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Saturday, April 25, 2009
KWMR Art Auction
Celebrating ten years on the air, KWMR is holding its annual art auction in Toby’s galley this May with “Power of Ten” as the theme. All entries are supposed to have something do do with that number.
Opening reception will be from 3 to 5 p.m., Saturday May 2, with a closing reception on Sunday May 31 from 3 to 5. This is a silent auctin with bids going up on a sheet beside each entry.
Proceeds, of course, go to the radio station which continues to survive through public support.
Celebrating ten years on the air, KWMR is holding its annual art auction in Toby’s galley this May with “Power of Ten” as the theme. All entries are supposed to have something do do with that number.
Opening reception will be from 3 to 5 p.m., Saturday May 2, with a closing reception on Sunday May 31 from 3 to 5. This is a silent auctin with bids going up on a sheet beside each entry.
Proceeds, of course, go to the radio station which continues to survive through public support.
Friday, April 10, 2009
AIR WAVES, an oil on a 6 by 16-inch panel, will be available at the KWMR art auction in Toby's Feed Barn during May.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
THE PISMIRE PROJECT
Sea levels are rising, and soon coastal areas will be inundated. Many of our animal friends will perish. What is being done about it? Very little. What are you doing about it?
I ask because this is the time to start pitching in at the local level. If everyone volunteered now, the world would be better prepared. There has been enough talk. It’s time to act.
But, you say, what can I do?
Have you thought about the ants? When the inundation hits, thousands of colonies will be destroyed. The death toll will be tragic. So let’s all get to work and teach the ants to swim.
You say, huh? But I’m serious.
Already, my Pismire Project, as I call it, has prepared hundreds of ants of all sizes in the Bay Area alone for the coming flood. Of course, there is much still be done. Just think of ants on the world-wide level. It boggles. Still we do want to save these wee creatures from extinction, don’t we?
Ants, of course, have a well-established prejudice against water. Anatomically, they were not designed for conventional swimming. Their little faces point down. Their mouths and nostrils are immersed at once when they attempt the crawl or dog-paddle or any other standard stroke.
So you can imagine the excitement when I demonstrated the back stroke. Talk abut an epiphany.
Still it takes time and patience. And I found that the older the ant, the greater the resistance. Young ants, however, take to the water rapidly. Supporting their little bodies on a finger tip, I slowly lower them into the water and wait for them to gain confidence. When confidence does come, the little chaps scoot across the surface of the pond like Jesus bugs.
After three or four days of individual instruction, enthusiasm spreads through a colony with awesome rapidity. Soon there are swimming meets, competitive diving and even water polo. On weekends, I have seen an entire colony gather on the beach for picnics. Some of the braver ants actually surf, and many families enter the waves just to romp and splash each other with playful abandon. These ants, you can be sure, are prepared for global warming.
But just think of those who aren’t. Applications for federal grants are still pending. Private donations, however, are always welcome. And we need volunteer instructors in every coastal region of the world. So you see, you can, after all, do something about global warming.
Sea levels are rising, and soon coastal areas will be inundated. Many of our animal friends will perish. What is being done about it? Very little. What are you doing about it?
I ask because this is the time to start pitching in at the local level. If everyone volunteered now, the world would be better prepared. There has been enough talk. It’s time to act.
But, you say, what can I do?
Have you thought about the ants? When the inundation hits, thousands of colonies will be destroyed. The death toll will be tragic. So let’s all get to work and teach the ants to swim.
You say, huh? But I’m serious.
Already, my Pismire Project, as I call it, has prepared hundreds of ants of all sizes in the Bay Area alone for the coming flood. Of course, there is much still be done. Just think of ants on the world-wide level. It boggles. Still we do want to save these wee creatures from extinction, don’t we?
Ants, of course, have a well-established prejudice against water. Anatomically, they were not designed for conventional swimming. Their little faces point down. Their mouths and nostrils are immersed at once when they attempt the crawl or dog-paddle or any other standard stroke.
So you can imagine the excitement when I demonstrated the back stroke. Talk abut an epiphany.
