home again

to the land of lakes



gray waters



duck of one foot



silver elder



skywater



green rounds



floating prophet

portland dos

the hood
portland is like one big giant rockin 'hood made up of tons of little 'hoods.
There's stuff going on every minute in every hood and the mantra, "keep it small, keep it local" rules everywhere.



One of the best hoods was my hood, at Everett Street Guesthouse. Hostess with the mostest Terry Rusinow is a real woman, a profiled-on-NPR risk-taker who changed her life to create this veritable oasis for the weary and/or overly-caffeinated traveler, whichever you may be.

Terry's fountain



Terry's hammock



Right down the street is a public school, da Vinci Arts Middle School. Imagine entering a school whose front lawn is lined with carefully tended rose beds. Check out the Water Garden also on site.



Down the street around the corner, at NE 28th and Glisan is this facade housing Pambiche, a fab cuban restaurant.
You can take the girl out of the barrio but........qué rica era la comida!
Reminds me of the exterior color scheme I surprised an ex with when he returned from a long weekend. Wonder why he went away in the first place...




Down the street and around the corner toward NE Burnside is Mecca.


Pardon me, I meant, Alma Chocolate.

If you've ever tried to pretend you're aztec, search no further for help.
The taste of dark chocolate with cinnamon and chile stayed on my palate for one hour after savoring a single piece, remarkable. The real-gold painted chocolate buddhas and madonnas in the trastero make me have faith that paradise is indeed here on earth at 140 NE 28th Ave.






A highlight: my friend Dale with his art, featured just inside the beautiful fountain entrance at Lawrence Gallery, in the Pearl.



Another Witherow at the gallery:



Then there was the wish tree at the Japanese Garden. It took my breath away, full of messages in many languages and hands, with racks full of hundreds more messages previously removed in respect to the tree.




The stonework paths and fences made me swoon, let alone a wish tree.




pure perfection.


thanks, Portland.

portland

The trip to Portland was divine.
Thank you to all the wonderful porteños who welcomed me.
Nobody honks at you there.
Maybe the pictures tell why.
Enjoy.


ridiculous hydrangeas...





buddhas of compassion



foo dogs



cupcake bakeries



jazzy murals



zen gardens



art cars



more ridiculous hydrangeas

witnessed at Linas' house.

showcase

Featured in Etsy Showcase today, here's a peek at some of the art:











thanks for sharing the vision.

final voyage of the HMS

(we continue our voyage, told in three parts.)




Hermitage by Paul Klee, 1918


Year three. Here we go again, venturing out to see on the Good Ship Colorforms.

Weeks came and went, but still no words came from the Honorable MS.

We sat in close visual proximity but not next to each other like year two.
One day the kids informed me that he indeed could speak; he just didn't speak to me.

I gave up.

No, I couldn't.
Still determined to engage him, once more I walked past and made a comment on his beautiful art. He answered.
Running to my chair, I clutched its arms, pulling myself into the seat before I hit ground. Everyone looked up in joyful anticipation of a faint.

Fainting spells, though fake, were the one booty guaranteed to sway the crew of this ship, even the most surly of sailors. Having been overplied with sweets, toys, chits and stars, what they craved most was drama, and plenty of it.

I had ended promises to faint after realizing I had become a freak in a sideshow of my own design. Resigned to stop the madness, my ears now rung with the chants of children begging me to hit dirt. It's one way to make a living and besides, falling to the floor is an art in itself. This is one of a million techniques you don't learn in methods class.

Finally they figured I was not taking the dive and asked what happened.
"MS talked to me."
From that day on, we exchanged brief sentences and even had quasi-conversations now and again. This was progress.





Death and Fire by Paul Klee, 1940



Late in the year, all hands on deck, we were almost finished reading a biography of Paul Klee. Although a kid-version bio, this book thankfully does not avoid truth, including a couple of works Klee completed just prior to his death in 1940.

Kids don't need language to get life through art. They read symbols depicting depression, oppression, sickness, war and death like nobody's business. An intense, kid-propelled discussion began on the Nazis: their impact on history, artists, Jews, and all other thinking, feeling people.

Despite their behavior on schoolbuses, there is nothing that incenses children more than meanness and injustice when viewed from a third-party perspective. This fact gives me hope for the world. They see no logic in round green colorforms beating up on square red ones. Can't they all just make beautiful pictures together?

Class was almost done. We clustered around the book. MS raised his hand and waited patiently to speak. The rowdy crew became silent. He embarked in lengthy detail on a graduate-level description of Hitler's effect on the world and the implications of the holocaust.

My mouth fell open as I stared at the new commander of the ship
and realized mutiny is moot in the face of truth.

Finally I managed, "How do you know all that?"

He said, "Those are the books I like to read."