LILY HATCHETT INVITED THE MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II TO MANIFEST MODERN ART MUSIC MOVEMENT HAPPENINGS, CAPTURED ON FILM, THAT CREATED WORKS OF FINE ART GRAFFITI, ON CANVAS.
Lily Hatchett invited former United States Naval Academy (USNA) Midshipmen Officers, Barnaby Ruhe and Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca II to create works of art at the legendary, live-action multimedia art event featuring performance art, live bands, dance, fashion, video presentations, and DJ’s for a spectacular, marathon party and Modern Art Music Movement™ Happening, in Fort Myers, Florida, inside the historic, Sidney and Berne Davis Art Center, lasting two days and nights.
MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II POSES FOR PORTRAIT BY BARNABY RUHE.
USNA Midshipmen Officers are taught to persevere in the face of extreme obstacles and severe impediments; important skills in the war of business, art creation and marketing strategies.
MIDSHIPMAN OFFICER VICTOR-HUGO VACA II LEADING THE 26TH PLATOON AT THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY IN ANNAPOLIS, MARYLAND.
The Modern Art Music Movement™ Happening evolved organically, within the Hatchett Production, manifesting the largest work of art ever created by the Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca II on canvas, a triptych titled, “Ronald Reagan and His Monkey”. The colossal work of art has appeared in music videos and television show backdrops but has not been displayed in public since the event, due, in part, to its considerable size and the necessity of a spacious venue for proper exhibition.
MODERN ART MUSIC MOVEMENT: DAVID HATCHETT, MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, LADY JANE, CONNIE BOTTINELLI AND LILY HATCHETT IN FRONT OF MASSIVE, “RONALD REAGAN AND HIS MONKEY”, TRIPTYCH.
Barnaby Ruhe received his doctorate in shamanism and art practice, an interdisciplinary effort combining psychology, anthropology, art history, phenomenology and art studio action.
UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY ALUMNI, BARNABY RUHE, PAINTS MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II AT THE GLOBAL WARMING ART REPORT PARTY.
World Famous Leadership Laboratory Produces Presidents, CEO’s, Artists And Modern-Art-Gonzo-Journalists.
The U.S. Naval Academy was established in 1845. The mission of the USNA is “To develop Midshipmen morally, mentally and physically.” The campus, known as “The Yard,” is a National Historic Landmark, 33 miles from Washington, D.C. and 30 miles from Baltimore. USNA students must have a congressional or presidential nomination to apply.
The U.S. Naval Academy provides a demanding four-year program leading to a Bachelor of Science degree and a commission as an Ensign in the United States Navy, or as a Second Lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps.
It is not exaggeration to describe USNA Midshipman Officers, graduates and veterans as loyal, trustworthy and hardworking furthermore, they are not only great leaders but great followers as well, because Midshipman are taught, to both lead and follow, by example.
UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY MIDSHIPMAN OFFICER VICTOR-HUGO VACA II
“The academies naturally foster the ability to get along with your fellow man, primarily because you live so close together. You have to be able to relate to senior officers, to peers, and people under you. It’s imperative. This is directly transferable to business.” – James Kinnear, Naval Academy Alumni and CEO of Texaco.
BEFORE ENTERING THE U.S. NAVAL ACADEMY, MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, (BOTTOM LEFT) COMPLETED RIGOROUS LEADERSHIP AND SURVIVAL TRAINING, AT THE NEWPORT NAVAL BASE, IN RHODE ISLAND, WHERE HE WAS PART OF THE TRIUMPHANT, NAVAL ACADEMY PREP SCHOOL SWIM TEAM.
Barnaby Ruhe graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy in 1968. He was senior editor of Art/World newspaper in the 1980s and ’90s and wrote the first New York City reviews of work by Francesco Clemente and the Starn Twins, as well as essays on Francisco de Goya, Henri Matisse, Andy Warhol and Joseph Beuys.
USNA ALUMNI, BARNABY RUHE, SERVES ON THE BOARD OF, “ARTISTS TALK ON ART”, AND IS A SIX-TIME, WORLD BOOMERANG CHAMPION.
Barnaby Ruhe, is a romantic artist, who incorporates; sentiment, gesture and psychic journeying into his paintings. He runs shaman healing workshops at the Burning Man festival, each summer, inside the Shamandome Camp.
“MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II PORTRAIT” BY BARNABY RUHE.
Barnaby Ruhe is best known for his marathon, portrait-painting sessions, like the one in January of 2009, wherein he painted fellow United States Naval Academy trained Artist, Victor-Hugo Vaca II, in Fort Myers, Florida, at Lily Hatchett’s extraordinary two-day, “Global Warming Art Report Party”.
BARNABY RUHE PORTRAIT PAINTING MARATHON WITH “RONALD REAGAN AND HIS MONKEY”, BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, IN BACKGROUND OF PORTRAITS.
“Ronald Reagan And His Monkey” by Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca II, combined spirit and mood while reflecting all the dance, drama, satire and media that transpired over forty-eight hours of non-stop, magic moments, at “The Global Warming Art Report Party”, encapsulating the zeitgeist into a massive, triptych painting, measuring over twelve feet tall and fifteen feet long, in one explosive marathon moment on canvas.
DETAIL FROM, “RONALD REAGAN AND HIS MONKEY”, FINE ART GRAFFITI TRIPTYCH, BY VICTOR-HUGO VACA II.
In 1975 Barnaby Ruhe earned an M.F.A. from Maryland Institute College of Art and in 1989 he procured a Ph.D. from New York University. He is a professor at New York University’s (NYU) Gallatin School Of Individualized Study.
NAVAL ACADEMY ALUMNI, ARTIST, PROFESSOR AND SHAMAN, BARNABY RUHE IN MIDST OF PORTRAIT PAINTING MARATHON.
The U.S. Naval Academy is one of the nation’s best business schools, producing highly skilled individuals prepared for the battles that comprise the war of business.
Since World War II, America’s military academies have produced 1,531 corporate CEOs, 2,012 corporate presidents, over 5,000 vice presidents and thousands of small-company entrepreneurs.
The U.S. Naval Academy training includes life-long lessons in honor, teamwork, and discipline that cannot be duplicated at civilian universities or MBA programs.
AS PART OF THE USNA PREP SCHOOL TENNIS TEAM, THE MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, (BOTTOM LEFT) LEARNED THE IMPORTANCE OF HONOR, ETHICS AND INTEGRITY IN CHARACTER BUILDING.
Lily Hatchett, producer of “The Global Warming Art Report Party”, also graduated from the Maryland Institute College of Art, like Barnaby Ruhe, and she was the official cross-country, documentarian for the Warped Tour, Hothouse Flowers, Fishbone and Ringo Starr & The All Star Band.
ARTISTS DAVID HATCHETT, VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, LADY JANE, CONNIE BOTTINELLI AND LILY HATCHETT.
Lily Hatchett published, Indie Film and Art Reporter, NYC , from 2009-2016, focusing on obscure art and film.
Lily Hatchett’s, “Global Warming Art Report” party, was also the first time the iconic, sociopolitical, “Crackhead Jesus is coming” sticker, was seen in public, after its controversial, headline-grabbing debut, at Art Basel Miami Week, during the 2007 Holiday season.
