We define ourselves in many ways. In a manner of speaking, we are what we display to others and to ourselves. How we appear and what we choose to do when out and about sends a variety of mixed messages, of course.
As a self-proclaimed spokesperson for the more reclusive members of our tribe, however, I’m of the opinion that it’s what you display to yourself at home, in your cave, that best defines the inner you. It’s your books, CDs, DVDs, and wall trash. It’s the contents of your pantry and your liquor cabinet and humidor and refrigerator. Ah yes, the refrigerator.
I’m not sure if it’s an altar or a shrine. The distinction currently escapes me. One thing is for sure, however: I assume a reverent pose whenever I pass its way which is quite often. The space in question is my refrigerator door — or to be more precise, the door to the freezer portion, which on this model sits on top.
I assume that the entire process began quite innocently. Perhaps with a note to myself attached to the fridge by the only refrigerator-door magnet I owned at the time a panorama of the St. Mary Lake region of Glacier National Park. I’m not sure what happened to it. Possibly I ate it, along with the note!
Whatever its evolutionary trek, the door and the magnet-rich collage to which it plays host have become, if I do say so myself, a work, if not of art, at least of craft.
Requisite photos of family, friends, and dogs are juxtaposed with those of rock-art panels, a gallery of Irish writers, and assorted collectibles. Possibly, it has archeological value. We are what we plaster on the fridge. An inventory of the stuff just might shed some light.
The central piece, the one that most draws-in the eye, is a flyer announcing the 50th anniversary celebration of Allen Ginsberg’s first ever public reading of his epic poem “Howl.” The event, held down at the main library in Salt Lake back in October of 2005, proved to be a wingding for the ages. The depiction of a young Ginsberg in pencil or ink or, maybe charcoal (as if I would know), dominates the space.
One of the first photos to gain entrée has brother McGee, son Smokey, sister Mary Beth, her husband Billy, and father Bob casually posing in the rear parking lot of Dodger Stadium. Bob liked to park for a quick exit, which meant you had to hike a good couple of miles after the game dodging stampeding traffic before arriving at the car. It was all about peripheral vision.
Two of my favorite images were taken at the “Head of Sinbad” pictograph panel in the San Rafael Swell by noted rock art photographer Kimberly Stevens first in close-up and then as part of a composite that included her two artistic muses, Chaco and Trigger. The central figure in the panel, known as the “Skeleton Shaman,” may well be the most striking example of “Barrier Canyon Style” rock art anywhere.
Another quite interesting shot is an improvisation within the “silhouette” form taken at Goblin Valley of the photographer’s shadow and that of a relatively portly passerby. This piece and “Still Life Labradoodle” are from the Barbara Games Collection at the Museum of Postmodern Art.
The sole “bumper sticker” to make the cut came from “Pono Market” in Kapaa, Kauai. One of those “break your jaw, bra!” local’s hangouts, Pono consistently provides the finest fresh Ahi “Poke” on the windward side of the Garden Isle. Smokey, bless him, has been known to empty his wallet there more than once.
Memory no longer serves as to where I acquired the poster containing the photos of Irish authors, but it’s a pretty cool collection. You’ve got Jonathan Swift, William Butler Yeats, Brendan Behan (where Smokey acquired his middle name), Samuel Becket, James Joyce, George Bernard Shaw, Oscar Wilde, Seán O’Casey, and the hilarious Flann O’Brien, among a few others.
A great cut-out of a jaunty James Joyce out for a stroll also has a place of prominence. It’s the only “Happy Bloomsday” card I ever received and, appropriately, it came from the creative director for the “Saggitarian Drag Ball,” Carole Fontana. And let’s not forget the most recent addition to the gallery, a cool copy of the Everett Ruess blockprint of “Square Tower House” at Mesa Verde.
Then there are the magnets which, with grand landscape and musical virtuosity, keep the themes, whatever they are, tied together in this psychic fingerprint. They have a certain je ne sais quoi about them a “sticktuitiveness,” you could say.
You get a moon through Delicate Arch, a moose in a marsh near Mt. Moran, a Thomas Moran painting of the “Grand Canyon with Rainbow,” lower Calf Creek falls, two different takes on Cathedral Valley in Capitol Reef, and the waterfall feature at Red Butte Garden.
There are also three LP album cover magnets featuring Ray Charles, Fats Waller, and “Bird and Diz,” plus a somewhat moderistic take on on jazz combo performing at Minton’s Playhouse in Harlem, the birthplace of “Be-bop.”
And that’s about it for the freezer door and its anthropological identity implications — unless you were to actually open it, and then all bets would indeed be off. You wouldn’t want the unique and numbered bottle of “Patron” to escape, now would you.
Jay Meehan is a culture junkie and a free-lance writer with a background in commercial and community radio, among other pursuits. He has been a columnist and feature writer for various Park City publications going back to 1973.