FAULKNER!

March 16, 2016

I see these images side by side sometimes in the thumbnails. Today's view from the porch looks almost identical to yesterday's.  I really hope that if I do make it all the way to next Winter Solstice (I'm gonna capitalize that because I want to..) and install all of the photos that the subtle differences will be what the art/the installation is all about.  The reflection of the sun on the house, the shadows on the roof, the shadows on the palms.. Every one is different.  

In my dream this morning there were two distinct scenes.  One was my overhearing someone talking about William Schallert.  Schallert was the president of the Screen Actors Guild when I joined and had my first TV series back in the seventies. I had a question about session fees and made an appointment to ask him about this problem.  He was open and attentive and explained things as one professional to another.  He has remained a pal and we've chatted on the phone or seen one another occasionally over these many years.  In my dream, I was telling the other person what a great guy Bill is. I even became emotional about it.  Deep feelings. He'll be 94 in July.  Being treated like a peer by the likes of this kind man makes being an actor who is not so well known feel very special.  

Also in my dream I was with my dear friend, Ken Rugg.  Rugg is only 82, but is now in the land of memory loss and is fortunate to have his daughter, Shelley, looking out for him.  In my dream, Rugg was somewhat grizzled and shorn.  He may have been in a wheel chair.  This is probably spinning off of looking in the rear view mirror of my VW bus yesterday and seeing a guy with a white beard and glasses who closely resembled Rugg.  In my dream I was behind and to the left of him. I told him that I loved him. He called me 'Fred.'.. but even in his memory loss, the last time I saw him and when we have chatted on the phone, he still remembered me. In my dream he smiled at his own joke.  

Reading The Light in August by William Faulkner.  The man is a poet. This novel is starting out with the young heroine trudging along the rutted red dirt roads of Alabama; knocked up by a guy who may or may not be on the run from responsibility.  Faulkner's vernacular is palpable and the language of the deep, deep south, the prejudices and the dust are all just hanging in the stillness of the stillness.  

michaelsheehan

March 16, 2016