Photographic Evidence

OK--I'm not kidding when I said I sculpt busts of screaming men.  I do need to amend "screaming" to something like "extremely worried" men, though--at least in these photos.  I'm bad about photographing my work--I made a gorgeous card for my niece-in-law's baby shower and fortunately was able to coerce my niece Corinne into taking a snap at the actual event (which I'm sorry I wasn't able to attend although I AM glad I  missed out on the Smell the Baby Poop party game). 

Back when we didn't know any better, I had scrawled "Fredman #1  5/28/83" on the reverse of this one. 

This is a much more improved bust, Fredman #2, part of my "Extremely Worried" period.  My sister Sally has this one.  They got better over the years but now that I'm happily married and retired, my need to express myself through clay has gone away, hopefully just for a little while.  That's how I am with my artistic endeavors--I need to get a certain "feeling" in my hands before I can do something.  These days, it's all directed at the computer.  Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.

Now, the pimp-a-liciousness.  That's moi (the gal on the right) at King Arthur's Lounge in San Francisco in the early 70's.  That's my sister Sally and her first husband, Curly, and Earl, the "baby pimp" I dated prior to moving on to the "major pimps."  Please notice the requisite rabbit coat, heavy blue eye shadow and bleached blonde hair.  Sally looks like a fresh-faced virginal peasant girl next to me.  (Ha!).

Here's a poem I wrote, dated 8/13/73, when I was deep in the pimp thang:

Sweet mack -

Player man.

Clothed in the rags of

  machismo.

Society hates you

  for doin' what you do--

Society envies you, 'cause

  you got the Game.

Sweet mack -

Player man.

Diamonds drippin' like raindrops

  from the bad black clouds of

  your fingertips.

Dressed in colors that put peacocks

  to shame,

Ridin' in rides fit for a king . . .

Your flash is blinding

  And it's all in your game.

Sweet, sweet, SWEET mack -

Words laden with honey.

Always catching, bumping, trying to score.

Player man: what's your future for?

And for something completely different--here's me and Boss Man after we'd won 5th place at a Northern California horse show.  Would have been about 1968.  Believe me when I tell you those hills are now covered with multi-million dollar homes.

I wish I could find the photos of me and Mustang Eddie with us both wearing pimp hats--and then there's the one of me in the platinum blonde Afro wig . . .