The Brumby Rocker is more than a chair company in Marietta, it's a legacy since 1875.
Hand crafted from Appalachian Red Oak and hand caned in a distinctive herringbone design, this over-sized chair has been a fixture for the large porches adorning large houses and manor houses of the historic south.
Stands to reason that a flock of these "large" rockers would be overseen by a "big" chicken.
A piece of art for exhibition
"You 'nailed it'!" Amber stated when she saw my graphite drawing with convincing hair and fur cap.
With that, she accepted my portrait for her show entitled "About Face".
This drawing was made in a class taught by Texas artist Maureen Killaby, mentioned in a previous blog. So, credit must also be shared with her.
I don't know the name of the photographer nor the model. So, I've named her Natasha.
Come see Natasha at the Markay Gallery on Marietta's First Friday Art Walk, March 9
"Frankly Scarlet ..."
This sketch is taken directly from the popular poster promoting the classic Gone with Wind. I thought it fitting to have "Cluck Gable" with an attitude replace Rhett Butler romancing Scarlet, while Atlanta burns.
Southern Fried Pride
... this image really did come to me at night in my sleep. My giggling woke me up. The thought of the much photographed scene of the cannon at Kennesaw National Battlefield, but behind the cannon stood a Big Chicken infantryman and his regiment of big chickens armed to repel the invaders from the north. ' Just had to sketch that image at my bedside table before I could fall back asleep.
I've shown this final drawing of this sketch at a number of exhibitions and received similar giggles. It started me on a search for other places around Marietta area to insert the Big Chicken. If you, the viewer, have other ideas of where the Big Chicken should wander, please let me know. Nothing is too outlandish!
In the shadow of the "Big Chicken"
When my bride and I first came to Marietta in 1974, we "landed" literarily near the shadow of Marietta's enduring landmark, the "Big Chicken". Pine Forest Apartments was everything newlyweds could want: a small home made of brick with hardwood floors, built around a floor furnace, large enough to hold meager start-up furnishings. A tiny lawn sheltered by Oaks out front to meet new friends who spoke with a drawl. A parking lot out back with a clothes line to hang laundry to dry in the welcome southern sun.
Conveniently located on "The Fo Lane Highway" on the outskirts of Marietta, across from Kmart, we newly arrived "yankees" soon became aware that nearby stood a proud trail marker for all those traveling North and South between Cartersville and Atlanta, or East and West between Roswell and Marietta. A weird icon which serves the south's finest culinary staple - fried chicken - from a garish but beloved 56 foot tower with movable eyes, comb and lips. Visible to all around, the Big Chicken had, long before we arrived, become the geographical compass center from which directions could be referenced.
I mention this to introduce the visitor some new additions to my website gallery of what I now call the "Big Chicken series". Just posting these whimsical drawings that "landed" in my brain with a giggle, literally, while I lay sleeping 8 years ago.
Test, this is a test
With the olympics upon us, this is a repeat of the image I sent out previously, but apparently published on the wrong Facebook page. Trying to correct my mistake with my own "blog" recollection of my participating in our own neighborhood winter olympics on the hill near Becker's Barn.
For those receiving this for a second time, sorry for the repitition.
New tricks for an old dog
Today my website coach called to my attention that, since early January, I have been publishing my posts on my Personal Facebook page rather than my Business FB page "Bill Needs, Artist". This has resulted in numerous people not having received recent posts.
So, over the next few weeks, I hope to resend some of these posts, with my apologies to those who might receive these as duplicates.
It seems appropriate that this revelation occurs today, "New Years Day, the Year of the Dog". Brings to mind the adage of not being able to teach an "old dog new tricks." Well, just goes to show ya.
Happy New Year
Zion, the Musical, was a play commissioned by Theater in the Square, and first performed in Marietta describing a time near the end of the Civil War. It was decided that 88 former slaves, who had attended their masters' First Baptist Church of Marietta, should receive a piece of property nearby and be encouraged to start their own church.
I want to avoid citing pieces of history without any historical "fact-check". What I do know is that the story and music of this play was moving, memorable and harmonious, and still carries a message today to people representing a wide range of cultures.
Zion, the original church structure built in 1888, stands just off the Square, housing the "Old Zion Heritage Museum" with stories of the significant contribution local African-Americans made to the history of Marietta. Zion Baptist Church stands nearby, still influencing the spiritual, civic and social growth and development of the community it serves.
This month, it seems a fitting time to respectfully revisit this reality.
Neighborhood kids sledding down the hill at Becker's Farm in Ohio became too tame as winter went on. Trying to stand on a sled like on a surf board ultimately led to removing the boards altogether to stand on the runners like Life Magazine pictures we had seen of skiers. Pop caught me one day in one of many spectacular falls. Fearing I would be impaled by my own sled he finally relinquished to get me a long-desired pair of skis as a Christmas present, probably when I was 11.
My first skis were maybe 7 feet long, strips of varnished maple, turned up at one end (no doubt to differentiate front and back for the novice). Attached metal fittings were held leather thongs that strapped over the toe of my goulashes. Nothing held the heel. My introduction to skiing! A successful run was to careen down Becker's Hill with no poles, heels sliding side to side, and arrive at the bottom ... still standing.
Late in the winter we went in search of the "perfect hill" beneath power lines which had been cleared of trees and foliage, about a 4 mile bike ride from home and 1/2 mile hike back from the nearest gravel road. For one person to ski this hill required three other kids: one to kneel at the front of the skis, another to hold the butt of the skier as he got settled into the bindings, and one to stand on the tail of the skis. When ready, the skier would count down and all would jump out of the way to watch the white cloud of snow gather speed down the hill, jump a three-foot stream at the bottom of the hill, only then to fall and slide to a stop before running into a barbed wire fence. Great Fun, to get up laughing, slap the snow off our woolen clothes, then climb the hill for the next skier to strap in and try to repeat the event!
Now, witnessing the pressure and expense and hype for Olympic skiers, I wonder if they ever experienced the pure joy of just playing in the snow, like mine and my buddies!