A creative's journey

more new pieces for the petaluma art is you show...

2011-09-08T13:27:00.000-07:00

I have been busy making all sorts of new jewelry for the "Art is You" show in Petaluma.. this is going to be a very picture heavy blog entry with the briefest descriptions possible.

Textured tin heart with glass beads and skeleton key...

carved quartz pendant with sterling butterflies and two strands of pearls...

steel skeleton key with clock innards and brass gear...

black onyz and sterling with scarab and cameo bead...

stopwatch innards with asymetrical beads...

watch parts with cathedral and porcelain beads...

brass clock gear beads with milagros...

queen of hearts neckpiece with brass chain and components...

old chinese coins w/ cathedral beads...

green 'false ivory' nut and large glass beads...

1 1/2 diameter brass gears with patina-ed clock parts, copper swirls and milagros...
thanks for looking! hope to see you at the show.. i also will have several antique and hard to find items for very good prices... these include brass clock parts and plates, vintage handmade and tea dyed doilies, old photos and post cards, and lots of other goodies to make your next art piece out of.

more neckpieces for the reArt show on august 7th and the petaluma show on september 18th

2011-08-05T17:51:00.000-07:00

I been busy making more neck pieces and earrings for both shows. I will not be posting pictures of the earrings although i can say one set is called the magnetic milagros and some of the other pieces involve vintage glass chandelier parts.
Back to the neckpieces... the first one is called Buddha's Bead primarily because it has a rosewood buddha bead dangling from the bottom. The rest is blue 'white hearts', a silver daisy chain and patina-ed brass beads and buttons.

The next piece was made using a raku spinner bead that my friend Lois sent me as a sample. I love the bead so much i might just have to keep this piece... (sorry the pictures are slightly skewed).

The third piece involves a small skeleton key and a flaming heart milagro both from my trip to San Miguel de Allende last winter. It's a dainty piece made for the 'faint of heart'. (JK)

The next two pieces are made with amber rays that I re-purposed from a bracelet. The first one has red flower beads with fresh water pearls interspersed between the rays.

On the other piece I set a blue skeleton spinner bead with red recycled glass beads.

Last but not least is a turquoise disk with a chinese coin that features two turquoise skull beads, amber colored glass beads and some very earthy looking stone beads.

I hope to see you out there on Sunday. I will be in good company I hear. Food, music, lots of art and wine. thanks for reading ... yona c. riel

Neckpieces for the August 7th show in eugene and Petaluma show in september

2011-07-26T18:47:00.000-07:00

I am excited about the directions the neck pieces have taken over the past few months. Following are some of my favorites.... below is a mostly sterling piece with a genuine tintype and clock-face...

The next piece is also made with a genuine tintype from the mid-1800's. It is set with brass clock parts..

Next are two neck pieces made using altered mexican tin art set with cameos and beads..

The next piece is made using a genuine skeleton key, a clock gear and an old watch. It is set with glass and amber beads...

Then there is the sterling filigree butterfly set with the matching earrings, frosted glass beads and lime glass disks for some color...

The last three are made of clock parts also although they are very different from each other. First one is made using a genuine clock gear and the chain that drove that gear. It is set with a small skeleton key using buttons, milagros and beads in the chain..

This next one is the insides of an old pocket watch set in a sterling filigree bezel...

And lastly a moon shaped brass clock piece set with a gear and a milagro. The dangle is a brass piece set with a black stone.

Hope I see you out on the park blocks in Eugene or at the show in Petaluma in September. Thanks for reading... Yona C. Riel

recent artwork... please vote for the one you like best...

2011-06-13T18:14:00.000-07:00

     On August 7th, 2011 I will be having my next show. It will be a booth at the ReArt festival put on by Next Step Recycling, a cool place that recycles computers and gets them into the hands of those who cannot afford them. Next Step does way more 'community service' than I can list on this blog so if your interested go here: http://www.nextsteprecycling.org/
     The festival will be held out in the park blocks at the same place that Saturday Market is held the day before. I am busily designing and making bizarre and exciting neck-pieces, some with a steampunk flair to them, others Mexican influenced and some influenced by 'random finds'.
    I am posting the pictures in hopes that you will choose one that speaks to you, helping me get a sense of what YOU want and/or like.
     The first piece is made mostly of brass clock parts with a milagro and a skeleton key thrown into the mix.

