Out & about: curious observations

What if the Mayans ARE right?

2011-12-31T20:12:00.000-08:00

Link to Sacramento Bee, January 1, 2012 column

Letter to the editor, January 7

Economic enigma bigger than any Mayan mystery

Re "Can we realign our dark cloud?" (Forum, Jan. 1): Framed in the context of an ancient Mayan prediction for 2012, Stephanie Taylor ponders America's path forward.

But how does a country look forward absent consensus as to how we got to where we are? The causes of our economic debacle – despite incriminating evidence – have not been agreed upon, nor the best action to be taken. Finding a way out has, in part, been blocked by ubiquitous and deceptive symbols of extravagant wealth masking much of the current malaise, just as blue, sunny skies and images of pounding, frothy surf mask climate change and ocean pollution.

Has anyone fully captured the shock and helplessness of a stricken middle class, many of whom suffer in silence the pain and embarrassment usually reserved to the poorest among us? And in current circumstances few have the option to fall back on a contemplative life in dignified poverty.

America remains wrapped in an enigma far greater than any riddle from a Mayan calendar.

– Spencer P. Le Gate, Sacramento

Mr. Le Gate, thank you for your thoughtful response. Link to letters in Bee:

Post prior to publication of column on Jan. 1:

Just to contemplate possibilities:
On a National Geographic special, a Princeton geologist explores the Mayan calendar and what it might have predicted. What happened 5,200 years ago in Peru? It was the end of the last era as predicted by the Mayans. The largest tropical icecap on earth may hold the answers. They're saying an abrupt ice event covered the area over a short period of time. They've carbon dated remaining plants to 5,200 years, all flash frozen and captured at once by the ice. Other paleo areas world wide have abrupt shifts in climate at the same time. Now we have 6.7 billion all over the world with a contemporary climate shift.
Mayans predicted vast amounts of water. Humans may be fulfilling the prophecies.

Do I believe this? No. But ask me again a year from now.

Update on Norway glacier

2011-12-30T09:24:00.000-08:00

My Norwegian family can be traced back to 1606, but no further because of the Plague. My grandmother, Thea Bolstad, came to America at 16, speaking no English. She was one of 13 children, born into a tiny 2 story home in Hjelle, on Stryn Lake, about 1/3 up the west coast. The family still lives there, under threatening glaciers. I met 135 cousins and visited this glacier for the first time in 2000. I returned in 2007 because my cousin suggested I that I visit the glacier: he didn't think it would last his lifetime.

These photos are posted by a research team, 2001 to 2007,

the last summer I visited. The researchers had to withdraw

off the glacier that summer because of the instability.

Briksdalsbreen glacier nearest family home

Researcher's update 2011

My cousin, Reidar Gjorven, just sent this photo, confirming recent status.

More Norway photos, 2007

I spent a year making a body of work to reflect my fascination with glaciers and water.

Between Ice & Stone Exhibition, October 2008

Concurrently, I found a new film on Nova. Photographer James Belog has documented time lapse collapse of glaciers all over the world. The evidence of the rate of acceleration is irrefutable. If man is cause this, and I believe the researchers who say this is so, then we'd better reverse our contributions immediately. Or move to higher ground. Make time for the following video.

New documentary, "Extreme Ice," on Nova- fabulous.

New Sac Bee Op-Ed

2011-12-29T12:16:00.000-08:00

Link to Bee column

See Jan 1, 2012 for another Op-Ed, looking forward to the new year.

Sac Bee Sunday 11-13-11

2011-11-13T08:36:00.000-08:00

Link to blog for current California Sketches.

Link to Sac Bee today.

See side menu for link to stories.

On the American River

2011-10-16T21:23:00.000-07:00

I've spent the last 25 years living on the bluff of the American River, separated from the River by a levy and many houses built in what was a flood plane. I have a favorite place, a secret place that was hidden for years, but is now accessible by road and more often visited. The River changes this place every year, and has taken land with each winter.

This Saturday I joined the American River Parkway volunteers to pull invasive plants on an island that I've been looking at from my favorite place. Finally, I got to look back. On the many small islands that surround the William Pond area, natives are being overwhelmed by intruding vegetation and the only way to get rid of the problem is to pull each by hand. This species has large pods which, if left, will turn into more plants.

And then, after looking at the River from the banks after all these years, we explored by canoe. I'll be finding out more about what's below the surface of the water, in between the banks.

Taking some time on 37

2011-10-13T13:38:00.000-07:00

I finally took some time to explore the marina area off Hwy. 37, after all these years.