AS SEEN IN THE MIAMI HERALD NEWSPAPER COLLECTOR’S EDITION, ART BASEL MIAMI MAGAZINE: FEATURING THE CLASSIC, MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, CRACKHEAD JESUS EXHIBIT, PROMO.
Though the sociopolitical sticker, catalogued in the Library of Congress reference book by DB Burkeman, “Stickers: From Punk Rock To Contemporary Art”, caused quite a stir because it was prominently displayed atop the canvas of fine art graffiti, created throughout the 48 hour party, Hatchett Productions did not censor the provocative artistic expression, in spite of some protest.
THE ART OF CREATION: CONTROVERSIAL “CRACKHEAD JESUS IS COMING” STICKER CAN BE SEEN ON TOP LEFT OF WORK IN PROGRESS, “RONALD REAGAN AND HIS MONKEY”, BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II.
“The truth is artists are only millionaires on paper. They have to sell their work, and according to the IRS, their work has value whether it’s sold or not. I have small sketches, prints and paintings; they can all be valued at something.”- Barnaby Ruhe
THE FOUNDATION FOR “RONALD REAGAN AND HIS MONKEY” STARTED WITH SPRAY PAINTED GRAFFITI, BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, THAT MANIFESTED INTO COLORFUL CHARACTERS AND VISTAS IN AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE.
In a U.S. News & World Report 2011 survey of high school guidance counselors, regarding national universities and national liberal arts colleges providing the best undergraduate education in America, the U.S. Naval Academy ranked #1.
In 2012, U.S. News & World Report ranked the U.S Naval Academy as the #1 Public Liberal Arts College in the nation, for the second year in a row.
In the 2012 U.S. News & World Report college rankings, the U.S. Naval Academy tied for 4th Best Undergraduate Engineering among non-doctorate-granting institutions.
“I WAS OFFERED THE OPPORTUNITY TO EXPRESS MYSELF, AS AN ARTIST, ON A MASSIVE BLANK CANVAS, IN FRONT OF A LIVE AUDIENCE FULL OF LEGENDARY ARTISTS, AT A TRIPPY, TWO-DAY, NON-STOP PARTY, TO RAISE AWARENESS ABOUT GLOBAL WARMING; SO, OF COURSE, I SEIZED THE DAY AND FLOWED INTO THE UNIQUE MOMENT, WITHOUT HESITATION.” – MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II
In 2016, the United States Naval Academy was ranked #2 in Public Colleges, #9 in Liberal Arts Universities, #17 best undergraduate institution and #24 Top College by Forbes magazine.
“THE ART OF CREATION BEGINS WITH A BLANK CANVAS AND AN OPEN MIND.” – VICTOR- HUGO VACA II
The U.S. Naval Academy teaches Midshipman Officers how to be effective leaders by exercising how to take command, execute orders, and making sure that those orders are carried out swiftly.
BEFORE ENTERING THE U.S. NAVAL ACADEMY IN 1989, THE MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, HAD TO PROVE HE WAS RELIABLE, TRUSTWORTHY AND HONEST ENOUGH TO GRADUATE FROM THE USNA PREP SCHOOL IN NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND.
“You were never outside the environment in which leadership mattered. We marched to class and we marched to every single meal, constantly in the presence of someone exhibiting leadership.”- Robert Herres, U.S. Naval Academy Alumni and retired CEO of USAA, a $60 billion insurance company.
DETAIL FROM “RONALD REAGAN AND HIS MONKEY” FEATURING THE ICONIC “CRACKHEAD JESUS IS COMING STICKER” (TOP LEFT) BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II.
“If you look at the majority of successful people in business, the common feature of most of them is that they get things done, they deliver, they execute. That’s built into the DNA of what you’re taught at the military academies.”- Pete Dawkins, West Point Alumni, Heisman Trophy winner and vice chairman of Citigroup Private Banking.
BEHIND THE SCENES: “RONALD REAGAN AND HIS MONKEY”, WAS FEATURED IN THE ROCOPERA MUSIC VIDEO FOR, “SHAKE THE CITY”, PRODUCED AND DIRECTED BY, MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II.
“The academies are designed to produce leaders, and I think good leaders are successful irrespective of the medium they’re working in. You can have a terrific idea, a great plan, and bad leadership, and you’ll fail. You can have a bad plan and really good leadership, and still figure out how to make it successful. Leadership is the single most important ingredient in all institutions. If you have bad leaders, the rest doesn’t matter.” – James Kimsey, West Point Alumni and co-founder of America Online.
IN 1989, MIDSHIPMAN OFFICER VICTOR-HUGO VACA II WAS ADMITTED INTO THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY CLASS OF 1993.
“Once you absorb that, your whole mindset changes. In battle, if you’re leading a company up a hill, and that night you have to write letters to all the mothers whose sons got killed that day, for whatever reasons, you realize there is no excuse. If you’re a CEO whose company is laying off thousands of workers because you failed to understand how the market changed, you also realize there is no excuse for those people now out of a job.”- James Kimsey, looking back on how Plebes at West Point and the U.S. Naval Academy are taught to respond, “No excuse, Sir!”, when their personal shortcomings and failure are exposed.
THE SCALE OF VENUE AND ARTWORK CREATED BY VICTOR-HUGO VACA II CAN BE SEEN IN THIS AERIAL VIEW.
“The Academy training gives you an attitude, and it’s the attitude that makes the difference. When I deal with Academy people in the business world, and I am asking for something to be done, I know it’s going to get done. I don’t hear a lot of, ‘Here are my excuses,’ but rather, ‘I am going to get it done, regardless.’ And that’s leadership.”- Ron Jones, Naval Academy Alumni, senior vice president at Veridian, a computer and engineering company.
WORK IN PROGRESS FINE ART GRAFFITI BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II.
“We learned at the Academy that the Honor Code had no geographical boundaries or limits. It applied at all times, whether we were in or out of uniform…. At first it was rather intimidating. One slip-up could mean expulsion.” – Gil Dorland, from his book, “Duty, Honor, Company”.
MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II OUTSIDE OF THE SYDNEY AND BERNE DAVIS ART CENTER IN FORT MYERS, FLORIDA.
The United States Naval Academy, implants into the fiber of being of all Midshipman Officers, key success factors and qualities in areas of the private sector, such as: honor, ethics, and integrity.
“If you don’t have honor, integrity, and ethics, it will be found out and people won’t deal with you. Whatever you do in the business environment, your word is most important. You’d better do what you say you’re going to do. Once you lose your credibility, your value diminishes dramatically, both through the eyes of the people that work for you and the people you deal with. It’s sort of a sine qua non of being successful.” – Jim Kimsey, America Online co-founder.
“The fact is, honor, ethics, and integrity are key success factors in many areas of the private sector.” – Eric Grubman, Naval Academy Alumni and a partner at Goldman Sachs.
USNA MIDSHIPMAN OFFICERS VICTOR-HUGO VACA II AND JEFF EGAN.
Elite business schools like Wharton and Harvard hold military academy graduates in high regard. In the Harvard Business School class of 2001, 37 students had bachelor’s degrees from Harvard, in second place for undergraduate training, were the service academies, with 24 alumnus.