The chain once ran the gear that serves as the central piece. In the center of that gear is a steam punk button hand manufactured by an artistic soul who sells on Ebay.

The second piece was inspired by a rusty old washer I found on a walk with a friend. She said she had found it a few days earlier and threw it back thinking I might find it on our walk together. Indeed I did.

I adhered a brass gear to the turquoise disk. Then I laced the disk to the washer and added a rose button to fill the hole. The blue beads in neck piece are brass that has been tarnished and the clear frosted glass beads are from an antique necklace. On the back, because i wanted to make it pretty too there is an old Chinese coin that fits over the center hole.

The next piece I designed while in San Miguel de Allende this past January and February. I had gone there looking for old skeleton keys and resin skulls. The only place I have found these skulls is in the Zocalo in Mexico City when there is an event going on.

Like in Mexico if I use a skull or something else that signifies death I will also work in something that signifies life. In this piece the two silver heart beads signify life and the skeleton key symbolizes the catalyst between life and death.

The last piece is inspired by Mexican tin art, some of which I found in San Miguel. This piece has a tin winged heart, textured and painted. On the bottom I drilled a hole for the equal armed turquoise cross that I bought at a art sale in San Miguel.

I also added an old Chinese coin to this piece and added a blue and silver spinner bead for the bottom of the cross.
These are the basic designs I been working on and you will help me immensely if you would vote for which one you like the most. Assume they all cost the same amount of money and the only thing guiding you in your vote is personal taste. You can leave comments either on Facebook or on the blog itself. Looking forward to your feedback... xo yona c. riel

The day MOM came back (aka Yona's birthday blog)

2011-04-12T22:23:00.000-07:00

     Before my brain injury I was a mind reader, a multitasker, an excellent speller and a sharp-witted, cynical, confrontational, over-achieving bitch. If you have ever watched Grey's Anatomy I would most resemble the character Christina Yang (played by Sandra Oh).   I stopped at nothing to get what I wanted.
    Women like me are seldom liked and even more rarely loved.   (I am in awe of Rachel Maddow (another over-achieving, opinionated, confrontational woman) and often fantasize about her, but could I really live with such a high powered, opinionated personality? Probably not.)
    I got these attributes from my father, both genetically and through his behavior. His sperm produced all males excepting myself. He saw himself as the Supreme Alpha Male. Smart women learn young to cozy up to the alpha male or in my case become an alpha female. I excelled in school and could beat the crap out of any boy who pissed me off.
   One day when I was in fourth grade I was walking home from school with my best friend Dorothy. She was from Yugoslavia and had both an unusual look (read: not an American) and different way of speaking. Her skin was naturally darker than everyone else and even at such a young age she had dark peach fuzz growing below her nose and along the sides of her face. Her mother spoke only in their native Slavic language.
   It was a beautiful sunny day as Dorothy and I meandered home talking about the band we had in her garage.   Suddenly from behind Dennis Burks squeezes his way in between us. Then, in an effort to get next to me, he did the stupidest thing anyone has ever done and pushed my Dorothy down a little hill that ran along the side of the road. I was so pissed that I tackled him, then threw him to the ground.   Sitting on his chest with my fist ready to punch him in the face, I yelled, "don't you ever touch Dorothy again or I will punch your f***ing lights out".
   That was the last fight I ever won with a boy. Less than a year later I started developing breasts and began my period.   The boys suddenly got stronger and taller and I ended up more bruised and damaged than they did after a fight. Once several of them ganged up on me and threw me in the boy's bathroom. Belligerent and pissed I came out swearing like a sailor only to run into the principle of the school. I was suspended for 3 days.
   Jump forward 45 years during which time I have survived living on the streets, bootcamp and the marine corps, college, jail and eventually a long-term job. My unique combination of alpha femaleness and survivor's instinct guided me through the rough spots and though I took what I now consider to be alarming risks, I survived.
    After years of therapy I named one of those instinctual voices in my head 'Mom'. She was with me when I cried, when I lost someone and when I felt hopeless.   She answered my incessant questions day after day, (unlike my real mother who would say "go figure it out for yourself"). She helped place the pieces of a collage in just the right configuration and could be counted on with 100% accuracy to find things I had misplaced.   Best of all she was always there. My own private angel.

