I Know You Are, But What Am I?

Vashon Island

Anyone watching the arts news this past month might have taken note of the return of PeeWee Herman, the brilliant alter-ego of Paul Reubens, in a Broadway reprise of "The PeeWee Herman Show".  

Reubens' infectious talent and celebration of simple truths trumped all the cultural junk out there during PeeWee's heyday (1986-91), a time when groupthink and world class hypocrisy were being elevated to high art, and a time when people like Paul Reubens could be run out of televisionland on a rail for something that amounted to nothing, but sounded like something to people addicted to empty rhetoric. 

I adored PeeWee Herman, and especially thrilled at his retort whenever  he was being bullied: "I KNOW YOU ARE, BUT WHAT AM I?..."

Repeated over and over in a loop, it made his nemeses crazy. It also gave everybody - the characters themselves and the people watching - a chance to ponder the truth in the charge. How many times in life do people hurl claims in someone else's direction that are, in fact, statements of fact about themselves?

Accusations, held up to the mirror of truth are, more often than not, a disclosure about the person speaking. Isn't it possible the charges of moral turpitude lobbed at Reubens were more accurately applicable to the culture that brought him down? Look at the worlds of finance, entertainment and politics of the time, and ask yourself who the real criminals were.

I'm glad PeeWee's back. Time heals all wounds... and wounds all heels? PeeWee's having the last laugh.


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It's been a crazy year,

but The President of Me 

is still very much in office

at the Black House on Vashon Island.

Sadly, I'll be out of town during the Studio Tour weekends this year, but I'll put the sandwich board out whenever I'm here these next several weeks. 

If you think a gift of 

TPOM apparel - the snuggley Hoodies,  the velvety Burnout long sleeved T, the Ecovertigrain "Zeteticus Attitude" shirt or a pair of Presidential Boxers, or some Vitamin Black
(the world's most delicious licorice caramels) 

would make someone you care about happy this holiday season, stop by or give me a call @ 206 947 4777 and I'll be happy to meet you here.

Wishing you a happy, peaceful, truthful... 

Thanksgiving... Christmas... Hanukkah... Kwanzaa... New Year... Life.

Budding Beauty

Vashon Island


Things have moved through the budding stage and into full bloom here at the Black House, thanks to a balmy and very wet spring. A nose poked directly into the Loderis (our incredibly fragrant rhodies) will transport you to the root beer stand of your youth. The white tulips are the tallest they've ever been. The deer haven't yet attacked the rest of the blossoming scape, so the show goes on in ridiculously verdant splendor.


As much as I adore the beautiful blooming landscape, I adore even more the fun of working in this studio. My muse, Zeteticus - that old Latin seeker of the truth - reminds me to skip over the BS and find the straight line to truths in all the corners of our world. One of those corners is the never ending conversation about our bodies, and the push me- pull you relationship people (especially girls/women) have with food, fashion and frivolous claims of fancy. It's a tough place to find the truth, this whole body image business.


This is where Georgette plays a big - and for those who've been to the studio, you know I mean BIG - role in the conversation. People ask me why that dame is allowed to hold court in the grandest room in the house. Some go so far as to accuse her of being ugly. But I think Georgette is beautiful. Gorgeous, in fact... because Georgette is my daily reminder that BEAUTY is not only in the eyes of the beholder but a snarky form of power packed neatly inside the beholder's baggage. Georgette is here to remind every woman, fully blooming or just in the budding stages, to take control of their "beauty message." She's a reminder that compliments and insults can all come from the same place - someone else's agenda driven perspective. And no one has a right - or ever enough information - to impose the power of their perspective on something as vital as our self esteem.


Georgette is here to help us all stand in front of the mirror and find the words, "I. Am. Beautiful." She's the First Lady here at the Black House, a beautiful - and fitting - ambassador for The President of Me.


The Black House is officially "Open" the first two Saturdays of May* 
during the Vashon Island Art Studio tours.
Come say hi. Come take a look at how beautiful Georgette is. 
She's all dressed up for the occasion.


 Happy Spring, all you beautiful seekers of the truth.

*I'm actually "unofficially open" any day of the week you see my car in the driveway... really... stop in for a little Vitamin Black...

Love SomeBody, Love YourBody

Vashon Island

This is the month of love - according to the laws of Hallmark, at least. To me, Valentine's Day is the least oppressive - in fact, most welcome - of all the Hallmark occasions. Who could object to a day devoted to telling people they're loved? It's a perfect day for proclaiming,"YOU are the President of Me..."  
Just for that day...


Perhaps you should favor the person who governs your life with a pair of "President of Me" Boxers (they're adorable on both XX's and XY's) ...
or...

Georgette's advocating for this little number, a lightweight but cozy knit crewneck. The fabric is called "EcoVertigrain" because it's made partly of  recycled polyester along with organic cotton. Normally the 'P textile' makes me cringe (think 70's Huckapoo disco shirts...) but in this case we have a first class example of recycling.