Moody Monday

2011-09-12T18:36:00.000-07:00

A little moody today, but cheered by out-of-season tulips. Tulips in September is rather like cheating but after yesterday's 9/11 stories, I need a little cheer. I certainly hope that we, as a nation, can move past this recent polarization.

August

2011-08-28T13:04:00.000-07:00

Beware of scratchy things in the garden.

Eggplant, nasturtium, squash and basil have grown into a massive tangled jungle. On my south facing wall, like everyone else, I had great hopes for tomatoes. They may be late in arriving, but they stretch up the wall to above 8.' These cherries are not from my garden, but so vividly beautiful. I've had to prune and clean in anticipation of the fall and winter planting. Arugula is a top priority this year.

Roger Berry's sculpture

2011-08-04T22:13:00.000-07:00

UC Med has an amazing art collection, supervised and maintained by the best art consultant anyone could have, Susan Willoughby. And she is celebrating the recent installation of a new piece, one of the best I've seen in Sacramento. The piece is immense, hanging suspended in the entrance to the Education Building on campus. Roger Berry has outdone himself with a completely compelling sculpture that references stem cells.

And all around, reflections are magnified, radiating and casting many kinds of light as the sun passes over. Many repetitions for the price of one. This is a terrific example of sculpture that complements and enhances a space, transforming it into something magical.

Changes

2011-07-18T22:44:00.000-07:00

Changes to my blogs: Here & now is now my general blog and CaliforniaSketches is dedicated to my op-ed contributions to the Sacramento Bee, observations related just to California locations and issues, including additional information and links on what I discover during my explorations. I'm tremendously excited about the opportunity to work with the Bee. I have a degree in History from UCLA, with a focus on Political Economy, and while my mural projects have provided me with really exciting research experiences, it's thrilling to have a more formal outlet to explore contemporary issues.

On my to-do list for California Sketches:

Pumping stations for water distribution

Governor's Mansion

Richmond Oil facility

Sutter Buttes

Union Pacific trip over Sierra

and more.

If you have a place of curiosity, let me know.

Short observation

2011-03-26T21:42:00.000-07:00

Oh dear weatherman,
I had an expectation
of rain today
but now, after an intense
downpour, the sun returns,
steam rising,
my inside self disappointed.

Tomales Bay

2011-03-24T21:12:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you just have to do something that you've wanted to do for many years, and for me, that was renting one of the stunning houses that perch over Tomales Bay at Marshall. So with two great friends, a lot of wine and cheese, I headed out for a brief, mid-week adventure.

And here, under threatening skies, is the sweetest house barely attached to the land. The next day brought clear skies and roads to Point Reyes National Seashore, "an island in time," where species exist here, but nowhere else in the world. Dangerous cliffs towering over long, white beaches, wind-swept rolling hills with dairy ranches established as early as 1846. The lighthouse was closed, sparing us a long walk down and up.

But that left us time to relax and sketch.

Looking for northward whales, mommies and babies, paid off. Look closely, just above the bump in the hill, the mommy and baby, so close to shore. We had been looking far out to sea, and here they were right below us.

And by the next day, another wave of storm forced us to leave early, trying to beat floods and slides.

The view on the way home.

Safe and sound.

Back to Carmel

2011-02-20T20:31:00.000-08:00

It's a miraculous world and the Aquarium at Monterey offers endless examples. This, believe it or not, is a seahorse. Captivated, I stood for hours wondering and wondering.

Back to the Carmel River as it meets the sea, on a late afternoon with a winter chill in the wind, the gulls and other birds chatter, dive and bathe, wing aflutter.

I was here earlier in the Fall, waiting for the Monarchs to show up in Pacific Grove. We saw two. Too early. Maybe next year because I'd still like to create a graphic novel about the Monarch migration. Talk about miracles.

Middle Mountain, or into the Heart of the Sutter Buttes

2010-10-23T12:58:00.000-07:00

From Sacramento on a rare clear day looking north, the Sutter Buttes have appeared to me like a giant pimple rising from a flat Valley floor. I had the rising part right, but not the one mountain part. The Buttes are actually a ring of mountains, and in the middle a flat floor that is about 350' above the surrounding floor. My friend Cathy and I drove to Live Oak, just north of Yuba City, to meet two fellows from the Yuba City Historical Society, Chuck and Daniel, historians and naturalists and about 20 hikers at 8:30 last Sunday morning. The skies threatened rain with the first touches of winter. We then all drove west and then south again, into the north side of the Buttes, through private ranches owned by cooperating property owners.

