Art with a Story

By John Nieman

According to the popular song, Every picture tells a story. In this case, both disciplines come from the same sourcethe fertile imagination of John Nieman.
The pictures are original paintings that frequently nod to pop culture. The short stories are loosely based upon the images, often in an ironic, twisted way. The combination of art and stories runs the gamut from humorous to heroic, sad to surprising, whimsical to wonderful.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499077209

John Nieman

John Nieman, an accomplished artist and writer, has exhibited his paintings throughout the United States and in Europe. His first book of art and poetry, Art of Lists was published in 2007. He has published two novels, The Wrong Number One and Blue Morpho. In addition, he recently published a childen's book called The Amazing Rabbitini. Mr. Nieman lives in Dobbs Ferry, New York, and is the father of five children.

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by John Nieman.

ISBN:

   EBook   978-1-4990-7720-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission

in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 09/26/2014

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Table of Contents

Fresh Dice

See As You Have Never Seen

The Great Second Banana

Perfectly Placed Paddles

The Never-Before-Told History of Poolball

Born To Lose

Crushed

I believe

Tricks of the Trade

Apple Billiards

The Secret

Family Dodge

The Seemingly Spontaneous Tango

NYC/USA

Once, A Decent Dad

Kisses

The Last Bath

Ringing the Pool

Always A Villain

Proposal

One Accidentally Lucky Silver Bullet

The Affliction of Fine Art

A Picture Perfect Past

Are Your Ducks In A Row?

Barbed balloons

Used Board

Grandpa’s Balls

Good fortunes

All Or Nothing

One Bad Apple A Day

The Gift

Flower Power

Hot Stuff

The Hula Hoop Girls

Comparing Apples and Oranges

Crying Time

The One Who Did Not Quite Belong

Cycles

Famous

Flint Jackson and Other Cowboys

Home, Dark Home

The Domino Effect

Newport, 12:01 p.m.

Chip Off The Old Block

The Summer League

Return To Me

The Altered States of America

Pick Yourself Up

Buds

The Long and Winding Road

The Forbidden Fruit

A Nest Egg or Two

The Master of Overkill

Foggy Mountain Cornbread

Tangerine

A Prickly, But Wonderful Relationship

Let’s Just Call Them Small

Ms. Type A Discovers a Second Wind

Dear John,

Twenty-Seven Franks

Words Of Love

The Tryout

So Old Hat

Lemons on the Road

Chunky Charlie

Swinging For The Fences

The Last Straw

Aloha

Preface

First, a clarifying disclaimer: this is not an illustrated storybook.

As the title implies, the art came first—in some cases, by several years. In most cases, I created them freely because the subject matter interested me, with no hidden agenda of writing any back-story whatsoever.

Then a few things contributed to this latest output. I published a book of a hundred really short stories called Three Minute-Shorts. I began to love this abbreviated format, and became enamored by just how much could be communicated in relatively few words.

Last year, I encountered a juried art show that encouraged artists all over America to submit an original piece of their art, along with an accompanying` very short story. I wrote three, and then I couldn’t stop. Before I knew it, I had dozens of imaginary tales that were inspired by my paintings.

In the process of this pursuit, I began to create original art with the hint of an incomplete circle that could be punctuated by an accompanying fiction.

Usually, the stories are loosely based on the art. They are not direct translations of the images. There is no attempt to capture the proceeding two seconds of the picture or the ensuing five minutes. The equation is not that literal. The art simply serves as a springboard for a somewhat related story. Sometimes, there will be happy endings. Other times, they do not conclude as optimistically. A few showcase realistic characters. Others are imaginary satires.

I love them separately. I love them even more when they are conjoined.

Hope you do too.

For Lindsay, who first suggested that I combine my love of art with my love of fiction.