    But immediately following the brain injury I had NO voices in my head. Not 'Mom' or any of the other 'gauds' I attributed my creativity to. There were no pictures of things that needed to be 'born'. Nothing. Just a terrifying blank screen. When I wasn't being terrified by the blankness of that screen, I would joke that there was a large black hole in between my ears filled with a pool of tears. My knack for inappropriate comments seemed to be the only thing that had improved.

   On one day early in my recovery a strange man walked into my room and announced, "Hello, my name is Dr. Hacker. I am filling in for Dr. McGurr while he is on vacation. Do you have any questions you would like to ask about your brain surgery?" "Yes", I said, "What ever possessed you to become a brain surgeon with a name like Dr. Hacker?" He quickly left without answering and that was the only time I saw him during my 30 day stay at Sacred Heart.
     For months after I got home it was impossible to find misplaced things.   Worst still was my inability to make art. The best that I could do was to collect things, put them in baggies and hang them on the wall.
     Multitasking tired my brain so quickly that if two people talked at the same time or the radio was playing music and someone was talking to me, I quickly became confused then irritable.   I yearned for the day when Mom's voice would return helping me to find lost things again and guide me through the creative process. I waited for more than a year, crying to my therapist in my weekly session that I had lost my imagination and would never again make art.
By August 2009 I had been volunteering at MECCA for a year. The first Object Afterlife show was coming up in September. I had already paid my fee to participate and been giving 3 plastic, wall thermometers (the kind one uses to turn the heat up or down in a house).   It was getting very close to the time to turn my creation in and I still hadn't made a thing.
   One day I was in the back hall clearing a pathway to get through. There was an old brass lamp with a pathetic shade on it sitting in a pile 'of stuff'. (MECCA had and still has tons of 'stuff'.)
   Suddenly I felt the presence of Mom and I began to visualize that lamp shade as a skirt. So enthralled was I that I strapped that lamp onto the back of my bike and once I got home began to work immediately on what became my piece "The Resurrection of Yo".

She has death on her head and the skull of a small dog in her back. She also has flowers and birds representing life. For me the piece became both a container for my soul and proof that I would once again rise from the ashes of a near death trauma and create art.

      'Mom', my muse and caregiver had not abandoned me after all.
     I have been back just over three years now and my friends tell me I am not the over-achieving alpha bitch I used to be, but a kinder, gentler version of myself. I died as Christina Yang (in Grey's Anatomy) and came back as Meredith Grey.
    Thank 'the gauds' and 'Mom' for giving me my imagination back. And thanks to my many friends who have loved me through this crazy thing we call Life.   And Happy Birthday me... 'every day above ground is a good one'.    yona c. riel

my mexican love affair...