We hiked up from the floor onto Oak covered hills, revealing the process of earth building with powerful boulders covered with moss and tiny flowers, risen from the valley floor that had been covered with a river.

Chuck points to distant hills, explaining the formations and foliage.

Moving landscapes: San Jose to Sacramento by train

2010-07-26T23:38:00.000-07:00

On a three hour train ride from San Jose,
I resolved to record as much

of a slice of the California landscape as I
possibly could. On a table before

me, computer, Droid, water, book, coffee,
music in ears to block out sounds

of chatting. To my right, the Coastal Range,
dry, sparce, filled with natural

selenium.

And near the tracks, a dismal landscape unfolds, passing repetitively.

Fremont.
After John C.
Dry, very dry rolling hills, the quintessential California oak spotted,

ravine gouged from rare rain. A mining operation provides

views for thousands of track homes that line the

graffiti filled track sound walls, small houses, town houses,

hundreds of bedroom windows just feet from debilitating noise.

Hayward.

Trash. Whistle, whistle. Industrial, graveyard, mobile homes,

backyards, trash, apartments, trailers, tilt-up malls, empty trucks,

garbage trucks, self storage yards, dead car yards, cottonwoods,

parking lots, eucalyptus, track homes, shacks, poverty, graffiti,

scrap metal, machine shops, paper recycling, dump trucks,

empty box cars, Raiders’ stadium.

Oakland 1:45.

My great grand-father was a Superior Court Judge

for Alameda County until his death in 1925.
He studied for the barwhile working in a shoe store
in Oakland, owned property, built three homes up the hill.
Now, graffiti, water tanks, steel, recycling piles,

concrete supplies, shingle company,
dead cars, falling wooden structures.

Self storage, abandoned manufacturing buildings,
more graffiti, thicker, freeway,

Estuary, glimpses of sparkling water,
underside of freeway, concrete factory,
sail boat marinas, cash & carry, condos, parking.

Jack London Square 1:50

In 1996, I created a two murals now
destroyed, not by locals but by the developer.

Matson shipping containers, Schnitzer Steel,

shipping yards, miles of huge booms
swinging out over ships from all nations,

track, freight trains.
The City in the distance.

Turning East, old UP yards, piles of dug asphalt,
freeways, piles of sand, huge cranes, cargo containers,
car gently rocking, SP trains dark with dirt,

petroleum cars, black, round, endless,
under tall freeway overpasses

old rotting wooden structures.
Overpasses piled. Emeryville, high rise hotels,

condos, shopping, Borders, Bay, warehouses, industrial,
graffiti.

Berkeley 2:08

Grand-father, mother, daughter

graduated Cal in 1905, 1938, 2000.

Homeless sitting, waiting.
Concrete tanks, graffiti, monumental pipes,

conduits, graffiti, Bay, rock supplies, housing,
large satellite discs, Richmond, city buses,
open fields of tan, green, red, blue water,

Eucalyptus groves, not native.
Jack London planted groves,

thinking it a good business decision.

It wasn’t.

Wetlands, old destroyed pilings in water,

the tracks skirting the Bay.

A lovely day, so broad and still, kayakers, fishermen,

nice tract homes, sail boats in distance,
dredging barges,

and what I’ve been waiting for, the oil farms so jewel-like at night.

The shore of the Carquinez Straight, Benecia across.

C&H up close, for a moment

Naval graveyards of old, dead ships, once great

monsters of the sea and war,

silent, rotting, polluting.

Wetlands, hawks flying low over

waving grasses in shades of green and wheat,
tiny cattle far off,

stands of trees moving into the flat valley floor,
punctuated by palms,
not native.

Suisun/Fairfield 3:30.
Transformer station, piles of garbage cans,
dumpsters, trees, and in the isle a man
with the face and hair white and wild,
of a mad scientist,

grown old,
slightly stooped, one tooth missing at least,

happy and busy who must have been beautiful

some years ago.

Graffiti, rolling hills hiding green valleys,

yards full of trash, shacks, self-storage,
strip mall, dead cars, abandoned barns,
cattle by wetland lakes in wheat colored fields,
grazing,

industrial tanks, storage crates piled high,
manufacturing facilities,

transformer farms, gravel pits,
hills more gently rolling,

fewer trees, less water, ranches,
more cattle, smoke in the distance,

hay bales in tall rectangles waiting,
a fence hung with tires,

fields of something green and new,

power lines forever to the east,
acres of corn still green, a dive bar,

red barns with sloping roofs,
more lush fields of waving grass,

corn so healthy, swaying, alfalfa, flat,
so flat.

