple. Control.

Lies lived from the Bush White House and McCain/Palin would have furthered Government control over the America people. Power over the people concedes nothing without a fight. Are the American people up to it? Were we ready to fight for our freedom and civil rights? Or would we allow them maintain control over us through our unwillingness to say - NO.

But how did the Bush’s Orwellian lexicon almost destroy dissent and free speech? Who is to blame? There are others who are more responsible than ourselves and they will be held accountable, but then, the truth be told, if you’re looking for the guilty we need only to look in the mirror.

I know why we did it. I know that we were afraid. Who wouldn’t be? War, terrorism and pandemics - there were a myriad of problems to conspire and corrupt our reason and to rob us of our common sense. Fear got the best of us and in our panic we turned to President Bush. Americans were forced fed - what colour is our terrorist alert today?

Bush turned out to be a President of monumental littleness, but at the time, he promised us order, he promised us peace and demanded only in return after 9/11 that we shop and our silent obedient consent. And in the first time in history the White House demanded the public never to question a sitting Wartime President as official policy. It didn’t matter that the Bush White House had compromised our civil liberties and that our phone calls were tapped. We allowed it.

The Karl Rove’s of the world didn’t want us to speak. Because truth will always retain it’s power, words are the pathway to meaning for those who listen to the annunciation of truth, and the truth is, there was something terribly wrong in our country. Bush and his minions had created an Imperial Presidency, and we let him.

The Republican Party had made the American viewpoint black and white, either with us or against us was Bush’s call to action. As President Bush campaigned during the last mid-term elections he said, “A vote for the Democrats is a vote for al Qaeda.” This from the player who had a leading role in the Republican’s Culture of Corruption play, forgoing the dynamics of intelligence and using fear as bait too prosecute his domestic and foreign policies.

The Republican Neocon repeated their call of “Why the public needs us,” but American’s were pushed too far. Many saw through Bush’s Government sponsored fear tactics, knowing, where there is Government sponsored fear baiting, there is no leadership. Bush has been the great pretender, but never a leader and the Republican Party lost in the mid-term elections.

President Obama is a true leader. President Obama is here to remind our country only of what has been forgotten. President Obama on one level, knowingly or unknowingly has become the Nelson Mandela of America by turning back the apartheid of thought that IS the legacy of President Bush. From the plains of Mandela’s Soweto, to the hilltops of our San Francisco, the cries of the people from both countries have been heard.

There is a call from the Obama Administration for Americans to be part of the American dialogue again. President Obama’s vision advocates fairness, justice and freedom that are more than just words, they are perspectives and are to be lived and acted upon by each American.

This 230-plus-year American experiment has reached for the optimistic words of a young visionary named Obama. Hopefully, Bush and his Republican Neocon’s will quietly drift into the history books as a failed chapter, filed under another attempt of a Government to control the masses through fear by a few individuals seeking self-enrichment.

I look forward to a reinvigorated post-partisan spirit uniting the country, overcoming our domestic civil liberties crises and healing friendships with our Allies overseas. There is much work to be done, but unlike the past, we are all part of the dialogue now. We have a voice. Once again, returning to: We The People.

I am sure that Robert F. Kennedy would be proud of America today.

Vida La Rasa

The words of Paul Bender, David Lloyd, Ann Kelly and Alan Miller.
Posted by the Friends of Alan Miller and Alanworks Studio–

Through sponsorship of The Guild and The United Artists of New York, Alan Miller has launched a nationwide lecture series exploring the fundamental causations of conflicts in contemporary society, by the simple act of photographic artists recording all phases of the human drama.

We can gather through understanding of the human spirit that prehistoric tribes carried the same talents that exist today. A blacken stick was pulled from the fire and was used to create marks on a cave wall, the skin, or to attempt to create an understanding of the cosmos. Thus began the record of recorded images. But by creating this simple act, a division between those with vision and those without was established. It also gave rise to the power of images whose survival through time can still impact our current society.

