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Volume 3, Issue 14
July 5 - July 18, 2001
ART
LIFT
Parasol finds a way to support art, make money,and live happily on the appetites of birds.
It's not quite enough to
say they're in the birdfeeder business.
That's like saying Frank Gehry is a builder.
Parasol makes art. Co-founders Alfredo García-Lucio
and Jim McKeever are firm believers
that a worthwhile object balances
form and function. A company mantra is
that an object which provides only one or
the other just gets in the way. As Jim
explains, "Our birdfeeder is designed to
bring beauty into the yard on its own
merit; it does not rely on the bird." As
though proving this point, a group of
these lovelies hang like vitreous fruits
from a iron tree in Parasol's whimsical
lobby. The only bird customer is, of
course, fake.
Jim and Alfredo meet me at Parasol headquarters,
which is, fittingly, in a refurbished
warehouse. Fitting because, after
all, much of what they do is receive,
store, and ship. But it's immediately
apparent that much more transpires here.
A staff of about 15 hurry about the business
of birdfeeders. Some are packing
feeders as carefully as you'd put a baby to
bed. Others are constructing a fiberglass
tree for displaying the brilliant glass orbs
at trade shows. A few are tracking orders.
But no matter how harried the individual,
the place offers calm. It seems everything
has been thought out, planned. Even
stacks of boxes and walls of glass possess
an order and a rhythm.
This kind of attention to detail does not
merely matter in this office; it is celebrated,
even worshipped. The office is
decked out in a pseudo-industrial, aluminum
and fake grass sort of way that
only an artist can pull off. Imperfect feeders
have been hung upside down as wall
vases. Squares of Astroturf once used in
store displays have been reclaimed as
wall decor.
And then there's the art.
Parasol has quietly grown a collection of
work by regional artists. Jim and Alfredo
buy what they like, aiming simply to "get
our employees surrounded by art."
Fortunately, the two partners say, they are
in tune when it comes to choosing pieces;
they buy only those that affect both of
them strongly. Jim allows that this big
open warehouse has been a wonderful
side benefit of the business, since it
allows them to collect larger pieces than
would fit at home.
The collection is varied, tied together by
their fondness for each and every work.
Many of the pieces do involve wing
imagery: appropriate, but not provably
intentional. There is David Zimmer's silvery
self-portrait, a riveting headshot
centered on a delicate Dürer drawing of
wings. There is, too, Ramon Guillen
Valmes' For a Last Trip: an enormous
buttery-looking wing made from strips of
wood veneer (that curl just like feathers!),
tipped with metal grommets and connected
to a cage-like metal cocoon/ seed pod.
A series composed of three blue birdies
and a text panel by Kimberlee Sullivan
similarly celebrates things with wings.
Other artists represented at Parasol
include Dale Chisman, Tracy Weil, Mark
Sink, and Kokko Aoyama. Each piece
elicits excitement from the two owners,
who genuinely love to talk about artists
and art.
Jim and Alfredo really believe in supporting
local artists. Alfredo stresses that
"there's nothing wrong with posters or
prints, but if you can get the same inspiration
from your neighbor, then that's
even better." They count many of the
artists represented in their collection as
friends and take an active role in the local
arts scene in other ways, such as serving
on the board of the Museum of
Contemporary Art/ Denver.
Alfredo is himself an artist. Prior to
Parasol, he studied and worked in a
dizzying array of creative fields including
architecture, interior design, fashion
design, and photography. It was his successful
Garden Follies standing birdfeeders/
planters created for the Botanic
Gardens' BirdHaus Bash which
inspired them to search for commercial
possibilities in bird feeders. Jim was at
the time working as trade specialist for
the State of Colorado, and so had the
business knowledge to make Alfredo's
labor-intensive feeder designs the seeds
of a viable company. Parasol's first product
was the Seed Trumpet, a 14-inch-tall
seed dispenser with a surrounding ledge
that overall looks something like a wizard's
hat. On a leap of faith, they had 900
Trumpets manufactured and shipped to
the first Parasol headquarters: their
garage. Five years later, Jim estimates
Parasol has shipped hundreds of thousands
feeders nationwide.
Success has been sweet, but not easy.
Both men believe in doing things non-traditionally,
which often means more
effort. Invitations to trade shows are often
handstitched. But very human touches
like that are also what sets them apart. As
Jim explains it, "We did what we wanted.
We created what we'd like to receive."
Parasol also owes much of its success to
plain old dogged determination. Jim and
Alfredo worked (and still work) non-stop.
Jim says at first they were shocked at how
much they had to drop out of life. And
whether they continue with the business
is a daily question. "So far," Jim said,
"the answer has been yes."