“At Wharton, leadership was a class that we took. At the Academy, leadership was a way of life.” – Ron Jones, who attended the Naval Academy and Wharton, contrasting the education he received at each institution.
CLASS OF 1993, PLATOON 26, ROOMMATES AND USNA MIDSHIPMAN OFFICERS, LIVING AND LEARNING TO MAKE QUICK DECISIONS, IN BANCROFT HALL, THE LARGEST SINGLE DORMITORY IN THE WORLD (MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, HOLDING UP PEACE SIGN) .
The U.S. Naval Academy excels at teaching Midshipmen Officers the art of communicating swiftly and clearly with the rank and file, a skill necessary for successful CEO’s.
“Every day, you interact with your classmates and with your professors. You have got to communicate from day one as a plebe when you’re being hazed. You’ve got to communicate with your peers to survive.” – Joe Gudenburr, West Point Alumni and vice president of manufacturer, BuckBee-Mears.
THE MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II (FAR RIGHT) GRADUATED FROM THE NAVAL ACADEMY PREPARATORY SCHOOL; THE NAVY’S FOURTH OLDEST SCHOOL, BEHIND THE NAVAL ACADEMY, NAVAL WAR COLLEGE AND THE NAVAL POST GRADUATE SCHOOL.
Business leadership and stress go hand in hand; attending a U.S. military academy, like the USNA, provides practical stress management training.
“The academies are the finest institutions in the world at teaching honor, ethics, integrity, and loyalty. What you learn at a place like West Point will remain with you throughout your business career.” – Alexander Haig, President Reagan’s first Secretary of State, on U.S. Military Academies like the United States Naval Academy and Air Force Academy.
THE MISSION OF THE NAVAL ACADEMY PREP SCHOOL IS, “TO ENHANCE MIDSHIPMAN CANDIDATES’ MORAL, MENTAL, AND PHYSICAL FOUNDATIONS TO PREPARE THEM FOR SUCCESS AT THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY” – MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II
Platoon leaders don’t have time to consult with headquarters during life and death combat situations, therefore Midshipman Officers are trained to make crucial quick decisions on their own, which translates into a valuable skill, in the war of business.
“Communication is very poor on the battlefield; so commanders have to react to the situation rapidly on their own with relatively limited information. There’s no time for the chain-of-command to issue orders. This is very characteristic of business. Businesses that do this well end up with higher performance.” – Jerry York, former CFO of Chrysler and IBM, vice-chairman of Tracinda, an investment company, and West Point Alumni.
MUSE CONTEMPLATES WORK OF ART BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II TITLED, “STEPPING INTO THE NIGHT”, AT THE SIDNEY & BERNE DAVIS ART CENTER.
“Too often art is about the hawking of wares, rather than about the quality of life and the human experience. Art has always existed. Humankind obviously has a need for intangibles. Even something seemingly as simple as entertainment is deeply rooted in humans, we have been entertaining each other right from the first storytellers who described occurrences and faraway places.” – Lily Hatchett
“Having survived two Plebe years, at NAPS and the United States Naval Academy, nothing fazes me; I see no limitations, only challenges.” – Maverick Artist Victor- Hugo Vaca II
USNA MIDSHIPMAN OFFICER VICTOR-HUGO VACA II
“What are the things that you can’t see that are important? I would say, justice, truth, humility, service,compassion, love. You can’t see any of those, but they’re the guiding lights of a life.” – Jimmy Carter, United States President and U.S. Naval Academy Alumni Class of 1946.
Marathon All-Star MAMM Jam Creates “Muse 4 Haiti” To Benefit Earthquake Victims Through The Figaro Angel Network.
On January 12, 2010 Haiti was struck by an earthquake that measured 7.0 magnitude.”Muse 4 Haiti” (38×53) was created on January 8, 2011 at the NBC Omni Auditorium at the Haiti Memorial Concert.
THE MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II JOINED AN ALL-STAR LINE UP OF INTERNATIONAL TALENT TO RAISE MONEY FOR EARTHQUAKE SURVIVORS.
Over 220,000 people were killed and over 300,000 people were injured on January 12, 2010 in Haiti .
MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, ON STAGE, PERFORMING A SIX-HOUR MARATHON, MODERN ART MUSIC MOVEMENT, AT THE ALL-STAR MAMM JAM HAPPENING, WITH AN INTERNATIONAL LINE UP, OF TALENTED MUSICIANS, AT THE NBC OMNI AUDITORIUM, TO BENEFIT HAITI EARTHQUAKE VICTIMS.
The Haiti earthquake left more than 1.5 million homeless survivors.
MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR- HUGO VACA II PERFORMED WITH 14 ARTISTS TO CREATE THE PAINTING TITLED, “MUSE 4 HAITI”.
Five years later, tens of thousands of people in Port-au-Prince still live in tents and other temporary housing.
MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II CHANNELS THE MUSE INTO LIFE ON STAGE.
$13.5 billion in humanitarian aid from donations and pledges was raised from nations and private charity after the catastrophic 2010 Haiti Earthquake.
IN BETWEEN SETS, THE “MUSE 4 HAITI” BEGINS TO TAKE FORM ON STAGE.
The hypocrisy of philanthropy, political correctness and weak journalism fueled by greed, is such that, according to the Washington-based Center for Economic Policy and Research, less than a penny of every dollar goes directly to Haitian organizations. Thus, meaning that billions in relief and recovery aid, haven’t been enough to rescue Haiti from chronic corruption, which has enabled a tangible failure to manifest improvements that, in a better world, would have been brought to fruition, with all the available resources and goodwill.
MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II PLEADS WITH AUDIENCE FOR DONATIONS TO AID IN RECOVERY.
As a consequence of the earthquake, over the past four years, cholera has struck more than 720,000 Haitians and killed almost 9,000 people in Haiti.
“MUSE 4 HAITI” BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II
The Modern Art Music Movement™ (MAMM) is an International Coalition of Artists, Musicians, Filmmakers, and Professionals using art, music, movies and live mixed-media events to raise awareness about social issues not normally investigated on mainstream-media news outlets and to promote new talent and compassionate wealth, through art and education across the multi-universe.
MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II WITH TITO PUENTE JR. BACKSTAGE.
The Modern Art Music Movement™ (MAMM) fuses art and music to inspire creativity, cooperation, compassionate wealth, clear communication, conflict resolution and peace-making-innovation in the New World Order.
KING WAWA, SEAN HILL, TITO PUENTE JR. AND MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II BACKSTAGE AT THE HAITI MEMORIAL CONCERT.
The Modern Art Music Movement™ (MAMM) affords artists the opportunity to capture history, on canvas; manifested in Rorschach interpretations, created as mixed-media-performance-art, that fuses live music with art and movies in performances at multi-media events called MAMM Jams.
MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II WITH MUSES BACKSTAGE AT HAITI MEMORIAL CONCERT.
The following SFL news report, appeared on the CW Network; it features the Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca II performing a Modern Art Music Movement™ MAMM Jam Happening with Tito Puente Jr., Belo, Donta Wilson, King Wawa, Jahnesta, Mecca aka Grimo, Violeta Leskyte, Katalog, Misty Jean, Sunlove, Tonton Bicha, Alaye aka Zoerock, Harold St. Louis, Shirley Desgrottes, Robert Martino & The Lander Sisters at the Haiti Memorial Concert in South Florida.