2011-01-31T20:35:00.000-08:00

     For many years, at least since the early 1990's, I have wanted to come to San Miguel de Allende, a 'gringo artist community' in the mountains four hours to the east and north of Mexico City.   It was the large Hispanic community in San Fransisco and their celebration of Dios de los Muertos that convinced me 'one day I will go to San Miguel de Allende'.
     Jump forward 20 years to 2011 and I have finally arrived. 20 years of fantasies and expectations can easily ruin a place and from the moment I got off the bus San Miguel has not been what I expected.
   Although it IS technically Mexico, (taken over by gringos since the 1930's), I assumed I could ask any Mexican a question in English and they would understand what I was asking for. Wrong!
   The moment I got off the bus, exhausted after 4 hours of Mexican scenery, one bag across each shoulder like a pack mule, I start walking up a very busy street in a not very nice part of town. I have to find the Starbucks so I can access my wifi to find the address of the place I am staying at. After walking several hundred yards and feeling like this may be a very bad idea I ask the first guy I see who happens to be Mexican, "Where is the Starbucks?" I ask, fully aware he must be rolling his eyes thinking 'another f***ing gringo just off the bus'. Quickly he answers with his hands and in broken English, "You see the fence there? Just up past that".   I walk another two hundred yards and realize this can't be right. Tired and grumpy I hail the first cab I see and ask him to take me to Starbucks.
   I have spent entire days pointing to things and looking up words on my I-Phone English-Spanish translator trying to communicate what it is I wanted to say. Often in return, I have gotten blank stares and strained laughter, frustrating me to the point of tears.
    One night I was looking for a bottle of wine and not knowing the whereabouts of a store I began to go into bars along 'El Jardin' asking 'can you sell me a bottle of vino blanc?' "Cuanto Questa?" I would say and the prices varied from 180 pesos to 520 pesos depending on the bar. I went into a bar called "Beer and Fun". Three younger white guys were playing pool and a young Mexican woman was serving drinks. A Nirvana song blared throughout the place while the balls on the pool table made that familiar sound as they rolled into each other. I asked the young lady in my chopped up, brain damaged gringo Spanish, "Cuanto questa para un botela de vino blanco". In perfect English without so much as an accent she says to me "180 pesos".
    'I am desperate but not that desperate', I think to myself and walk out continuing my search of El Jardin for a cheap bottle of white wine. Finally I arrive at a store that sells every kind of liquor on the planet. 'Bingo' I think to myself. But once inside I quickly discover there is no white wine in the whole store. 'What is it with Mexicans and white wine?' I am wondering to myself. By this point my level of desperation has peaked along with my fouling mood. I ask the kid working the store in broken Spanish where can I get a bottle of white wine? Taking pity on me and without a word he points across the street to a small but well stocked wine, beer and liquor store.
   Tired and weary I walk across the street and ask once again for a bottle of inexpensive white wine. Fortunately the old guy who owned the place spoke enough English so that I didn't have to navigate any more Spanish. (I only have so many brain cells per day and I had used them all up). So happy was I that I gladly paid 69.50 pesos for a bottle of Chilean white wine.
    Despite my frustration in those first few days most of the Mexican people I have dealt with are much more kind and patient than Americans. For instance though there are way too many cars on the cobblestone streets (that were never intended for vehicular traffic) and the sidewalks are too narrow to allow two people of normal size to pass each other, someone always goes out of their way to let the other pass.
     Have I mentioned that there are no stop signs or traffic lights in the entire city? And yet, I have not once, in the month that I have been roaming the streets witnessed a single accident. Though a street may be a parking lot of cars at certain hours, I have never felt hostility from the drivers as I weave between them.   In comparison to drivers in American towns the people in San Miguel must have the patience of saints.   It is rare that I even hear a horn while they sit gridlocked in traffic.
     Not that anyone is perfect. In comparison to Oaxaca I do feel some contempt from the Mexicans towards me, a non-Spanish speaking gringo. (I can just hear them thinking 'Your in my country the least you can do is learn the language!') I try everyday when I go into Starbucks to figure out how to say a '16 oz hot black tea with cold soy milk, please' in Spanish. And everyday I am prodded in Spanish, "Esta? or Esta?". Sometimes the order comes out wrong and I am flustered thinking "It's Starbucks for fucks sake! I come here everyday! You should know my order by now!"
    There is only one young lady named Arili who has even bothered to introduce herself and remember my face. Such relief I feel when she takes my order that I always tip her my change.   Each day I practice a little Spanish on her and she practices a little English on me.   We kindly correct each other when what we have said isn't right. She is my little saint in San Miguel for without her I get lost in a sea of Spanish words that just don't translate. yona c. riel

San Miguel de Allende

2011-01-30T11:19:00.000-08:00

A lot happened in San Miguel de Allende on January 23rd. Most importantly it was the birthday of Senor Ignacio Allende, the man who fought for Mexican independence in 1810 and who the town is partially named after. I went down into El Jardin only to find a huge orchestra playing classical music. This is not what I was expecting. It was crowded and calm, the kids playing with their shadows in the church courtyard while their parents sat in the hundreds of chairs placed before the stage listening to Beethoven, Bach and other classical composers.

Being at least half kid myself, I laid on the ground and shot the church making it look as if it was curved rather than straight and minus the cross on top.

Skip forward two weeks and I am back in El Jardin, only this time it is around 5pm and it's still 80 degrees outside. Most days the sky is an expanse of blue in every direction one looks. Today however there are wispy little "cloud-letts" momentarily covering the sun.
It is Saturday afternoon and most the people sitting out here in El Jardin are hispanic. They range from toddlers to teenagers to barely living 'little old ladies'.

The toddlers are playing with simple toys as their parents watch close by. The teenagers stroll in groups of either all girls or boys back and forth and around the boundaries of El Jardin. The barely living little old ladies and men crawl from place to place propped up with canes or walkers.

