Celebrating Rusty

We gathered at Riko's house to reminisce about Rusty Cantor. Lesley, her daughter came and it was good to hear what it was like to be her daughter. Above, a lovely shrine of flowers, drawings and photos in honor of Rusty.

Snakes

Working with snake sheddings and acrylics. The shed is very brittle but can become pliable when spritzed. Gives off the smell of human flesh. May try it on larger painting.

Salida

Evening in downtown Salida was a little spooky. Our restaurant faced a partly demolished theater, which may or may not be resurrected as a high-end condo. An upturned clawfoot tub was something out of a Stephen King novel. During the day, the wind-whipped streets was right out of a movie from the Old West.

Franciska Diemont

Franciska passed away on March 14 after a brief illness. We held a memorial service for her yesterday, a day before Easter. Easter had special meaning to Frannie, especially all the rituals associated with church, decorating the house, eating together with family. I wrote this remembrance based on our long friendship:

Frannie’s favorite dish at the old Yank Sing on Broadway was “gold coin buns.” Gold coin buns. First you had to pry open the seams of a small white bun without tearing it. Then you stuffed it full of fatty, bright red roasted pork bits dripping in honey. Your fingers got sticky from the glistening fat but who cared? You bit into that fat little sandwich and your tongue understood the meaning of riches. And because “gold coin buns” were indulgent, and as such, bad for your health, Yank Sing banished it in their new upscale location at Rincon Annex. Frannie and I cherished the memory of this dish, and as food optimists, always expected this dish to be resurrected at the new Yank Sing some day. Food, indulgent food, was our common bond.

Memory. Frannie was a collector of memories, not just of her own, but of her parents' and of her friends'. Celine was my large male tabby who was too bright for his own good. During a holiday party while we were occupied with chatter and gossip, Frannie observed him sneak behind our living room curtain and stick his paw out to take swipes at the large roast on the side table. She giggled and he was busted. Frannie reminded me of that episode many times over our friendship. She told me all kinds of stories, some of them funny, some of them poignant. A story of her father's determination to survive dysentery in concentration camp by eating charcoal. A story of her mother and her sisters sewing white kimonos for Japanese soldiers to wear when they committed harakiri. A story of me harrassing her when I first starting working at Dean Witter. I am so grateful for all the memories Frannie shared with me. I shall miss her stories, each and every one of them.

Identity. when I first met Frannie, she told me that she was Dutch. After a pause she added that she was half Indonesian. For much of our friendship, it was the Dutch side that mattered to her. She spoke the language, studied it in university, worked in Holland for a time, liked traveling there. She wore sturdy Dutch jewelry. She had the wooden clogs in her closet. Frannie's Indonesian side was in some ways as elusive as stories told by shadow puppets. She had her superstitions, such as putting sapulitis (brooms) by the door and she knew all the best dishes to order at Indonesian restaurants. But she never defined herself as an Indonesian in quite the same way as she did as an American and as Dutch. It was a colonial dilemma, this issue of identity, being born a "half" that straddled two very different cultures. Where does one belong? Perhaps because her family was forced to abandon their land and home, she was more adamant about being Dutch than Indonesian. She was not interested in Indonesia. She did not want to go there. Then one day Frannie began talking about Indonesia. She and her mother planned a trip, but her mother got ill. So Frannie and I decided to go. Thanks to our friend Hessy, who helped with all the arrangements, we visited Bandung, where her parents had lived. We walked around the hospital where she was born. We visited the grand post office that her grandfather worked in. We lit candles in the church where her parents attended mass. And best of all, we went to the Dago Tea House, which her grandfather had built. We had tea and cakes in an outdoor tatami-floored veranda overlooking the lush green hills. On the same land was a university that had been built after the property was confiscated by Sukarno. it was a bittersweet moment for Frannie - amazed that the teahouse was still there, sad that the land no longer belonged to her family. I like to think that this trip helped Frannie fill in the side of her that was Indonesian. She looked lovely in her batik sarong that she purchased in Yogyakarta. She cherished her friendships with Susana and Ira, and Johar and Toni and Hessy. Having also come from a colonial background, I am grateful for our many conversations about identity and about belonging.

2012 WCA Conference in LA

From the Breaking in Two exhibit at Arena 1 Gallery.

2011 Kohaku Utagassen

An over-the-top emotional performance by the last singer on the Red Team pushed the votes in favor of the women's team.

