Stripes of Lake Michigan

Warm water and rough waves tickle the banks of Lakeside, Mi.

The beach of last year has been swallowed for now.

A literal shifting of sands.

Michigan Home

Home. Well that could be an entire blog in and of itself. Home.

I told my mother on the phone when I walked in the house that I would trade the last stretch (from Chicago to Pinckney) for the entire other four days. Tough going through midwestern storms, blinding rain, flooding highways, and Michigan drivers who don't get the concept of the left lane. I had to get off the freeway twice, once because I could not see and once for flooding. A serious accident humbled all of us blasting along, and the average speed plummeted to about 4 miles an hour. Again, very thankful I made it back in one piece with even bigger patches of poison oak taking over my driving body. Mendocino lives on. 

I called this entry Michigan home because I am blessed by the sensation of multiple homes right now, California and North Carolina being close contenders. It has been an incredible seven weeks on the road, the last month concentrated in the Bay Area and north. There is nothing better in the world than feeling welcomed and loved. Nothing.

Perplexed

I've just got one question this morning. How with the antiseptic atmosphere of these hotels lacking operable windows, congested with intervening lobbies separating you and the outside, do mosquitos get into my room? I see them gathering outside my window this morning; that I can take. But last night when I surprisingly discovered what I thought was a solo transgressor and smeared him against the vinyl wallpaper, I assumed that was it. Not so. Morning greetings at six am, buzzing in the ear. Could they be living in the air conditioning system?

Other Curvy Paths

All this driving reminds me of earlier confrontations with curves. The Gualala River meets the Pacific Ocean. More framing studies - what should the river do to the edge of the page?

Happy Accidents in Nebraska

You cant know what you are getting at high speed. If they've eliminated talking on the cell phone while driving then taking photographs is probably not a good idea, but it's hard to resist. Sometimes you get lucky and catch an image that resembles what you saw (and captures why you wanted it) and other times the photograph itself reveals something you never saw. 

In each of these photos (shot from the car), objects and their backgrounds change up who is standing still and who is moving. Bales of hay roll faster than my car, spaces between train cars are trees swept from their woods, a single stone freezes atop a whizzing hillside. 

Crossing Wyoming

I suppose Best Western is its chain name - Outlaw Inn is where I rested last night and just ate breakfast. Accompanying me was the Casper Star Tribune (though I am in Rock Springs) and its assembly of headlines is worth noting. 

The United States is unprepared for an asteroid attack.

Handguns by Hand

"Wyoming remains a raw, sparsely settled place where guns are a way of life. Wildlife

is thick and people hunt to eat." The guy who owns the store is proudly holding what looks

to me like a pistol with a long goose neck.

(I order a Belgium waffle)

Rainbow Family attacks Forest Service Officers

And lastly, going national, old homey Helms finally dies. All I could think was how did this man with so much evil in his heart manage to die the same day as John Adams. Who gave him the right to command a headline on the day we celebrate our collective citizenship? (remember his nightly "viewpoint" on the news in the late 60's Wren?)

Off for another driving day. There would be days like this Mama said.

eighty on eighty

If the temperature at ten this morning held steady, it would have been a triple eighty.

I had an officer tell me that it was okay to go five miles over the speed limit. So I set the cruise control just a touch over eighty. Made good distance, reconnected with Meatloaf. 

Instead of the triple eighty it was 102 degrees most of the way across Nevada and Utah.

In chronological order; a view from the driver's seat. Trucks and me.

Likeness

Specimen trees are symbols. The Boonville Big Band, whom I had the pleasure of hearing rehearse for several hours at the Anderson Valley High School, embraces a cast of characters who reminded me of this tree. Larry comes to mind - sliding his trombone to his own rhythm, but still in sync. A little guidance goes a long way. 

Big band leaders share lineage or at least behavioral traits with those mesmerizing conductors of the past. I spent an evening rocking in my seat as Bob, a former clarinet player and high school band man, lead an eclectic collection of Anderson valley folk in preparation for the fourth of July concert. While I listen to lots of music, seeing people play live and with one another is addictive like sports. The inescapable in the moment demands of keeping time, hearing others, and reacting moves me like nothing else. If you get a chance head to Mendocino tomorrow and fill your heart with the Boonville Big Band. 

Navarro Beach

Makes you wonder what essentially constitutes a home. Is duration part of the answer?

Sparks, Nevada

Not Reno, but close. Is that not always the way with gambling. Intermittent reward I heard it is called - the most compelling of all, stimulating a search for patterns, predictability, solid ground. I got it here at the quality inn last night, my first on the return trip. I'm opting for the straight shot this time, highway 80. Not so scenic they say, but so far I like it: Uhauls and brown hills sharing a frame. If the California stretch of 80 is any indication I believe I might be paralleling the route I took on the Southwest Chief crossing the country by Amtrak several years ago. 

phases of a house

Projecting imagined futures, ways of living, what to see when and in what light are but a few of the flurry of options darting about in your head at the start of designing a house. I thought my camping days were over, well hopefully not forever, but dormant. Then it is seemed obvious that sleeping where a bedroom might want to be makes sense. And drawing full scale in bright green tape a better form of sketching alternatives to pen and paper. What Sarah and I discovered, having no clear site plan with north arrows, is the sun rises in the east. Now we could align ourselves. Right here at the infancy of a new home, some shifting seems in order already. Those large siting questions are the haunting sort - you have to get this part right. Joe (Esherick) still resonates: if you build on the best part of the site, you no longer have it. Should the ridge go past the house, in front of it so to speak, or should the house be divided, formed up around that virtual slot slicing through. Thank god for some facts. The sun rises in the east.