    A gringa who really wanted this man to look into the face of her camera for a few pesos had me feeling sorry for the old guy. He just looked further down into his chest as she knelt in front of him trying to get a shot of his face. The old man doing his best to ignore Ms. Gringa continued making his way across El Jardin until she finally abandoned her task.
    A little girl with red tights and a black and white stripped dress ran out in front of me chasing a pigeon then got distracted by a 3 legged dog sitting with the gringa beside her and her parents.
   Suddenly a Mariachi band starts up in the pizza restaurant to the east of the church and the family sitting next to me starts singing along with them.
Just as suddenly the church bells start ringing letting all know it's 6pm.
The minute the sun dropped out of the sky the temperature dropped too. By 6:30 I was getting cold so I went into Starbucks to try and write this blog. Technical difficulties made me move to an interesting restaurant around the corner called 'Los Milagros'. It is filled with art, both large "milagros" and the three dimensional tin box art that I love.

I ordered my usual house salad with chicken and a glass of white wine while listening to a lovely older man serenade the customers with Mexican songs. After an hour I went back out to El Jardin and discovered both that it was dark and that I wasn't as cold as I had been the hour previous. There was supposed to be a light show on the church at 9:15 pm and I didn't want to miss it.
Once I was back outside there was a cacophony of different dramas taking place. An entire group of 20 somethings were being entertained by a Mariachi band. Many were singing along while one young man serenading the rest of the group with hilarious theatrical antics.

At the same time there was a group of young men competing with each other in a form of street dancing. There is a video on my facebook page here: (it is the first video you see called Jesus)

http://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=10150266245930078&id=723755077#!/ycriel

Also happening in the cacophony of El Jardin on this warm Saturday night was a group of actors and singers doing silly songs. You can see that video at the same link above only scroll down the page to the second video.
Lastly there is one more video on that page that shows the last 3 minutes of the light show on the church. It was a spectacular display complete with gregorian music that overtook the cacophony of El Jardin for 15 whole minutes.

     This doesn't happen every night in El Jardin but this week in a religious holiday called "Candelaria". Apparently after the virgin gave birth she was cleansed and rose up into the heavens with her virginity intact. The festival de la Candelaria celebrates this with a week long plant sale in Pargue Juarez, the ringing of the church bells all over town and day long dances in El Jardin complete with 15 minute light shows at 9:15 every night.
   In Mexico it seems people love to come together to sing and dance... yona c. riel

3 years later...December 2nd

2010-12-02T14:52:00.000-08:00

     Three years ago today I was too sick to get out of bed. I presume it was a gloomy Sunday although I have no recollection of what the weather was like. The 'weather' inside me was dark and depressed and as was usual for a Sunday I was supposed to work. Work involved meeting and off loading 4 or 5 pallets from a 40 ft trailer. The driver would call me anytime from 2pm till midnight and when he did I was supposed to go unlock the shop and off load the pallets of fresh juice into the cooler.
   But on Sunday December 2nd 2007 I had the energy of a dying person. My head was pounding hard behind my right eye and my nose was so stuffed up I could only breathe through my mouth. I couldn't eat because when I did ten minutes later it would spew forth from both ends in waves of noxious bodily fluids. I learned this the hard way before I gave up eating and drinking completely. It wasn't pretty, death never is.
    I remember having the thought 'People die from the flu all the time' over and over that day and I pondered calling a friend to take me to the hospital in the final hours of consciousness. But I never made that phone call.
    Instead I called my boss and told the automated voice on his cell phone that I was too sick to meet the truck. After the phone call my head hurt so bad I drew a bath and sprinkled eucalyptus oil in it hoping this would help clear out what I knew to be yet another bloody sinus infection. I had no idea that dangerous my situation was.
Apparently after my bath I went into the bedroom to lay down and sleep off this sickness that was trying to kill me. I dreamt of writing an article in the Eugene Weekly to tell the university students to stock up on disposable diapers for adults for the impending flu epidemic which was soon to kill off significant numbers of students. (I had heard the flu was going around on campus and surely what I had must be the flu).
   Four days later after hallucinating about everything from the meaning of landmarks to the funding of Hollywood through pornography I briefly heard my neighbor George's voice. George, who suspected something was off because I hadn't put the trash out, had entered my house through the wide open back door (it was 30 degrees outside) and found me wrapped in a towel, half in and half out of my bed, my body contorted into such an unnatural shape that he thought I was dead. I very well could have been since I remember hallucinating that my head was a Dio de Los Muertos skeleton.)
    So terrified was George that he ran back to the house yelling to his wife Betty "Yona is dead, she is dead..... I just know she is".
   Betty Like George is from Brooklyn and both had served in a medical capacity during WWII.
   "Call 911." Betty says like a person used to being in survival mode.

