In the office--

The big news of the week really isn't, to be honest. Twenty years ago, I was gifted a Danish desk a la mid-century design by my cousin. Recently, he asked me if I were 'still using' the desk. I took that to mean that he wanted it back, so I gave it to him. As a result, the office is a pile of papers and other miscellany. 

Here's a small sampling of stuff now littering the office floor that I've been holding onto since even before acquiring the desk. I perhaps should just either toss this stuff out or put it in a manilla envelope (and leave it on the office floor). 

A zinger from Dad

I haven't looked at clippings of my father's letters to the editor since putting together a memory book dedicated to him back in 2003. Reading this snippet from him now, I think I'm seeing that my Dad, a life-long Democrat, may have been becoming a bit more conservative in mid-life. I have never thought of my father as either a hardcore patriot or a prude, but maybe he was becoming one or both?  

My friend's father, fondly known as Der Meister (to be read in a Schwäbisch accent), was an accomplished artist. He trained as a silver engraver, but was also an adept painter, a sculptor and he could carve a mean woodcut. The above image shows one of his many designs he and his wife had printed up for their annual holiday card. The inside of this particular card includes a poem by Hölderlin (noted Schwabe) & heartfelt season's greetings. I so loved receiving these cards.

Der Meister: Selbstportrait (culled from the internet)

Der Meister was in art school when he was conscripted into the German army in 1940. He was put to work as a stretcher bearer on the Western Front. He'd kept a diary during that time filled with sketches and poems. I was lucky enough to view it once two decades ago when der Meister was still living. One page particularly struck me as it contained both a rendering of and an ode to his worn combat boots. 

Ritter, Tod und Teufel

Showing a picture of this postcard depicting one of the most detailed engravings by Dürer I have ever seen is almost an affront to the piece. I can guess as to what the symbols of both skull and hourglass reference, but as someone who knows very little about Christianity, I can't say I understand the piece in any fundatmental way. Apparently, the subject/s of this piece have been hotly debated for centuries. Dürer postcards in American art museums usually consist of his rhino and hare images. I caught a Dürer retrospective in Frankfurt some years back, so there happened to be a fine selection Dürer postcards in the gift shop to choose from. I still marvel at this work.

Bernie

I was thinking of my old pal, Bernie, and wondering what he would be up to these days were he still alive. I then 'googled' his name and found this rather flattering and accurate obituary-- 

 

Bernard Stoffer -- union activist, jazz enthusiast

Bernard M. "Bernie" Stoffer of Oakland, a retired television cameraman, sound engineer, jazz drummer and union organizer, has died unexpectedly of a heart attack. He was 75.

He was struck down Nov. 30 in the midst of a benefit fund-raising party that he organized in El Cerrito for a close friend, pianist Tony Archimedes, who had been severely injured in a car accident.

Mr. Stoffer was born on June 15, 1928, in St. Paul, Minn., the youngest of five children. He was a drummer in a high school jazz band and became active in left-wing political causes, marching to support integration, civil rights and labor activists.

He moved to the Bay Area in 1952 and got involved in both politics and the local jazz scene -- passions that continued his entire life.

"His first passion was playing music," said his nephew Lincoln Bergman of Richmond. "But out here, he became more of a fan than a player. . . . In fact his last words were 'the band sounds great.' "

In addition to his avid and lifelong support for big-band jazz, Mr. Stoffer was one of the first employees when KQED-TV, Channel 9, began in San Francisco.

As an innovative sound technician and creative cameraman, he played an important role in many notable programs and interviews and later became a member of the special projects and experimental film team. He helped organize the first union at KQED.

After he retired from full-time work at KQED, Mr. Stoffer became a taxi driver for many years, saying he preferred the constant person-to-person communication and exciting adventures.

"He loved being sort of a tourist guide," his nephew said. "He loved to drive. But he loved the social aspect of driving. He loved to talk about nightspots and places, he loved to hear stories and tell them, too. He was extremely positive."

Mr. Stoffer is survived by a daughter, Robin Reisberg of Sonoma; a son, Woody Stoffer of St. Paul, Minn.; a sister, Dorothy Broms of Berkeley; and seven grandchildren.