Here's a closeup to give a better sense of the slightly ribbed style of the knit. And the righteously questioning stance of Zeteticus... how's that for body language? Who IS the president of Me, he boldly asks...


or she.... Zeteticus' gender is, of course, in the eye of the beholder...




If you think a Valentine from the Black House might be just the ticket for the one you love - including a few pieces of Vitamin Black (the world's most heavenly licorice caramels...) -  I'm at the studio almost every weekday (I'll try to remember to put out the sign) or give a call and I'll make sure I'm there to open the old Oval Office Door... 206.947.4777

And finally, a book recommendation...


If you don't already have a copy, treat yourself- and your body - to a wonderful little volume of common sense about eating, entitled FOOD RULES - An Eater's Manual  by Michael Pollan


Eleven little dollars and you have at your fingertips 64 classic tenets of smart food consumption. I could cobble together a review, but I'd prefer to pass that job along to an expert, Jane Brody, in the New York Times.
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/02/health/02brod.html?scp=1&sq=jane%20Brody%20food%20rules&st=cse
Call it a Valentine to your body... a gift to go with the one you
give yourself from the Black House, the one that asks
"Who is The President of Me?"

Person, Place or Thing?

Vashon Island

Greetings fellow seekers of the truth and
fans of THE PRESIDENT OF ME?

THIS MONTH'S OPEN HOUSE at the Black House:
Saturday January 30th 10-4.

Come see what's new in the line, find some bargains in the 
"didn't make it into the line" sample box and on 
styles that are nearly sold out stragglers...

And it's been a busy month thinking about other things 
(the Vashon Island Haiti fundraiser, for example - 
please mark your calendar: Feb 21 at the O Space!) 
so we're still not any further along with the TPOM website... 
which means you're FORCED to come visit me at the Black House. 
Darn - not!

Georgette and I await your smiling faces...

and now for this month's Zeteticus essay...

PERSON PLACE OR THING…

One of the happiest discoveries I made as a first grader was that the language I’d formed up to that point actually had a structure. Each word I’d tucked into my brain could be ordered into tidy little columns: nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs. It was beautiful. So logical. A perfect little package to my Germanic six-year-old mind.

And the nouns! Nouns were the nobility of this beautifully appointed world. They were so important they had categories of their own – hierarchies, really. Person - first. Place - second. Thing - third. Person, place or thing. The teacher always said it in that order, as though she were chanting: PersonPlaceorThing. To this day when we play charades and the word is a noun, the universal query is: Person, Place or Thing? (…except when my smart aleck son prepares the clues, in which case we ask: Foul Smells, Punk Fashion or Punishable Offenses?) The net effect of the noun chant was that Persons always seemed the ruler of the land, the King, in fact, followed at a distance by the lords of Place. And Things - things were the commoners of Noundom. The value of a Thing registered at the bottom of the social order.

But the noun hierarchy seems to be suffering in modern times. Human beings’ obsession with the commercial universe has created a crossover between person and thing, often making the bejeweled magnificence of person practically indistinguishable from the grubby inconsequence of thing. People seem desperate to become commodities, manic to parlay any chance at fortune and fame into a lifetime of parading as manufactured goods. “How much money am I worth?”  becomes the person’s primary definition of self in this sorry devolution. The human being, with a heart and a mind and a soul – a person – turns into a dollar sign - a thing.

Reality TV programming brings in the biggest money for networks because viewers adore watching people being transformed into things called Winners and Losers. A Loser is such a low form of thing it borders on being nothing, equivalent to the number zero. Losers are transformed from tangible thing to nonexistent thing in the flash of a voted-out-of-favor nanosecond. They’re supposed to disappear. Viewers and producers are co-conspirators in this decimation of humanity. (A notable exception would be Susan Boyle, who triumphed over her ultimate loser status with a recording that settled all questions about her talent and her humanity. Here is the miracle of a person who seems to have remained a person in spite of her brush with fame.)

Sports heroes become things not in the execution of their athletic talent but the moment they become shills for corporations.  That relationship between corporate entity and “spokesperson” (which is a thing posing as a person) is measured not in human terms but at the bottom line, explaining why corporations can with such facility wipe their little shills right off the page when they behave too much like a person – or, heaven forbid, fail like a human being.

All this comes at what cost? Each time a person becomes a commodity, isn’t it possible that we bid incremental farewell to the whole point of our humanity? And at what point will our humanity have so devolved that personhood is reduced to the level of inanimate object? Will the day arrive when teachers teach that nouns consist solely of places and things?

Do we recognize the line across which someone steps when they go from being a person to a thing? How many times in our own lives have we tiptoed up to or across the line just to be able to claim we are some thing?

Shall we look in the mirror? What do we see? Person, Place or Thing?

Copyright 2010 Rebecca J. Wittman


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*The President of Me and Zeteticus are protected trademarks. Zeteticus comes from old Latin, and means "Seeker of the Truth"