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1. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
2. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
3. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
4. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
6. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Beverly Hills Art Show - Beverly Hills, CA
$8,550 in awards + Mayor's Purchase Award. Deadline: Feb 21, 2022
Enclosure
8. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: University of Michigan Roman J. Witt Artist Residency - Ann Arbor, MI
$20,000 honorarium + $5,000 for supplies. Deadline: Feb 20, 2022
Enclosure
15. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
16. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
17. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
18. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
19. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
20. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
21. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
22. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
24. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Beverly Hills Art Show - Beverly Hills, CA
$8,550 in awards + Mayor's Purchase Award. Deadline: Feb 21, 2022
Enclosure
26. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: University of Michigan Roman J. Witt Artist Residency - Ann Arbor, MI
$20,000 honorarium + $5,000 for supplies. Deadline: Feb 20, 2022
Enclosure
33. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
34. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
35. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
36. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
37. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
38. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
39. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
40. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
42. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Beverly Hills Art Show - Beverly Hills, CA
$8,550 in awards + Mayor's Purchase Award. Deadline: Feb 21, 2022
Enclosure
44. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: University of Michigan Roman J. Witt Artist Residency - Ann Arbor, MI
$20,000 honorarium + $5,000 for supplies. Deadline: Feb 20, 2022
Enclosure
51. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
52. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
53. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
54. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
55. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
56. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
57. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
58. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
60. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Beverly Hills Art Show - Beverly Hills, CA
$8,550 in awards + Mayor's Purchase Award. Deadline: Feb 21, 2022
Enclosure
62. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: University of Michigan Roman J. Witt Artist Residency - Ann Arbor, MI
$20,000 honorarium + $5,000 for supplies. Deadline: Feb 20, 2022
Enclosure
69. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
70. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
71. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
72. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
73. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
74. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
75. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
76. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
78. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Beverly Hills Art Show - Beverly Hills, CA
$8,550 in awards + Mayor's Purchase Award. Deadline: Feb 21, 2022
Enclosure
80. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: University of Michigan Roman J. Witt Artist Residency - Ann Arbor, MI
$20,000 honorarium + $5,000 for supplies. Deadline: Feb 20, 2022
Enclosure
87. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
88. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
89. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
90. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
91. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
92. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
93. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
94. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
96. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Beverly Hills Art Show - Beverly Hills, CA
$8,550 in awards + Mayor's Purchase Award. Deadline: Feb 21, 2022
Enclosure
98. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: University of Michigan Roman J. Witt Artist Residency - Ann Arbor, MI
$20,000 honorarium + $5,000 for supplies. Deadline: Feb 20, 2022
Enclosure
104. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Webster Arts Fair - Webster Groves, MO
$3,000+ in awards. Deadline: Feb 8, 2022
Enclosure
105. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
106. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
107. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
108. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
109. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
110. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
111. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
112. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
114. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Beverly Hills Art Show - Beverly Hills, CA
$8,550 in awards + Mayor's Purchase Award. Deadline: Feb 21, 2022
Enclosure
116. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: University of Michigan Roman J. Witt Artist Residency - Ann Arbor, MI
$20,000 honorarium + $5,000 for supplies. Deadline: Feb 20, 2022
Enclosure
117. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Douglas County Art Encounters 2022-2023 - Douglas County, CO
$800 stipend + $2,000 in awards. Deadline: Feb 18, 2022
Enclosure
122. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Webster Arts Fair - Webster Groves, MO
$3,000+ in awards. Deadline: Feb 8, 2022
Enclosure
123. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
124. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
125. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
126. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
127. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
128. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
129. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
130. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
132. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Beverly Hills Art Show - Beverly Hills, CA
$8,550 in awards + Mayor's Purchase Award. Deadline: Feb 21, 2022
Enclosure
134. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: University of Michigan Roman J. Witt Artist Residency - Ann Arbor, MI
$20,000 honorarium + $5,000 for supplies. Deadline: Feb 20, 2022
Enclosure
135. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Douglas County Art Encounters 2022-2023 - Douglas County, CO
$800 stipend + $2,000 in awards. Deadline: Feb 18, 2022
Enclosure
140. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Webster Arts Fair - Webster Groves, MO
$3,000+ in awards. Deadline: Feb 8, 2022
Enclosure
141. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
142. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
143. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
144. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
145. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
146. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
147. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
148. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
150. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Beverly Hills Art Show - Beverly Hills, CA
$8,550 in awards + Mayor's Purchase Award. Deadline: Feb 21, 2022
Enclosure
152. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: University of Michigan Roman J. Witt Artist Residency - Ann Arbor, MI
$20,000 honorarium + $5,000 for supplies. Deadline: Feb 20, 2022
Enclosure
153. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Douglas County Art Encounters 2022-2023 - Douglas County, CO
$800 stipend + $2,000 in awards. Deadline: Feb 18, 2022
Enclosure
158. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Webster Arts Fair - Webster Groves, MO
$3,000+ in awards. Deadline: Feb 8, 2022
Enclosure
159. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
160. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
161. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
162. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
163. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
164. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
165. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
166. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
168. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Beverly Hills Art Show - Beverly Hills, CA
$8,550 in awards + Mayor's Purchase Award. Deadline: Feb 21, 2022
Enclosure
170. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: University of Michigan Roman J. Witt Artist Residency - Ann Arbor, MI
$20,000 honorarium + $5,000 for supplies. Deadline: Feb 20, 2022
Enclosure
171. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Douglas County Art Encounters 2022-2023 - Douglas County, CO
$800 stipend + $2,000 in awards. Deadline: Feb 18, 2022
Enclosure
176. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Webster Arts Fair - Webster Groves, MO
$3,000+ in awards. Deadline: Feb 8, 2022
Enclosure
177. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
178. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
179. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
180. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
181. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
182. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
183. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
184. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
186. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Beverly Hills Art Show - Beverly Hills, CA
$8,550 in awards + Mayor's Purchase Award. Deadline: Feb 21, 2022
Enclosure
188. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: University of Michigan Roman J. Witt Artist Residency - Ann Arbor, MI
$20,000 honorarium + $5,000 for supplies. Deadline: Feb 20, 2022
Enclosure
189. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Douglas County Art Encounters 2022-2023 - Douglas County, CO
$800 stipend + $2,000 in awards. Deadline: Feb 18, 2022
Enclosure
194. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Webster Arts Fair - Webster Groves, MO
$3,000+ in awards. Deadline: Feb 8, 2022
Enclosure
195. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
196. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
197. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
198. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
199. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
200. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
201. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
202. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
204. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Beverly Hills Art Show - Beverly Hills, CA
$8,550 in awards + Mayor's Purchase Award. Deadline: Feb 21, 2022
Enclosure
206. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: University of Michigan Roman J. Witt Artist Residency - Ann Arbor, MI
$20,000 honorarium + $5,000 for supplies. Deadline: Feb 20, 2022
Enclosure
207. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Douglas County Art Encounters 2022-2023 - Douglas County, CO
$800 stipend + $2,000 in awards. Deadline: Feb 18, 2022
Enclosure
212. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Webster Arts Fair - Webster Groves, MO
$3,000+ in awards. Deadline: Feb 8, 2022
Enclosure
213. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
214. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
215. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
216. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
217. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
218. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
219. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
220. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
222. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Beverly Hills Art Show - Beverly Hills, CA
$8,550 in awards + Mayor's Purchase Award. Deadline: Feb 21, 2022
Enclosure
224. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: University of Michigan Roman J. Witt Artist Residency - Ann Arbor, MI
$20,000 honorarium + $5,000 for supplies. Deadline: Feb 20, 2022
Enclosure
225. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Douglas County Art Encounters 2022-2023 - Douglas County, CO
$800 stipend + $2,000 in awards. Deadline: Feb 18, 2022
Enclosure
230. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Webster Arts Fair - Webster Groves, MO
$3,000+ in awards. Deadline: Feb 8, 2022
Enclosure
231. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
232. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
233. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
234. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
235. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
236. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
237. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
238. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
240. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Beverly Hills Art Show - Beverly Hills, CA
$8,550 in awards + Mayor's Purchase Award. Deadline: Feb 21, 2022
Enclosure
242. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: University of Michigan Roman J. Witt Artist Residency - Ann Arbor, MI
$20,000 honorarium + $5,000 for supplies. Deadline: Feb 20, 2022
Enclosure
243. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Douglas County Art Encounters 2022-2023 - Douglas County, CO
$800 stipend + $2,000 in awards. Deadline: Feb 18, 2022
Enclosure
248. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Webster Arts Fair - Webster Groves, MO
$3,000+ in awards. Deadline: Feb 8, 2022
Enclosure
249. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
250. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
251. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
252. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
253. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
254. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
255. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
256. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
258. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Beverly Hills Art Show - Beverly Hills, CA
$8,550 in awards + Mayor's Purchase Award. Deadline: Feb 21, 2022
Enclosure
260. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: University of Michigan Roman J. Witt Artist Residency - Ann Arbor, MI
$20,000 honorarium + $5,000 for supplies. Deadline: Feb 20, 2022
Enclosure
261. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Douglas County Art Encounters 2022-2023 - Douglas County, CO
$800 stipend + $2,000 in awards. Deadline: Feb 18, 2022
Enclosure
266. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Webster Arts Fair - Webster Groves, MO
$3,000+ in awards. Deadline: Feb 8, 2022
Enclosure
267. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
268. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
269. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
270. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
271. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
272. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
273. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
274. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure
276. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Beverly Hills Art Show - Beverly Hills, CA
$8,550 in awards + Mayor's Purchase Award. Deadline: Feb 21, 2022
Enclosure
278. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: University of Michigan Roman J. Witt Artist Residency - Ann Arbor, MI
$20,000 honorarium + $5,000 for supplies. Deadline: Feb 20, 2022
Enclosure
279. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Douglas County Art Encounters 2022-2023 - Douglas County, CO
$800 stipend + $2,000 in awards. Deadline: Feb 18, 2022
Enclosure
284. Source: Art Competitions provided by Artshow.com
Item: Webster Arts Fair - Webster Groves, MO
$3,000+ in awards. Deadline: Feb 8, 2022
Enclosure
285. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Betty White Unites Opens at Zenith Gallery
Date: 9 January 2022, 12:30 am