His ashes are scheduled to be scattered today. A public memorial service and jazz concert will be held later.

I first met Bernie in 1994-5 through his granddaughter, my friend and then roommate, Rebekka. Wednesday nights he'd swing by our apartment in his large sedan in order to take us out for a night of big-band jazz music. Bob Enos's Soundwave was the name of the group we'd see and they had a standing gig at a joint in Alameda called Rooster's. The Soundwave played some of the best music I have ever had the pleasure of listening to. If you're inclined, then have a nose around YouTube and you'll find oodles of videos recording bits of their live shows.  

In addition to being a passionate music lover, Bernie was also a talented artist. He made sculpture out of recyclable goods, plywood and cardboard. During my study abroad year in Germany, Bernie and I exchanged letters. Enclosed in his missives were snaps of his current art pieces. I recall his writing to me that there was interest in his work from a gallery.  There had been an offer to exhibit his creations. He wrote to me wondering if what he making was good enough to be shown. I thought it was and gave him a hearty thumb's up.  In a subsequent letter, he thanked me for being supportive of his work. He made it seem as if I had somehow had a hand in getting him to have his work shown. That was the thing about Bernie--he always made you feel vital, included, and a part of things.  

3 inch piece; a study for a much larger construction

Photo of 3-D recycle art standing about two feet high

EINE

Ben Eine, from what I've read, created a series of murals in Octavia St. as a sort of 'calling card' for his then upcoming show at a local gallery here in 2011. The only mural of his that I remember noticing and had the pleasure of photographing is the one above from 2013, when I was visiting home from abroad. Upon moving back in 2015, I found that the mural had been painted over. -shame, really. Also: Can you identify what this piece is called? 

When I was living in London, Eine's work seemed to be everywhere. -that or I was spending a lot of time in Shoreditch. The first piece I recognised as Eine's work was CHANGE. I took a photo of that one as well, but don't know where I've stashed it on the computer. Given that Eine has been fairly prolific, there are shed loads of images of his work on the net. 

Here is CHANGE--

I have just read that Eine's work is displayed in galleries & on buildings all over the world. I hadn't realised how successful he was. I suppose the person who had his mural painted over in San Francisco didn't know either. 

Bird of prey

Cooper's Hawk

Are you all sick of the bird drawings yet? :D

Since the cortisone injection last Wednesday, the swelling in my foot seems to have gone down a bit. The doc told me that I should starting feeling its effects 'come the weekend'. Well, I didn't, to be honest. But, now, one week later, I think something good is happening in the foot. Woohoo.

Having been cooped up inside the house since mid September, I'm really ready to get out and just take a walk around the block. Hopefully, that will happen soon.

As one can imagine, sitting on the sofa for hours on end ain't all that grand. Fortunately, drawing has helped me get out of my head a bit these past few days and for that I'm grateful. Above is a another fave bird of mine: the Cooper's Hawk. I got a bit tired of drawing wee cute birds & decided to give this one a go. This guy is my first attempt. He looks a bit lumpy, but I'm digging it.

Extremities

Pink robin with a bit of bedding in beak.

If you can nail rendering hands, feet, or in this case, wee bird feet, then you're winning in my book. I have never been particularly good at drawing extremities. Once, way back in the 90s, when I was drawing a lot, I did get close to drawing realistic, human hands. It felt like an accomplishment.

I took a basic drawing course when I was still living in Zurich. The instructor was a local woman with talent to spare. Evey session, she'd bring in art texts from the local library relevant to the task at hand. One of our assignments was to draw a self-portrait. On that day she had brought in books showing how 'the greats' had rendered heads. I remember thumbing through a text filled with images of various human heads drawn by da Vinci. I had never thought about the size of heads before that exercise. One thing to keep in mind, she told us, was that our craniums are larger than we think they are. When creating a forehead, for example, we weren't to be shy. Also, placing the eyes nearly half-way down the face was key.

I like the results of my self-portrait even though the eyes have a bit of a 'manga' quality about them. When you think about it, the distance from the top of my head down to the bottom bit of my eye balls isn't scant. It would seem that I have a big old head and probably so do you!

