A tinkling bell announces arrivals. Sights, scents lead to temptation, salvation. What to touch, what to taste? Answers lie half-hidden behind the counter, beckoning in tall glass cases.
Give us this day our daily bread A complement of diversity stands in service, ready to meet wants, needs. To the left, day-old offerings, To the right, shining richness. Extravagant decadence? Let them eat cake. Essential sustenance? Let them eat. Feed the hungry. Sate the beast.
Forgive us our trespasses Day passes. Resources dwindle. Redistribute across racks and shelves. Make it seem like more, or at least enough.
As we forgive those who trespass against us Toiling, feeding others so they can feed their own. Family, community, travelers. The lost.
And lead us not into temptation Who will be fulfilled? Who left wanting? Who will be left tomorrow?
The Cambria Center for the Arts offered local artists and writers the opportunity to collaborate for the current gallery exhibit. Painters created works, and writers composed a short accompanying piece. The only limit imposed was 250 words maximum. I selected a painting titled “Late for the Bakery” by artist Cindy Stiles. Her work set me thinking beyond bread and cake. I offer this poem entitled “Our Daily Bread.”
Late to the Bakery – Artist Cindy Stiles
Our Daily Bread
A tinkling bell announces arrivals. Sights, scents lead to temptation, salvation. What to touch, what to taste? Answers lie half-hidden behind the counter, beckoning in tall glass cases.
A complement of diversity stands in service, ready to meet wants, needs. To the left, day-old offerings, To the right, shining richness. Extravagant decadence? Let them eat cake. Essential sustenance? Let them eat. Feed the hungry. Sate the beast.
Day passes. Resources dwindle. Redistribute across racks and shelves. Make it seem like more, or at least enough.
Toiling, feeding others so they can feed their own. Family, community, travelers. The lost.
Who will be fulfilled? Who left wanting? Who will be left tomorrow?
Or the next day?
A tinkling bell announces departures. _________________________________________________
In addition to the gallery collaboration, photographer Nigel Paul (who I wrote about here) exhibits his stunning works of creatures who call the area home.
I woke to a sad message today. “Hi Mike. I want to reach out to you personally before we post on FB that Richard Dunne died last night. His heart gave out. Sumus was a joy in his life, as were you guys.”
This news was not unexpected, but still a bit tough to absorb. Richard and I go back to our very young days in the Bronx. We were passionate about the same thing – music. Richard was a gifted singer, actor, and guitar player with the look and charisma that made him the center of attention wherever he performed. In our early teens, we joined together with a couple of other local kids to form the band “Sumus,” where we all began our life-long habits/hobbies/professions/passions.
The band’s lineup changed a few times as we went through the joys and aggravations of learning how to make music together, and how to grow up in the changing era of the 1970s. We spent countless hours causing the living room chandelier to sway in drummer Richie Wood’s parent’s house on Loring Place. We enjoyed the good-natured bemusement of Mr. Wood’s New England – accented question, “how much more shit ya got in there?” as we struggled to load and unload band equipment, dragging it up the steep, narrow alleyway next to the house.
We spent a ton of time learning the songs of the day. Each member had a bit of a preference for different styles. Drummer Woody had studied under a jazz teacher, and his style of play showed that influence. Richard was a fan of the popular vocal groups of the time – notably Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. His pure tenor and great musicality gave him the flexibility to tackle even the most complex parts, and his stage training let him hide any vocal shortcomings with theatrical flair. As the band grew and changed, new members added new voices, colors, and musical skills to the collaboration. Singer Frank Roman, guitarist Michael Cunningham, guitarist/bassist Mike Monaco, pianist Jim Phillips, Hammond player Jim Tiernan, percussionist Allen, and maybe a few more that came and went. The band was always supported by the free-spirited and passionate Victor Ferrara, who never met a speaker cabinet he wouldn’t carry or a long drive in awful weather he wouldn’t make.
