"Lesson number one: Don't underestimate the other guy's greed." Scarface

This past month Chasing Hubert has yielded me not only a few lovely new acquisitions but a few new notions on greed as well. The dictionary defines greed as "excessive or rapacious desire, especially for wealth or possessions." One of the seven deadly sins, greed has been known to drive people to act in unethical, immoral, or illegal ways on a grand scale. But greed can rear its ugly head in small ways as well. Purchasing Huberts has always been affordable - in the world of art Hubert's work does not command high prices - but lately I've noticed that his etchings range in price anywhere from literally a few cents to a great deal of money. Now, I realize that sellers will charge as much as people are willing to pay - it's the demand-versus-supply principle. I also realize that this blog pretty much advertises my interest in these etchings which places me in the assumed willing to pay category. However, when I see Huberts listed at ridiculously exorbitant prices I can't help but wonder if certain sellers view me as an easy target, one who would be desperate enough to purchase them at any cost. My passion for Hubert while very strong does have its limits! I'm afraid greed doesn't pay, even relative to Hubert.

On the flip side, I suppose I can be accused of being greedy in my obsessive hunt for Hubert but I prefer to to believe that the motive behind my "rapacious desire" for Hubert's etchings is for the greater good, to benefit not only myself but all of Hubert's collectors out there seeking answers. Okay, maybe that sounds like a pontification but I do believe in sharing any inside information that comes my way. And so apparently do certain other Hubert collectors. Recently one in particular very generously and unselfishly emailed me to alert me about a particular etching that she owned which I admired that had popped up for sale (priced appropriately, I might add.) Thanks, Susan, for demonstrating what American writer Marc Estrain once succinctly stated "Kindness trumps greed: it asks for sharing."

"Politeness is the flower of humanity." Joseph Joubert, French moralist

Is it my imagination or are we experiencing the decline of manners? It might sound terribly old-fashioned but I believe that common courtesy is a thing of the past. If you doubt my statement all you have to do is go to a crowded shopping mall for confirmation.

Last month I used my last vacation day to do my least favorite thing: Christmas shopping. I drove to the local mall early to avoid the onslaught of holiday shoppers. I pulled up to a prime parking space, signal on, after a kindly person walking past indicated he was vacating said space. I waited patiently as he backed out only to have a car speeding down the aisle in the wrong direction slip into my space. RUDE!

While browsing in the bookstore I tripped over a young man, headphones blasting and sprawled out on the floor reading, his backpack blocking the aisle directly in front of the book I was searching for. RUDE!

I was stalked by an aggressive salesperson in the department store, then followed by a shopper coveting the last size 7 pair of black boots I was carrying just waiting to pounce should I put them down for a nanosecond. Then I was cut in line at the register by a young woman oblivious to all except the person on the other end of her cell phone with whom she was having a very loud conversation. RUDE!

Tired of shopping and inconsiderateness, I met a friend for lunch in the cafe where our conversation was continually interrupted by a toddler allowed to toddle amongst the tables by a mother who obviously believed that every diner would find her child as adorable as she did. RUDE!

All this impoliteness in a mere two-hour span doesn't even begin to touch on the myriad etiquette faux pas that seem to be the rule nowadays rather than the exception. Other notable lapses in propriety include: forgoing the thank-you note; assuming that I want to hear you baring your soul on your cell phone in restaurants, movie theaters, stores, buses, and other public places; cleavage, cutoffs, pajama pants in inappropriate places such as church, school, or Grandma's 90th birthday party; poor table manners; critiquing and discussing the movie while watching the movie; cutting in line, cutting my car off on the highway, cutting me off in conversation; hanging up instead of apologizing for a wrong phone number; neglecting to use two basic phrases most of us learned before we could put together full sentences - please and thank you; any and all airline rudeness - screaming children, oversized suitcases stuffed into an overhead bin above MY seat, oversized passengers intruding in my space, seat mates who had garlic and curry for lunch, reclining your seat so my food tray is cutting off my windpipe; AND, last but not least, not responding to polite, heartfelt email inquiries about a certain unknown but engaging artist...

I did receive ONE response to the MANY emails I sent - from a very courteous curator at the Albertina Art Museum in Vienna, Austria who attached the above scan from the Thieme-Beckers' artist-dictionary in response to my inquiry about Albert C. Hubert. Although the info is in Austrian and has revealed no new information as far as Hubert's identity, I'm happy to report that manners are alive and thriving in Vienna...

"Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose" Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr

The more things change, the more they stay the same - Thanksgiving, for one example. Thanksgiving is the quintessential American holiday characterized by food, family and giving thanks for one's blessings. That tradition has not changed since the Pilgrims' first Thanksgiving celebration in 1621.