C'est moi

Hot pink pencil

I have been checking out 'robins of Australia' on the internet recently and found scads of images of this little guy. You might not be able to tell by the drawing above, but the male pink robin, actually has a HOT PINK breast. I didn't have a hot pink pencil, so I used just regular old pink and a bit of red pencils instead. I'd love to visit Tasmania in order to see this bird up close and personal. I wonder if he's people-shy?

Bored doodle

I've been laid up with a bum foot for the duration. The doc says I have capsulitis. How fun. In the past week or so I've watched ALL of the Netflix. ALL OF IT. I'm so bored.

Today, I remembered that I like to doodle and I have the most of tools with which to do it! For the past hour I've been drawing my favorite bird, the European Robin. I write 'European' because our No. American variant is basically a Black Bird with a red breast. -very different.

Here's my doodle of the dear Euro-Robin: (please, bear in mind that I neither have a decent eraser nor do I have every colored pencil under the sun, so my robin looks a bit blue tit in hue)

We had a robin who visited us regularly in the garden when we lived in Greenwich. He would usually come to greet us when we dined outside. Crumbs always came his way. He was no dummy. American robins, by contrast, are not interested in humans or their food at all. They'd rather be out on a lawn pulling up worms.

Feininger

When I lived in London, I spent a good deal of time in Hampstead Heath. After my Heath walks, I'd usually go for a potter around the High Street, grab a crepe at that crepe stall that always has a super long wait, and nose around the Oxfam shop. The Oxfam shop in Hampstead, as one might imagine, was usually filled with stuff from posh people's homes. I went there a lot.

I remember that on my penultimate visit to the shop, I tried to convince a worker that she could probably sell a really lovely tea pot from the GDR (it had a maker's mark) for more than £3.99. She actually couldn't understand what I was saying (Excuse me? What do you mean?) because English wasn't her first language, and I'll bet my mumbly Californian accent threw her off. Continuing on as only a pushy American could, I busted out some ancient-old high school Spanish that equally tanked: Um, como se dice...?  El Pais...no mas existe.  (My attempt was "que lame".)

Then I found a photograph bearing the name of Eleonore "Lore" Feininger, daughter of Lyonel Feininger, on its matting. The black and white picture was either signed by Lore, who had been a photographer, or it was a photo of Lore by someone whose name remains unknown. The image shows a happy, smiling, young woman with large, light-colored eyes. She's wearing a slim wedding ring and has her hair in a bob. I'd date the picture from the 20s. The matting and frame were not top quality, but they seemed period; the picture was compelling, but, without knowing if Lore is the subject or the photographer (or both) it's hard to know what the 5"x7" portrait is worth. I am a huge fan of Lyonel Feininger's art, so, to me, the picture is invaluable.
-probably sounds silly, but that's how I feel.

Apparently, no one at Oxfam had 'googled' Lore Feininger, so only priced the portrait at £8.99. At the time, I neither bought the photo nor tried to talk the English-challenged shop worker into putting the portrait aside and contacting an auction house. (Also, that would have been BIG ask.)

I can imagine that someone in the Feininger family must have, at some point, lived in or around Hampstead. I'm guessing there must have been a spring cleaning and the photograph was given away to the charity shop.

Anyway, a couple of days later, I went back up to Hampstead and bought the photo. The internet searches that the hubs and I engaged in continued to turn up nothing. Online, there are only a handful of pictures with Lore Feininger's name attached, and, of them, only two readily viewable. Apparently, Lore had photographed other photographers of renown--T. Lux Feininger, her brother, and Erich Salomon and those pictures have sold quite well at auction.

So, is what I have an image taken by Lore? And, if so, who is the subject? My plan was to write to the Bauhaus Archive in Berlin, send them a copy of the photo, and see what they can tell me about its provenance. Given that both Lore's dad and brother were instructors at Bauhaus, I'd imagine the archive could shed a little light on the subject. Now, some years later, I still haven't gotten around to figuring out the photo's origin story. Alas...

Below is a work by Lyonel Feininger, Lore's papa.