White Version

Almost done .

Holiday Season

Sadly, the tree in Union Square is now artificial but it is still a glorious sight!

Burning Bad Juju

All those evil letters from that evil neighbor were shredded and burned in a lovely firepit at Judy's last night. What a beautiful ending it was!

Winter Rain

Just finished this collage made with painted index cards, scrap paper, momigami and bamboo. The scraps were collaged on Avery sheets, then cut into thin strips. Most time consuming was painting the index cards until they acquired the right consistency of thin leather. The sharp strips reminded me of cold winter rains. Thinking of making three more in red, white, and dark blue. Things to remember: do not glue all the way through. Loose paper makes a nice rain sound. Also tape down the strips to prevent buckling.



Detail of collage

Smokes

Patterns of Addiction

Working on a ArtTag subject called Patterns. My partner in this game sent an interesting piece with smokers chewing on fat doobies. I had forgotten how seductive smoking images can be. Patterns of addiction. Yes!

Hapa Bruthas

Opening

After 18 plus months of hard work the show opened on Nov 4. The works looked amazing and we drew a huge crowd. Mills College received their Sylvia Sleigh donation and Chanel completed her performance. Hopefully next weekend's offerings will attract further attention.

One Day in NYC

I am here unexpectedly, on my way to visit a gravely ill friend in PA. Mike arrives early tomorrow and we are driving down. Last night I got together with two friends whom I haven't seen in a number of years. It was a drizzly night and I walked the 20 blocks or so to the Portuguese restaurant and back. The Chrysler building gleamed like a retro movie set. My room is a sliver but it has a neat view of the Empire State Building.

Today is a mix of free time and work. There were two galleries in Chelsea that featured Nick Cave's amazing sound suits. At Mary Boone, the suits were colorful and fanciful. The Jack Shainman Gallery had more monochromatic suits, but just as amazing. I sat through the video at Shainman twice to enjoy the leaping, rolling, kaleidoscopic performances of dancers wearing Cave's suits. Stopped for lunch at the Legend Szechuan restaurant and had a delicious bowl of dandanmein.












Then on the subway to the Met.



The only exhibit I wanted to see was a small wall of Romare Bearden's cityscapes. I got some great ideas for the series on Folsom Street that I hope to resume after open studios. Or after Reversing the Gaze. Or around the end of the year.





NYC is full of inspirations, even on this short visit.



View from my hotel window



Seventh Avenue


Union Square

Met sketchers

Artful Day

Started the morning at a SBAWCA meeting in Redwood City, talking about effective use of social media and an exciting exhibition about Suffrage. Mike came up with the tagline: "don't miss the train."



Then on to ProArts open studios, where we walked among the sculptures of Vicky Jo Sowell. I loved this goddess piece standing tall against a backdrop of surreal fuzzy clouds.







Then on to some lovely calligraphic oil and ink paintings on aluminum.




Then to izakaya Ippuku, which mostly serves yakitori.



These are skin (left) and thigh (right).



We finished the evening back in SF for an opening of "Sign Your Life Away" at Guerrero Gallery. It featured a room full of yummy lettering.

Location:San Jose Ave,San Francisco,United States

Flow Opening

About 300 people attended the Flow opening last night. Great to see that many artists invited their friends. Also great to see juror Andre Rozanoff of Caine Schulte Gallery and gallerist Sandra Lee.






Visitors enjoying the scene





Deborah Mills Thackery and artists in Skylight gallery





William Salit with Andre Rozanoff





Kevin Pincus next to his painting





Nite Owl with his work





Sandra Lee





Artist checking in

Location:San Jose Ave,San Francisco,United States

I Grant Yo Wishes

The speed-dating question has been rephrased slightly to: "What was the best perk you've ever offered in your job?"

Answer: That would be lactation benefits. We were able to justify the cost of installing a breast pump machine in the quiet room by demonstrating that it took women only 10 minutes to pump their breasts by machine versus 20 minutes manually, over the toilet seat. We gave each nursing mother a lovely cooler kit that included breast attachments and bottles for the milk. For a company full of young women, this was a much-appreciated perk.

ArtPad 2011

Opening party at the Phoenix filled the funky motel rooms with art, wildly costumed art lovers and the nostalgic scent of weed,



Swimming pool and mob


Slideshow on wall, view from the balcony


Pink tail, petal bells


A room with a pool


Big hair woman or man


Enuff said!