“Live-Love-Flow-Shine.” – Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca II
MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II IN THE LABYRINTH OF CREATIVITY.
And now, for something completely different; sort of.
The New York Post, which some critics consider a rag, recently published an article by Michael Goodwin titled, “American Journalism Is Collapsing Before Our Eyes.”
IT IS NO WONDER THAT PUBLIC TRUST IN NEWS MEDIA IS ALL BUT EXTINGUISHED WHEN JOURNALISM IS FUNDAMENTALLY DISHONEST IN REPORTING EDITORIAL OPINION AS FACT AND TRUTH.
The New York Times has thrown out standards and violated all journalistic integrity in favor of echoing the Whitehouse and Hillary Clinton campaign.
AMERICAN FLAG VICTOR HUGO VACA II
The New York Times echoed the false premise of weapons of mass destruction, spoon-fed by Colin Powell and the Bush Whitehouse, to careless New York Times editors who published articles encouraging war in Iraq, without fact checking.
MODERN-ART-GONZO-JOURNALISM PAINTING, “THE THREE SOLDIERS” REPORTED THE WAR IN IRAQ AS BOTH AN INVASION AND A FARCE, BEFORE IT WAS CHIC, AT THE 2006 “CONTINUE TO DESCEND” EXHIBIT FEATURING WORK BY JEFF KOONS AND MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, AS NOTED IN THE NY ARTS MAGAZINE ARTICLE BY KATE HICKEY.
History will tell that bad reporting by The New York Times was partially responsible for the United States Invasion of Iraq and the continuing quagmire that exists in the Middle East, which is now bleeding heavily into Europe and on American soil.
“GOD SPOKE BUT INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALISTS WERE ALL LAID OFF, SO NOBODY LEARNED A THING.” MODERN-ART-GONZO-JOURNALISM STORY BOARD DRAWING BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II.
Instead of using investigative journalism to confirm facts properly before publishing content as a beacon of news and information for public trust, The New York Times, Miami Herald and Fort Myers News Press, to name a few, appear to be practicing copy and paste journalism that makes modern-art-gonzo-journalism seem more like Jon Stewart’s, “The Daily Show”, to cultured Millennials.
IT IS ESTIMATED THAT BETWEEN 6-10% OF REVENUE, ACTUALLY GOES TO CHARITY, IN “THE CLINTON FOUNDATION”, EVEN LESS IN FLY BY NIGHT CHARITIES, THAT EXPLOIT HANDICAPPED CHILDREN, WOMEN AND VETERANS FOR POLITICAL FAVORS AND PERSONAL ENRICHMENT.
“I mean, honestly, the question, I think, now for the Clintons is, ‘What else don’t we know? What don’t we know about your donors? What don’t we know about the conflicts of interest that those donors represent when Mrs. Clinton is serving as Secretary of State?’ We are now finding out that so little of those charitable donations actually go to charitable works.” – Republican presidential candidate Carly Fiorina
2013 ANNUAL REVENUE OF THE CLINTON FOUNDATION WAS $149 MILLION OF WHICH $9 MILLION OR 6% ACTUALLY MADE ITS WAY TO CHARITY IN GRANTS, ALLEGEDLY.
To be fair, according to Katherina Rosqueta, the founding executive director of the Center for High Impact Philanthropy at the University of Pennsylvania, “There is an important distinction between an operating foundation vs. a non-operating foundation; An operating foundation implements programs so money it raises is not designed to be used exclusively for grant-making purposes. When most people hear ‘foundation’, they think exclusively of a grant-making entity. In either case, the key is to understand how well the foundation uses money — whether to implement programs or to grant out to nonprofits.”
THE UNDECIDED VOTER
Katherina Rosqueta, The Undecided Voter notices, is suggesting the Clinton Foundation is an “operating foundation.”
“THE GONIF INSIDE” MODERN-ART-GONZO-JOURNALISM STORY BOARD DRAWING BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II.
The Clinton Foundation allegedly spent 12 percent of its revenue on travel and conferences and 20 percent of its revenue on salaries.
GONIFS COLLUDE WITH JOURNALISTS TO BAMBOOZLE DO-GOODERS INTO EXPLOITING THE FEEBLE MINDED AND WEAK IN SACRIFICE OF PUBLIC TRUST.
Mr. Bill was a friend of mine. When he needed shelter, I housed him. When he needed food, I fed him. One day, Mr. Bill called to ask a favor of me.
“The All Stars are getting together again, would you like to be part of the reunion?” He asked.
I recalled the thrill of being on stage, in front of thousands of cheering fans in Fort Myers, Florida, using my gift of synesthesia to interpret wavelengths and frequencies of music in color on canvas, with rock & roll legends, who collectively, sold over half a billion records worldwide.
“Is it going to be like the first time?” I asked.
“ALL STAR MAMM JAM” BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II.
“Yes.” He answered. “Only this time, it will be to benefit handicapped children. My girlfriend’s son has autism. He attends the Able Academy in Naples. I wondered if you wouldn’t mind working with them the day before the show at the school. The band is going to be there and so is FOX News. At the concert, I’ll make sure the stage is set up properly. If you don’t mind, we’ll bring the kids up and let them paint with you during one of the songs. You can stay with the band at the beachfront mansion I rented and I’ll cover your travel expenses. What do you say, can you do it?”
“Sure.” I answered.
“Oh, and after we perform for the children in Naples, we’re scheduled for a gig in Fort Myers, at the opening game of spring training for the World Series champions, the Boston Red Sox.” Mr. Bill paused before continuing. “So, you’ll be there too, right? You can create three Modern Art Music Movement paintings to commemorate the All Star weekend.”
“Yeah, sure, no problem. I’ll be there for all three MAMM Jams”
After hanging up with Mr. Bill, I got a phone call from my best friend Todd in New York, a huge Orthodox Jew that looks like an albino gorilla wearing a yamaka. He’s a wrestling champion, nicknamed, “The Hebrew Hammer”, who plays the harmonica with chutzpa and soul.
“My friend just invited me to a VH1 Fashion Week Party full of notable celebrities, he’s one of the performing artists, so it’s going to be VIP all the way, you want to come? VH1 gave him a suite at the Times Square Marriott, there’s plenty of room, you can be my guest.” Todd said.
“I would love to.” I answered, before realizing that the dates conflicted with the bond I had given to my friend Mr. Bill for sake of the children at the Able Academy. “Why don’t you join me in Fort Myers for an All-Star MAMM Jam with former members of Boston, Steely Dan, The Doobie Brothers, Third World, The Wailers and The James Brown Band, to benefit mentally handicapped children? I’ll tell Mr. Bill I’m bringing you as my guest and you can stay with me at the beachfront mansion he’s renting for the band.”
“You sure it’s going to be alright, remember, I’m Kosher, what about Shabbat?”
“ Dude, they’re rock legends, not anti-semites.”
“Alright, I’ll buy my ticket to fly down to your Labyrinth of Creativity on the beach near Miami. I’ll rent a big car for us to drive across Alligator Alley together, as long as you make sure I can celebrate my Weekly Holy Day.”
“You got it, Todd. I promise.”
So began my covenant with the Able Academy kids and my friends, never realizing that my commitment would lead to a series of events that left me afraid of charity and suffering Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).