Gelmeroda by L. Feininger

First Thursday in the Pearl

On my last night in Portland, I walked over to the Pearl District to check out their First Thursday event. I imagine First Thursday has evolved over the years into an Art Gallery Open House/Street Festival hybrid as the event felt like a big ole street party. A clog of folk were jammed into one city block drinking, eating food truck fare, and listening to live music. I didn't enter the fray--too many bodies.

The adjacent block was much quieter and not at all packed out. It was there that I saw some art. As I was fatigued from the massive walk I had taken that day, I only had energy to visit two galleries. The first gallery was filled with sort of very interesting modernist, glass sculpture. I enjoyed the space and how the art was arranged, but found it a little perplexing that so many folk were jamming around taking pictures of the glass in order to upload it to Instagram accounts and the like. -a sort of meta experience that documents what one did without being in the experience of what one is doing, if that makes sense. I'm no aficionado, but here's me standing at a piece trying to really take it in while having to contend with mobile phone users jockeying for best position for a shot. I wound up leaving the gallery in fairly short order.

The second gallery, however, was an unexpected delight. The somewhat newly opened Elisabeth Jones Art Center concerns itself, if I have understood their mission statement, with art focusing on the preservation of our natural world. Sept. 6th marked only their third First Thursday event.

In one portion of the gallery, I saw art pieces relating to marine life--sharks in particular. Another area of the gallery concerned itself with art pertaining to the polar ice caps. The massive mobile below is made up entirely of rather small fish shaped from wire. Each fish is marked with a piece of colored paper. I really dug it.

In another area, paintings depicting the Pacific Northwest coastline were on display. Here's an awkward shot of a small portion of the coastal art wall--


 

I spoke with a few artists/docents on-hand. They were lovely and engaging. We talked about the gallery's focus, what the art was meant to convey, and how the pieces made us feel.

The shark/marine art wall (I neglected to take photos) touched on global shark hunting for shark fin soup popular in Vietnam and China. What I learned by talking to the docents is that traditionally shark fin soup had been reserved for special occasions and has always been somewhat prohibitively expensive to buy. Currently, the demand for shark fin is at an all-time high as wealth has risen in East Asia. As a result of over-fishing, one-third of shark species are now endangered.

Full disclosure: at a New Year's dinner some 15 years ago, I ate shark fin soup. My friend's parents were visiting from Hong Kong for the occasion. As I didn't want to appear rude, I ate the soup, but I'll tell you that the fin itself was bland in flavor. I didn't see the appeal.

Found Object Art

As a family, we took annual summer trips out to the Gold Country when I was a kid. The drive took us out east toward the state capitol of Sacramento and up into 'Big Trees' territory where we camped, swam, fished and got regularly sunburnt. The four-hour drive to our destination was fairly unrewarding save for seeing a series of driftwood sculptures dotting the mudflats along the 80 freeway near the Bay Bridge.

We kids always marveled at them. Ooooh, Snoopy and the Red Baron! King Tut! A mummy in a canoe and a giant hitchhiker's thumb! What?! Why?!

The sculptures were dismantled sometime in the late 80s. In an art 101 class around the same time, I read a passage in our text book on Found Object Art with an accompanying image showing the mudflat scuptures. I thought, Oh, that's what you call it!

Someone brought them up the other day in conversation and I was inspired to do some digging on the interwebs to see if I could find any of the pieces I thought I'd remembered. I found King Tut (see above).

And I found Don Quixote fighting a windmill---




And this guy as well---

Native American on horseback

I imagine that while we kids thought these constructions were 'neat', many adults might have thought them 'junk'. Perhaps that's why they were ultimately dismantled. -shame, really.

Interestingly, if one ever watches the Hal Ashby movie Harold and Maude, then one can see shots of the two title characters enjoying the view at the mudflats.

Here's a still from the film---

Harold and Maude, ca. 1971

Talking to most folk my age who grew up here, you'd think these structures were almost something mythical. Were they really there? Did we really see Snoopy fight the Red Baron? Thanks to the internet, I can say that, yes, they were there and they helped make my family's road trips across the bridge something magical.

A short piece by a dear friend. Illustration by yours truly.

