What's New
Saturday, April 09, 2005
THE UNWANTED CHILD
The record’s writ and duly filed
On yesterday’s unwanted child
Whose self-esteem was cruelly tested
By growing up unmolested.
You wonder what he’ll say or do.
My guess is he’ll probably sue.
4/8/05
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The record’s writ and duly filed
On yesterday’s unwanted child
Whose self-esteem was cruelly tested
By growing up unmolested.
You wonder what he’ll say or do.
My guess is he’ll probably sue.
4/8/05
SCROLL DOWN
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
A BOWL OF FRUIT
If you’re one of the lucky ones who can digest a philosophical concept like a cup of blueberry yogurt, I tender my congratulations along with a great deal of envy.
Sad to say, you have only to whisper "epistemology" in the hairy ear and my eyes glaze over and my mind starts to wander. I try to overlook this handicap, but the other day a young studio visitor brought me down to earth with a jolt.
Usually, whenever people enter my small showroom with its large inventory of prints and paintings, I say something like: “If you have questions, be sure to ask.”
Of course, I expect and very often get technical queries such as “What’s a mezzotint?” or “What do you mean by drypoint?” This starts me off like a roller coaster and I’m usually still rattling away when guests start looking at their watches or sneaking off to the bathroom.
The other day, however, after I encouraged questions, this young man, whom I now suspect of being something of a wag, asked: “What’s the meaning of life?”
In the silence that followed, I gradually became aware of blurred faces turned my way. There was a gloomy air of expectancy, but I couldn’t speak.
“You don’t know, do you?” the young man taunted.
I shook my head.
“It’s three apples, one banana and two oranges.”
“Oh, of course,” I said. “I should have known that.”
Everyone laughed, and I assumed for a time that he had, after all, been talking about still lifes where fruit does traditionally play a leading role. But lately, I’ve come to realize that that young man was putting me on.
Now I’ve been trying to think of answers to his impertinence.
I could have explained that I’m not an abstract artist, putting the ball squarely back in his court, but the trouble is it’s not true. I flog my abstract prints and paintings just as shamelessly as I flog my more realistic stuff.
So I’ve concluded, after a great deal of thought, that the young man, rude as he might have been, was right. Life is a bowl of fruit. I hope you agree. Otherwise, I think we’re all in serious trouble.
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If you’re one of the lucky ones who can digest a philosophical concept like a cup of blueberry yogurt, I tender my congratulations along with a great deal of envy.
Sad to say, you have only to whisper "epistemology" in the hairy ear and my eyes glaze over and my mind starts to wander. I try to overlook this handicap, but the other day a young studio visitor brought me down to earth with a jolt.
Usually, whenever people enter my small showroom with its large inventory of prints and paintings, I say something like: “If you have questions, be sure to ask.”
Of course, I expect and very often get technical queries such as “What’s a mezzotint?” or “What do you mean by drypoint?” This starts me off like a roller coaster and I’m usually still rattling away when guests start looking at their watches or sneaking off to the bathroom.
The other day, however, after I encouraged questions, this young man, whom I now suspect of being something of a wag, asked: “What’s the meaning of life?”
In the silence that followed, I gradually became aware of blurred faces turned my way. There was a gloomy air of expectancy, but I couldn’t speak.
“You don’t know, do you?” the young man taunted.
I shook my head.
“It’s three apples, one banana and two oranges.”
“Oh, of course,” I said. “I should have known that.”
Everyone laughed, and I assumed for a time that he had, after all, been talking about still lifes where fruit does traditionally play a leading role. But lately, I’ve come to realize that that young man was putting me on.
Now I’ve been trying to think of answers to his impertinence.
I could have explained that I’m not an abstract artist, putting the ball squarely back in his court, but the trouble is it’s not true. I flog my abstract prints and paintings just as shamelessly as I flog my more realistic stuff.
So I’ve concluded, after a great deal of thought, that the young man, rude as he might have been, was right. Life is a bowl of fruit. I hope you agree. Otherwise, I think we’re all in serious trouble.
SCROLL DOWN
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
FOR THE FIRST TIME, thanks to guest artists Cheryl Higgins, left, and Nancy Stein, white ground etchings have been made in the studio. You can see proofs of small plates before them and a large, long plate nearby, ready for the acid. More next week.
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BOOK REVIEW
THE GREAT EARTHQUAKE AND FIRESTORMS OF 1906, How San Francisco Nearly Destroyed Itself, by Philip L. Fradkin, 2005, University of California Press, $27.50.
You’ll find it hard to name a popular author today who knows more about earthquakes in general and the 1906 earthquake in particular than Point Reyes’s own Philip L. Fradkin.
His latest opus brings to focus all his knowledge and research on the subject. It is a compelling book, written with confidence and organized with admirable dexterity.
It is the fourth of his many books that deals in some manner or form with the geology and effects of earthquakes. In addition, Fradkin worked for more than three years compiling photos, manuscripts and text for the Bancroft Library’s online archives documenting the great earthquake and fire. This work alone produced 10,000 digital images and 35,000 pages of electronic text that will soon be available to the public.
