Author: George C. Hartman

Redesiging design, coloring outside the lines, rolling down hills, figuring out strange people, dreaming in black and white, photographing in black and white, juggling, body surfing, fantasy football, painting, design, digital art and photo manipulation, green oceans, blue oceans, museums, discovering small towns, biking, beach, relationships that tear my heart out, bad poetry, movie making and BLOGGING

A classic photo. You can find this photo in December 2016. Probably taken 10 or so years after World War II. Our father still has pimples and our mother very much in love. This is before Seton Hall college, the Korean War, taking on a business and 10 children. When they first got married they […]

claustrophobia

this was our first summer Under the canvas gazebo Encased by the towering rows of impatiens, petunia’s and daisy where 8 foot tall sunflowers leaned into the bursting tomatoes conversations deep in three Layers of balanced stones where we met each morning Covered in cool shadows starbucks coffee and melted wax from last nights candles […]

nucleomituphobia.

Here is the obituary of trying: millions cascaded the streets swinging signs of hope. The skies were dreary but there was love and unity everywhere. “america first” is what we are told we will become. When once we were so remarkably blessed because we always wanted to help other people. what is so wrong with […]

Maria

I draw the blinds as the sky goes black on another day when we found out you were sick we cried more than at the smothering silence at your funeral except for the angels singing yeah, we all heard that even years later the sadness continues to follow me for someone I hardly knew when […]

(mikes bar)

about Mikes bar was an old mans bar on Roosevelt avenue right before the West Carteret bridge. I t was the quintessential filthy bar with a Jukebox, pool table and black and white Tv up on a shelf. It’s not there anymore. It was refurbished with shiny new bar with mirrors and played disco music […]

The Day I Met Rodney Hampton

Friendship Hall was a large two story building at the end of Seventh street in Piscataway. It was a big old brick building that had 12 step recovery meetings all the time and every day. I always said this place saved my life because someone gave me directions to it just when I was unemployed […]

Hard to describe in words

You may find yourself… One day I woke up here and the sun was spilling into our bed in what seemed to be huge buckets of yellow and orange paint. We had breakfast together and then went outside into the garden. People come in and out of your life for a reason I come here […]

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