Kimberly Graham
Parasol birdfeeders are available at local
garden gift shops including Birdsalls.
EARLY DYLAN @
SINGER GALLERY
Mizel Arts Center in the Jewish
Community Center
350 S. Dahlia, Denver
303-316-6360
Through August 26
That's the year I was born," my friend says as
we examine a 1964 photo of Bob Dylan. A few minutes later, enthralled, she whispers, "These are
some amazing pictures."
The Singer Gallery's Early Dylan photo
exhibit is part of a multi-day, multifaceted
celebration organized to mark the
60th birthday of the man born Robert
Zimmerman, Jewish, in Minnesota. The
year was 1941, the time of Holocaust.
There were no Dylan tunes playing in the
background at the gallery opening, but
that was okay. I suspect most of us had
soundtracks running in our heads.
The photos are in black-and-white, often
stark, sometimes candid, or at least
unposed. The earliest shots, from 1963
when the singer was 22, are absolutely
remarkable for that fact alone: Dylan
seems unaware of the camera's presence.
His face is open, relaxed, totally unguarded,
in one case lit with a smile backstage
at the Newport Folk Festival with Joan
Baez, in another pensively cuddling with
early girlfriend Suze Rotolo (both shots
by Jim Marshall).
From that point forward, the transformation begins. Dark glasses here, a slight
sneer there, lots of intense eye-contact in
the captured glance, a seering gaze, as if
meaning can be telegraphed through the
lens. Even before "going electric" (his
highly controversial shift from acoustic
folk music to rock instrumentation in
1965) Bob Dylan
had adapted a pop-star
persona, an
awareness of being
in the public eye
and a willingness to
utilize even those
moments.
Why look at early
pictures of a folk
singer/ rock musician/
poet? Is this
voyeurism? A walk
down memory
lane? Mental jog for
aging boomers?
The internal Dylan-crafted
soundtrack
in my own head
was my reason to
see these photos.
From this distance in time, how to
describe the initial impact of that voice,
those lyrics? How to explain the dramatic
intensity of minimal guitar chords and
one sobbing harmonica? Like people so
young they supposedly don't know Paul
McCartney was in "some other band"
before Wings, Bob Dylan has picked up
new listeners throughout the course of his
career, listeners who have followed him
forward. While that's a logical course
when tracking a musician whose 1965
documentary was titled Don't Look Back
(showing on July 8 at the Shwayder
Theatre as part of the Dylan tribute),
looking and listening back on Dylan is
crucial.
If you've only
heard "The Times,
They Are
A'Changing" and
"Blowin' in the
Wind," grab some
full albums of the
early material.
Emerging from the
era of the civil
rights movement,
Dylan was as likely
to sing about poor,
desperate whites
(" Ballad of Hollis
Brown" or "North
Country Blues") as
he was to directly
address the civil
rights struggle or
the anti-war movement
(" Only a
Pawn in Their Game," "Hattie Carroll,"
"Masters of War," "A Hard Rain's A
Gonna Fall"). We tend to forget how
many of the songs are hilariously funny
or dryly pointed (" Highway 61
Revisited," "Bob Dylan's 115th Dream,"
"Motorpsycho Nightmare,"
"Leopardskin Pillbox Hat," "Black
Diamond Bay" and plenty more). And if
the "calf on barbed wire" vocal reputation
gives you pause, try "One More Cup of
Coffee."
Dylan's earliest social-protest songs and
his late '70s "Christian period" received
particular attention during "Gotta Serve
Somebody: Bob and God," a panel discussion
intended to address the moral,
political and religious themes that have
remained a constant presence in Dylan's
songs. Musician/ rabbi Jack Gabriel spoke
of Dylan as "an experiential mystic," a
wonderfully apt term. Gabriel, writer
Leland Rucker, poet Randy Roark and
gallery director Simon Zalkind (the driving
force behind the Dylan tribute) all
spoke of Dylan's ability to reinvent himself
with shape-shifter agility through the
years. His quests, shifts and insights often
paralleled and enunciated our own. That's
easily forgotten watching the chunky old
grizzled dude now seen picking up an
Academy Award for Best Song or receiving
black-tie tributes at Lincoln Center.
The photographs of young, charismatic
chameleon Dylan come from Barry
Feinstein, Daniel Kramer and Jim
Marshall, with additional shots from Dick
Waterman and Larry Hulst. Strange
memorabilia (" The Golden Gate Strings
do Dylan!") is supplied by collector Paul
Epstein.
Memory Lane or unmapped territory, this
is an exhibit bound to send some of us
straight to the music store.
Renna Shesso
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