Black birds feeding on newly planted crops
rise into warm afternoon air.

Two horses, sway backed, wheat with yellow tops,
green stalks linear with passing rows,
tractors, farm houses in stands of trees,
fields of sunflowers,

orchards full but empty of fruit,
tomatoes sitting in open trucks

waiting for processing at huge industrial plants,
grain silos, sentinels of this Valley,

produce truck beds stacked, orchards, oleanders,

earth fallow,
earth tilled.

Davis 3:30.

Orchards, fields, open wheat colored spaces,

and slowing through West Sacramento’s
industrial landscape,

over the River onto land in turmoil,
bankers, developers, city councils, Federal subsidies,
into the largest infill project in the United States, halted,

the train halts, spilling passengers into intense heat,
hot, unbearable

sun.

Sacramento 3:50.

Busy May: Toronto, Princeton, Cambridge & Boston

2010-06-05T10:45:00.000-07:00

More Valley days

2010-04-03T21:40:00.000-07:00

My exploration of this beautiful Valley continued with a trip to Stone Lake Federal Wildlife Preserve last weekend, and today to the Delta, south of Stockton. Federal guilds took about 16 of us on a 3 1/2 hour walk around the preserve.

The colors and textures are amazing this time of year, just before Spring. Before the trees leaf out the birds and nests can be seen. This is a closed preserve which has been undergoing levee repair for the past year. The damage continues and is very alarming because the creatures just don't care that the integrity of the levees is critical.

This tunnel was made by beavers, up one side, across the levee and down the other side, these beaver freeways pockmark and weaken the levees. We also say large muskrat holes, about 10" across, and smaller tunnels from gophers and snakes. The number we saw in the short distance we walked is an indication of the vulnerability of our levees. We are in trouble.

The white pelicans were the most stunning birds we saw, circling above and floating on the water. And today we crossed onto an Island in the Delta, south of Stockton.

The ferry was pulled by an ancient gear system.

A stunning view of Mount Diablo was revealed as the sun broke through, warming against a chilly Delta wind.

It's so very flat here, and fascinating, because only the levee keeps the water out, with riprap stained dark where the tidal pull. Last weekend we learned that a full moon pulls the water in the Delta up 12 to 18."

This is what the Valley earth looks like, for those of us who only see it covered with concrete, asphalt and houses. The is the very rich soil that produces such a profuse bounty

Valley Silos

2010-03-19T22:55:00.000-07:00

Because I was born in Chico and raised in Sacramento, the flatness of this Valley, the smell of the earth on hot summer nights, the view from one mountain range to another is in my blood. The silos are the icons. I asked my friend, Elaine Corn, to be my driver and went searching for silos to add to my sculpture project.

Someday I'd like to fill a whole gallery with interpretations of these industrial forms. As a child, reading my parent's Fortune Magazine, I was always captivated with the advertising for petroleum facilities, with cacophonies of pipes, textures and colors.

We drove North on 99/70 to Nicolaus, and hit the jackpot with an abandoned rice mill, now home to airplane parts. This part of Nicolaus, just off the East side of 99, is not the actual town, East Nicolaus, that lies just to the West, snuggled up to the levees of the Sacramento River.

What I love about these structures is the fragmented, precarious, jerry-built nature of the architecture. Function over form, with the whole enhanced by a wild patchwork of corrugated metal.

Little boxes perched as if they were dropped by mistake.

The view to the South.

The view to the East, standing on the levee, a view seen from Sacramento, except on a very rare, clear day.

Toronto to Boston & back

2009-11-25T10:07:00.000-08:00

I flew to Toronto to visit my daughter Lauren and her husband Will. Here we visit the Art Gallery of Ontario, a project that Lauren worked on for Frank Gehry. She created many of the materials specs to test for tolerances, so it was great fun to see the results of her efforts in the magnificent curved wood elements.

Gehry's work is transformative.

We then jumped into her Saab and began a road trip to Boston, passing through, and even behind, Niagara Falls. More time would have revealed a deeper appreciation, but for such a 1 hour visit, at least we got an impression.

And then a lonnnng drive to Boston, to visit my son Greg, in his last semester at Harvard's Graduate School of Design, Architecture. Soon he'll join his exceptional wife Rachel, who just started her first quarter at Princeton's Masters in Architecture. We'll have a family full of architects.

After several very relaxing days in Cambridge, Lauren and I took off for Cape Ann, just a 45 minute drive north of Boston. I wanted to see the Gloucester area, and we did, too quickly.

