Tag Archives: Art

A Tale of Two Handmade Quilts

by Woody

Woody’s award-winning novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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Imagine a painting by Monet of a pond shimmering with a hundred shades of blue, deep ocean to summer sky, on a canvas larger than a king-size mattress.

Now imagine a different masterpiece, every inch as large and lovely and beautiful and blue, but instead of oil brushstrokes on stiff canvas its medium is five-inch squares of age-worn denim sewn together and framed by a twill border.

“Priceless” is a greatly overworked word, but it is rightly employed to describe the patchwork quilt my mother, gone 33 years now, made for me before I headed off to college.

To begin, Mom surreptitiously saved my old blue jeans, Levi’s mostly, for a number of years. From these she harvested enough squares, or “blocks,” to build a quilt of 19 rows by 13 – 13 being a lucky number in her heart because she met my dad on a blind date on the thirteenth of October – measuring an oceanic six feet wide by more than seven feet long.

She arranged these pixels of denim with an artist’s eye and a mother’s care, forming pleasing patterns from the spectrum of faded hues and varying textures. For example, a small number of blocks have inseams running through them and a few others have front or side pockets removed, leaving behind silhouettes that resemble suntan lines.

One noteworthy square has the white frayed beginnings of a hole, probably at a knee, chosen because Navajos to this day intentionally weave a faint imperfection into each blanket to make it more human and thus more treasured.

Less seriously, near the quilt’s bull’s-eye is a signature 501 Button Fly. Naturally, one square features a rectangular Levi’s label – the waist and inseam sizes erased by age – and a trademark Red Tab tag adorns another square.

In the heart of the blue-denim field, which features nearly 300 tasseled quilting knots securing the touching corners of each and every block, is a large diamond pattern comprised of 16 squares of colorful tartan, in homage to our Irish roots, an eyesore pair of 1970s bellbottoms metamorphosed into handsomeness.

Weighing nearly 11 pounds, thanks furthermore to heavy-duty twill backing and thick batting inside, sleeping beneath this heirloom quilt feels like being hugged. In time, it hugged my daughter throughout college and then my son during his university years. No worse for wear, it now awaits four grandchildren.

Speaking of grandkids, the quilt’s four main corners each have a complete back pocket that my mom said, with a wink, were for condoms because she did not wish to become a grandmother too early.

And yet when I eventually made her a grandmother (for the fourth time) it was indeed too early, for my daughter was born three months premature weighing just 2 pounds, 6 ounces. Dallas remained in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit for two months that seemed like a hundred years. If there is such a thing as angels on earth, I will tell you NICU nurses indeed have invisible halos.

September is National NICU Awareness Month, which brings me to a second priceless quilt. It is crib-sized and new and conjures a field of sunflowers painted by Van Gogh. I purchased it from an on-line shop for my granddaughter, Auden, who is named in honor of my mom.

More than being beautiful, what makes this quilt beyond special is the accompanying note from the seller, written in purple ink in smooth looping letters, explaining that her mom donates the money from her handmade quilts to NICUs.

All quilts are works of art, but some are works of heart.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.

Still Trying To Be Like My Grandpa

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

(One year ago today, Feb. 28, my father died at age 97. In his honor, from my archives in 2019, here is a column he greatly enjoyed about his own dad. The ending paragraph has been updated.

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Grandpa Ansel, the only grandparent I knew, died when I was only 7, yet he lives on clearly in my memories.

That my son’s middle name is Ansel goes a long way in telling you how much I loved and admired Grandpa. An art assignment when I was in the first grade further fills in the picture.

Grandpa and me and my two older brothers…

“And who is this?” asked Miss Bower, studying my crayon portrait response to her prompt: “Who is the most important person in the world?”

“My grandpa,” six-year-old-me replied, matter-of-factly, as though it were so obvious no answer should have been required.

“All your classmates drew portraits of President Johnson,” Miss Bower noted, adding: “Your grandpa must be very special.”

Me: “Yeah, he’s pretty ginchy.”

To be honest, the thought of drawing a portrait of the President of the United States never crossed my mind. In truth, I wondered why my friends had not drawn pictures of their grandpas.

After all, it wasn’t the President who patiently showed me how to bait a fishhook. Certainly the President had never set down his fly rod to calmly help me untangle a bird’s nest of fishing line in my backlashed spinning reel.