Some of our best times were summers spent in Fort Salem, New York, doing shows and playing gigs at the funky Fort Salem Summer Theater. So many memories, I think! Rich also included the band members in the productions he was involved in while attending Fordham University, another learning experience for us. He stayed close to many of the young actors he mentored and inspired.
Richard continued his theater career, performing across the region and later spreading to different parts of the country. He enjoyed a stint on the soap “Another World,” earning him the snarky but endearing title of “DDOG – Dick Dunne, Ordinary Guy.” Some of us still used that term over the decades, even though most of us only connected at funerals or reunions.
Over time I worked in a duo with Richard, he on guitar and vocals, and me on bass and bad vocals. We had some fun, made some pocket money, and met some new folks. One of the most consequential outcomes of this collaboration led to a life-changing event for me.
Richard was doing a show at a theater in Millbrook, New York. The theater had an after-show cabaret, featuring a great band led by singer Toni Glover. The group was looking to grow and expand, and Richard mentioned I might be a good fit. We played a few sets, and I auditioned for the band. I guess I passed because I was learning a whole new repertoire a short while later. I was also learning the names and personalities of the band members, which had grown with the addition of two female singers. After a rocky start and a lot of road time, I became close to the singer who, as I write this over forty years later, is upstairs, playing the piano. So, thanks, Rich.
I last saw Richard in person a few years back, playing at the LA dive bar The Oyster House with his group “The Drinks.” Over thirty years and three thousand miles from the dive bars of the Bronx, nothing had changed, at least not atmospherically. I walked into the bar dressed in a sport coat and slacks – not the usual attire for this establishment. I got the eye, the one we all probably gave to strangers who came into our local spots, and a very intoxicated and hostile guy asked me if I was “from the studio.” After talking to this odd dude, I decided to wait outside until the band took a break. I must note that I stopped drinking long ago and was out of bar shape. A few minutes later, a group of characters tumbled out the back door and approached me aggressively. Richard was among the mob and did not recognize me until I said, “I see nothing much has changed!” But in truth, a whole lot had changed. Me, older, fatter, balder. Richard older, balder, and minus a leg lost to diabetes.
He spent the last years of his life still singing and playing his heart out. The heart that finally gave out after years of illness and abuse.
Thanks for the music, the memories, and the friendships we share.
When we were young… Me, Richie Wood, Richard Dunne, Mike Monaco
For a person with minimal photography skills, I take a lot of pictures. Most will fall into the “so what?” category, filled with poorly framed generic shots of trees, clouds, people, the occasional animal, and shorelines that could be anywhere along the Central Coast of California. They will have little meaning to anyone other than myself. But still I snap away, not for any great artistic reason, nor as gathered testimony to a historical event of a searing moment. I do it to trigger my memory, tomorrow, next year, or whenever. I recently came across a series of pictures I took a few weeks before my wife and I began our transition from east coast to west.
Day Tripping
Over the years, we made day trips up the road to the Kent Falls area, a short drive from home. The Morrison Gallery was a favorite place to spend an hour or two, wandering the spacious, serene, and thoughtful spaces that homed fine art, contemporary painting, and sculpture. On this particular visit The Gallery featured playfully sculptured ravens hanging out on different pieces of discarded items, including old cans. For some reason, these pieces resonated with us. As we moved about the space, other, much larger sculptures, including life-sized pair of mountain lions and, outside in the garden, massive elephants drew us in . Many of the pieces, by artist Peter Woytuk, had been part of an installation around Manhattan.
I snapped away with my trusty cell, not holding out much hope that I would capture anything worthy of wall space in this, or any, art gallery. I remember the day, the feel of the wood floor under my feet, the room’s scent, and the colors and shapes of the art. I can retrace the route around the main hall, the small alcoves and rooms off to the side, and the never-failing streams of natural light shining in service of the artist’s vision. And I remember turning to speak with my wife and stopping, stilled by her beauty, equal to any display. She paid me no mind, her focus instead on the literature accompanying the exhibit.