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Fresh Dice

24x18 watercolor

2011

Fresh Dice

It was arguably the worst environment for the talented sous chef to work every single night. Don’t misunderstand, Mario Batali’s B&B restaurant was one of the highest-rated restaurants in the city, and the Venetian Hotel did attract a well-heeled, discriminating clientele. However, the gaming tables were only a few hundred yards from the cutting boards, and this beckoning temptation had always proven lethal for Willie, despite his participation in the weekly Gambler’s Anonymous meetings.

It’s tempting to blame sin city for his troubles. Fact is, ever since his college days in Kentucky, a devilish attraction to poker games and horseracing seduced the young man to gamble beyond any safe limit. Once, he lost thousands on a very bad night. Another time, he cockily wagered his Camaro, holding three kings in a game of seven-card stud, only to be outdrawn and sadly surrender the car keys. Of course, on some other nights, he enjoyed the supreme, godlike exhilaration of the win. Such is the addiction of the gambler.

There was only one thing that could normally take Willie’s mind off the bet: his considerable cooking skills. After graduating at the top of his class at The Institute of Culinary Education, he landed plum jobs in New Orleans, Chicago, and Miami. In every establishment, he earned kudos from the head chefs who had hired him. However, his off-hours inevitably had their own dangerous allure, and frequently led him into harm’s way.

This latest spiral compelled him to relocate to Las Vegas, where he hoped to win back his losses in one week. What resulted was a bad, unlucky streak, followed by two broken legs at the hands of enforcers. Chastened, frightened and by now nearly broke, he started to attend the Gamblers Anonymous meetings and found that many of the described symptoms matched his own behavior.

That was eight months ago. In that span, he has not missed a single meeting, and has begun to pay back his gambling debts on a weekly schedule. So far, so good. The grueling, draining double shifts he often works at B&B restaurant are key, he believes. In his experience, the unrelenting concentration on food has always helped keep Willie’s mind off the gaming tables. That is, until recently.

Lately, those gaming tables began to appear in the restaurant kitchen… at least in Willie’s imagination. When he squinted at an empty plate, he would somehow see a roulette wheel. When he fanned medallions of veal, he couldn’t help but see a royal flush. When he sliced zucchini and stacked them for a timbale, it evoked a neat pile of $25 chips just waiting to be wagered.

It was unnerving, Willie explained at this week’s meeting.

You’ve got to shake those images out of your mind, his new friend and mentor, Martin, advised. Go to the rest room. Splash some water on your face. Take a walk, just don’t take it through the casino.

In fact, Willie had assiduously avoided that route since joining the kitchen staff at B&B. He always came to work through the service entrance, and left via that same way. In fact, he hadn’t even seen a gaming table in the past eight months. Still, the images were fresh in his mind and continued to reoccur the next week as he prepped a meal.

When Willie grabbed a handful of string beans, he found himself counting the number of strands—after first predicting evens or odds. When he arranged three cherry tomatoes in a row on a salad, it felt like he had just won the jackpot from the slots. When he diced carrots, celery or onions, he wanted to kiss the perfect cubes for good luck and toss those fresh dice on the craps table. For a moment, he was actually transfixed on the hallucination.

Shaking out of it, he then partially followed the advice of his new friend, Martin. The sous chef washed his hands of the apparition, and splashed some ice water on his face.

Then, emboldened by the belief that he now had the power to repeatedly overcome these temptations, Willie decided it was time to test this premise after hanging up his apron that evening.

Instead of leaving by the service entrance, he took the personal challenge of walking through the all-night casino. Instantly, he heard the mechanical pings of the slot machines, the peels of winning laughter, group hoorays at the craps table, and the happy screams by the roulette wheel.

It was all so familiar.

It was all so tempting.

It was all Willie could do to resist long enough to speed dial his new friend, Martin… who arrived in ten minutes and squired his charge towards the parking lot.

I would have bet I had it beat, Willie admitted to the group the next week.

Not the ideal choice of words, Martin laughed. But I think it’s time to stop the dizzying double shifts. Too much fatigue, too much time to daydream. He then encouraged the group to give their newest member some support. Let’s give Willie a hand for having the courage to call for help, at least on this particular day."