It wasn’t the President who taught me other important things a boy needs to know, like how to skip flat stones across the water; how to whistle; and how to pound nails without bending them.

The President never gave me a ginchy handcrafted wooden toolbox for my fifth birthday – or taught me funny old-fashioned words like “ginchy” which means “cool.”

“Grandpa, how come you don’t use worms like I do?” I once asked while “helping” him tie a fly in his basement fantasyland workshop of tools and endless jars filled with fishhooks, feathers, fur and other thing-a-ma-stuff.

“Oh, it takes a mighty skillful fisherman like yourself to catch a fish with a worm,” he answered. “That’s why you always catch big fish while I catch the little ones. I’d better stick to using flies if I want to have a chance to keep up with you.”

“Okay, Grandpa – but if you change your mind, I’ll share my worms with you.”

Grandpa shared lots of important things with me, like how to look a man in the eye when you shake hands; The Golden Rule; and that little boys in Russia are the same as little boys in America, this being during the Cold War.

“Which way is the wind blowing?” I would ask Grandpa whenever we went fishing. Before answering, he would moisten his index finger in his mouth and then dramatically extend it high in the air as I mimicked him.

Upon seeing which side of his finger-turned-weather-vane dried first, Grandpa would whistle-hum happily before responding: “I do believe it’s blowing from the west.”

Always, the wind was blowing from the west.

Always, this excited me and I would then recite by heart a poem Grandpa had taught me:

“When the wind is from the north, / The wise fisherman does not go forth.

“When the wind is from the south, / It blows the hook into the fish’s mouth.

“When the wind is from the east, / ’Tis not fit for man nor beast.

“But when the wind is from the west, / The fishing is the very best.”

Growing up, I wanted to be like Grandpa Ansel; six years ago, I truly became like him – a grandpa. With fishing as a metaphor, whenever we are together, I want my dear granddaughters Maya, Auden, and Amara to always feel like the wind is blowing from the west.

Orange In My Rainbow Is For Joey

by Woody

Orange In My Rainbow Is For Joey

            The greatest overworked word in the English language is “greatest.” Well, unless it is “best.” Or, perhaps, “favorite.”

The problem with this trio is these opinions tend to shift as surely as ocean sands. One day, for example, I might consider Rembrandt the greatest painter ever; the next day, van Gogh is the best of all time; yet another day, Michelangelo or Picasso or even Basquiat and his graffiti-inspired art is my favorite.

Best, favorite, greatest too often miss the mark. Better to imagine a rainbow and give the human gods each a color. Or, in the case above, a hue on the palette.

Likewise with authors. Instead of bestowing the crown of Favorite or Greatest or Best, far better to imagine a single shelf in a bookcase with room enough only for a narrow rainbow of volumes. Steinbeck, Hemingway, Twain and Shakespeare comprise my personal Mount Rushmore, but there is top-self space for Woolf, Austen, Angelou and Rowling as well.

Oh, yes, between the honorary bookends I have also inserted a few friendly hues largely unique to my elite shelf: Ken McAlpine, Jeff McElroy, Roger Thompson and, naturally, Dallas Woodburn.

That’s the beauty of my rainbow philosophy: there are always enough colors to satisfy the eye of each beholder. Furthermore, giving Bach a golden hue does not diminish Beethoven’s bright red, which in turn does not raise him above Mozart’s forest green.

Joey Ramirez, left, and Coach Phil Mathews, right.

Ask me to name my favorite/greatest/best athlete from my quarter century as a sports columnist and I would be flummoxed. My personal rainbow, however, comes into ready focus – albeit with all shades of blue going to my idol and mentor, John Wooden.

Magic Johnson, who I wrote more columns about during my span than any other athlete, gets the hue of Lakers gold. Arnold Palmer, who like Johnson always treated me like I wrote for the New York Times rather than a local paper, gets a Masters-jacket green shade.

And bright orange – the Ventura College Pirates’ shade – in my rainbow goes to Joey Ramirez. This selection will come as a surprise only to those who never watched No. 13 in stalwartly action. Under Joey’s leadership as star point guard during the 1992-93 and 1993-94 seasons, the Pirates had a combined record of 73-5 and played in back-to-back state championship games.

