I’m still incredibly bleary-eyed from my month’s buildup to my Sound Of Soul extravaganza Monday night, the recuperation after from which I still feel numb not to mention running back and forth to The Pantages to see the final ever performances of my musical, The Color Purple, as originally conceived before it closes on Sunday and jumps to another tier of performance when the second national tour begins in a couple weeks. Honestly, I’d rather be lying in bed watching TV, my favorite sport, then running myself ragged like I was 16. But I’ve never been the type to do the former and I seem to eternally be the type to act the latter so at least it makes me smile when my drinkware matches my state of mind.
I’ve always admired cups like this, interpreting in clay what the artist feels inside. I’ve also never been the type to practice perfection, preferring instead to let things happen as they may, my skill being to figure out a creative way to deal with everything that smacks down into my path. Were I a sculptor of coffee cups I would naturally be drawn to this philosophy of design. If the cup isn’t perfect, crush it. Then it looks intentional. Then people like me come along and go this is just what I feel like today and if they have the need, as I do, to make each action in their life organic and connected they have no alternative other than to pop down the coin for the cup.
This beauty has no other manufacturing marks than simply “Japan”. Of course, it was the 1960’s.
May you also see the day out of cockeyed eyes so you notice something new and wonderful to be grateful for.
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Not quite sure why no chair was provided for the female of the species as by the time this photo was taken for this vintage Hamm’s beer sign in the late ’70’s feminism had surely raised its voice loud enough to demand equality in seating arrangements. At least they’ve got a few beers to tip back this Valentine’s Day so her muscles won’t cramp in that position. Maybe one of her gifts to him is a pedicure. In addition to candy and flowers I hope one of his gifts to her is a nice, comfortable chair.
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These were all the rage among crafters in the 1950s and continue to bring joy to Kitsch lovers who don’t like staring at plain wine or liquor bottles. Most popular canine colors were white, gray and black. They usually came with accent color noses and button or rhinestone eyes, in this case both. If the crafter was very industrious Fifi also had knit or felt red lips and a jeweled collar.
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Long before it was de rigueur for refrigerators to come equipped with automatic ice makers a contraption like this hung in almost every kitchen in the world allowing homemakers to crush fine or coarse ice without lifting a hammer, the previous method of accomplishing such a thing.
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My favorite Sundays are when I entertain and this golf ball corkscrew has been held in the hands of almost every brunch guest who’s ever been over here. It’s as close as anyone will get to a golf course around here as the only use I have for golf balls and clubs are as bar accessories as seen here or as found objects in my art and sculptures. Like this series of Arnold Palmer Golf Hat & Coat Racks I made in 1987.
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Only 5″ long and less than 1″ high, this solid brass puppy weighs a ton. For years he sat on my desk atop my most important notes, making me less resentful of going through the stacks of papers he kept in place while I procrastinated going through them every day. One day he fell on the floor and I noticed how strangely shaped his little feet were. Only then, after almost 20 years of being a paper protector, did I realize the dachshund was, in fact, a bottle cap opener on his front legs and a can opener in the rear.
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The package reads “Let’s try homeparty fashionably and have a joyful chat with nice fellow.” And all it takes is a straw! For years after I co-wrote the Friends theme song I received gifts that had the word ‘friend’ as part of their title. Without question, these Fujinami flexstraws are one of my favorites. Who could resist sucking on such sage advice?
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Between Van McCoys’s huge 1975 hit, “The Hustle”, and the proliferation of that decade’s gay clubs and discos, especially in New York and LA, negative connotations of the word ‘hustle’ and its older sister ‘hustling’ melted away in a fog of polyester shirts and glitter eye shadow to become one of the most popular colloquialisms of the day. ‘No Hustling Allowed’ was printed on jean patches, underwear and, thankfully, this mirror as well as anything else that could be sold in a catalog, novelty or souvenir shop.
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These Party Pics were all the rage in the 1950s – women poised to fulfill male fantasies, their high heels spiking popular canapés like Pigs In Blankets, Bacon Wrapped Olives and other fanciful party faire born in modern kitchens powered by the postwar Atomic mentality of style and convenience.
My favorite thing about these Pickers is how the end of the women’s hair pokes out from behind her shoulder almost looking like another arm. Or maybe the end of a scarf. Or maybe just another sharp point to spike a raisin, caper or some other miniscule hors d’oeuvre enhancement.
These Party Pickers were all the rage in the 1950s – women poised to fulfill male fantasies, their high heels spiking popular canapés like Pigs In Blankets, Bacon Wrapped Olives and other fanciful party faire born in modern kitchens powered by the postwar Atomic mentality of style and convenience.
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Poodle anything almost instantly qualifies as Kitsch. This one is a double K because for years I thought it was a pitcher until I finally went to use it and the canine started hemorrhaging lemonade from its back. I was upset because I’ve never noticed any hairline fractures but upon closer examination I discovered it wasn’t a pitcher at all but, rather, a bank!
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