The group did clap which embarrassed Willie. One day at a time, the sous chef winked. He looked at his plate of cookies, and at least on this well-rested day, saw nothing but a plate.

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See As You Have Never Seen

23x30 watercolor and pastel

2009

See As You Have Never Seen

Being a blind beggar in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico has its advantages—a sunny climate year round, the nicest people in the world (not that I’ve seen that much of it), and a constant influx of Americanos, who have decided to live here and enjoy the good life rather than endure the winters of Minnesota, Indiana, or wherever.

There is one other plus to holding out a tin cup here: my contrast. I am told that San Miguel still treats the jaded eye to an explosion of vibrant colors. Perhaps that’s why it is such a haven for artists. Evidently, people come from all over the world to see things in a whole new way.

For so many of them, I am a contradiction: a sad, indelible reminder of their own good fortune. This has resulted in a fair amount of clinks in the cup.

The usual contributor just drops in a few coins and silently moves along. Occasionally, one will add a God bless you. But it’s rare when someone decides to engage in the kind of conversation that happened about six months ago.

How long have you been blind, the woman’s voice inquired. I judged her to be about thirty.

Since I was six, I responded.

So you remember colors?

Vaguely, I answered.

Well, you are now standing next to a bright magenta wall. It’s really beautiful.

I don’t remember that color, I answered. I also noticed that there was no clink of a single coin in my cup. I actually thought of complaining, but didn’t. Her curiosity did not seem malicious. Besides, it was nice to have a conversation. Normally, I spend my day beyond visual isolation. I am also socially segregated.

I wish you could see what I’m seeing right now, she said. Would you like to help other people appreciate their sight, and maybe appreciate your situation as well?

Why do you ask?

Because I would like to paint your story. I want to take some pictures first and do some sketches. After a few seconds, she added, With your permission.

It was an unusual proposal, but a sincere, encouraging one. I thought about the relatively painless experience of being an artist’s subject and responded, Click away.

I am told it’s a dramatic picture— splashes of indigenous, vibrant Mexican color that circles around me, cup in hand. Evidently, it has now been converted into a poster for San Miguel, under the heading, See as you never seen.

I hear that it is now a famous painting. Evidently, the poster is a popular souvenir item. On the one hand, I wish I had asked her to contribute a few pesos in my cup. On the other hand, there are now so many people who instantly recognize me. I have quadrupled my last year’s contributions, and am now more inclined than ever to see San Miguel as a colorful, creative and coin-after-coin enriching experience.

Second%20Banana.tif

The Great Second Banana

30x19 watercolor

2007

The Great Second Banana

After twenty-three years in show business, Scott Blalock had grown content to be a sidekick. Perhaps you remember his early days, when he was the warm-up act for Joan Rivers. He then became the counterpoint for Wild Man Willie’s Radio Roundup. That of course led to that long stint as announcer and laugher-in-chief on the Graham Ferguson TV shows.

We all know what happened to Graham Ferguson. It’s an understatement to say that that riff where he belittled all Latinos did not play well on television. It accelerated his demise as a national figure, and scarred Scott Blalock, as well.

In truth, it was a classic case of guilt by association. If you review the tapes, Scott was not actually laughing at the off-color routine. No matter. When the network decided to make an example by canceling the show, they broomed Scott as well. He had a good lawyer and secured a decent settlement, but for the first time in decades, the ultimate second banana was off the air. His agent, Louis Lazar, suggested damage control career advice: come out and publicly criticize Graham Ferguson. Scott would not do it. Call it loyalty.

For the past few years, Blalock bounced around in the show business desert. He had occasional gigs on TV talk shows and some college stints, but nothing seemed to take. Then his agent presented a proposal. There’s a new game show in the works, and I think it could be a great career move for you, Lazar said.

Who’s the host, the second banana replied. Whom would I work with?

"That’s the thing. It would be your chance