We stayed in Rockport, in an historic old hotel, Emerson Inn, right on the sea, named, of course, for the poet who stayed there.

Rockport is a jewel of a fishing village, more touristic now, but all that I had imagined including plenty of buoys.

We stuffed ourselves on lobster, watching boats come in from their early morning trips. This is "The Perfect Storm" area so I try to remember and feel a special obligation to all the fishermen who depend on demand for their efforts and dangerously hard work.With an eleven hour drive ahead, we started the long journey back across MA and NY, passing farms and gently rolling, tree covered landscape. The weather stayed warm, though sometimes wet.

And back in Toronto, to the Beaches, sampling local beers with Will, and to the market. Then home. WOW.

Southeastern Asian Market on a Sunday morning

2009-07-26T22:36:00.000-07:00

Working hard

2009-07-22T09:35:00.000-07:00

I've been blessed with some terrific projects this Spring and Summer. This hasn't left me any time to wander aimlessly. Or even wander. My days have been filled with painting on huge pieces of substrate in my garden and making butterflies. Check my other sites, please. I will wander soonest.

Working in the studio

2009-04-17T11:58:00.000-07:00

Recently, I've been spending a lot of time in my studio with new & existing commissions. Besides the two Sac City projects, I'm creating a mural on an event tent for Scott's Seafood on the River. And I'm in the approval process on a large mural for Hallmark Inn in Davis, which is why I've spent time wandering around that stunning area. Also, check out our new restaurant project on Broadway, Iron Steaks: http://ironsteaks.com.

A walk along J Street: 4th to 7th

2009-03-09T20:13:00.000-07:00

Today was a clear, cool, breezy day on J Street. I'm starting at 4th instead of the River because the Old Sac section will take a whole leg. The exit off the freeway is the only entrance to downtown Sacramento and it deserves some attention. Actually, it deserves something like a large, artistic gateway spanning the street.

So now I'm writing from notes that I took on the street... I'm at 4th & J, the site of the former St. George Hotel, at what could be a lovely little park. Now it is dominated by a huge sign and a chain link fence, cutting off access to a grove of redwoods planted on a steep slope to what was the original street.

The California Fruit Building has terra cotta embellishments by Gladding McBean.

Across the street, from 3rd to 5th, are four buildings comprising Chinese Square.

Details from Chinese Square:

A gateway leads to the original street level, revealing a lovely plaza which must offer welcome relief to relentless summer heat. There are shops and restaurants, and a reflecting pond, now sadly empty except for an ocean of white blossoms.

Lotus was doing a brisk business, and I'll have to come back to give it a try. They must get a lot of grateful customers from the Federal Building which looms over the Square. The Bee published a cartoon I did of the Courthouse several years ago. I think every judge must have had a copy.

Out onto the street again, the sidewalk offers more warmth, but between 5th & 6th, the south side is dominated by reflections from Wells Fargo onto the Westfield Plaza windows, a rather dead presentation to the street.

Wells Fargo is anchored by two stunning sculptures, including a Deborah Butterfield horse and a kinetic piece by George Rickey.

The roof of the old Security Bank Building is as stunning as promised, with a tropical hothouse garden and an ornate spiral staircase, like Alice ascending, to another roof. I was asked not to take pictures, which was disappointing as both outside and inside is a great use of space with a wonderful view which I couldn't resist shooting.

The doors to the old D.O.Mills Bank are stunning, as is the old main room, now locked. I've been to a wedding reception there, and it did the bride and groom justice, though it didn't help the success of their marriage.

Well, in three hours, I've walked all of three blocks.

I'll stop on the west side of 7th and save the east for another day.

Coming soon: a walk along J Street

2009-03-06T10:07:00.000-08:00

Monday the 9th, I'll be starting at the River on J Street, and walking under the "too had it's there" freeway, to the east. I expect that this will take many trips, stops and starts because of the history of this area. For example, there are hollow tunnels under many sidewalks. Now how can I pass that up? I'm curious about Chinatown Square, speakeasies (long gone-darn), buried artifacts and secrets. I have boxes of pottery that were excavated from a J St. site, reviewed by archeologists and released. I'll be using chards in my Fremont Park sculpture project. I'm also really interested in the Native American habitation of this area dating back at least 10,000 years (to be verified).

Road Trip 66

2009-02-19T10:02:00.000-08:00

A road trip, from Sacramento to St. Louis, in five days.

Having found the incredibly inspiring music of Gil+Cartas to be a perfect fit, I emailed Gil Gutierrez asking for permission to use a selection from "Huming," and was so gratified to receive permission.