Joey exemplified Coach Phil Mathew’s “We Play Hard” motto. Not only did the Santa Paula native get floor burns diving for loose balls, he gave the hardwood skin-and-bone burns. And yet it wasn’t Joey’s fierceness and winning ways that painted him into my rainbow – it was his grace and character in defeat.

Especially, I remember the second state championship game loss by two points on a night the basket had a lid on it whenever Joey shot the ball. Listed on the roster at 5-foot-10, Joey stood tall as a center afterward despite his heartbreak.

Here’s some more that puts Joey in my rainbow: he was a standout college student; became a high school math teacher; and now, as head coach of the VC men’s basketball team, stresses education to his players. It is not lip service: Joey and his lovely wife Olivia’s three sons – Andrew, Marcos and Eric – are straight-A students on top of being exceptional athletes.

One more reason: hard as a gemstone externally, inside Joey can be a softie. This was on display last Sunday evening when he was inducted into the Ventura College Athletics Hall of Fame.

Truth is, Joey wasn’t the only one in attendance who teared up during his splendid acceptance speech – my rainbow briefly turned blurry.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

Column: Inocente’s Story is Powerful

by Woody

Artistic Perspective of Homelessness

 

             When you see a dandelion, do you see a flower? Or a weed?

 

            Or, perhaps, as happened a couple weeks ago when I was walking along a sidewalk on my way to a movie, you step over a dandelion without seeing it at all.

 

            Dandelions are a lot like the homeless. Perspective is everything.

 

            Along with about 200 others attending “Summer at the Oscars,” a fundraiser held by the nonprofit Ventura County Housing Trust Fund at the historic Camarillo Ranch, my perspective was brought into a sharper focus.

For more artwork by Inocente, visit www.inocenteart.com

For more artwork by Inocente, visit www.inocenteart.com

 

            My vision, however, was briefly blurry. Watery eyes will do that. Watching “Inocente” will do that.

 

            “Inocente,” which earlier this year won the Oscar for Best Documentary Short, is the best film of any length and genre I have seen in years. It is “Rocky,” only grittier; “Cinderella,” only more magical. It is 39 minutes of hard-to-watch reality with a happy ending.

 

Inocente Izucar, the teenage subject of the film, had a physically abusive father who beat her with extension cords. After escaping his torment, Inocente and her mother and three younger brothers lived a nomadic existence on the streets of San Diego. They slept in homeless shelters and crowded motel rooms. This was on good nights.

 

 “I don’t think children should have to wake up in the park,” Inocente says, knowingly, in the film.

 

The truth is, too many children do wake up in parks. And in shelters. According to the National Center on Family Homelessness, 1 in 45 children will experience homelessness during their lives. That is nearly one child per classroom.

 

This includes 4,000 kids locally, according to the Ventura County Office of Education. You might never guess which children; Inocente says she was able to keep her hardship a secret from schoolmates.

 

More perspective: 3.5 million people experience homelessness in the U.S. annually and more than 1.6 million of them are children. In California the figure for homeless kids is 226,000.

 

By any measure it is a huge problem. Countless people and agencies are fighting the good fight, including the Ventura County Housing Trust Fund. But all of our combined efforts need to be redoubled. And redoubled again.

 

Different things can unlock a brighter future for a homeless person: food and shelter, of course, but also counseling; clean clothes for a job interview; access to showers in order to keep a job.

 

For Inocente, the magic wand had horsehair bristles: a paintbrush. At age 12 she enrolled in an after-school program for disadvantaged kids called ARTS: A Reason To Survive.

 

For Inocente, art was a way to thrive.

 

Given her grim background, one might expect her paintings to be dark and foreboding. Rather, they are the opposite – happy and uplifting; hearts and bunnies; vibrant reds and sunshine yellows and brilliant blues.

 

Inocente’s obvious talent was one of the reasons she was selected as the subject for the documentary. Her first big art show, which she earned on merit, is part of the film’s storyline. Thanks to the spotlight of the Oscars, her career has taken off. She has had loftier art shows, including in New York City. Prints of her work typically run $200 with some reaching $1,000. A small original piece she donated to “Summer at the Oscars” sold for $2,000 and was likely a steal.

 

After growing up in a nightmare, 19-year-old Inocente is living her dream as an artist. Her dream of living in her own apartment is also a reality. Like her work on canvas, in person she radiates brightness. She gives you a new perspective of what a homeless person is – and can be.