Mendocino Crops

Though perhaps not the most abundant plant scattered about this lovely county and in particular Anderson Valley, poison oak has a staying power beyond other obvious vegetation. What I had forgotten about this oak is its time release shooting star sort of behavior. This patch on my side spawns babies that masquerade as bug bites for a day or two, then gracefully develop into the real deal. Mind over itch. I have to think of it now as a new topography, a road map for this next phase of my journey.

flames and ashes

From campfire to the real thing. Visiting my friend Sarah in the heart of an historic conflagration of wildfires (in the sense of number and timing, one hundred and thirty one in Mendocino at last count many of which were literally unattended due to the extent of burning throughout the state). Fire permeated my Anderson Valley time in all senses - the air, ashes falling from the sky, trucks poised for quick escape, loaded with agonizingly sorted items of the heart, ladders leaning up to roofs, helicopters dotting the haze with their teardrop buckets of water, firefighters gathering in the hotels, radios rattling out the latest evacuation areas, and the moment of levity coming in an interview with the local CDF official in Boonville or Navarro. Not to worry he was trying to say. "Do not panic. Just do what you would normally do when you see flames." Sarah and I looked at each other wondering whether there was something we were missing - a clear answer. I mean you know, it is just flames. Somehow that has not moved into my muscle memory category of good instinctive reaction. The interview went on. "Your government will protect you," he stated. Another sure bet, government on our side. We could relax, not fret. They would be there for us. As the newscast continued, you got the feeling this guy began hearing himself finally, and slowly all sense of rational thought dissipated. Heading into town for some live interaction with regular town people seemed the safest choice of all. Saffron has seen it all before; she put our minds temporarily at ease. 

Live Rock

Anchor Bay Again

Old Bones

on the beach

Recalling a Past

In this Cathy built cabin there are spatial parallels with the surrounding second growth forest of redwoods. Like the best of pantomime where the conjured is more real than the body doing the conjuring, the douglas fir lining of this main space reminds me of the circular void left as young redwoods enclose the memory of an ancestor. 

Many of a Thing

Is always nice, Cathy says. Many grilled squash and a moment of overlap - blue sky overtaken by wafting fog. Barbeque chicken by Virginia, a 2004 Zin, pre dinner cheeses, and a creamy hot chocolate during our CIA thriller movie, all mark our first full day at the Gualala cabin. It is a small sized, big spirited place of Cathy's creation, tucked expertly among the second growth redwoods just off the ocean between Gualala and Anchor Bay. Rocks, cliffs and crashing waves define this edge of our country. 

A Little Pac Bell in Anchor Bay

The Giants live on vicariously through their stadium cotton candy. Yes, I am still eating my game night taste sensation. It approached six dollars for these resilient puffs, so I'm determined to get my money's worth. Like one of those second grade assignments where you send your flattened figurine out in the world, collecting virtual "wish you were here" postcards, I'll offer my shrinking spun sugar the best vistas of what's left. Cotton candy and salt mist don't mix. 

Burnt Stumps

Or maybe crisped, then frozen: Vince's homemade charcoal and Virginia's wet suit legs.

The Pacific Rocks

On and on. You can get trapped by high tide in the coves here at Anchor Bay. Specific time matters less than tide rhythms. We got it right, well Virginia did, settling high on the sand. There was a barefoot stretch, however, in the forty something degree ocean water. Within seconds your feet feel like stumps, dead ones. Packed a shade tent, boogie board, wet suits, food, and drawing stuff over to a rock enclave where the waves are manageable. Not for me, only Virginia went in the water. You have to have the right equipment, including feet and hand covers. Cathy and I drew with charcoal and pens.

You Decide

A lack of material continuity illuminates this building's collection of faces. The front facade runs in one direction, the sides in another. In the articulation of parts, one struggles to put it all back together: pieces but no pie. Conscious or not? Compliance with rules or a purposeful destabilizing effect?

Cotton Candy or Fog?

Disgusted by the grape flavor and color (isn't all cotton candy supposed to have a cotton candy taste?) I sacrificed this ball of cotton to Sarah's destructive antics. What was once a dead ringer for evening fog (okay, through a special lens) is compressed into the space of our cup holders. Over the course of the game, darker purple edges formed a crusty new texture. Who knew sugar could spin itself so many disguises.

Napa and the Wine World

If you couldn't see these workers tucked into the working rows, you might think you were looking down on a very neat braiding job, an enlarged head whose dry white scalp is showing through. Grids and stripes proliferate, anticipating bumper crops of juicy grapes. 