The Worrier's Fable

by Cori Crooks

                                                                                           Illustration by Bea Batz

Our lovely Unicorn stood pensively by the glimmering gold berry bush. “Will these berries ever ripen? What if I never have anything to eat again? Is the tree getting enough sun? Oh, I know it! I’m going starve and my horn will become dull and grey!”

She gnawed on the worry wart that grew like a blister pearl above the curve of her left knee. “How long has this been here? What if it’s mortalizing? I hope it doesn’t become infected!”

Worry, worry, worry. Our Unicorn worried all along that day. She worried about purity. She worried about grace. And when she was done worrying her virtues- she began to be concerned that she may have miscounted the number of virgins left in the world.

As night began, she took to the stars and just as her constellation appeared, (she had worried it wouldn't), a faint sound from far away grew louder and closer.

Trip, trap, trip, trap… along wobbled a troll wearing stilts made of goats bones and a smug cape of moss and black bryony vines. He opened his pitch mouth appearing to yawn, “What's the worry furry?”

Our Unicorn was startled. She had lived by her river of kindness for 100 years and had never seen a troll pass. Sure she had seen pixies and fairies, and even hid from the occasional maiden or two, but never a troll. She found him repulsively interesting.

“I see a little sparkle….” He cooed.

Our Unicorn looked at the troll with her left eye then her right, “Why troll, what brings you here to my enchanted forest?” She hoped he didn't hear her lisp.

“Why but I am a troll and trolls troll don’t we?” he said casually plucking a dangling hair that grew from the mole on his nose.

Our Unicorn gave a great snort. The troll took it as suspicion, and she worried if he thought her sneeze rude.

“Poor, poor Unicorn, with the sad silver horn! Why so forlorn?” he murmured.

“Oh don’t be concerned about me green troll. You just keep right on with your trolling and trip trapping.” She neighed.

“Why I suspect you are hungry- otherwise a marvelous creature such as yourself wouldn’t be so inhospitable to a lowly traveler such as I.” Then the toll took a bow so deep that his hatless head touched the laces of his polished Buster Browns.

“Oh, my… was I being rude?” she hemmed.

“Why yes, why yes your were!” He jumped.

“Oh, I’m so very sorry! Please have a seat by my river dear troll. I’d hate you to think me unkind!”

“No problem.”

And with that gracious invitation the troll settled in for the time being, sharing his wart healing potions and lending his green thumb to those problematic bushes that concerned our Unicorn so. And it turned out that the trolling troll had in the past taken to settling and while settled he had become quite the adventurous chef, as our Unicorn found out, making her delicious pies made from her now ripe gold berry bush. Soon her belly was full and her constitution was happy, and her horn never once faded to a dull grey.

One morning our Unicorn awoke with a skip in her gallop! She began gathering all her colors from the enchanted forest- blue from the eucalyptus leaves, red from the finches crest, yellow from the mushroom caps, orange from the coral bark maple, and green… green from the sleeping troll! Just as she leaned down to nibble a hair from his olive pit head he awoke and spoke as if he’d never been sleeping. “Why fair Unicorn friend, where are you off too?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to wake, I ah mean, bother you. I’m off to the waterfall at the end of the river. I need to replenish the rainbow.”

“Ha ha! Why my lovely beauty, don’t bother yourself with such frivolity, for I have done it for you!”

“But? I?”

"I have solved all your worries my hooved dear! All you need to do is relax by your magical river, look for your stars, and eat! Eat! Eat!"  He raised a pine needle eyebrow and asked,  "Care for another slice of the golden berry pie I have made for you?"

And so she did. And it was not long before our Unicorn became plump and content- for all of her worries were gone and her only care in the world was to eat piece after piece of the troll's buttery, flaky, golden berry pies.

No one in our village sees the Unicorn by the river anymore. Many a maiden have looked for her only to be disappointed. But yet still, many a girl has shared a tale that while laying on the forest floor and peeking up through the bush, they have spied a fat bellied fancy shoed troll- who walks on stilts made of goats bones, wearing a cape of vines and moss, and a shimmering silver unicorn hat.