And of course, it established Fradkin as the hands-down authority for the University Press’s centennial treatise on this country’s worst urban disaster.
Although some may argue with his thesis that the city nearly destroyed itself, it can’t be denied that the mistakes made during and after the disaster were dumbfounding. Black powder, used early in the battle, simply ignited new fires, and even when dynamite was used, the “firebreaks” that resulted were simply windrows of kindling that fed the flames.
Civil disorder was acerbated by emergency measures. Vigilante justice and orders to shoot to kill put the innocent in peril, and all vestiges of a democratic government were, for a time, lost. The city was ruled by an oligarchy of self-appointed citizens who replaced elected officials.
One telling result was that the flood of aid in money, food and clothing that came from around the world was distributed with personal prejudices against social classes and ethnicity. This certainly contributed to years of unrest and dispute, including the City’s notorious labor problems. In addition, the leading citizens tried to get rid of the Chinese, suggesting that Chinatown be rebuilt south of the City’s borders. Fortunately, this effort failed when the loss of potential income was realized.
Boosterism and the rage to rebuild quickly over-rode caution and resulted in new structures and additional land fills that made San Francisco even more vulnerable than before.
What Fradkin has done convincingly is show that the story isn’t really over. Disastrous earthquakes followed by firestorms will strike again.
Fradkin will talk about his book and show slides at the Point Reyes Bookstore at 7:30 p.m., Saturday, April 23, in an event that will benefit the Inverness and Point Reyes Station disaster councils.
SCROLL DOWN
THE GREAT EARTHQUAKE AND FIRESTORMS OF 1906, How San Francisco Nearly Destroyed Itself, by Philip L. Fradkin, 2005, University of California Press, $27.50.
You’ll find it hard to name a popular author today who knows more about earthquakes in general and the 1906 earthquake in particular than Point Reyes’s own Philip L. Fradkin.
His latest opus brings to focus all his knowledge and research on the subject. It is a compelling book, written with confidence and organized with admirable dexterity.
It is the fourth of his many books that deals in some manner or form with the geology and effects of earthquakes. In addition, Fradkin worked for more than three years compiling photos, manuscripts and text for the Bancroft Library’s online archives documenting the great earthquake and fire. This work alone produced 10,000 digital images and 35,000 pages of electronic text that will soon be available to the public.
And of course, it established Fradkin as the hands-down authority for the University Press’s centennial treatise on this country’s worst urban disaster.
Although some may argue with his thesis that the city nearly destroyed itself, it can’t be denied that the mistakes made during and after the disaster were dumbfounding. Black powder, used early in the battle, simply ignited new fires, and even when dynamite was used, the “firebreaks” that resulted were simply windrows of kindling that fed the flames.
Civil disorder was acerbated by emergency measures. Vigilante justice and orders to shoot to kill put the innocent in peril, and all vestiges of a democratic government were, for a time, lost. The city was ruled by an oligarchy of self-appointed citizens who replaced elected officials.
One telling result was that the flood of aid in money, food and clothing that came from around the world was distributed with personal prejudices against social classes and ethnicity. This certainly contributed to years of unrest and dispute, including the City’s notorious labor problems. In addition, the leading citizens tried to get rid of the Chinese, suggesting that Chinatown be rebuilt south of the City’s borders. Fortunately, this effort failed when the loss of potential income was realized.
Boosterism and the rage to rebuild quickly over-rode caution and resulted in new structures and additional land fills that made San Francisco even more vulnerable than before.
What Fradkin has done convincingly is show that the story isn’t really over. Disastrous earthquakes followed by firestorms will strike again.
Fradkin will talk about his book and show slides at the Point Reyes Bookstore at 7:30 p.m., Saturday, April 23, in an event that will benefit the Inverness and Point Reyes Station disaster councils.
SCROLL DOWN
Sunday, April 03, 2005
COMING OF AGE
Cuthbert has an impish grin,
And often he will delve in sin.
He pulls the tresses of his sister
And calls his patient mother "Mister."
He switches sugar with the flour
And turns the clocks back one whole hour.
He puts the cat in with the chickens
To raise some feathers and the dickens.
He spikes our tea with cooking wine,
And laughs to see our noses shine.
He’s famous for his halitosis.
His table manners are atrocious.
He won’t ask pardon for his burps
And when he eats his soup he slurps.
He wipes his nose upon his sleeve
And never asks if he can leave.
Angelical I know he ain't,
But even devils show restraint.
What will Cuthbert come to be?
We'll find out soon. He's twenty-three.
6/1/00
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Cuthbert has an impish grin,
And often he will delve in sin.
He pulls the tresses of his sister
And calls his patient mother "Mister."
He switches sugar with the flour
And turns the clocks back one whole hour.
He puts the cat in with the chickens
To raise some feathers and the dickens.
He spikes our tea with cooking wine,
And laughs to see our noses shine.
He’s famous for his halitosis.
His table manners are atrocious.
He won’t ask pardon for his burps
And when he eats his soup he slurps.
He wipes his nose upon his sleeve
And never asks if he can leave.
Angelical I know he ain't,
But even devils show restraint.
What will Cuthbert come to be?
We'll find out soon. He's twenty-three.
6/1/00
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