Still it takes time and patience. And I found that the older the ant, the greater the resistance. Young ants, however, take to the water rapidly. Supporting their little bodies on a finger tip, I slowly lower them into the water and wait for them to gain confidence. When confidence does come, the little chaps scoot across the surface of the pond like Jesus bugs.
After three or four days of individual instruction, enthusiasm spreads through a colony with awesome rapidity. Soon there are swimming meets, competitive diving and even water polo. On weekends, I have seen an entire colony gather on the beach for picnics. Some of the braver ants actually surf, and many families enter the waves just to romp and splash each other with playful abandon. These ants, you can be sure, are prepared for global warming.
But just think of those who aren’t. Applications for federal grants are still pending. Private donations, however, are always welcome. And we need volunteer instructors in every coastal region of the world. So you see, you can, after all, do something about global warming.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
THE BEST SELLER
I was prompt for my appointment, but my guru was not in his usual place on the carpeted dias at the front of the audience room.
“Over here,” his voice said.
Turning I gaped at an odd vision. He wore a canary yellow warm-up suit with purple trim and he was on his head, leaning against the back wall. He looked very much like a hot air balloon about to break its tethers and ascend like the August moon far above the ashram.
“Come try it,” he said, “a perfect cure for the heartburn.”
“I don’t have heartburn.”
“With your sour expression? That’s hard to believe. What is the trouble?”
“I retired so long ago that all my books are now out of print. It’s begun to bother me.”
“Can’t stand in the way of progress.”
“Yes,” I sighed. “You’re right, but people still want to know what I wrote.”
“How embarrassing. But you’ve got to expect that in Point Reyes. It’s fast becoming the literary hub of the known world.
I nodded and a length of silence followed. It’s difficult talking to an upside-down, fat person.
Finally he asked. “What do you say when they ask what you wrote.”
“I say my best seller was CONDOMS FOR DUMMIES.”
“Hah. I bet that stops the conversation.”
“I thought it might, but not around here. Everyone’s a writer. They’re eager for details.”
“And what do you say?”
The reviews were good. PUBLISHER’S WEEKLY called it a handy guide, and KIRKUS said it was the last word in self-help.”
“And the sales?”
Not too good. Folks didn’t want to be seen taking that title out of the library or reading the book in the back of the bus.”
“Another loser then? At least you’re consistent.”
“No wait. I haven’t told you what happened. The Vatican banned the book.”
“Sales increased?”
“They rocketed. The book is now in the fifth edition and it’s grown from a thin pamphlet to a heavy tome.”
“More illustrations?
“No, the publisher is now including samples.”
“The people in promotion finally got their heads together.”
“That’s right.”
He chuckled and then said. “But it’s all a big lie. There’s no such book.”
“That’s right. A big lie, but how did you know?
“I looked up your list of titles a long time ago.”
“Oh.”
More silence. Finally I got up my nerve to ask. “So what do you think? Was I wrong?”
“Sometimes a lie is justified. In your case, there was really no other choice. Now come here and get you feet up.”
It turned out to be my best session so far. Maybe standing on one’s head does make the world look better. At least it empties one’s pockets. The big guy called that my great unburdening. He can often be funny without really trying.
I was prompt for my appointment, but my guru was not in his usual place on the carpeted dias at the front of the audience room.
“Over here,” his voice said.
Turning I gaped at an odd vision. He wore a canary yellow warm-up suit with purple trim and he was on his head, leaning against the back wall. He looked very much like a hot air balloon about to break its tethers and ascend like the August moon far above the ashram.
“Come try it,” he said, “a perfect cure for the heartburn.”
“I don’t have heartburn.”
“With your sour expression? That’s hard to believe. What is the trouble?”
“I retired so long ago that all my books are now out of print. It’s begun to bother me.”
“Can’t stand in the way of progress.”
“Yes,” I sighed. “You’re right, but people still want to know what I wrote.”
“How embarrassing. But you’ve got to expect that in Point Reyes. It’s fast becoming the literary hub of the known world.
