What's New
Saturday, March 20, 2004
The National League of American Penwomen honored this poem by Carol Friedman with an honorable mention in its "Soul Making Literary Competition." Carol lives in Point Reyes, manages the Dance Palace and is the mother of Abe and Eli Jayson.
AT THE GAS STATION
By Carol Friedman
Every night they gather,
young hoodlums at the gas station.
Five or eight or ten of them,
all boys
or young men,
depending on who makes the call.
White, restless,
with their close-cropped hair
and cigarettes dangling from their mouths,
their low slung baggy pants
that will likely still fit them 30 years from now.
Probably they have a can of Budweiser in their hands,
or a joint
or both.
They are bored,
bored with this three-block town,
with these soft brown mountains,
with this pristine bay,
with the acres of wilderness surrounding them.
They are bored and restless and itching to leave,
and they hang out every night at the gas station.
In another place, in another town,
I would be nervous walking by them.
I would fear their edgy angry energy,
the subtext of violence.
But I held Joey in my arms when he was two weeks old.
I was John''s first soccer coach.
I tied Will''s shoelaces volunteering at the preschool.
I know that Tim's father beats him and his mother drinks,
and Alex was my son''s best friend in kindergarten.
This is how it is,
late at night,
at the gas station,
each young hoodlum
a child of mine.
AT THE GAS STATION
By Carol Friedman
Every night they gather,
young hoodlums at the gas station.
Five or eight or ten of them,
all boys
or young men,
depending on who makes the call.
White, restless,
with their close-cropped hair
and cigarettes dangling from their mouths,
their low slung baggy pants
that will likely still fit them 30 years from now.
Probably they have a can of Budweiser in their hands,
or a joint
or both.
They are bored,
bored with this three-block town,
with these soft brown mountains,
with this pristine bay,
with the acres of wilderness surrounding them.
They are bored and restless and itching to leave,
and they hang out every night at the gas station.
In another place, in another town,
I would be nervous walking by them.
I would fear their edgy angry energy,
the subtext of violence.
But I held Joey in my arms when he was two weeks old.
I was John''s first soccer coach.
I tied Will''s shoelaces volunteering at the preschool.
I know that Tim's father beats him and his mother drinks,
and Alex was my son''s best friend in kindergarten.
This is how it is,
late at night,
at the gas station,
each young hoodlum
a child of mine.
Friday, March 19, 2004
FROM THE QUESTION MAN
Do lyons have hairballs?
It was a trick question, but most of you got it.
ANS: Lions do, but lyons don.t
Do lyons have hairballs?
It was a trick question, but most of you got it.
ANS: Lions do, but lyons don.t
AT THE GALLERIES
Inverness Park photographer Riachard Blair is showing his collection of California prints at the Barry Singer Gallery in Petaluma, and the reception has now been scheduled. It will be from 5 to 7 Saturday, March 27. "California Views" is the result of an on-going project. Blair and Kathleen Goodwin are co-authors of the popular "Pint Reyes Visions."
Inverness Park photographer Riachard Blair is showing his collection of California prints at the Barry Singer Gallery in Petaluma, and the reception has now been scheduled. It will be from 5 to 7 Saturday, March 27. "California Views" is the result of an on-going project. Blair and Kathleen Goodwin are co-authors of the popular "Pint Reyes Visions."
Thursday, March 18, 2004
SUPPORT APHORISMS
Inventing an aphorism, that pithy saying that smacks of truth and is often flavored with irony, can be very satisfactory, but there's one big problem. The chances are good that it's already been said.
You're left with the annoying worry that you might not be original, might actually have plagiarized some famous author.
So why not have a clearing house for aphorisms -- test your creations before a discerning public -- the web for instance. If it's not original, you can bet our reader's will tell you about it - maybe even tell you who said it first.
Just send them in. I'll post them, and we'll find out just how original they are.
I'll start things off with one of mine: "Politics prefers privilege over character." I know, probably H. L. Menken.
Inventing an aphorism, that pithy saying that smacks of truth and is often flavored with irony, can be very satisfactory, but there's one big problem. The chances are good that it's already been said.
You're left with the annoying worry that you might not be original, might actually have plagiarized some famous author.
So why not have a clearing house for aphorisms -- test your creations before a discerning public -- the web for instance. If it's not original, you can bet our reader's will tell you about it - maybe even tell you who said it first.
Just send them in. I'll post them, and we'll find out just how original they are.
I'll start things off with one of mine: "Politics prefers privilege over character." I know, probably H. L. Menken.
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
I bet you can improve on this. Give it a try and send your version to me at etcher@svn.net
ABSTRACT NUMBERS
Susy was a wiz with numbers
And did additions in her slumbers
Often she would go to bed
With arcane equations in her head.
And while she dreamed between the sheets
She performed such mental feats
That when the wings of night had flown
She woke with every value known.
Her friends, therefore, found it strange
That she had trouble making change.
Rick Lyttle 3/2/04
ABSTRACT NUMBERS
Susy was a wiz with numbers
And did additions in her slumbers
Often she would go to bed
With arcane equations in her head.
And while she dreamed between the sheets
She performed such mental feats
That when the wings of night had flown
She woke with every value known.
Her friends, therefore, found it strange
That she had trouble making change.
Rick Lyttle 3/2/04
Monday, March 15, 2004
MAKING UP IS HARD TO DO
Everywhere our Gertrude goes,
Even when behind the wheel,
She's putting powder on her nose
And fretting over sex appeal.
She told us that her biggest shake-up,
Caused by one of her many crashes,
Spoiled some expensive make-up
And blew away her false eyelashes.
