Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.

Monday, May 17, 2004

Fritz sez...

I’ve been wondering about the extent to which the artwork and other display objects in one's office give a hint about the personality of its occupant.

Surely there’s something to this. For example, in my office there are no poster-sized photographs of kittens, and there never will be.

Anyway, the idea seemed like an apt subject for a compare-and-contrast exchange among bloggers. [...]

Hmmm. Well, seeing as how several of you have expressed a desire to see the spiderhole where I work, I figure this is as good a chance as any to show you. I just got our ancient digital camera out of the file cabinet (Sony Mavica MVC-FD92 -- Interpolated 1.6 Megapixel Images!) snapped a few, and set up a photo album on my Yahoo account. (Posting images on here is a bit too kludgy for me, so I'll just give you the links and let you click over.)

First up, a small token of the frustration of working in a bureaucracy. This is directly in front of my desk. Underneath it is the office chair where I imagine you are sitting as I talk to you.

Next, behind the door, artifacts of a day six years ago when Rebecca and Jonathan came to spend the day with me. That coathanger on the doorknob is genuine plastic.

Third up, a look at my drawing table. Yes, I still actually draw things with pencils and markers and stuff. (I'm not really part of the high-tech cognoscenti.) Stuff you can see in the shot include some paper, more paper, and some paper. The tall stick-looking thing is a tall stick, which also converts to a wide stick when held sideways. I use it now to push the upper sash of the window closed so I can lock it. It came off the front of the drafting table when I mounted the metal drawing roll on the edge. (The metal tube that keeps paper rolled up and free of creases when you flop your huge belly over the table.) The two things pinned to the wall are a couple of figure-ground studies I did for fun of the downtown area. Yeah, I know, I'm a barrel of fun. Over to the right on the floor are a stack of various park-type design studies. Underneath the table is a sheet of plywood useful for converting the table into a bed.

Nextly, the view out said fifth floor window towards the east. The gray lady in the background is the Courthouse, and the park is Linn Park. The dark lines running across the picture are the venetian blinds inside the window. It's a pretty day today.

Fifth, the wall just to the left of the whole nerve center of this operation. ON there you see my calendar of purty Eyetalian places, my push-pin clock, photos of kids doing kidly things, cartoons carrying various architectural themes (heavy on Far Side ones), a drawing of Notre Dame du Haut, more paper, some paper, a small stuffed husky dog (under the calendar, next to the stolen harmon/kardon speaker), a stack of paper, and some drawings. On paper.

Sixth, some of the really fine artwork I am blessed to view every day. "The Rain Fish" by famous artist, Boy Oglesby, done at the tender age of seven years. One of his earliest works exploring chiarascura and the vibrancy of natural piscine jewel-tones, rendered in a striking proto-realist fashion. Available for acquisition, signed by artist. Offers beginning at $4,000,000.

And what would a trip to my office be without a picture of me?! In this one, Boy Oglesby exhibits a stunning sense of proportionlessness, allowing his paint to fill his thoughts and movements with a fury and creativity unbounded by mere draftsmanship. Note the gigantically-sized head, perched atop a body impossibly thin, the right arm beefy and muscular, the left delicate and sensitive--a thrilling composition showing the attributes of incredible intelligence, strength, and tenderness. Truly a masterwork. Not offered for acquistion.

Anyway, that there's what it looks like around here. I'll be having more pictures up another time when I can get the camera out of the drawer.

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