 

Asked how the rest of us can best help the homeless, besides making donations to worthy causes, Inocente’s answer is simple: “Show them you believe in them.”

 

Taking the same sidewalk back to my car after the screening, the dandelion did not go unnoticed under my foot. This time I saw its yellow bloom and green stalk poking up through a crack. What strength to survive its cement hardship. And what beauty.

 

Indeed, it was not a weed. It was a sunflower by van Gogh. No, by Inocente.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for the Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com or through his website www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

 

Column: Legacy Left in Artwork

by Woody

 

A Legacy Left in Indelible Ink (and Paint) 
“The happiest paintbrushes are the worn-through ones.”

 

These are the words of a young man who, long before earning a university minor in Painting, took a summer art class at age 12 from Chris Martinez.

 

Teaching my son drawing skills, and more importantly doing so in an encouraging manner, was not the first time Chris entered my life.

 

That moment occurred in a previous writing life for me, so long ago The Star was still The Star-Free Press and I was in the sports department. It was 1987 and as a staff rookie I was taking a beating in the letters to the editor from Ventura High fans claiming my columns were pro-Buena; and Bulldog backers complaining I favored the Cougars.

 

Into the newsroom one day walked a visitor, a bearded stranger to me but wearing the warm smile of an old friend. It was, as you have guessed, Chris. For no reason other than because he was such a kind man, he gave me the most heartfelt gift an artist can bestow: one of his artworks.

 

It was a 12-by-15-inch black ink drawing, featuring a caricature of me wearing a Los Angeles Rams jersey, a Dodgers cap, and baggy Lakers shorts. A hockey puck is balanced on my right shoulder pad and my hockey-gloved right hand grips a hockey stick. On my left hand I am spinning a basketball, a feat all the more impressive considering the baseball mitt. Scattered around my sneakered feet are a soccer ball, volleyball, bowling ball, baseball, softball, football, tennis ball and two golf balls.

 

Also, an angry-looking Buena Bulldog looks up at me, as does Ventura High’s Cougar mascot.

 

A handwritten inscription on the masterpiece reads: “Woody – Sticking your neck out and taking chances are prerequisites for creativity . . . Keep up the good work. – Chris Martinez.”

 

How dearly did I appreciate Chris’ creativity and skill – his talent was so great he was at one time a Disney illustrator – and above all, kindness? The cherished drawing hangs on a wall by my writing desk alongside a “Pyramid of Success” signed to me by Coach John Wooden.

 

On a nearby bookshelf is another personal reminder of Chris’s artistic virtuosity: He did the illustrations for the book “Raising Your Child to be a Champion in Athletics, Arts, and Academics” that I co-authored with Wayne Bryan in 2004. To this day, Wayne uses the biography caricature Chris drew of him using a tennis racket as a guitar for his sign-off signature in e-mails.

 

Three weeks ago today, the music died. So did the artwork. Chris passed away, and far too soon; he would have turned but 67 in July.

 

Chris made his mark in Ventura in indelible ink. It would surely be quicker to take a roll call of Venturans who do not own a personal caricature drawn by Chris than those who do.

 

He also made his mark in paint.

 

As iconic landmarks go, Ventura is blessed with a handful: the Pier and Two Trees and the Mission, to name three.

 

Here are three more: the portrait of Bob Tuttle that graces Ventura High’s gym named in the legendary coach’s honor; the Dragon mascot mural at Foothill Technology High School; and the huge mural of the school mascot Lion holding a poinsettia on the front of Poinsettia Elementary. All three created by Chris.

 

There are numerous other Martinez Murals across the county, landmarks each that make locals smile daily.

 

Yes, Ventura was Chris’s canvas – his canvas just happened quite often to be the outdoor stucco walls of schools. And the smooth walls inside gymnasiums. And basketball hardwood center courts where he painted school logos. Also, each holiday season, dozens of storefront windows were his canvas as well.

 

Too, his canvas included the students he instructed, the young sports writer he encouraged, the countless others who enjoyed the beauty of his artwork.

 

Indeed, it is fair to say that the legacy Chris Martinez leaves behind includes the happiest one possible for an artist: a myriad worn-through paintbrushes.

 

 

 

 

 

– Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for the Star. You can contact Woody at WoodyWriter@gmail.com or www.WoodyWoodburn.com