CHAPTER ONE: THE SPECIAL ARTIST FROM NYC
The day before meeting the Able Academy kids in Naples, I was scheduled to appear on WRPBI-TV, which broadcasts out of Boca Raton, Florida, to promote the All Star event in Fort Myers. Prior to my interview, on a show titled, “Out Of The Haze with Bryan Hayes”, I was introduced to Snow, a Canadian Reggae Musician, whose song, “Informer”, has been recorded twice in the “Guinness Book Of World Records” as the best selling reggae single in U.S. History, as well as the highest charting reggae single in history, after spending seven consecutive weeks at Number 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1993.
I signed an autograph for Snow’s daughter talked to his manager, invited them all to the event in Fort Myers and next thing I knew, I was being asked intimate questions about my career as a “maverick artist” on a soundstage, in front of a television camera. According to Todd, who watched the show on a monitor backstage, the half-hour interview was “perfect”.
Outside, the weather was beyond nasty, torrential downpours and lightning strikes peppered the day and were forecast deep into the night. My trip across Alligator Alley to Fort Myers would be a dangerous journey. Thunder struck as Todd and I exited the television station, making a mad dash for the rental car, through deep puddles, under umbrellas that failed to keep us dry. Soaked, we began our adventure to the west coast of Florida, in the name of charity.
Halfway over the treacherous road that cuts through the Everglades, I received a text message from Mr. Bill advising me that Skunk Baxter, formerly of the Doobie Brothers and Steely Dan, had arrived at the Fort Myers beachfront mansion with his grandchildren, which meant there was no room for Todd and I.
There are no U-turns or exits on Alligator Alley, it’s one- way in and one-way out so, we had no choice but to stay the course. The weather was grave, as we drove cautiously through the darkness of night with little road visibility, in spite of glaring high beams, that only shined light on our immediate predicament. I could not respond to Mr. Bill’s untimely message in the midst of such severe weather because of our remote location, in the middle of the Everglades, which offered no cell phone reception.
After a grueling five and a half-hour road trip, Todd and I made it to Mr. Bill’s home near the Henry Ford and Thomas Edison estates in Fort Myers. My cell phone battery was dead, so I knocked on the door and asked Mr. Bill’s housekeeper to notify him of our arrival. I smiled at Todd, when I noticed the framed painting of, “Cristomujer”, which I had personally signed and gifted to Mr. Bill when he last stayed at my home as a houseguest, hanging prominently on his living room wall. Todd and I looked at framed photographs of Mr. Bill standing side by side with every single United States President since Richard Nixon and other notables in the music and entertainment world, as his voice carried over the cell phone speaker of his house-keeper.
“Don’t send them over to the beach house.” Mr. Bill said, unaware that he was on speakerphone.
“Shall I set them up here?” The housekeeper asked, with an embarrassed look on his face.
“No! Let them sleep in the fixer-upper.”
“But, there’s no beds or furniture, there’s no hot water or locks on the doors. Are you sure? There’s plenty of room here.”
“I don’t want them staying at the house, do what I tell you.” Mr. Bill said firmly before ending the call abruptly.
“I thought you said this guy was your friend?” Todd asked.
“He is.” I said, with a confused look on my face, as I dripped onto Mr. Bill’s wooden floor in front of his housekeeper, who looked back at me with pity.
“There’s a mattress in the garage. The garage is full of junk. If you guys help me, we can take the mattress out, put it in my truck, and you both can sleep on it over at the fixer-upper.”
An hour later, after wiping cobwebs and spiders off a stained mattress in the middle of a thunderstorm, we arrived at what appeared to be a crack house near the Edison Estate in Fort Myers. There were no blinds, shades or window treatments for privacy. Puddles riddled rooms in fluid Rorschach shapes from leaks in the ceiling. A blood red stain covered the kitchen floor in the manner of a human body drawn by Keith Haring, which made the place appear like a crime scene.
“You’ll have to climb through the window.” Mr. Bill’s housekeeper announced before exiting through the dank garage.
“I thought I heard you say there was no locks on the doors.” Todd interjected.
“Well, I don’t have keys for the padlocks used to secure the front and back exits, so, you’ll have to climb through the window if you really got to get out, otherwise, just come and go through the garage.” Mr. Bill’s housekeeper said in visible breaths that sliced through the pungent smell of mildew permeating the carport. “Doors broke, so it’s always open.”
“Are you serious?” Todd asked, looking at me sternly.
“Oh, and the toilets don’t work.” Mr. Bill’s housekeeper paused before adding, “And, I wouldn’t drink the water either, it’s brown.”
Todd and I were out of there, back into the storm, without a place to rest, hours before I was supposed to perform for handicapped children in Naples and thousands of classic rock and Boston Red Sox fans in Fort Myers.
After Midnight, we showed up at the beachfront mansion, where we were initially supposed to stay. I called Mr. Bill, to let him know we were outside but he didn’t answer the phone. Minutes later, he responded with a text message that read, “You can’t stay here. Don’t ring the bell, you’ll wake the band”.
Todd and I stared in disbelief, through buckets of rain being scattered by windshield wipers, at a huge RV that could easily sleep a dozen people, parked outside the beachfront mansion, while I contacted my manager to explain the situation.
“Can you find us a hotel?” I pleaded.
Half an hour later, my manager called back to say that all hotels in the Fort Myers area were booked. She said she would try to find us a hotel within a hundred mile radius and call back once she had secured a room for us.
In that time, Todd received a call from his friend, who had just finished performing at the VH1 fashion show in New York City, he was on speakerphone, so I could hear every detail of how awesome the event was and how amazing the star-studded after-party was going. I slumped into the seat as Todd stared down at me. I felt like such a shmuck.
“Why don’t you guys fly over on the red eye? There are hot models everywhere! I’ve got a suite at the Marriott Times Square for the weekend, the party’s just begun!”
Finally, around 2 a.m., my manager called with reservations for a hotel in Naples, not far from the Able Academy, where I was supposed to arrive at 8 a.m. to rehearse for my 9 o’clock performance with the All Stars in front of FOX News cameras and a roomful of handicapped children. The hotel was about two hours away, according to the GPS. It would cost me $287.00 to rest my head for a few hours, or I could hop on a flight with Todd and be in Manhattan, cavorting with A-list celebrities and models all weekend.
“It’s up to you.” Todd said. “I can drive us to the airport or to the hotel. Mr. Bill doesn’t sound like a very good friend and I don’t think he’s going to honor his word. Let’s cut our losses and get out of here.”
“Yeah, but I promised these kids. My manager says they’ve been studying my work for weeks and are looking forward to meeting me.” I answered, not sure why I cared, since, I don’t have children of my own and I much prefer partying with women than I do playing with kids. My instinct told me to get on a plane to New York and live like a party animal for the weekend but my heart told me to do the right thing and stay for the youngsters at the Able Academy.
Darkness shifted from crimson to amethyst before turning azure in the heaven above, shining a bright light in my eyes through the window shades, as the alarm went off, two hours after falling asleep. Todd stayed in bed; there was no waking him up. My brain was mush from lack of rest and my body ached from being trapped in a car for over ten hours. When I arrived at the Able Academy, the director of the school told me that Mr. Bill had just called to inform her that the All Star Band was not coming and since the band had cancelled, FOX News decided to abort the affair as well.
