We've all seen them, and we've all felt the inexorable pull to stop and browse, perhaps even purchase one... the black velvet painting.  The draw is only stronger if there is a tasteful selection displayed at an abandoned gas station or vacant lot.  To many, the velvet painting screams "MIDDLE AMERICA" at its worst, but in all actuality the practice of painting on velvet dates back long before there was that dirty underbelly of american pop culture.

In Black Velvet Artist  (Running Press, Philadelphia, 2003) Pamela Liflandera offers a brief history of the  craft.  She notes that "The birthplace of black velvet paintings can be traced to ancient Kashmir, which is considered to be the fabric's original homeland. These paintings were religious in nature, portraying the iconic artwork of the Caucasus region by Russian Orthodox priests." She goes on to report that Marco Polo and others introduced the West to this art form, and that some of these early works still hang in the Vatican.  (Get OUT!)  Liflander also details the life of Edgar Leeteg (1904–1953), "the father of American black velvet kitsch," whose "raucous and bawdy" life was previously captured by James Michener in Rascals in Paradise (1957).

"Umbrella" is another term for the parasol, which was first used as a protection against the scorching heat of the sun, "para" meaning stop or shield and "sol" meaning sun. The word "umbrella" has evolved from the Latin "umbella" (and "umbel" is a flat-topped rounded flower) or "umbra," meaning "shaded."

History

Middle East

In the sculptures Nineveh the parasol appears frequently.^[2] Austen Henry Layard gives a picture of a bas-relief representing a king in his chariot, with an attendant holding a parasol over his head.^[2] It has a curtain hanging down behind, but is otherwise exactly like those in use today.^[2] It is reserved exclusively for the monarch, and is never carried over any other person.^[2]

In Persia the parasol is repeatedly found in the carved work of Persepolis, and Sir John Malcolm has an article on the subject in his 1815 "History of Persia."^[2] In some sculptures, the figure of a king appears attended by a slave, who carries over his head an umbrella, with stretchers and runner complete.^[2] In other sculptures on the rock at Takht-i-Bostan, supposed to be not less than twelve centuries old, a deer-hunt is represented, at which a king looks on, seated on a horse, and having an umbrella borne over his head by an attendant.^[2]
 

Ah, the freshness of a recently re-air-conditioned apartment is something to be savored. There is that peculiar smell drifting out of the dishwasher though; I'll have to look into that when I'm done with this.

The storm is passed and we emerged unscathed. I feel lucky. There could have been many things to go wrong, but I'm focusing on the positive: roof – check, windows intact – check, power restored within three days – check, a better understanding of what to do to prepare next time - check (I guess). As Dave and I were laying in bed last night the topic of 'what to do next time' came up. “I don't think we need SO much alcohol next time,” Dave said seriously. “What!?” I laughed. “I'd rather be prepared than run out!” You do what you do to get through in the middle of things. And as I said to my brother Rob on the phone today... “The worst decision I had to make was: use the ice in a drink or save it?” Others were not so lucky, and I will admit it.

So now it's back to the daily grind of Life in America: Election Year Hysteria. This is an entirely DIFFERENT storm category.

 We’re a Kodak family.  That’s not such a strange thing being where I am from.  By 1982 more than 60,000 people in Rochester worked for the ‘yellow box.’  At its height Kodak reigned supreme as the number one film supplier world wide.  In 1946 my parents met at a KPAA basketball game; dad was a star player, my uncle Jeff introduced them to each other.  Dad went on to spend his entire adult career working there, retiring in 1986 after 42 years of service.  Most of my family either worked there, or had at some point spent time with them.  Needless to say we took pictures...lots and lots and lots of pictures.  My mother was never without camera in hand.  It was a relatively normal experience to have more damned pictures of us all looking less than enthused to be having our pictures taken.  By the time I came along in the late ‘60’s the norm was color slides in our house.  The photographic evidence of my baby years is daunting as is the entire first half of the 1970’s - twenty six carousel trays, some double trays holding up to 140 slides.  Luckily the slides were kept in what was probably as close to archival storage as possible... our front hall closet rarely deviated from 50 degrees year round.  The stacks and stacks of trays lived there for as long as I can remember, only coming down for periodic shows... you know, those 70’s style, “Let’s invite our friends over to see the slides from Hawaii!” shows...Ummm, yeah.  Fun.  If I thought the slideshows were boring,  I was in for a hell of a great time scanning them 30 years later.