Two Drawings One Mountain

Badger Pass: the slope of this mountain extends right through this ski lodge structure (in need and receiving renovation help) so without consciously realizing it both views, the one from the street (on top) and the other from an expansive deck on the side of the building, use the same white space of the page to imply a steep grade. Double duty - that is the overall aspiration. 

A little Detroit in San Francisco

They evened the series up tonight, the Tigers did. And a full moon rose above the bay. Cotton candy, candied almonds and seeing my old friend Sarah. An all around day of fun: the new Jewish Museum downtown, a wonderful middle eastern lunch, and the Tigers eating the Giants for dinner. More fleece and down coats here in the stadium by the bay. 

Clean Slate

Gregg's new office spot. Just at the outset of construction, the rawness, the space of the blank white sheet is like sunrise. A morning with unlimited potential for the day. He is launched and soaring, and his new space provides a palpable gust. Fly on Gregg.

Flat and Deep

Skinny and lean. An unfinished version of the in-your-face bark texture, its flatness against the deeper reaches of the river. Had to go back to the Modoc Forest for this example. 

The Rotating Body

Revelations these days come fewer and simpler. Observations that seem obvious, that I may even be self conscious to make, offer deeper lessons. Perhaps it is again that state of motion, the increased receptivity to seeing things around that nurtures the urge to articulate. Whatever, I'll take it. On Friday cruising around the city on foot, with camera and pen in hand, I reconsider what binds things, places, moments that intrigue me. 

The simplest are the most complex. Intersections for example, define the merging of opposites. What hit me was the union of tools and concept lately - that my camera, the fact that its lens and screen can move independently, nudge my eye toward a straight on view of the world. In architectural terms, this straight on view (where you look through your lens at a right angle to your subject) is called a plan or section, an orthographic projection. It preserves accuracy, measurability. 

These thoughts provoke less an instinct to represent or formalize this interaction and more an urge to suppose that being moved to think about things in this way is a quality of beauty. A flurry in mind and body marking achievement, causing someone to shift along a spectrum.

I ate dinner at Annmarie's last night in the home they rent from Alva Noe. What he writes about hit home. "Perception is not something that happens to us or in us. It is something we do." The inside flap cover goes on..."In Action in Perception (his book), Noe argues that perceptual consciousness depends on capacities for action and thought - that perception is a kind of thoughtful activity. Touch, not vision, should be our model for perception. Perception is not a process in the brain, but a kind of skillful activity of the body as a whole. We enact our perceptual experience. 

....the content of perception is not like the contents of a picture: the world is not given to consciousness all at once but is gained gradually by active inquiry and exploration - exercise of practical bodily knowledge."

But back to the rotating body and finding a frame. 

Drawings that combine multiple view points, collisions between the slice or measured view and the perspective, these continue to fascinate. In terms of framing, Weegee (Arthur Fellig) and Henri Cartier-Bresson, two of my favorite photographers were purists: what you see through your lens is what you get. The frame at the instant of the photograph is not cropped or altered. Something appealing about that to me. 

Farmers Market

Here at the bok choy - baby bok choy intersection we have a microcosm. 

As beautiful as this convergence is, the lines and rows of endless fresh, affordable produce collected beneath Bernal Hill exceeds it. This place invigorates the soul. 

Leila took me there this morning.

In addition to the babies above and spinach, I also got some "Pride of Basra" quarter sized round dates on a stem. They remind me of those Mourad, a graduate school colleague, used to bring back to the International House from Algeria. 

Little Cat Feet

or a giant cotton ball

LUNCH

Across the street from EHDD she told me the tacos were the best. It is not 25th and Mission but I took her advice and more. How many should I order? One. As I watched her construct my taco, I paused at the small diameter of my single taco. I asked again, are you sure this will be enough? Yes, there is much more to come. At the check out he asked me what I wanted to drink. Water. Tap or bottled he asked, pointing to the water and cups behind me. The total for my lunch with perfect proportions and distinctly discernible individual ingredients was $2.98. I loved the whole thing. Even the tables and chairs.

House and Meadow

Near the place we stayed in Yosemite was this small house sitting on the edge of a meadow. I rode my rented bike to it and ate my lunch across the street where I could be like the house and survey my surroundings. Out of the oil pastel groove now, and remembering how the medium affects the message, or perhaps even more importantly, the observation itself. Eating the other half of my breakfast bagel, I studied the sweep of the open field, the strong but leaky edge of its definition. I needed a big luscious stick of something to make my version of the clearing in one fell swoop. Oils seemed just right but my colors are limited. 

SF Feeling Like Home

Funny how trips within trips exaggerate the elasticity of time. I've been gone for almost a month now and coming back to George's house tonight from Yosemite feels as close to home since we drove down my dusty Toma Road. Party because it is a place I know well and feel welcome, but also because it marks a return. It is a complex equation: a parenthetical operation embedded inside another. 

And our route, particularly this short cut on Priest something road with its sinuous twists through dried out hills, provokes another level of "path" awareness. As in life itself, the view ahead is sometimes clear, you can actually see it, anticipate your place. Other times the way disappears, seemingly connected, but you can never really know. Is it segments or is it a line?