My own Thanksgiving, however, has been fraught with change over the years. The guest list alters, the menu varies, my blessings wax and wane but wackiness is the one constant. Thanksgivings past I've experienced more crazy meals than stuffing recipes - one year in particular I can recall the family entertaining Martin, a helicopter pilot from New Zealand who regaled us with tales of his encounters in New Guinea with Pygmy cannibals. No matter what the menu consisted of that year it was a guaranteed success because he was a guest and not the meal.

Some years I've cooked a spectacular feast made from scratch while other years have been a downright disaster such as the year of the tasteless Tofurkey. This year fell into the basic albeit unimaginative category due to a shortage of time, the lackluster economy, and general holiday burnout. When Daughter #1 graciously offered to donate her free turkey I gratefully accepted. However, Daughter #1 did not deliver the gratuitous turkey until the day before Thanksgiving and the turkey arrived in a frozen solid state. A vegetarian myself, this didn't vex me but carnivorous guests were arriving in less than 24 hours expecting a traditional Thanksgiving dinner so I spent the first half of Thanksgiving eve attempting to quick thaw the bird and the remainder of the night with my hands up the turkey's derriere trying to extricate that frozen bag of innards. Frostbitten hands aside, the turkey eventually thawed, Thanksgiving was saved, dinner was served and the holiday went on with food, family and blessings intact.

That notable epigram "plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose" also holds true for Hubert. When I recently heard that the brother of a close friend was planning a vacation in France (with a side trip to Strasbourg, no less) I supplied him with copies of all of my Hubert etchings set in Strasbourg just in case the opportunity to do a little reconnaissance presented itself. True to his word he did investigate, kindly devoting a portion of his short stay to visit the scenes depicted in my etchings and he meticulously photographed the identical buildings. Despite the fact that at least 100 years have passed since Hubert etched those scenes in Strasbourg, remarkably the sites have changed very little. Yes, the more things change, the more they stay the same. That unfortunately also holds true for the fact that, still, no one knows my Hubert...

"The past,' he thought, 'is linked with the present by an unbroken chain of events flowing one out of another.' And it seemed to him that he had just seen both ends of that chain; that when he touched one end the other quivered." Anton Chekkov

Thomas Wolfe once wrote "You can't go home again." Or can you? I found myself pondering this when I received an email from an old friend from the old neighborhood where I grew up. I had long since relegated those old memories to my mental filing cabinet where they remained stored away collecting dust because, realistically speaking, you can never relive the past. Time alters everything - places change, familiar landmarks disappear, old neighborhoods often become unrecognizable.  The memories are often all that is left because you cannot experience those times again.

Then it occurred to me that no matter how much the old neighborhood has changed it's still an integral part of me. When I opened that email the cobwebs suddenly cleared, the memories gradually filtered back and I realized that much of who I am right now has been shaped by that very place I called home for so many years. Time can erase buildings but it can't erase memories. It's comforting to know that even though I might not be able to physically return to the old homestead my memories will always be there to reflect upon. Memories create our legacy. They are uniquely ours to hold and remember, they are what make our lives not only special but richer. So although technically it might be impossible to go home again, emotionally and spiritually it's good for the soul to revisit your roots.

Which brings me to Hubert's roots - if Hubert is indeed Albert C. Hubert, as has been suggested, then his birthplace would have been Austria. The only biographical details I could uncover for Albert C. Hubert were the date of his birth (1878) and the date of his death (1932). The 54 years in between remain a complete mystery. The only example of his work that I could locate was the above oil painting. To my untrained eye it looks similar to my Hubert's etchings but I'm not sure if that's due to the actual style or merely because the subject matter is similar. Attempts to contact various auction galleries have not elicited any response to date. Hubert's roots may still remain an uncertainty but, as American photographer Paul Strand so aptly stated, "The artist's world is limitless. It can be found anywhere, far from where he lives or a few feet away. It is always on his doorstep." Wherever that doorstep may be...

"Slow down and enjoy life. It's not only the scenery you miss by going too fast - you also miss the sense of where you are going and why." Eddie Cantor

I've taken an unintentional Hubert hiatus this summer. Life events took over and my search for Hubert fell somewhere between family, work, and trying to keep pace in a hurried world. Sadly, Hubert fell from an overriding obsession to a random rumination. Hubert's fall from grace was perhaps also due to the dearth of information from any of the many resources I contacted over the last 22 months.

What started out as a delightful journey to discover the identity of my beloved artist I had, through sheer impatience, allowed my quest to become a chore. So wrapped up in my earnest endeavor to identify Hubert as more than a mystery etcher with a distinctive signature, I slowly lost the joy in my purpose.