I didn't have time to do a lot of sketching. More though, the real landscape is so powerful and stunning that I have no worthy response. I traveled with artist, Melody Evans, after her exhibition is Sacramento.

The Grand Canyon

We arrived after dark, driving into a forbidding and very dark forest with little signage. After a good sleep at an adequate hotel quite near the Rim, we awoke to a beautifully clear day and walked to the Rim with expectation. I was speechlessly stunned. It is so famous that I thought it couldn't be as fantastic as they say. I was wrong.

We spent the entire day wandering along the South Rim. October is a great time to visit, and with few tourists, the paths were quiet and serene. I would have loved to stay at least another week, going down to the floor, staying at the ranch there, reading "The Man Who Walked Through Time," by Colin Fletcher, the "first man known to have walked the length...within the Canyon's rim," in 1963. I have yet to read it; it's moving to the top of my pile. Perhaps, since I have the book in my hands, I'll just start reading it now. But of course, as then, the contemporary issue with the Canyon is water.

First I have to finish Bill Bryson's "The Lost Continent." In this dismal look at 1989 America, Bryson follows our route, but East to West. He could have been describing our experience. Bleak, dry, flat, timeless, endless sky. I can't imagine having to walk it, as John C. Fremont did many times, though by several routes. See my project for John C. Fremont Park.

Psychogeography #3: Tagging along in Sonoma

2009-02-08T11:55:00.000-08:00

Tagging along can be enlightening. It takes you out of routine and it takes time. My new friend Jeff Wagnon is a former chef and current food rep for Pacific Gourmet, SF, specializing in non-perishable items from all over the world. I just finished reading The Best American Travel Writing of 2008, ed. by Anthony Bourdain, and Jeff knew about the exotic, South American cacao featured in the first story.

I grew up in a restaurant, at least for 3 weeks out of every year. My father owned the only sit-down at the old California State Fairgrounds where I worked happily every summer, learning to communicate with all sorts of people. My husband started Willie's Burgers in 1990, where my children, in turn, have all worked. It's a great business, but restaurant people are nuts and possessed.

We left Sacramento at 7:15 am. We never hit traffic, and didn't get back until late afternoon. We called on eight establishments, not including lunch at a taqueria and two pit-stops. First stop, Graffiti, Petaluma, quickly, then Santa Rosa, chatting with Chef Trevor Anderson at GG's Earth and Surf (opening very soon)

and La Gare, classically French, where Jeff spent time with Chef Roger Praplan

and I wandered around looking for things of interest.

All laundry baskets should be filled with lemons.

From lemons to chocolate at the Patisserie Angelica in Sebastopol, and a light filled kitchen full of enticing bakery goods and bowls just begging to be licked.

Most of their business is wholesale to Dean and Deluca, with a storage room full of cakes packaged for shipping. Chef and co-owner Condra Easley gave us a tour.

I bought two cookies, outrageously good, one white and one chocolate melt-in-your-mouth.

What trip to Sonoma is complete without an image of ubiquitous vineyards, with mustard, and this view, across from the award winning Zazu Restaurant and Farm in Santa Rosa. Jeff said he used to sit up at the bar with a glass of wine, of course, and watch the sun set over this field. Sounds like a perfect idea.

And Zazu's sister restaurant, Bovolo, in Healdsburg, complete with an ornamental chef, Josh.

The last stop was the Madrona Manor in Healdsburg.

Psychogeography #2: Cesar Chavez Park

2009-02-02T18:01:00.000-08:00

This urban square has always been a center of human activity dating back several thousands of years with the Native Americans. I've chosen this area for an investigation because I wanted to see how successful the area is on an average weekday morning. I wanted to see how people visit and move through this critical urban square.

I'm sitting at a table on the West side of the fountain, in the sun, at about 11am, watching. There are a few street guys to my left, lined up on a raised cement platform. The hyper fellow to my right is making too much noise, so I moved to the platform, lined up with the others.

Now, to my right is a well-worn fellow, one of the regulars, who looks like he might be good for a story.

His name is Manuel and he's 72 years old, 30 years "clean," and out of Folsom Prison. He's freshly showered, with slicked back hair, white running shoes and jeans and a black quilted jacket. He has the face of a fighter, with the nose of a box. He's been coming here for many years, but liked it better when it was a "wino park," his words, not mine. The services were better then, lots of food and company. He has friends here, but still likes to travel up and down the state by Amtrak. He doesn't jump trains- it's too dangerous. He has a friend who lost both legs below the knees. He likes it better in Stockton now, where there are more services and they give Amtrak tickets to any destination. He learned to cook in prison and then moved to LA, where he was a chef at the downtown Hilton for many years. Now he's retired and still on the road. He's had two wifes and a couple of children and didn't mind my questions but politely declined my request for a picture.