I had never worked with handicapped children before in my life. Without a clue, I told the director of the school to follow my lead and we would make something special happen for the rising generation. I determined the disabled kids would get a MAMM Jam, with or without Mr. Bill and his All Star Band.
“The show must go on”, I thought, through all the confusion. So, I grabbed some canvas, paints and brushes, out of the trunk of my car; found a radio and some strobe lights and hustled into the Able Academy as a text message from my manager came in, reminding me not to be late for the “Boston Strong MAMM Jam” , honoring victims of the Boston bombing at the Boston Red Sox Spring Training opener in Fort Myers at noon.
I told the school director that I only had two hours before having to rush over to the stadium. She said it wasn’t enough time to spend with all the kids and that they would be disappointed because they had spent weeks examining my work in anticipation of my arrival.
I suggested doubling the number of youngsters I would work with at a time and she said that would be impossible because mentally handicapped children could be uncomfortable and unpredictable in large groups. She warned me that even with the most experienced of teachers and professional counselors, they could get violent or unruly. I told her we didn’t have a choice and so my spontaneous adventure in art therapy with the special kids at the Able Academy began.
CHAPTER TWO – BOSTON STRONG
“All interesting artists are autodidacts.” – Massimiliano Gioni
In some Italian provinces, the word ‘artist’ is a synonym for dunce. An artist must walk a tightrope between being perceived as an illustrious nobody or a famous intellectual by critics disguised as cultural sycophants in an arena filled with smoke and mirrors. Being a creator is not a career for fragile egos, so to be a virtuoso, one must have thick skin.
I have been called all sorts of things by critics, not all of them complimentary, but I survive and my work will live on, long after my corporal being exits this plane of existence, in the expanding multi-universe.
In 2005, after performing a MAMM Jam with Rhythmm Epkins, drummer for “The English Beat”, and founder of the R&B funk group, “Mind, Body & Soul”, to raise money for the mentally handicapped, at a sold-out show in Bakersfield, California, where the first five rows were reserved for the mentally challenged, who were the most appreciative audience I have ever had the pleasure of performing in front of, I became known, by some critics, as, “Victor-Hugo: The Artist of Retards”.
When I performed MAMM Jams during 2009 Art Basel Week in Miami, Florida to sold-out, standing room only crowds attending the infamous, “Crackhead Jesus: The Second Coming Art Exhibition”, at the “Buck 15 Gallery Lounge” on Lincoln Road, a large group of women from Weight Watchers joined me onstage while I painted the unique moment on canvas, at which point, I became known, by some critics, as, “Victor-Hugo: The Artist of Fat Chicks and Retards”.
Some call me, “The Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo” others call me, “The Maverick Meatball”. Whatever the case, I’m happy. However, as I am an artist/activist birthed from a business background, I’ve come to notice that artists are often treated like “The-Retards-of-the-Business-World” instead of sober-entrepreneurs, by some ignorant top brass. Though, thankfully, not all influence makers exploit an artists’ passion, those who choose to dim the light instead of fueling the soul, manifest dark energy that fills the multi-universe, all this, in spite of knowing that entertainment is, in fact, like any other business, an industry that must flow perpetually, in balance of soul currency, to exist infinitely.
Art is not cheap to create. It takes effort, ingenuity and time and since time is money, if I had a Bitcoin, for every time someone, like Mr. Bill, told me, “Why don’t you perform for free, it’ll be good exposure?” or, “How about giving me one of your paintings, for free, to hang in my mansion, so all my filthy-rich friends can see your work, while smoking weed?” I’d be a tycoon of Rothschild proportions.
Do these unenlightened moguls ask Doctors to perform surgery for free or ask lawyers to satisfy their legal issues, free of charge, because it’s good practice?
I don’t think so. An artist must always risk failure, for failure is part of the process but that doesn’t mean creators should accept the status quo of double-dealing in business matters or any other affairs. An artist has class mobility, for that reason, particularly in a disturbed society, a virtuoso must ask the right questions, open consciousness, raise awareness and elevate minds.
An artist should serve mankind, for that reason, humanity should not become complacent with the profiteering of an artist because a true artist can be childlike forever and the exploitation of children is detrimental to any culture pursuing Enlightenment. Some muddled people feel the world doesn’t need artists because art doesn’t meet our basic needs to survive but that’s bogus; art fuels the soul currency of human capital that trumps any banknote or material treasure.
These thoughts raced through my aching head, as I prepared to meet my audience of special children at The Able Academy in Naples, Florida, hours before my gig with the All Stars at the Boston Red Sox Spring Training Opener in Fort Myers, Florida, to honor victims of the Boston Marathon bombing. As if taunting my choice of career, the outstretched, blank canvas, measuring 36 x 71, clipped to the front of a long table turned on it’s side, resting atop another elongated table, stared back at me, screaming, “Fail! Fail! Fail!”
I’ve heard people say that animals can sense fear and weakness. I don’t know what experts say about children with autism but I can tell you this, the moment the Able Academy director opened the door, to let kids into the room where I stood vulnerable, feeling helpless and alone in a cruel world, a beautiful boy ran to me, clasped my knees lovingly and looked up at me like a cherub in a chapel. I felt such overwhelming affection from the pint-sized angel holding a tight grip on me that, in an instant, all the negativity and cynicism inside of me washed away like the Great Flood. I fought back tears in that abstract moment that seemed to last a lifetime because I did not want to break down in front of the celestial beings surrounding me.
One by one, frail angels entered the room, coalescing in the ecstasy of colors, dancing freely with paint and brushes in their tiny hands as they guided me through the purity of love being expressed on canvas without shame, guilt or remorse. I noticed one child slumped in the corner with his face in his hands. He beckoned me with magnificent eyes that stared at me through the cracks in his fingers.
“”Would you like to paint with us?” I asked, as I knelt down before him.
“Art has power.” He said, letting his guard down.
“Yes, it does.” I said as I placed a brush in his hand. “Show me what you can do.”
“Believe in your greatness and it will be the death of your creativity.” He said, taking my hand in his and leading me to the canvas where we melted into the void of color alongside the other offspring.
The joy was so intense, time flew by the way magic moments do and before I knew it the unique experience was over. I said goodbye to the kids, packed my equipment, called Todd, who was patiently waiting outside the hotel after having checked out and assured him I was on my way to get him for the hour-long journey to Fort Myers.
He reminded me that we were running late.
Before leaving, the stunned school director asked me how I had managed to get the catatonic child to speak. She said it was a miracle because the juvenile never spoke to anyone. I told her I communicated with respect and dignity. The innocent confided in me that the adults didn’t understand them and didn’t pay attention, which frankly, was no surprise to me, since out of the mouth of babes comes truth and most adults can’t handle the truth, which is why some adolescents choose to stay silent.
Traffic was at a crawl, leading up to the stadium in Fort Myers. It seemed all of creation had come to cheer for the World Series Champions at the Spring Training Opener. My manager had coordinated for the Boston Red Sox to sign the painting created with the Able Academy children, for the artwork to be auctioned off in their benefit but when I got to the stadium, Mr. Bill chastised me for my manager doing so, claiming she had overstepped her bounds, “It’s my show, damn it!” He stated indefatigably before adding, “Hurry up, you’re late! The band goes on stage in 10 minutes.”
