column one of one
T I M T E W ' S N E W Z R E W M
I was tempted to name this section, "The Snooze Room", but decided to go for cleverness instead of accuracy. All of these clippings date from the summer of 1979 when, after trying unsuccessfully for three years, I was finally juried into the world famous Festival of Arts located in Laguna Beach, California. The Festival used a point system awarded by a panel of judges and soon after they perused the unattended works put on temporary display, the point totals were posted on a public bulletin board located on the Festival grounds. Of the nearly 500 entries that year, my score earned me a spot along the main walkway leading to the other event for which the Festival is internationally renown. Namely the special open-air theater and stage where real people are dressed (and sometimes undressed) according to their meticulous and entirely authentic depiction of famous paintings.
For those not familiar with the annual event, historical paintings are recreated live and on stage by actors, realistic props, and perfect lighting to achieve the look and drama of the actual artworks themselves. It's quite the big deal and to this day draws scores of thousands to the small, beachfront community. Surrounding the theater are the individual sales and display booths, built by the artists themselves, which also attract thousands of visitors, art buyers, and curiosity seekers alike.
My favorite story from that all-too-brief summer pertains to the problems caused by the crowds who would frequently gather around my particular booth, where people enjoyed looking at the variety of pieces I had on display. My particular exhibit space (and several others as well) were located along a thoroughfare that led to the only entrance into the main theater area of the Festival grounds. Each evening as visitors arrived for the "show", they would invariably stop by my booth to gawk at my wares.
Since many paintings were there to look at, and most required more than a mere glance to appreciate, the somewhat narrow walkway would become routinely congested by the lookie-loos who, instead of moving on (as was usually the case in past years), chose to remain and inadvertently block the pathway. Like a street where too much traffic prevents others from passing, this almost nightly occurrence drew the attention of friends and foes alike. As one of the more popular artists at the Festival that year, I also attracted the attention of local, and not-so-local newspapers. Even the Festival itself put out a special press release about me and my exhibit. I was very flattered at the time. My future problems arose, however, from a sense of humility that was both misplaced and inopportune. But that's another story for another day.
In addition to an appearance on a local TV station, the fragments of personal history shown below offer a quick glance at how fame and fortune require more than publicity alone. Under other circumstances and managed by other people, perhaps, all of this should have launched my career once and for all. Some of my work was subsequently displayed at the MGM Grand hotel and casino in Las Vegas, later that same year. All of it for naught, as some might say -- me included.
Inherently shy, a bit withdrawn at the time, very insecure and totally clueless about the worlds of business and marketing, I had only my half-brother, Ron Tarentella and friend Bill Setting (who was also my manager) to rely on for all future dealings and direction. None of us really knew what we were doing because the art world, similar to its literary counterpart, is its own realm of "who" to know, "what" to do, and "how" to play the game. Although Fate had other plans for me, it seems, I never cry over spilt paint.
By the way, my second favorite story from this period involves my good friend, Brian Davis. I'm sure he won't mind my sharing this quick little anecdote that demonstrates how life takes many strange and often bizarre turns. We can never know if the choices that we select, miss, or ignore were for the better or worse,
but they're always interesting to ponder. In this particular case, Brian and I had been best chums from our early school years, but eventually lost contact and hadn't seen or heard from each other in over forty years. Well, that's not exactly true.
In the summer of 1979, Brian happened by the Festival of Arts in Laguna Beach and saw my booth, which was unoccupied at the time. That was strike one, so to speak, missing him on the Festival grounds themselves. Strike two came in the form of a phone call, from Brian, to my apartment in Dana Point. I was taken aback for many reasons, none the least of which was the fact that I had only recently seen a newspaper article on Brian himself, in which he and a business partner were doing quite well with a printing house they owned and operated. The two were already far ahead of me in the art game and I knew it. Privately envious of Brian's success and not knowing what to think or say, due largely to my own ineptitude, the brief phone exchange between us was little more than a friendly reunion, with a promise to get together one day soon. A day that never came.
The story reminds me a lot of the song by Harry Chapin, "The Cats in the Cradle". Maybe you know some of the lyrics. The words describe a lifetime of procrastinations, where the truly important things in life are forever put off in favor of doing stuff we think is important. Or can be put off until later. Strike three crossed the plate for me when, some fifty years later since our schoolyard days, Brian and I became reacquainted after he found me while doing an internet search. Although we've never physically met as of this writing, we've enjoyed many phone calls, countless emails, and even a few business dealings.
The last strike I mentioned was in reference to how, forty years earlier, in 1979, Brian had really wanted us to meet up. He told me how disappointed he was that we never got together. Especially because he had wanted to explore the idea of us working jointly in some capacity. His business was doing well and he felt I might make a good addition to the team -- if it was something that could be worked out between us. At the time, I had hung up the phone too soon. Probably about five minutes too soon. Minutes that would have changed everything. Brian subsequently went on to become one of the planet's great (and most famous) floral painters whose works are shown in galleries throughout the world. It is an honor to know him, to call him a friend, and be thought of as one.