On this winter day, the sun is warm, but low in the sky, casting long shadows across the Plaza. The water in the wonderful fountain is turned off, which is more than disappointing. These photos show the area more favorably.

A busload of 2nd graders showed up, racing straight to the fountain, and then around.

The Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament can be seen from the South-East Corner, the spires shining in the sun. I created five paintings for the Church when it was under construction. I got to go up into the very top of the cupola, on narrow winding, wooden stairs. The remodel is stunning.

Memorial to Cesar Chavez.

The architecture surrounding the Park is stunning.

Sacramento Library detail, Gladding McBean terra cotta

One of a pair of big cats, US Bank

US Bank

City Hall, CA Environmental Protection, and sculpture

Detail of lamp at Courthouse

Psychogeography #1: Broadway from the Sacramento River to 14th

2009-01-28T14:14:00.000-08:00

Broadway attracted my attention because I love industrial architecture, the tank farms, pipes and stairs, the contrast of the stark white tanks against blue sky, with cast shadows that change with the moving sun. Years ago, I took a class with Patrick Dullanty, a wonderful painter who has since passed. I also wanted to see what was on the other side of the river.

On day clear and very cold, I'm both chilled by the wind and warmed by the sun. I'm at the very good and beginning of Broadway, ending abruptly in a steep decline to the River, deceptively swift. A man in a small row boat probes the bottom with a long pole searching for who knows what. I'm curious but it's creepy. Gulls, crows, freeway noise, the splash of his anchor, vehicles passing into the park and out.

It's a lovely spot with lots of tables and noisy geese.

Across the river is a large tank farm,

Shell I think, with an imposing

silo just south of the freeway.

A small speed boat passes, the first

I've seen.

A small, feral cat appears, nonplused by my

presence.

The tanks across the river extend quite a distance south and to the east, up Broadway.

Chevron on the North side,

and Conoco on the South, and Freeway 50/80 interchange onto 5, splitting the state of California in half vertically. And all that I can hear is mechanical noise from the farms and traffic accelerating above. Not surprisingly, a inquisitive fellow from Conoco comes out to see what I'm doing. He was very nice, though when I asked if I could come into the facility, he said I'd have to check with Conoco corporate. Actually, it's the sun and cast shadows on the tanks that are the most compelling. No need to go closer. I did learn that pipelines bring the gas in on railroad right of ways, and from there, trucks depart continuously.

Continuing up Broadway, under the freeway, is a stretch devoid of pedestrians, with a large, vacant warehouse to the right, and at 3rd Street, Channel 10, with it's imposing and artistic tower, iron fencing and solid brick walls, turned away from the street. On the left, Southside

Park and ballfields, and on the right, "the Projects."

And then, at 5th, a surprise. A tiny shack of a place, a wonderful soul food joint called Sim's, in business for twelve years, and run by a friendly woman named Mary and her helper. A tiny place, warm, inviting, and festooned with favorite icons and heroes.

At Riverside Blvd. (same as 10th St.) the

Old City Cemetery

is a jewel, washed by the late afternoon sun, the resting place

for countless Valley pioneers and luminaries.

The magic of this place cannot be seen from the street. I had to go in, and there, stretched before me were gently rolling hills, and walking up from the South was a man with a shovel,straight out of the 19th century.

Jack Bussio didn't have much time to chat as he was tired, having been digging up Bermuda grass since November. He invited me back for home made soup on Saturday when they do their annual rose prunning.

You might be curious to see who's here, how they died and when.

Burial stats, 1849-2000

Across Riverside, Target occupies the former site of Edmonds Field, home of the Solons. Every kid in Sacramento got out of school to go to opening day. In 2003, I created murals and sculpture for the new ballpark, Raley Field, including a large painting of the Solons, as they were in 2003 and a few as they were then.

And as I got closer to 16th, I noticed a number of Art Deco buildings, hidden behind trees and faded paint. The bones are there, as companions to the Tower. They house and join an impressive diversity of businesses and restaurants, showcasing the origins of their owners. Broadway is said to be one of the most diverse streets in America.

A Day with Michelangelo, April 4, 1996

2009-01-25T15:01:00.000-08:00

There's a special room at the Uffizi in Florence. It's a secret room, and behind it's locked doors are stored the drawing collections. With some effort, I gained admittance and passed through a vestibule into a room about 25x25,' lined with common, blue binders containing xeroxes of all the great masters of the Renaissance: Caravaggio, Titian, Raphael, Michelangelo, Durer, da Vinci, Giotto...