Wee art tags

I was invited to a dinner party the other night, so I bought a bottle of wine and then dug around in my desk drawer for a wee tag to put on the bottle neck. 

The below selection of 'art tags' are from my days working at a cooker shop that, to be honest, didn't have much custom. 

During my super slow shifts, I'd taken to scrawling on sales tags (shhh! -don't tell my old boss!) the likenesses of birds, blooms, and animals both real and imagined.  Some turned out poorly, and some turned out nicely. 

I drew a wee robin for the wine bottle tag. -didn't photograph it, however.


 These I like:

Cockerel

Fuchsia

Sow

Welsh Dragon

Diego discovered

Trying to find my Japanese teacher's office proved to be a bit of a challenge. Her office is located in the Arts Building, but, come to find out, there's more than one building named 'Arts'. I took a wrong turn at a massive Olmec/Toltec stone head and found this housed within the campus theater---

Diego Rivera's Pan-American Unity Mural ca. 1940

Founding Fathers, John Brown, Frida Kahlo, Bay Bridge snippet...

I had no idea the mural hung at our campus. Given that there was no one here when I stumbled in, it would seem that hardly anyone else knows either.

Yes, that's Edward G Robinson in the bottom right corner.

I've been back a few times since my first visit. Each time I view the mural I'm struck by the fact that I know very little about the subject matter, and more precisely, how it all ties together. History buffs and those better educated than I would do well with this piece.

The mural is much larger than the two pictures would imply. I'd say I'm showing about 1/5 of the mural in these two snaps. The reason I took these specific photos was because they show figures I recognized. (I'd be a right failure if I hadn't at least clocked both George and Abe, for goodness sakes.) The man in the tan suit in the above image holding a blueprint caught my eye, so I asked the docent on-hand for a bit of info. on him. She refered me to a detailed pamphlet highlighting who the 'key players' of the mural are. -turns out our man in tan is an architect of great renown around these parts and whose work I had already greatly admired: Timothy Pflueger. Pflueger was born in SF to German parents in the late 1890s. He started as a draftsman, entirely self-taught, and moved up through the ranks. He is responsible for creating some of the Bay Area's most stunning movie houses & contributing to SFs burgeoning downtown scene with the creation of a few choice Beaux Arts style 'sky-scrapers'.

His works include:

The Castro Theater, SF

The Paramount Theater, Oakland

 The Pacific Telephone building, ca. 1925.

I'll need to take another gander at the mural, with pamphlet in hand, to absorb a bit more. Maybe I should bring along a History of the Americas book as well.

Wildfires & a walk

A woman and her pony evacuate from Napa, California.

When you have to evacuate & your 'house pet' luckily fits into the back of the car. :)

The fires up north have not yet been fully contained. Rain is forecasted for the end of the week, but it won't be much & it won't be widespread. Over 40 people are reported dead, over 220k acres of land burned & over 6,000 building destroyed.

There are new reports of wildfires ignited in Santa Cruz, about 60 miles south along the coast. The fires there are less virulent than those up north. Small consolation to those living there, to be sure.

It turns out my co-worker's beau hasn't been up north fighting fires as he'd claimed. He's been holed up in his flat doing drugs. Oopsie. What a weird-ass lie to tell your partner. Was this his way of letting her know he's not a suitable partner or father to their soon-to-be-born child? I feel for her.

It was unseasonably warm the other night. I took a walk along the beach. There were a lot of us beachcombers out sans jackets, sans shoes walking along the strand line.

It was nearing sunset when I made my way to the bus stop. --took this shot before departing.

Ocean Beach

I rode the bus up to 9th Ave. & got off near the DeYoung Museum in Golden Gate Park. They've a permanent Keith Haring scupture out front. When I think of Haring I think of the AIDS epidemic & Silence=Death & all that. But looking at this piece makes me feel a bit happy.

Walking past the Haring piece en route to another bus stop, the sky turns dusky. I'm standing at the bus shelter & this is the view---

DeYoung Museum & Palm Trees

Ora

Ora

-picked up this lithograph at a charity shop somewhat recently for $45.00. The price felt laughably low, but I'm not complaining. After I took Ora home, I did a little research on the artist. Irving Amen was born in NYC in 1918. He lived a long and productive life, having only died some five years ago. Amen studied and traveled in Europe in the mid-twentieth century. He also taught at the Pratt Institute in Manhattan in the 1960s. He was a master of painting, printmaking, & sculpture.