She led the cops on a wild chase,
But it gave her time to fix her face.
Rick Lyttle 3/10/04
Everywhere our Gertrude goes,
Even when behind the wheel,
She's putting powder on her nose
And fretting over sex appeal.
She told us that her biggest shake-up,
Caused by one of her many crashes,
Spoiled some expensive make-up
And blew away her false eyelashes.
She led the cops on a wild chase,
But it gave her time to fix her face.
Rick Lyttle 3/10/04
WHAT IS THE TALKING PRESS?
The logo, with two ravens sitting on the handle of a home-made press, came first. The logo soon inspired the name.
A little history –- about thirty-five years ago when my interest in printing was growing. I decided to get a press to print linoleum and woodcuts.
Actually, such relief prints can be printed by palm pressure or by rubbing a wooden spoon over the back of the paper while it rests on the inked block. However, a weighty press delivering even pressure, gives better and much quicker results.
However, the used presses available at that time were all too expensive. So, with a rare piece of driftwood and some scrap lumber, I built my own.
This was back in the days before container ships when freighters stored deck cargo on scrap timber. One of these timbers, "dunnage" they are collectively called, broke free in a storm and drifted to Drakes Beach. It happened to be a very hard and tough variety of mahogany, ideal for the uprights, cross-member and handle of the press.
The late Bud Roth, with a well-equipped wood shop at his Inverness home, provided design ideas, encouragement and invaluable help with construction. And it worked.
Not only did the press produce fine prints, but it also looked, in its functional way, extremely handsome. Perching two of our local ravens on the handle. in my imagination, made what I thought a fine logo, and I carved the image out of a linoleum block. It was one of the first things printed on the new press.
Well, since ravens can be taught to say a few words, I decided to call my shop "The Talking Press."
Over the years, with the steady arrival of students and guest artists, the name began to embrace more than just the shop.
It now includes the activities of about a dozen local artists who have come to the shop to print, exchange ideas and inspire one another. There are currently three active guest artists – Joe Blumenthal, Gary Smith and Nancy Stein, and there is a waiting list.
All guest artist, past and present, will show their prints in Point Reyes in September and at the Marin County Civic Center in October. Details will follow.
Needless to say, "The Talking Press" has been an inspiration to me, and perhaps it will continue encouraging the art of printmaking long after I am gone. One can dream.
The logo, with two ravens sitting on the handle of a home-made press, came first. The logo soon inspired the name.
A little history –- about thirty-five years ago when my interest in printing was growing. I decided to get a press to print linoleum and woodcuts.
Actually, such relief prints can be printed by palm pressure or by rubbing a wooden spoon over the back of the paper while it rests on the inked block. However, a weighty press delivering even pressure, gives better and much quicker results.
However, the used presses available at that time were all too expensive. So, with a rare piece of driftwood and some scrap lumber, I built my own.
This was back in the days before container ships when freighters stored deck cargo on scrap timber. One of these timbers, "dunnage" they are collectively called, broke free in a storm and drifted to Drakes Beach. It happened to be a very hard and tough variety of mahogany, ideal for the uprights, cross-member and handle of the press.
The late Bud Roth, with a well-equipped wood shop at his Inverness home, provided design ideas, encouragement and invaluable help with construction. And it worked.
Not only did the press produce fine prints, but it also looked, in its functional way, extremely handsome. Perching two of our local ravens on the handle. in my imagination, made what I thought a fine logo, and I carved the image out of a linoleum block. It was one of the first things printed on the new press.
Well, since ravens can be taught to say a few words, I decided to call my shop "The Talking Press."
Over the years, with the steady arrival of students and guest artists, the name began to embrace more than just the shop.
It now includes the activities of about a dozen local artists who have come to the shop to print, exchange ideas and inspire one another. There are currently three active guest artists – Joe Blumenthal, Gary Smith and Nancy Stein, and there is a waiting list.
All guest artist, past and present, will show their prints in Point Reyes in September and at the Marin County Civic Center in October. Details will follow.
Needless to say, "The Talking Press" has been an inspiration to me, and perhaps it will continue encouraging the art of printmaking long after I am gone. One can dream.
BLUE CHEESE
This miniature - 1.25 high and less than 2 inches wide -
depicts a favorite view from the south end of Tomales Bay. It
shows part of Bob Giacomini's dairy pasture. Irrigated, the hills
stay green or nearly so all year long.
Within the last five years, the Giacomini Ranch has started
to make blue cheese. Almost from the start, the cheese began
winning prizes. And it is good. Point Reyes Blue Cheese is
putting us on the map.
Cashing in on the fame, I've decided to call this print
"Blue Cheese," and I hope to make an edition of fifty.
It's a three-plate mezzotint, printed on register with
transparent yellow, magenta and cyan inks. Japanese kitakata
paper is laid chine colle over a French BFK etching paper.
Although the image was drawn from memory, it's a fairly
accurate landscape. You can't see it, but Highway One runs north
and south here about 30 feet above the water, and the old
railroad was on an embankment that rose just a few feet above the
bay. When I'm out for my early morning row, I see the hay and
milk trucks and usually the school bus pass along the highway.
The trains stopped running in the early 30s.
The cliff to the north - left in the image - used to be a
trash dump, and when our son, Matt, was a youngster, he used to
cross the bay on a small skiff and collect old bottles from
beach. It's a wonder he didn't become an archaeologist.
Further north and out of sight is Millerton Park a state
park where Jean and I have taken some very pleasant walks.
Well, that enough for a small print. It's being offered at
$120.00.