In celebration of her 100th birthday Zenith Gallery has put together an homage show to this great American - They are having two openings this coming Friday January 14  from 5-8 and Saturday January 15 from 2-6!

Betty White Unites!

Exhibit Dates: January 14, -January 29, 2022

Opening Reception: Friday January 14, 5-8PM & Saturday January 15, 2-6PM

At 1429 Iris St NW, Washington DC 20012

 Betty White Unites

Since the passing of Betty White, it has become abundantly clear that she is the one person in America who everyone loves, no matter what your affiliations may be.

Zenith Gallery and our artists want to start the year off right with love and positivity by celebrating the life of Betty White. She is loved by everyone, and I believe through the celebration of her life we can be united. I have domain-ed the website, BettyWhiteUnites.com, for this purpose.

Throughout her 80-year career she has touched so many generations. Tributes pour in for ‘cultural icon’ Betty White, as fans from President Biden to Ryan Reynolds to Jay-Z, pay homage.

“Live with it’: Betty White defied racist demands in 1954 when she featured Arthur Duncan on her television show when the network complained! She had creative control, which was rare for any actor at that time but especially for a woman. So, the network “lived with it” and it led to a long career for Mr. Duncan.

She broke barriers throughout her career – she was the first woman to win a Game Show Host Emmy Award and won the Screen Actors Guild Life Achievement Award. The awards and accolades are too numerous to mention. Look for the documentary that is coming out in her name on her birthday, January 17th!

Please join us to celebrate this amazing woman!

Artists

  • Amy Bandel, artist, Air Force veteran, and UM graduate says of her work “I draw and paint to stay calm and grounded. Beauty and peacefulness are threads throughout. I work with many different subjects, including landscapes, plants, nature, animals and people. I find art is a way to connect with the people, places, and things that I love. Many of my subjects are suggested to me by friends and family and have special meaning.
  • Holly Boruck lives and works in the Los Angeles area. She has an MFA in Painting from Cal State University Northridge and a BFA from California College of the Arts in San Francisco. A common thread in her art making practice is a deep interest in the human psyche and earthly experiences.
  • Ram Brisueno uses a variety of mediums, materials, and objects to create narratives that relate to personal identity and social perceptions. With emphasis on textures, color, and form, his works bring together concealed images and meanings that are revealed through intuitive responses.
  • Lenny Campello “I usually draw with either charcoal or graphite, generally on paper and for the last few years on reclaimed, broken, unfired Bisque. The drawings are most likely part of an ongoing narrative series, some of which I’ve been doing for decades, where I tell and retell stories, or express ideas through the means of contemporary realism.”
  • Diane Dompka, native Washingtonian and photographer says that “Good fortune provided a beautiful landscape filled with many visual opportunities thru museums, galleries, and the people of the world. My joy is capturing the spirit and beauty of the subject and the emotional bond of preserving the image.”
  • Bulsby “Buzz” Duncan was born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in Washington, DC. A self-taught artist whose work can be described as abstract with deep emotion and energy, Buzz traces his artistic influence on the great abstract expressionists, and contemporary artists of the 20th Century.
  • Cheryl Elmo, a signature member of the Pennsylvania and Baltimore Watercolor Societies, has shown her artwork nationally and internationally. Cheryl’s watercolors give the medium a new visual quality focusing on human connection.
  • Ruth Green, with a BFA in Illustration from Northern Illinois University, is an award-winning, toy inventor, illustrator, graphics and package designer, and watercolor artist.
  • Helen Silberminz, When I retired, I told myself I would go back to all things art so I’ve been volunteering as a Studio Arts Rep at the Smithsonian and I completed the Smithsonian World Art History Certificate in 2018.
  • Mihira Karra is a fabric collage artist who started sketching and using pastels as a child. She realized her passion for portraiture and figurative art as a twelve-year-old when she sketched her first portraits of her great aunt and grandmother.
  • Rebecca Klemm is a ceramic artist who has a long association with the DC arts scene, including involvement with the Corcoran Gallery and sponsorship of the original Best in Show award at the Smithsonian Craft Show.
  • Carol Newmyer “Since its inception, I have worked in and with the Zenith Gallery, growing and evolving along with the community of artists that have developed around it since 1978. I have always felt that the desire to communicate is one of the great universal reasons why artists create their work.”
  • Gavin Sewell, originally from Maine, is a mixed-media artist, painter, and print-maker based in Brooklyn and Montreal. His mysterious, novelistic collages and intuitive, expressionist paintings are in collections on four continents.
  • Paula Wachsstock “My method of printmaking is what I like to call paint to print. I paint on the surface of my paper with many layers of color. Then I begin the screen-printing process with an image/story.”
  • Jennifer Wagner is an award-winning mosaic artist and entrepreneur. “I work with directly with clients, including interior design companies to create one-of-a-kind mosaic installations for businesses, private residences and community centers.”
  • Marcie Wolf-Hubbard’s paintings have been exhibited widely on the East Coast. She has illustrated for magazines and books and worked as a courtroom artist. Marcie is an instructor at Glen Echo Park, Yellow Barn Studios, and The Smithsonian.