For the same reason I read the last page of a book first, and scan the dessert menu before ordering the first course, and sometimes finish my husband's sentence before he can get the words out of his mouth, I'm anxious to cut to the chase, to reach the final conclusion. A member of the instant gratification generation I expected if not immediate results then surely a positive identification after a year of intensive searching.

It took a speeding ticket to slow me down. Heading north for a mini-vacation, I was looking forward to a chance to chill out and relax. I packed 3 books to read, a knitting project to finish, several magazines, a few new recipes to whip up and my laptop to complete a work assignment. Anxious to get there, focusing on the ultimate destination, I overlooked everything along the way - including the speed limit. A piercing siren, flashing lights and one stone-faced state trooper ensued writing up a very costly ticket that made me realize my need for speed was instead setting me up for failure.

And so, here I am again, bolstered by the realization that sometimes you have to simply let life run its course and wait patiently for the benefits of hard work...

"The job of the artist is always to deepen the mystery." Francis Bacon

I've noticed a preponderance of publications lately on the subject of happiness. There are entire sections in bookstores devoted to achieving happiness. Newspaper articles and  magazine features tell us where to live to be happier, what foods we should eat to make us happy, what colors induce happy moods, even the amount of income we should endeavor to earn to be a happier person - the list goes on.

But is it really necessary or even desirable to be happy ALL of the time? If we walked around in a perpetual state of bliss wouldn't that gleeful high lose its effect and become mundane? Would we appreciate a sunny day as much if we didn't have a little rain now and then? Am I the only person who thinks there is something very wrong when a person needs instruction to be happy -  doesn't everyone have an innate capacity for happiness?

A close friend recently related a story that reinforced my belief that you don't  need an instruction manual to learn happiness. Standing under a cherry tree while walking the dog, my friend was caught in a sudden wind burst that caused thousands of cherry blossoms to rain down creating a maelstrom of pink petals and making them the living centerpiece in a spring snow-globe. It was a moment of sheer bliss, one of those ordinary extraordinary moments that remain forever etched in your memory.

A few days later on my way to work I found myself stopped at a stop sign that happened to be under a cherry tree. The wind blew and cherry blossoms formed a funnel cloud swirling around my car simulating my friend's blissful experience. As I attempted to snapshot the feeling, the car behind me began honking wildly, the driver giving me a very un-blissful-like gesture. Moral of the story - one man's bliss is another man's miss.

I did have my own blissful experience this month though, when I discovered an amazing blog devoted to forgotten, under-appreciated or little known artists. I emailed the blogger and was thrilled to receive a quick response and ecstatic to hear his thoughts. Once again, the question arises as to whether or not Hubert really exists or is merely a random name assigned to etchings to make them appear more authentic and desirable. Although I must accept this as a possibility, I can't help but believe that there really is a Hubert because all of the works are of the same style and seem to be created by the same person. It was also suggested (and here it gets very interesting) that a good match for my etchings might be Albert C. Hubert (1878-1935), an Austrian artist. The dates match up, however, I could only find one example of his work with which to compare likeness to my Hubert. The style was quite similar but the work was a different medium,  making it difficult to tell for certain. So far, I've had little luck in obtaining information on Albert C. Hubert but I'm just happy to have a new road to follow, even if my road to happiness is filled with potholes...

"Happiness is not so much in having as sharing." Norman MacEwan

Losing Hubert was inevitable. After years of admiring, collecting, and chasing Hubert I had grown to believe that he was exclusively MY mystery artist. After all, I was the one who saved him from oblivion when I found his etching hidden beneath an old mirrored beer sign. I was the one who started a blog to track him down. I was the one who spent endless hours contacting strangers all over the world to find the identity of this elusive artist.

For a long time I was the lone person who showed an interest in Hubert ...... until several weeks ago when I noticed a Hubert etching in an online sale. I was the first and only person to place a bid and I was confident that I would soon have another etching to add to my collection. Because I would be at work and unable to log on for the final crucial minutes of bidding, for insurance I foolishly placed my highest bid higher than my affordability, never dreaming that there would be anyone else as interested in Hubert.

You can imagine my anguish when I arrived home and logged on to discover I was outbid. Someone won my Hubert and paid a pretty penny to acquire it. I felt like a jilted bride left at the altar. After experiencing four of the five stages of grief - denial, anger, bargaining, depression - I eventually arrived at the final stage of acceptance. Losing Hubert, although extremely disappointing, was an encouraging sign that others adore Hubert as well. It was time to relinquish my possessiveness towards Hubert and embrace the possibility that Hubert has grown a following. The Hubert Fan Club does have a certain ring to it....