“I believe it is true to say,” stated Alan, “that the power of an image through photography creates ripples beyond anyone’s comprehension.” “I would hazard a guess that the world would trade every portrait ever painted depicting “the Christ” for one photograph of him. When disaster strikes, after the family is secure, people rush in to collect the family photographs because “they are irreplaceable.” Be it so, it is extraordinary to myself and the photographic community of artists throughout the United States that document the many phases of the human drama, should be shaken by the ire of modern day anti-culturalists.”

The world is not governed by the precepts of the Disney Corporation, but in today’s world, rightwing extremist as well as law enforcement act as if it is. It is a very well defined group of people who have established themselves as anti-culturalists.

Currently, when photographer Annie Liebowitz created the exquisite of portrait of Miley Cyrus which reflected an 18th century portrait, and Cyrus who is under contract with Disney for the billion dollar franchise Hanna Montana, the anti-culturalists were shocked.

We are happy to note that the same people were not in control when the Venus of Willendorf was discovered. The Venus of Willendorf is an icon of Paleolithic art from the Gravettian period (c.28, 000 - 19,000 BC) that depicts a short naked female that was originally painted red and is considered a mother goddess and/or fertility icon for young women. This priceless relic would be considered pornographic by the anti-culturalists and would have been destroyed if they had their way. This artifact is one of the oldest surviving icons in the world and thankfully resides at the Naturhistorisches Museum in Vienna and away from Americans.

Abusus non tollit usus, “the abuse of a thing should not take away the use of a thing,” and yes, there are people who create evil through imagery, yet in the landmark case of the 1990 State of Ohio vs. photographer Robert Mapplethorpe, established that life exists before the lens of a camera regardless of the disagreement of the anti-culturalists.

Seven Mapplethorpe photographs were put on trial in Cincinnati Ohio in 1990 and were defended successfully by art scholar’s Janet Kardon and Jacquelynn Baas, directors of the University Art Museum at Berkeley. They interpreted the Mapplethorpe’s images out of fundamental literalness into a formalist analysis as art understandable to the mythic “Average American”.

The 1990 Mapplethorpe case in Cincinnati was the first such prosecution of an art gallery in U.S. history. On April 7, 1990, the Contemporary Arts Center and its director, Dennis Barrie, were charged with pandering obscenity and the use of a minor in nude materials in a suit fueled by the “National Council Against Pornography” and its Cincinnati connection “Citizens for Community Values.” The indictment cited, out of the Mapplethorpe photographs in The Perfect Moment, two portraits, one of a boy nude (”Jesse McBride, 1976″) and one of a girl with her genitals exposed (”Honey, 1976″), and five other photographs depicting typical late 1970s homoerotic or sadomasochistic images. The jury declared Mapplethorpe’s work was valid and serious art thus ending the trial on October 5, 1990. This trial and its findings have acted as a legal cornerstone for photographers who have been charged by society for violating a constant flow of illogical morality laws.

Alan Miller is a serious artist, and in late spring of 2008 his studio and home were raided under the same pretext. This raid was not just a clear and identifiable violation of fundamental rights, but a direct attack on artistic freedom and pursuits of all serious photographers throughout the United States.

The legacy of our Founding Fathers gave us the Constitution and the freedoms in which we live by. George Bush and the anti-culturalists have given us The Constriction, a one-size-fits-all vision of the future coupled with enacted laws that gives sweeping powers to police forces as they transform into paramilitary units that rage into the private lives of the very citizenry they are charged to protect.

Yet Alan’s lecture series are about hope. At this moment the creations may be under attack, but the creators will always survive. The work of photographers, like all artists, will outlive their critics and will have a direct impact on our culture. Michelangelo (1475 - 1564) and his aesthetic vision of the Sistine Chapel are brought to mind. During the Reformation, the duly elected band of political anti-culturalist painted over parts of Michelangelo’s vision in order to bring his enlightened work in line to the sensibilities of the day.

But like all political illusionist from Reformationist to George Bush, images created by artists with vision will always outlive the politicians, and on a happy note, the Sistine Chapel has recently been restored to Michelangelo’s original grandeur.

Viva La Rasa

Posted by the Friends of Photographer Alan Miller