Tony Pace's School of Driving and Life: Where does art start.

The guy holding my sisters hand in this picture from 1961 is partially responsible for the work I do. He never taught art. He sold cars. My maternal grandfather, Tony. I spent more time driving with him than anybody else before I learned to drive. As you would expect cars were the deal, driving to get cars, going to see cars, being in car lots, sitting in the car waiting, and going to Jerome Ave in the Bronx NY where the greatest concentration of wholesale car dealers in the Northeast was located. These days spent with Tony were an eye opener for a kid.

Some examples of the entertainment were opening the glove box to find a handgun, that by the way only shot blanks according to my grandfather. Watching guys with rolling tool boxes whose profession it was to help diminish the mileage on some of the cars being bought. Other fellas who were handy with a hot iron used to re-burn tread in a tire that had very little (not recommended).

Other activities might include reading the NY Daily News race track results to find out what numbers came up. Going to visit the local bookie to place your bets. That could be going to the corner grocery type store. I was always amazed that they had some of the most unexpected products, toasters, blenders and vacuum's for example. Little did I know these products arrived at these establishments because they had been scammed by guys (those guys) who committed credit card fraud at department stores. In those days credit card purchases were only checked by phone if they were over a certain amount. These purchases did not warrant a phone check.
Time with my grandfather was like being part of scenes from Goodfellas that were not violent. I know there weren't many non-violent scenes in the movie, but there were some.

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Cars fast and big was a good thing as you can see from the image. How many people today roll in gear like he is wearing. A caddy was nice.

Showing up at my home with a Dodge Super Bee (basically a Road Runner hemi) making sure we

knew he, my grandmother, and aunt arrived by some engine revving and tire squealing. Once parked he would inquire who wanted to go for a drive. This drive was not sanctioned for adult consumption. The neighborhood kids were invited. When we would leave the street it was accompanied by burning some rubber, to the delight of the passengers and dismay of adult onlookers.

These memories are part of why I make art about moving, driving and remembering.

There is more to how this influences the way I make my collages. The Tony story to be continued in another post.