I've checked out Amen's woodcut art online and it's superlative. I doubt I'll ever run across any of it at the local charity shops. Who spots a unicorn twice? I'll just count my blessings with the lovely Ora.

Vancity visit

The hubs and I took our second trip to Vancouver this past July. We were there in December last year for the first time & loved it. The summer trip was all that plus warm weather and more day light. The best part of the visit was being able to spend a lot of time by the water. Our digs were near the harbour, so everyday included a stroll/jog/what-not past the marina & down into Stanley Park.

Fave apartment building in Vancouver, Stanley Park adjacent

Orderly queue for the bus

Vancouver seems to me to be the city, to a degree, that San Fran wishes it were. Or maybe SF doesn't want better public transport, exceptionally user-friendly bike lanes, and really excellent coffee shops? Living here, it's sometimes hard to tell. The one thing these two cities do have in common are extortionately high housing prices due to a proliferation of foreign investment. Like San Francisco, Vancouver is a great place to visit, but hardly affordable as a place to live.

Mr. Vancouver

At the mid-century modern shop on Commercial

The above mirror may not be really photo-worthy, but there's a story here. After the divorce of my parents in '78, my mother & I moved about a mile away from the family home into a dingy apartment. Mom decorated the apartment with hand-me-downs from friends & items found in second-hand shops & made it cosy as she could. The above mirror is exactly the same one we had in our little apartment. It hung in the kitchen, if I recall correctly. The only difference between the one in Vancouver and ours is the frame. Ours was wooden. Upon my moving out of the house in 1990, my mother gave me the mirror to decorate my own flat with. Sadly, in 2013, I inadvertently ruined the forest decal by cleaning the glass with a water-vinegar solution & wound up tossing the thing out. It was great to see 'my' mirror again, and so far away from home.

My personal Antiques Roadshow moment.

You can never predict what will sell at the shop. I put out a fake fern yesterday, and it promptly sold. Granted it was only four bucks, but still... I can't abide by plastic plants. If I can't grow anything green, then I won't have anything at all.

A French print of indeterminate origin caught the eye of another shopper. I brought it down off the wall to show her, and, after a quick once-over, it sold. -sort of silly, but it gives me pleasure to see people chuffed about their particular finds. She was happy with her cityscape scene, and I was happy for her.

Not unusually, 'sofa art' goes quite fast, but 'quirky' 20th century prints have been known to languish on the walls for weeks on end. One such print was the one below by Mika Katayama, a Japanese artist born in 1935.

M. Katayama, replete with a little photo glare.

For about a month, I kept eyeing the print, wondering when someone would wise up, and purchase it. It was priced at around fifty dollars which I thought very reasonable, so I wound up buying it myself. The hubs looked up the artist online, and found out that another print in the series is owned (and tucked away in storage) by the de Young Museum. Well, some curator at the museum certainly had good taste, but I'm displaying mine, thanks.

Trout fishing in California

My brother is a fresh water fly fisherman.  He's expert at catching trout.  I remember when we were kids he and Dad would fish together during our annual camping trips up North. I'd tag along, but do not much else than bait a few hooks & futz around in the tackle box.  The tackle box, my brother recently told me, had been Grandpa's.  When my brother was little, Grandpa had given it to him.  I had always assumed it was Dad's.

I drew this trout with my brother's passion for fishing in mind and sent him the image via email.  He said he really liked it.  Now that I'm back home in the Bay Area, then I guess I could just give it to him.  -must clean up some of the pencil lines first!

Z is for...

Run-away Zebra

European Robin

Euro-Robin sans color, 1.5" in height

I really miss seeing the wee fellow out in the back garden.  So sketching him, sort of, brings him 'to life' for me on this side of the Atlantic.  Our American robin looks like a female black bird wearing an orange bib.  -not a bad-looking bird, but just very different.

Euro-robin with his orange face mask.