“This is your friend?” Todd said, looking at Mr. Bill with disgust and me with sympathy, as Mr. Bill’s girlfriend Melissa approached me with open arms and a huge smile.
“Oh my God! I heard you got my son to speak, I wish I could have been there.” She said holding back tears.
“Why weren’t you?” I thought to myself, sinking into her warm embrace while Mr. Bill stared back at me with contempt that I could not explain.
One by one, the All Stars embraced me before going on stage. I was reunited with members of Bon Jovi, Boston, The Doobie Brothers, Steely Dan, The Wailers, Third World, The James Brown Band and Foster Child, none of which were aware of the harrowing experience that had preceded our moment in time before the Boston Red Sox fans in Fort Myers. Like the victims of the Boston bombing, I was determined to carry on, undaunted by adversity, and so I did, creating “Boston Strong” alongside music industry titans, in front of a live audience on February 28, 2014.
The painting, “Boston Strong”, is signed by Bon Jovi’s bass player, Hugh McDonald ; Fran Sheehan, the former bassist and original member of the band Boston; Barry Goudreau, guitarist and original member of the band Boston; Leroy Romans, former keyboard player for Third World and The Wailers; Robert “Mousey” Thompson, drummer for the late James Brown; Danny Beissel of the band Foster Child; B.A.M. (Bad Ass Musician) and Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo.
Philanthropy is great but some charities are a sham whose only purpose is to make money for the producer of the fundraiser. Most charities are legitimate but others exploit children, veterans or the handicapped by using paid fundraisers whose fees eat up most of a donation through loopholes, so very little money is actually shared with those most in need.
In 2013, total giving to charitable organizations was $335.17 billion. Hundreds of charities claim to help the disadvantaged but how much of the money raised actually goes to the cause being donated to and how much cash goes to the fundraiser?
The answer, unfortunately, is almost nothing goes to the motive. Even if regulators try to shut down unscrupulous fundraisers for fooling donors, most operate without fear of reckoning because mainstream media, that survives on the public trust of its audience, has accepted exploitation of the underprivileged as status quo and therefore under reports the fact that very little money makes it to those who need it most when it comes to fundraising.
Case in point, the story of Charles Runnells, who covers arts and entertainment for The News Press in Fort Myers, Florida. When asked to research allegations of fraud by an alleged scammer in his community, focusing on specific causes like handicapped children and disabled veterans to play on the generosity of his readership, Mr. Runnells dismissed the accusation, as not worthy of his time for a thorough, in-depth investigation.
If you are thinking about giving to a charity, beware of fundraisers who: refuse to provide detailed information about identity, mission, costs and how donations will be used; won’t provide proof that a contribution is tax deductible; use high-pressure tactics in shaming you to donate; refuse to provide proof of percentage of donation actually going to the charity; refuse to provide forensic accounting of how much money will be going to the fundraiser, after expenses; are not registered with the state as a charity or fundraiser.
If you think you’ve been the victim of a charity scam, file a complaint with the Federal Trade Commission or contact your State Attorney. There is no glory in being a stooge. Stand strong in the face of adversity. Your action can help detect patterns of unscrupulousness that may lead to investigations and prosecutions.
I wrote some of what you just read on canvas, in front of Red Sox fans, during my performance at the Boston Strong Modern Art Music Movement (MAMM) Jam in Fort Myers, FL. When I’m on stage, I enter a trance, filling the void with colorful letters that swirl into words that dance in syncopation to the wavelengths and frequencies of sounds that surround me, manifesting sentences that educate audiences in a cacophony of coloring that provides a foundation, for the work of art created to serve as a historical document of the event, for future generations to consider, and digest, in light of the fact that, if you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything, because truth is imprinted on the canvas of life.
If what’s alleged about Bill Cosby is less sweet than a pudding pop, watchdog journalists, like Mark Whitaker, won’t investigate thoroughly; so too when it comes to Mr. Bill in the news press. In 1914, Walter Williams wrote “The Journalist’s Creed”. Essentially, it reads:
I believe in the profession of journalism.
I believe that the public journal is a public trust, that all connected with it are, to the full measure of responsibility, trustees for the public, that all acceptance of lesser service than the public service is a betrayal of trust.
I believe that clear thinking, clear statement, accuracy and fairness are fundamental to good journalism.
I believe that a journalist should write only what he holds in his heart to be true.
I believe that suppression of the news, for any consideration other than the welfare of society, is indefensible.
I believe that no one should write as a journalist what he would not say as a gentleman, that bribery by one’s own pocket book is as much to be avoided as bribery by the pocketbook of another, that individual responsibility may not be escaped by pleading another’s instructions or another’s dividends.
I believe that advertising, news and editorial columns should alike serve the best interests of readers; that a single standard of helpful truth and cleanness should prevail for all; that supreme test of good journalism is the measure of its public service.
I believe that the journalism which succeeds the best and best deserves success fears God and honors man; is stoutly independent; unmoved by pride of opinion or greed of power; constructive, tolerant but never careless, self-controlled, patient, always respectful of it’s readers but always unafraid, is quickly indignant at injustice; is unswayed by the appeal of the privilege or the clamor of the mob; seeks to give every man a chance, and as far as law, an honest wage and recognition of human brotherhood can make it so, an equal chance is profoundly patriotic while sincerely promoting international good will and cementing world-comradeship, is a journalism of humanity, of and for today’s world.
Well, that was then and this is now. In the internet age of NBC News Director, Brian Williams, being everywhere but in reality, journalist’s hide behind clips of kittens, puppies and laughing babies trending online, while wiping their asses with the Journalist’s Creed, which is why, I fused Hunter S. Thompson’s gonzo journalism with Salvador Dali’s style of impregnating subliminal messages into psychedelically-poetic-cryptic works of art, to create modern art gonzo journalism for The Lied To Generation through the Modern Art Music Movement (MAMM).
The twenty-four hour news cycle is brimming with cross-legged beauties wearing little more than big smiles while flashing their stately pair of gams for the camera’s voyeuristic gaze as teleprompters feed them the horrific news of the day, before thanking rainbow colored pundits tripping over themselves to avoid saying, “You’re welcome”, in response to the inviting news anchors gratitude for joining the staged broadcast. Instead, we as audience witness talking heads state, with great inflection intimating courteous one-upmanship, “No! Thank you, for having me, on your program.”
One can only imagine the number of viewers who masturbate while watching the news, in a world where titillation has replaced fact and, on that note, with a long, hard stroke of my thick, wet brush I finished painting “Boston Strong” in front of an open-mouthed audience in Fort Myers, Florida, that was begging for more. Alas, there was no encore from the All-Star Band, at the Boston Red Sox Spring Training Home-Opener. The eager crowd got what they deserved and from the satisfied look on their faces, they loved every moment of the MAMM Jam experience.
“What the hell was that?” Mr. Bill asked, when I got off stage.
“Modern art gonzo journalism.” I answered, nonplussed. “I paint the news.”
“Thank God it wasn’t one of your DNA Series.” Mr. Bill shook his head in disgust and walked away muttering. “Sperm painting.”