I nodded and a length of silence followed. It’s difficult talking to an upside-down, fat person.
Finally he asked. “What do you say when they ask what you wrote.”
“I say my best seller was CONDOMS FOR DUMMIES.”
“Hah. I bet that stops the conversation.”
“I thought it might, but not around here. Everyone’s a writer. They’re eager for details.”
“And what do you say?”
The reviews were good. PUBLISHER’S WEEKLY called it a handy guide, and KIRKUS said it was the last word in self-help.”
“And the sales?”
Not too good. Folks didn’t want to be seen taking that title out of the library or reading the book in the back of the bus.”
“Another loser then? At least you’re consistent.”
“No wait. I haven’t told you what happened. The Vatican banned the book.”
“Sales increased?”
“They rocketed. The book is now in the fifth edition and it’s grown from a thin pamphlet to a heavy tome.”
“More illustrations?
“No, the publisher is now including samples.”
“The people in promotion finally got their heads together.”
“That’s right.”
He chuckled and then said. “But it’s all a big lie. There’s no such book.”
“That’s right. A big lie, but how did you know?
“I looked up your list of titles a long time ago.”
“Oh.”
More silence. Finally I got up my nerve to ask. “So what do you think? Was I wrong?”
“Sometimes a lie is justified. In your case, there was really no other choice. Now come here and get you feet up.”
It turned out to be my best session so far. Maybe standing on one’s head does make the world look better. At least it empties one’s pockets. The big guy called that my great unburdening. He can often be funny without really trying.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
TOURISTS
Last summer, without realizing it, when I signed up with the great guru, I got in on the two-for-one offer. So instead of a mere seven more sessions, I face 17. Sad to say, I paid in advance. Thus, I keep going back to the ashram. There’s no other choice, not in our family.
My most recent visit began with the customary silence, his fat, nearly-naked eminence in the lotus position, eyes closed, breathing through his nose. As I knelt before him, regarding his navel, he began to speak.
“So you people are fulminating about the tourists once again.”
“True.”
“Silly.”
“Have you been in Point Reyes on a weekend recently? There’s tents, fatty stuff frying on barbecues, cyclists and noisy motorcycles, jaywalkers everywhere and no parking. It’s a carnival. Tourists are stealing our town.”
“Actually, they’re giving your town more legitimacy than it deserves.”
“You’re talking in riddles.”
“On the contrary. Thanks to tourists you have more good restaurants, more stores with more varied inventories and more services any other cow town in the country. If it weren’t for tourists, you’d all have to go to Fairfax or Petaluma to buy gas, not to mention other essentials.”
“You’re serious?”
“You bet. And these people just stay a few hours before moving on to make room for the next visitors. You’re here year-round, but I suppose you’re not circumspect enough to find any fault with than.”
I started to get up.
“We’re not finished. You live permanently beside a National Seashore and some unique State Parks and you’re surrounded by farm land. You have to share these things.”
“Preserving the farm land has been a local struggle.”
“True, and you should be proud of that. But if you want your work to set an example for the rest of the world, people have to see it. I’ll agree with you on one thing. Those noisy motorcycles have to go. Open exhaust pipes are illegal. These egocentrics should be fined just like litterbugs. So ask for a crack-down. You’ve had dealing with the police. Use you influence.”
“My minor transactions wouldn’t count.”
“Write letters, then. You people are good at that. Okay, you can go now.”
Just 16 sessions more. Hooray!
Last summer, without realizing it, when I signed up with the great guru, I got in on the two-for-one offer. So instead of a mere seven more sessions, I face 17. Sad to say, I paid in advance. Thus, I keep going back to the ashram. There’s no other choice, not in our family.
My most recent visit began with the customary silence, his fat, nearly-naked eminence in the lotus position, eyes closed, breathing through his nose. As I knelt before him, regarding his navel, he began to speak.
“So you people are fulminating about the tourists once again.”
“True.”
“Silly.”