Zenith is located at 1429 Iris Street, NW in Washington, DC. 

Enclosure
286. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: On the anniversary of a superhero's death
Date: 6 January 2022, 3:30 am
Seven years ago my father died on this day... here's my eulogy from that date:
"Hoy se ha caido otro roble en la selva del amargo exilio" is how I always thought that my father's eulogy would begin once he died.

"Today another oak falls in the jungle of bitter exile," began the eulogy for the man whose bloodlines my children and I carry on.

Florencio Campello Alonso died today at age 90 in Miami, the heart of the bitter Cuban Diaspora. Like many Cubans of his generation, he was the son of European immigrants to Cuba. His Galician parents left the scraggy mountains of northern Spain's ancient Celtic kingdom and in the first decade of the 1900s migrated to the new nation of Cuba upon its liberation from Spain.

Galicians have always been uneasy subjects of the Spanish crown, stubbornly hanging on to their ancient Celtic traditions, to their own language and to their bagpipes, so it is no historical surprise that they left their mountain homelands en-masse and headed to the new tropical paradise of Cuba, free from the heavy hand of the Spanish monarchy.

And thus it was never a surprise to me that my father was both a fighter against heavy-handed rulers, a lover of freedom, and one who was never afraid to re-start a life for the better, even if it involved discarding the old. 
My father could have been one of the privileged few who currently rule  atop the food chain of Cuba's Workers' Paradise. But instead of accepting the benefits of oppression, this most valiant of men chose the harsh path of right over wrong.

And he paid for it dearly (he spent years in Concentration Camps), but when he died, his soul was clean.

In his youth, my dad worked the brutal hours of the son of an immigrant who was slowly building a small financial empire in eastern Cuba. My father was pulled from school as soon as he learned to read and write, and like his two other brothers and eight sisters, he was expected to work and contribute to building a familial empire.

And he did, as my mother relates the stories of my father's childhood in the fields of eastern Cuba, a blond creole in a land of jingoist natives... he trying to out-Cuban the "real Cubans"... how he organized a labor union of the exploited Haitians who worked almost as slaves at the Los Canos Sugar Mill, how he joined a group of bearded rebels in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra in the fight against a tyrant, how he ran for the leadership of the Sugar Workers' Union and beat the Communists to the post, and how he spent years in a Castro Concentration Camp, jailed for the crime of refusing to join the Party, because he believed in Democracy and not Communism. 
And because of that stubbornness, in the 1960s he was offered the bitter pill of exile, and this brave man decided to choose family... and left his birth place, and thus became another immigrant within two familial generations and brought his wife and child to another new land.

And it is to him that I owe the greatest gift that a father can give a son: the opportunity to grow in freedom in the greatest nation in the history of this planet.

It is because of my father's courage that I was raised in this country and not in a land bloodied by brutality and oppression.

It is because of my father's teachings that I was raised with the conviction that freedom is not free and never to be taken for granted; after all, he fought for freedom and then Castro, the man who inspired  the fight, ended up being a worse dictator, eventually destroying all notions of freedom for all of his people.

It is because of my father that I was taught that every citizen owes his  nation some form of service, and that's the main reason that I signed (at age 17) to serve in the US Navy.

It is because of my father that I despise anyone who hides behind the mask of victimism to excuse failures and shortcomings.

When our family arrived in New York in the 1960s, my father began to work in a factory three days after he landed at the airport; my mother (who came from a privileged Cuban family and had never worked a day in her life) found a job as a seamstress five days later. That pattern was repeated for decades as they worked their way in a new nation.

"We thought we'd be back within a few years," was the answer given to me when I once asked the question about leaving their birthplace. When that didn't materialize, they became fierce Americans in the "United States of Americans" sense... these were the "America None Better!" set of immigrants, and in my Dad's case, you better be ready to fight if you dissed the USA.

"Americans"!

Always a fighter he was... and always for the right reasons.