Art and Craft
As weak as I am with a camera, I am equally good at being captured by the work of three artists who possess the eye, the soul, and the skills that force my heart to open and transport me to a place I may have never been, but through the grace of the artist, can easily imagine. I may not have stood where they stood or followed whatever spiritual beam led them to the perfect picture, but their art moves me personally.
I have sought and received permission to share a few examples of their work, and note the images here belong to them. As with all creatives, what appears in final form begins much differently. Art meets craft, imagination meets technique, and time, time, time is spent making what we get to see. Please enjoy the art, and respect the artists.
Nigel Paul
Nigel Paul represents a natural blend of Art and Craft. Nigel has an impressive history as a concert audio engineer, working with a roster of top-tier progressive rock musicians who compose and perform complex technical pieces, with virtuosos filling each position within the group. The audio engineer’s job is to translate the complexities into a clear output that delivers the breadth and depth of the artist’s composition and performance. Doing it well requires incredible technical skill, next-level focus, and a creative, musical mind that translates it all into the performance the audience hears.
Nigel’s photography reflects all of those characteristics. The detail he captures in his wildlife pictures is stunning. The feathered breast of the burrowing owl, the life in the eyes of the weasel, the complete intensity in the bobcat’s posture and glare – they are life. Imagine the time and patience it takes to find the spots where these animals live, then the stealth and skill needed to stop, wait, and carefully bring the camera to bear on creatures that are not likely to stand still for too long.
When I look at his collection, currently featured as part of San Luis Obispo County’s Cambria Public Library, I see the beauty and mystery of life in this part of California. His backgrounds and colors are reflective of the environment. I can smell the sage, hear the rustle of the dried grass, and in the distance, the faint roll of waves rushing around the shore.
In addition to his wildlife photos, Nigel is passionate about classic and unusual automobiles, as seen in the picture below. Please visit Nigel Paul Photography and enjoy his galleries.
When I need a New England fix, I look to Debbie Gracy’s photographs to fill my heart with beautiful, classic, and unique images. From her home base in Hollis, New Hampshire, Debbie sets out across the northeast’s back roads and byways, capturing uniquely American landscapes that bring me back home.
I have been blessed to know Debbie and her amazing family for twenty years and have been an eager observer of her development as an artist. I proudly feature four of her pieces in my home, including a pair of winter scenes, heavy wooden gates half buried in snow, either opened or closed. They are the first images I see as I enter the front door. Down a short flight of stairs hang two more of her photographs; happy sunflowers against a brilliant blue sky.
Through her images, I feel the chill of Autumn and the scents of Spring. The grass, the trees, and the vast skies look, feel and smell completely different from California. Debbie seems to stand a step or two aside, giving her captures a barely-noticeable offset perspective. Her work radiates wonder, happiness, curiosity, and always beauty. Which also describes Debbie’s artistic soul.
I have known Maureen since I was zero. My sister has a passion for photography, building a cache of images that feature brilliant seascapes and coastal hideaways from her beloved vacation retreat on Cape Cod. I love the way she captures the light that blankets the scenes below. Always a line of color and a sense of connection to the sea.
Maureen has been a fixture among the community of photographers and visual artists that live in the Northern New Jersey/New York corridor, displaying and winning awards for her striking images. Every year, brothers and sisters would drive to a small New Jersey town to see her work standing tall amidst an impressive gallery of visual artists.
“The Peacock” featured below hangs in my home, cased in a classic white frame that keeps the focus on the subject. It causes people to stop and wonder at the depth and detail captured by the lens, an extension of the eye and artist heart of the photographer.
Thank you to Nigel, Debbie, and Maureen for allowing me to feature your beautiful pictures. And thanks to all the others who capture moments and memories, whether by luck, determination, or good fortune. The world is a beautiful place indeed.
Thoughts From The Back Of The Room 