The Surveillant

My little flock of students sits before me quietly struggling with their exams. Today it is mathematics. In the days to come they will take tests in Chemistry, Physics, Technical Drawing, and a foreign language. They are all around nineteen years old and this week of exams is for admission to a polytechnic school at Lyon. I feel sorry for them as they glance up at me with a dazed, helpless expression. I can’t tell if it’s a look of supplication or if they are just staring into space, thinking between questions. It’s amazing how well they fit the image of science students.

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Book Hunting in Covent Garden

As a long time book hunter of "unconsidered trifles" Autolycus regards himself an expert in this field. Although finds of grossly undervalued books are almost non-existent, the patient searcher can find some "good buys". The Covent Garden area presents one of the best hunting grounds for the booklover, Cecil Court, of course, is the book hunters' Valhalla. In this lovely walkway between Charing Cross Road and St. Martins Lane, one can soak up the atmosphere of old books and old prints and forget about the hustle and bustle of modern London orchestrated by the jack-hammer and heavy machinery. The sight of good hearted book collectors bent over and craning their necks all along the stalls of the various bookshops is a delight to see. The scene is reminiscent of drawings by Cruikshank and Daumier. The sheer number of the bookshops (about fifteen) make this an excellent hunting ground.

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The Homosexual Dog Epidemic

The homosexual dog epidemic is getting out of hand in La Farlede. The focal point of this disgusting behavior seems to be the parking lot in front of Chester’s old apartment building. “They’re all faggots. The whole lot of them. Of course Arthur (pronounced ar-toor) is the butt end of all their attention. If you’ll excuse the pun.”

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France by Bike and Barge

Whenever I visit France I try to do something or go somewhere different in the country. I once lived in France for eight years, yet large areas of the country remain relatively unknown to me. I spent five weeks in France this summer and I could have easily filled my time by making the rounds of friends and retelling the same stories to each friend. So I spent part of my time visiting friends and part of my time having some unique new adventures. When in Europe I find everything interesting and not just the famous sights. It’s not much of an exaggeration to say that every rock has a story. The best way to savor every house, garden, and village is on foot but something just as languid that will carry you further is to travel by bicycle.

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Patsy

Patsy always comes with me when I go painting. She doesn’t paint of course but she is always happy to come along as I usually end up painting in some spectacular scenery. I’m not particularly thrilled to go painting with other artists and Patsy is just the right amount of company since she is very uncritical. She just hangs out near my easel and when I take a break I sit down on the ground and she comes over and I ask her what she thinks. Sometimes she lays her head in my lap and as I stroke her hair I look over the painting and decide what it needs.

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Golfing with Jesus

Dear Dad,

The other day I went out and played golf by myself. I’ve been pressing pretty hard to accomplish as many paintings as possible for my approaching Harbor Springs exhibit on July 23rd. I know the public wants local, recognizable, scenes so I have been painting in Harbor which I haven’t done much of in recent years. It’s just that Harbor has become so popular in recent years that the hordes of people make it rather uncomfortable painting in public. Well, the other day started out with a particularly unpleasant visit to the dentist and starting out the day in a bad mood I wasn’t up to painting in public in Harbor. So I decided I needed a round of golf to set my mind right. This would be my third time out. The second time was in Charlevoix on the municipal nine holes. I went alone and was paired with an eighty-three year old man, Keith. He was a local and had been playing the course his whole life. Keith was a very charming fellow with an impish sense of humor and, incidentally, an excellent golfer. I played pretty well, shooting a 43 but Keith shot a 39. Anyway, this past week has been the best weather of the summer: hot in the sun, cool in the shade, and low humidity. So I headed out to Walloon, my regular course. The course wasn’t crowded so I got right on. I prefer to play with someone else, but this turned out fine. There were people in front of me and people behind me but everyone moved along at the same pace and there usually was a gap of about one hole between us. For awhile I was playing phenomenally well, hitting every shot crisply and straight. Late in the round it slipped away, mostly due to fatigue. The day was splendid and you know what a lovely setting that golf course has. I gazed around at the trees and the cloudless blue sky overhead and as often happens, my thoughts turned to Jesus. I wondered what it would be like to play golf with Jesus, and I thought it would make an amusing short story. I pictured Jesus in his typical long white robes, but to play golf he fastened the bottoms of his robe with bicycle clips, the kind that riders use to keep their pants out of the gears. Of course Jesus was pleasant in an easy going, confident kind of way. He hit every shot well but not spectacularly. On one hole he moved his ball to a better lie. “Hey, I thought that was cheating!” I scolded him. He just smiled and said “Who’s keeping score?” On one hole the wind mysteriously calmed down when he was about to shoot, which I thought was suspicious, but I didn’t say anything. On the back nine we were joined by another man. He was also an excellent golfer, nattily dressed and with the best equipment but there was something about him that I didn’t like. He was the type of person so self confident that he was actually the type of person that should have doubts. But such people are too materialistically successful to ever question their existence. Well, this fellow, Mr. D, goaded Jesus into playing a match. I kept out of it because I don’t like to be manipulated and I felt like this Mr. D was putting on some sort of a con. Mr. D played brilliantly and hit the ball long and hard, but played erratically, often spraying the ball out of bounds. Jesus kept swinging nice and easy like Sam Snead, hitting every shot right down the middle. Mr. D took an early lead when he chipped in on a hole, but Jesus’ steady play re-took the lead. I didn’t like the way Mr. D kept grinning at me and then I realized who he was: the devil himself. I asked Jesus “Is that who I think it is?”

“Sure is.”

“I hate to ask, but what are the stakes of your match?”

“Your soul.”

“What, my soul?”

“Are you worried? Don’t you think I’m a good golfer?” I’ve got a two shot lead…”

“Sure, but….”

“Just worry about your own game.”

Well, things continued ok with Jesus carrying a two shot lead, right up to the last hole. The devil hit a monster drive, long and straight and Jesus hit one into the woods on the right, his first shot out of the fairway all day. I didn’t say anything but I started to sweat. The devil hit his second shot on the green. Jesus hit a nice shot out of the woods but the ball came up a few yards short of the green. Jesus chipped to within five feet of the hole. The devil had about a twelve foot putt which he made for a birdie. He immediately flashed me a big grin and I felt weak and sick. Well, if Jesus made his short putt, he’d still win the match. Just when Jesus pulled the putter back the devil coughed loudly and the ball slid by the cup on the left. Jesus tapped in his putt for a bogey and the match was halved.

I went up to Jesus after the match and told him it was too bad the devil had coughed and all.

“Oh, I could have made the putt.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“That would have been too easy.”

“Well, what happens to my soul in a tie match?”

“I guess you’ll just have to work on your game some more.”

So that’s it. Golf is a lot like life. It’s a fine line between trying and not trying and the one who dances through life does both at the same time. Doing the best you can, while practicing the cessation of all desire; that’s the challenge.

Love, Ken
(around July, 1997)