Cubans are archaic immigrants... we love this great nation because we  recognize its singular and unique greatness; perhaps it is because our forebears had the same chance at greatness and blew it.

And my Dad loved this nation even more than he once loved Cuba... perhaps it is the genetic disposition of the serial immigrant. After all, his father had left his own ancient Celtic lands and kin for a new land... which he learned to love dearly.

My father always wanted to make sure that I knew that I was an "Americano" and not another forced-on label.

"Labels," he'd say, "are just a way to separate people."

By labels he meant "Hispanic" or "Latino" or anything with a "-" between two ethnic words.

I also remember as a kid in New York, when he bought a huge Hi-Fi record player-color-TV console... that thing was huge. He bought it "lay-away" and he'd pay $10 a week to the store and him and I would walk all the way from our house on Sackman Street to the store on Pitkin Avenue to make the payments every Saturday - he never missed a single payment, and that taught me a lesson.

It was soon playing my Dad's favorite music, which oddly enough was Mexican music (Cuban music was a close second)... and he knew all the words to every charro song.
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna... 
Guadalajara en un llano, Mejico en una laguna...Me he de comer esa tuna 
Me he de comer esa tuna.... aunque me espine la mano.
That Jorge Negrete song... being shouted often on weekends at the top of his lungs from our apartment in a mostly Italian neighborhood in East New York in Brooklyn must have raised some eyebrows.

My dad and I watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon on that TV set... we also watched loads of Mets games... and in 1969 and 1972 went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets win in '69 and lose in '72. He really loved baseball and he really loved those Mets!

When I joined the Navy at age 17, my first duty station was USS SARATOGA, which at the time was stationed in Mayport in Florida, so my Dad decided to migrate south to Florida and moved to Miami... just to be close to me.

He and my mother spent the next 40 years in the same apartment while I was stationed all over the world.

When I visited him today in Miami, he looked good and freshly shaven... this is a good thing, as my father was a freak about hygiene... and that's a common "creole" trait.

The Hospice nurse almost teared up when I told her that my parents have been married for 60 years.

I looked at this old "gallego"... his skin as white as paper, his eyes as blue as the sky, and his head (once full of blond hair) as bald and shiny as the old Cuban sing song ("Mira la Luna, mira al Sol... mira la calva de ese.....") and I saw the generations of Neanderthals, Denisovans and Gallego Homo Sapiens that led to my bloodlines... the generations of fighters, of strugglers, and of tough guys who didn't take no for an answer and who made a better place for others. 

And I felt at peace and grateful.

And as my father died tonight, after an extubation,  all that I can think  to say to him is "Thank you for your courage... from me, and from my children... and soon from their children. You opened a whole new world for them."

I love you Dad... Un Abrazo Fuerte! Thank you for your gifts to me and my children and it is no coincidence that you died on El Dia de Los Reyes.
Enclosure
287. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Asshole of the month
Date: 2 January 2022, 5:06 pm

It's only the second day of the month but @DallasNews, @RobertTGarrett, @MorrisReports have already won the "Asshole of the Month" award - sharing it in equal parts for this sorry piece of mierda.

Enclosure
288. Source: Daily Campello Art News
Item: Jose Marti
Date: 21 December 2021, 12:30 am

Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti, 2021 by F. Lennox Campello
Yo soy un hombre sincero - homage to Marti
Charcoal and Conte on reclaimed, broken Bisque
2021 by F. Lennox Campello

 

Yo soy un hombre sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
 
Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.
 
Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.
 
Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.
 
Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.
 
He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.
 
Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo1,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós2.
 
Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.
 
Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.
 
Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.
 
Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.
 
Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.
 
Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.
 
Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.
 
Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.
 
Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.
 
Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.
 
Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.


A Sincere Man Am I

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
 
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the country I am one.
 
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
 
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
 
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
 
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
 
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
 
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
 
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
 
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
 
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
 
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
 
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
 
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
 
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
 
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
 
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
 
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
Enclosure