I still look forward to that meeting with Brian one day. So what if I'm a little late to the party. In the meantime, I included this section on the site because I think these kind of personal stories are not only fascinating to those who care, but since so much of my work is on display, it seems only fitting that the stuff be framed by the history that surrounds it. Thanks for listening.
For those not familiar with the annual event, historical paintings are recreated live and on stage by actors, realistic props, and perfect lighting to achieve the look and drama of the actual artworks themselves. It's quite the big deal and to this day draws scores of thousands to the small, beachfront community. Surrounding the theater are the individual sales and display booths, built by the artists themselves, which also attract thousands of visitors, art buyers, and curiosity seekers alike.
My favorite story from that all-too-brief summer pertains to the problems caused by the crowds who would frequently gather around my particular booth, where people enjoyed looking at the variety of pieces I had on display. My particular exhibit space (and several others as well) were located along a thoroughfare that led to the only entrance into the main theater area of the Festival grounds. Each evening as visitors arrived for the "show", they would invariably stop by my booth to gawk at my wares.
Since many paintings were there to look at, and most required more than a mere glance to appreciate, the somewhat narrow walkway would become routinely congested by the lookie-loos who, instead of moving on (as was usually the case in past years), chose to remain and inadvertently block the pathway. Like a street where too much traffic prevents others from passing, this almost nightly occurrence drew the attention of friends and foes alike. As one of the more popular artists at the Festival that year, I also attracted the attention of local, and not-so-local newspapers. Even the Festival itself put out a special press release about me and my exhibit. I was very flattered at the time. My future problems arose, however, from a sense of humility that was both misplaced and inopportune. But that's another story for another day.
In addition to an appearance on a local TV station, the fragments of personal history shown below offer a quick glance at how fame and fortune require more than publicity alone. Under other circumstances and managed by other people, perhaps, all of this should have launched my career once and for all. Some of my work was subsequently displayed at the MGM Grand hotel and casino in Las Vegas, later that same year. All of it for naught, as some might say -- me included.
Inherently shy, a bit withdrawn at the time, very insecure and totally clueless about the worlds of business and marketing, I had only my half-brother, Ron Tarentella and friend Bill Setting (who was also my manager) to rely on for all future dealings and direction. None of us really knew what we were doing because the art world, similar to its literary counterpart, is its own realm of "who" to know, "what" to do, and "how" to play the game. Although Fate had other plans for me, it seems, I never cry over spilt paint.
By the way, my second favorite story from this period involves my good friend, Brian Davis. I'm sure he won't mind my sharing this quick little anecdote that demonstrates how life takes many strange and often bizarre turns. We can never know if the choices that we select, miss, or ignore were for the better or worse,
but they're always interesting to ponder. In this particular case, Brian and I had been best chums from our early school years, but eventually lost contact and hadn't seen or heard from each other in over forty years. Well, that's not exactly true.
In the summer of 1979, Brian happened by the Festival of Arts in Laguna Beach and saw my booth, which was unoccupied at the time. That was strike one, so to speak, missing him on the Festival grounds themselves. Strike two came in the form of a phone call, from Brian, to my apartment in Dana Point. I was taken aback for many reasons, none the least of which was the fact that I had only recently seen a newspaper article on Brian himself, in which he and a business partner were doing quite well with a printing house they owned and operated. The two were already far ahead of me in the art game and I knew it. Privately envious of Brian's success and not knowing what to think or say, due largely to my own ineptitude, the brief phone exchange between us was little more than a friendly reunion, with a promise to get together one day soon. A day that never came.
The story reminds me a lot of the song by Harry Chapin, "The Cats in the Cradle". Maybe you know some of the lyrics. The words describe a lifetime of procrastinations, where the truly important things in life are forever put off in favor of doing stuff we think is important. Or can be put off until later. Strike three crossed the plate for me when, some fifty years later since our schoolyard days, Brian and I became reacquainted after he found me while doing an internet search. Although we've never physically met as of this writing, we've enjoyed many phone calls, countless emails, and even a few business dealings.
The last strike I mentioned was in reference to how, forty years earlier, in 1979, Brian had really wanted us to meet up. He told me how disappointed he was that we never got together. Especially because he had wanted to explore the idea of us working jointly in some capacity. His business was doing well and he felt I might make a good addition to the team -- if it was something that could be worked out between us. At the time, I had hung up the phone too soon. Probably about five minutes too soon. Minutes that would have changed everything. Brian subsequently went on to become one of the planet's great (and most famous) floral painters whose works are shown in galleries throughout the world. It is an honor to know him, to call him a friend, and be thought of as one.
I still look forward to that meeting with Brian one day. So what if I'm a little late to the party. In the meantime, I included this section on the site because I think these kind of personal stories are not only fascinating to those who care, but since so much of my work is on display, it seems only fitting that the stuff be framed by the history that surrounds it. Thanks for listening.
The Capistrano Valley News
The Los Angeles Times
The Orange County Daily Pilot
The Orange County Register
Official Festival of Arts press release. Laguna Beach, CA. July, '79
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