“Hey Bill, where am I staying tonight? I don’t have a place to rest and last night cost me three hundred bucks out of pocket. What’s up?” I asked the back of Mr. Bill’s head.
“We’ll talk about it later.” Mr. Bill answered, without turning around. “I’m busy.”
At that moment, I remembered a rumor about a friend of mine who plays with The Cars, J Geils Band and The Bellevue Cadillac. Allegedly, Mr. Bill had asked the beloved musician to join the All Star Band for a gig on Wall Street to raise money for wounded veterans but when it came time to reimburse the artist for travel expenses and accommodations, as promised, Mr. Bill failed to honor his word and left the well-respected performer in the red.
It’s a small world and news travels fast about a person’s reputation but all I knew about Mr. Bill at that point was, that like Bill Cosby, both men were highly regarded, well-liked and doted on by those who did not wish to disturb the Natural Order of Things in the entertainment world, so bad press was hard to come by for either man and uttering anything negative about Mr. Bill or Bill Cosby, was simply taboo in the entertainment industry.
I chose to reserve judgment as I stared at Mr. Bill ignoring my concerns in favor of being fawned by fans, backstage, in front of his girlfriend, Melissa. The truth is hard to swallow, so I buried my instinct and threw myself into the only thing that made sense to me at that point; the steady process of cleaning brushes, packing paint cans and breaking down my easel after an exhausting MAMM Jam performance.
THE UNDECIDED VOTER ASKS: IS NEWS MEDIA COLLUDING WITH “THE CLINTON FOUNDATION” AND OTHERS TO EXPLOIT HANDICAPPED CHILDREN, WOMEN AND VETERANS, IN GROSS VIOLATION OF PUBLIC TRUST?
“The Retarded Artist From NYC Gets Call From Mr. Bill Asking Favor To Perform For Abel Academy Kids” by Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca II
“I just ran into Taylor Swift Shabbat and Clive Davis, I thought you were catching the red eye. Where the hell are you guys?”
“We’re at the Boston Red Sox game.” Todd answered his animated friend, who was calling from a New York City Fashion Week event.
“Well get your ass over here, Beyonce and Jay-Z invited me to their crib for a V.I.P. after party tonight and they said I can bring some friends.”
“I can’t make it, the Jewish Sabbath is in a few hours and we still don’t have a place to stay. Maybe tomorrow, after Shabbat.”
“What? I thought you said your friend set you up at a beach house with a bunch of rock stars.”
“He did but his friend bailed out on us and now we’re wandering about like vagabonds.”
The crack of a wooden bat smashing a baseball over the fence for a home-run sent the sold-out crowd into a frenzy drowning out the humiliating conversation going on beside me between Todd and his V.I.P. friend in Manhattan. I could hear every word screaming out of his cell phone as my Android vibrated to alert me that my manager was calling.
“You’re not going to believe this.” My manager said when I answered her call. “Mr. Bill told me to have Todd pay for a hotel but there are no hotels, it’s season, everything is booked.”
“What?” I answered in disbelief as Todd ended his call and eavesdropped on my conversation.
“Mr. Bill said, Todd’s Jewish.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked.
“Mr. Bill said, there’s no such thing as a poor Jew, therefore,” My manager sounded stunned by his logic.
“I assume, he figured…”
“I knew it. Mr. Bill’s an anti-semite! He looked at me kind of funny when we met. Stop being a cheap Jew and pay for a hotel.” Todd growled at me as he rearranged the black yamaka, adorned with the Star of David, on his head.
“Hot dogs! Peanuts! Get your hot dogs and peanuts here.” The vendor shouted as timber splintered after colliding with a baseball that flew over the fence sending hearts soaring for the World Series champions who manifested another point on the scoreboard as, exhausted, I rose, embarrassed and confused, in a sea of Boston Red Sox fans.
“That’s not happening. Todd’s not paying for the hotel. What the hell is wrong with Mr. Bill?” I shouted into the phone as the crowd around me reverberated with delight.
“Why don’t you tell him that?” My manager asked. “Isn’t Mr. Bill with you?”
“No. He said he would come by to get Todd and I before the seventh inning stretch, so we could all go out for a late lunch, it’s already the bottom of the eighth.”
“I told you, Mr. Bill ain’t coming!” Todd shouted over my shoulder into the phone. “I’m starving.”
“Get Todd a hotdog.” My manager suggested as I put her call on speakerphone.
“I’m Kosher! That dog’s not kosher! I need to follow Jewish dietary law.”
“Listen, I found a beach house for you guys. The owners are big fans and willing to trade accommodations in exchange for four tickets to the All Star MAMM Jam in Fort Myers tomorrow night. I told Mr. Bill and he said he would get back to me but I haven’t heard from him, so if you see him, tell him to call me ASAP.” My manager said before hanging up.
“Let’s get out of here.” Todd kvetched. “Shabbat starts at sunset.”
We sat in traffic for hours with all the snowbirds, waiting to hear from Mr. Bill but he never returned my calls or text messages. Finally, my manager called with the news that Mr. Bill refused to barter four tickets in exchange for safe shelter.
“He said Todd should stop being cheap and pay for a hotel.” My manager added with disgust, as I put her on speakerphone. “Mr. Bill suggested you guys stay at his house or a trailer that’s supposed to be parked in his driveway later tonight.”
“I need to find shelter before the sun goes down. ” Todd insisted. “That anti-semites home is too far away at this point, we’ll never make it before Shabbat.”
My manager promised to continue searching for hotel accommodations on the web while we dodged in and out of roadside motels without no-vacancy signs, through crawling traffic, as the sun beat down on us before beginning to set.
“There’s got to be something.” I pleaded with the motel desk clerk who, like all the other hotel clerks I’d interacted with in the twilight, informed me that because we were, “In-Season”, there were no vacancies.
“My cousin, owns a motel just over the bridge, it’s called The Welcome Inn. I will call him now to see if he has any rooms available.” The pungent smelling clerk said in an almost unintelligible East Indian accent.
“Please hurry, I think my friends going to turn into a Pumpkin if I don’t find him a place to stay before sundown.” I said, while looking out at Todd shifting nervously while reading the Torah, behind the wheel of our packed rental car in the parking lot.
“Good news.” I told Todd as I entered the car five minutes later. “We have a room at The Welcome Inn, I made reservations. It’s just over the bridge. We should make it before sunset.”
And, we did. Just as the sun began to set, we drove past the hookers and crack-heads into the parking lot of The Welcome Inn. When I opened the door to our room, the first thing I saw was graffiti. Written in black magic marker on the dark green wall, beneath the black mildew from the leaking, air-conditioning unit, were the words, “Fuck You”, staring back at me. The writing on the wall was literally a sign of things to come during my stay with The Hebrew Hammer on Shabbos at, what came to be known as, “The Unwelcome Inn”.
MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR- HUGO VACA II BEFORE GETTING ON STAGE TO PERFORM MODERN ART MUSIC MOVEMENT WITH MUSIC INDUSTRY LEGENDS TO BENEFIT CHILDREN’S CHARITY.
“I’ve seen the dark side of charity, the hypocrisy of philanthropy, enabled by weak news media and neutered journalists, that fail to tell altruistic people where their donations are really going and how little money actually goes, into helping the cause.” – Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo Vaca II
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