“Have you been in Point Reyes on a weekend recently? There’s tents, fatty stuff frying on barbecues, cyclists and noisy motorcycles, jaywalkers everywhere and no parking. It’s a carnival. Tourists are stealing our town.”
“Actually, they’re giving your town more legitimacy than it deserves.”
“You’re talking in riddles.”
“On the contrary. Thanks to tourists you have more good restaurants, more stores with more varied inventories and more services any other cow town in the country. If it weren’t for tourists, you’d all have to go to Fairfax or Petaluma to buy gas, not to mention other essentials.”
“You’re serious?”
“You bet. And these people just stay a few hours before moving on to make room for the next visitors. You’re here year-round, but I suppose you’re not circumspect enough to find any fault with than.”
I started to get up.
“We’re not finished. You live permanently beside a National Seashore and some unique State Parks and you’re surrounded by farm land. You have to share these things.”
“Preserving the farm land has been a local struggle.”
“True, and you should be proud of that. But if you want your work to set an example for the rest of the world, people have to see it. I’ll agree with you on one thing. Those noisy motorcycles have to go. Open exhaust pipes are illegal. These egocentrics should be fined just like litterbugs. So ask for a crack-down. You’ve had dealing with the police. Use you influence.”
“My minor transactions wouldn’t count.”
“Write letters, then. You people are good at that. Okay, you can go now.”
Just 16 sessions more. Hooray!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
The Elsewhere gallery in Fairfax is featuring an autumn show this month which has brought together several artists, including yours truly.
The gallery, open daily, is at 1828 Sir Francis Drake Boulevard. That’s two doors east of the Barefoot Cafe.
The annual Mini Show in the Bolinas Museum opens with a reception from 2 to 5 p.m. on Sunday, Nov. 22. It runs until Dec. 28. The museum is open from 1 to 5 p.m. on Fridays and from noon to 5 on Saturdays an Sundays. I’ve been fortunate enough to be included once again in this show.
Meanwhile, Thanksgiving weekend once more brings on open studios in Lucas and San Geronimo valleys, Bolinas-Stinson and Point Reyes-Inverness. You’ll see signs.
I’ve retired from open studios, but the Point Reyes group is bigger than ever this year. The participating artists are:
Philip Loring Greene, Susan Brayton, Peter Sheremeta, Shari Milner, Joe Blumenthal, Abbie Durkee, Robin Winn, Mitchell, Ed Stetson, Katherine Edwards, Tim Edwards, Kathleen Goodwin, Richard Blair, Igor Sazevich, Tom Killion, Irwin Segal, Paula Fava, Dan Bletterman, Dona Haar, Nancy Stein, Elan Whitney, Gene Kojan, Jan Davidson, Carolyn Means, Ernesto Sanchez, Christine DeCamp and Sue Gonzalez,
The gallery, open daily, is at 1828 Sir Francis Drake Boulevard. That’s two doors east of the Barefoot Cafe.
The annual Mini Show in the Bolinas Museum opens with a reception from 2 to 5 p.m. on Sunday, Nov. 22. It runs until Dec. 28. The museum is open from 1 to 5 p.m. on Fridays and from noon to 5 on Saturdays an Sundays. I’ve been fortunate enough to be included once again in this show.
Meanwhile, Thanksgiving weekend once more brings on open studios in Lucas and San Geronimo valleys, Bolinas-Stinson and Point Reyes-Inverness. You’ll see signs.
I’ve retired from open studios, but the Point Reyes group is bigger than ever this year. The participating artists are:
Philip Loring Greene, Susan Brayton, Peter Sheremeta, Shari Milner, Joe Blumenthal, Abbie Durkee, Robin Winn, Mitchell, Ed Stetson, Katherine Edwards, Tim Edwards, Kathleen Goodwin, Richard Blair, Igor Sazevich, Tom Killion, Irwin Segal, Paula Fava, Dan Bletterman, Dona Haar, Nancy Stein, Elan Whitney, Gene Kojan, Jan Davidson, Carolyn Means, Ernesto Sanchez, Christine DeCamp and Sue Gonzalez,
Monday, October 27, 2008
