Author Archives: George C. Hartman

About 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

Day 8

Hey, yeah. I owned a house once. I paid a mortgage, property taxes, and called Home Depot my second place to live. I watched that house being built. It was brand new. Basement, three bedrooms, cathedral ceiling, deck, fireplace, almost … Continue reading →

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Day 7

when i first pulled up the sign in front of the house when i first saw it i fucking threw up in the driveway the first time”for sale-take a virtual tour”and the rain washed itaway/ that is what they tell … Continue reading →

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Day 6

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In heaven, men can smoke cigars and watch football.

Once a long time ago in the 1960’s when things were different. Friendships and families were etched in real life, and not “on-line”. Face to face with booze, cards, cigars, cheap bars, real talk, real people and you couldn’t hide … Continue reading →

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Day 5

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Day 4

Late. It took me four days to blow it. Missing deadlines? Part of my life. It is these dead gray sky days on the doorsteps of Winter that just depresses the hell out of me. I don’t want to be … Continue reading →

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Day 3

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Day two.

In a desperate plunge for the camera from my laptop bag after realizing that day two was running low, I zeroed in at anything hoping for some art. In route 46 north Jersey traffic jam, and perhaps moving the camera … Continue reading →

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Photo-a-day for ten days

Not necessarily a desperate attempt at unblocking a creative block but more like an exercise in journalism and awareness. On the edge of losing my soul to the Christmas rush in my work. I need to step away from stress, … Continue reading →

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Digging up the DNA

Twice I asked two people who were “around” when Grandma May Gill very suddenly died of a heart attack back in 1959 whether they thought Fredrick Gill, her husband had poisoned and killed her. The first person was aunt Carol, … Continue reading →

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