Art Kumbalek
I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, I hear Badgerland’s cheesy Gov. Snidely Whiplash, if president, may consider building a big, long honking wall along the border we share with the Canadians because, I guess, they talk with a goofy accent that doesn’t, I guess, sound American. No surprise there, what with the Republican yen for wall building, which I believe started when they built the wall that kept reality, compassion and common sense from entering their world view, what the fock.
And speaking of “view,” I’m taking a time-out for remembrance, here. I’ve been slinging my stew in this newspaper coming up on 30 years, and while serving that sentence I’ve had the privilege to sit and stand in front of a camera whilst simultaneously behind that camera stood some fan-focking-tastic lens-and-lighting artists: Grant Marino, Stanley Ryan Jones, Harlin Robeson, Frank Ford, Erol Reyal, Bradley Meinz, Leo Pilak, James Kloiber, Dave Zylstra and, of course, whomever I’m forgetting.
And it’s about time I say to all thank you for adding some good goddamn visual pizzazz to my little articles. Thank you.
But in regard to the above list, I should say first, and perhaps foremost, there’s Julie Lindemann and John Shimon. On a blisteringly hot summer afternoon, 1988, in their flat on Humboldt Boulevard, this divinely otherworldly duo shot the first photos of yours truly that were meant to accompany my blatherings in the Shepherd Express—an experience I have never forgotten. (As Jeff Worman wrote in a story about the pair for the June 22, 1989 issue of the Shepherd: When Johnnie and Julie walk into a room, you get the feeling that you are either in the presence of artists or time travellers.)
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My essays used their work for years and years until the Shepherd’s negatives were misplaced in a move, and what remains can only be found in faded, yellowed issues of the Shepherd Express from 1988 to maybe ’96, if you got them.
I am honored to have once been their subject. As Mary Louise Schumacher of the Milwaukee Journal wrote in her Wednesday, Aug. 26 obituary for Julie: “Lindemann and Shimon have been among the most accomplished and insightful artists produced by the state.” Amen. That “the good seem to die way too soon” has been my experience, and is sure-as-shootin’ no cliché in my book, what the fock.
Which brings me to my long, longtime pal, Dirk “The Senator” Krause, a pal of mine from all the way back to the late and lamented glory days of ’70s Century Hall. And now for crying out loud, Dirk has also become late and lamented as of a week ago this past Sunday. Dirk possessed what you could call a wide-angle worldview. He was into a lot of things but, wouldn’t you know, was always first and foremost a topnotch Grade-A photographer. And I’ll tell you’s, if “bullshit detector” was an actual paying job, the guy would’ve been a focking billionaire. Rest in peace my friend. I know that won’t be easy, but I’m sure you’ll do just fine.
Focking-A, what a world, what a world, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.