On this Friday, in April, 1996, there were about seven serious scholars scattered around a number of large library tables, with various documents spread out before them. I wanted to spy, but didn't. I didn't want to call attention to the fact that I was an imposter, merely very curious, with a gift for persuasion. I was told that the major artists, mostly listed above, were only available as reproductions, but the "lesser" artists available as originals. All I had to do was find an artist, pull the binder, and pick an image with it's corresponding identification. The document would be retrieved for me, and I could study it as I wished. Several of the scholars had large architectural drawings.

I was interested in gesture of the figure. I wanted to feel that authentic response the artist had to the subject which can only be revealed spontaneously, and without thought or intention.

I picked Michelangelo. I'm touching the very paper he touched.

This was a day when time stood still, a moment brought forward,

a gesture, a thought. In painting and drawing, there is technique, yes,

and then there is a primal response to a particular time and place,

to materials, to the subject,

captured.

It's that authenticity that makes us cry.

The Story of Mr. Renato, April 3, 1996

2009-01-17T09:36:00.000-08:00

In the Spring of 1996, I went to Italy for the first time. While lots of people go to Italy, I had a different mission: I wanted to find out if I could be a painter. And since I've made my living as a painter all my life, this was a rather add quest.

The day started with rain, and after standing patiently in line at the Uffizi for over two hours, my Gortex was failing. A lovely Japanese man took pity and offered shelter under his even lovelier umbrella. I offered the only Japanese word I know, "Arigato," and we all laughed in our shared, wet camaraderie.

Once inside, I spent the usual amount of time moving slowly through the galleries, but more than anything, I wanted to see the drawings. My disappointment was so great at finding the main drawing exhibition closed that I followed instructions pasted on a door. The note said to go to the museum office for permission to be admitted to the special drawing archives contained within. I did this, and was told that having no prior status, I would have to go to my Consulate, introduce myself as a professional artist with scholarly interests, and ask for a formal letter of introduction. This would have to wait for morning.

In the morning I set out, off the tourist path and into the surrounding neighborhood, to find the Consulate. I made my request, showed my passport and business card, and was told to return later. After a bookstore, lunch and a visit with two Italian ladies, and a visit to a church, I was left with time, to meander, one of my favorite things to do, sketchbook and paints in hand.

The intriguing thing about this neighborhood was that each house had an open doorway, offering a glimpse into its mysterious space. Being overly curious, I wanted to poke my head into each and every one. Finally, there was one that had an open invitation that I couldn't resist. Hanging from a red, velvet rope was a modest sign which said "Art Gallery," with an arrow pointing to the right. Feeling very much like Alice, I followed it, up one set of stairs, and then another, to a glass door with a lacy curtain, barely revealing the interior. I opened the door.

There sat an elderly, gracious gentleman (a forgotten attribute) who sported a patch over one eye and beautiful, full, pure white hair. He sat at a table on a simple wooden chair, waiting for someone, anyone, to come to him so he could talk about his paintings. I lost, or found, the next two and one-half hours of my life. His name was Dello Strologo Renato and this is what he told me.

He was born in Algeria, Jewish, married, and had had a lucrative advertising career. But his wife was French, and when the Algerians expelled the French in 1954, he and his wife had to flee, leaving everything. They emigrated to Italy, settling in Livorna, which has a history of tolerance. (The painter Modigliani was both Jewish from Livorno). Despite his wife's objections, he started collecting the paintings of local artists, and

they were what was now hanging on his walls. There were perhaps thirty Impressionist style landscapes and still lifes hung at eye level, in two white walled rooms. For Mr. Renato, they represented the sum of his retirement, his investments over his life, that were now for sale, to take care of the two of them in what was now their old age.

Late in the afternoon, I showed him several pictures

of my work in a recent show at Solomon Dubnick Gallery.

He gave me a challenge,

and an unexpected answer

to the question of my quest,

the reason I had come to Florence.

He said:

At first I was crushed, that I couldn't be a painter, or at least that kind of a painter. But after I left this charming man, and had given what he said some thought, I realized that he was right. I had a level of skill that had kept me from interpreting, not just what I see, but what I seek. I left Mr. Renato, with his gift of insight, and I'm only sorry that I didn't keep in touch.

The very next day, at the Uffizi Gabinetto Disegni, I held an original Michelangelo in my hands, and I saw that authentic power of gesture. But that's a story for another day.