During my next conscious moment I was in an 'shanti wagon' in India with multi-colored beads hanging from the roof and several people I did not know surrounding me with name tags made from Bakelite Mah Jongg tiles.

    A month later when I got out of the hospital and I looked into an ambulance I realized my hallucinating mind must have made all the life support cords into beads and the paramedics into vendors at Saturday Market. But for the entire 30 days that I was in the hospital I believed my hallucinations were reality. My friends, kind as they are, allowed me the artistic license to refer to the ambulance as a 'my shanti wagon in India.'
    It was only after I got home on January 4th, 2008 and opened the door to my back room (which I fully expected to be filled with burnt out computers) that I realized I had laid there hallucinating from approximately 1pm on Sunday December 2nd till 5pm on Wednesday December 5th when I was found by George.
   It was the right frontal lobe that was affected when the sinus infection blew through the wall between my brain and my sinus knocking me out of consciousness like someone had swung a board with a lot of force to the front of my head. 'Blam', I was down, the comic would read.
    During those first two weeks in the hospital I only have two real memories. The first came about as they were wheeling me into have surgery on my brain and my bed had nearly collided with that of another woman's in what must have been a busy corridor.
   "Age before beauty" she said sitting up from her bed. The memory still makes me chuckle because she must have seen an extremely ugly looking person when she looked at me with a purplish bloated and deformed head.
    The other memory involved seeing the tears flow from my mother's face and me thinking 'gaud I must look like shit, I made my mother cry!'
    I continued to hallucinate while I was in the hospital and had very little understanding of reality.   I was hungry and as far as I could tell they were trying to starve me to death. I became increasingly obnoxious as the days wore on till at some point I pulled the feeding tubes out of my nose. I remember failing yet another swallow test and being held down by two female nurses while a third reinserted the hoses into my nose. (That will teach me they must have thought because that is one of the most painful experiences I have ever had.)
    While I was in the hospital it took a long time for the left side of my body to start following my brain's orders again. I couldn't feed myself or tie my shoes or read. I felt like a frustrated infant and often had temper tantrums.
   The first time I heard my cell phone ring (which I had demanded to get back from my best friend Tina) I picked it up and started banging it on the hospital floor to make it stop ringing. Fortunately a friend of mine was in the room at the time and said "What are you doing?" as he took the phone away from me.
   "I am trying to get it to stop ringing" I screamed in frustration.
   By the end of my 30 day visit I was able to eat again (21 days without food and the shaved head for my brain surgery had left me looking like a Buddhist monk according to my friend Alice and 'not very attractive' according to my friend Suzie).

   The best I could do for the first two weeks that I was home with the help of my friend Joan was to get up at 8am for my shot of antibiotics and drink some tea then back to bed till I woke again around noon and eat a little food then another shot or perhaps a doctor's appointment. My world had suddenly become so small and completely defined by my near fatal adventure.
   So now it's 3 years later. I am happy to report I can eat and walk and type (although not as fast as I used to) and start a fire and sometimes maybe even make some art. And for the most part I am happy to be alive.
   I will never forget all the wonderful people who came to my hospital room bringing me food and praying to their various gauds and monks that I would live. I now know that it was my dream of love and the love I received that was responsible for my living through something that would kill most people. I thank you all and am forever grateful for your love and attention. yona c. riel

My Personal Favorites from the Show..."Neuro-pathic Passages"

2010-08-19T21:08:00.000-07:00

Hey friends, I know I haven't been posting much lately. Every single waking moment has been spent getting ready for my first solo show since my traumatic brain injury in December 2007. It's a good sign that I have time tonight to write a brief blog despite being brain dead.
While working the past several days/weeks (or was it a month?) I have been revisiting my life as I sorted through over 5000 photographs. A few of them have jumped out and proclaimed themselves as my favorites, so I thought I'd share those with you in hopes of enticing you to come out next Friday, August 27th and see the show.

The first one is a closeup of the fountain in the botanical gardens in Oaxaca. It is decorated with marigolds and amaranth, the tradition for Dios de los Muertos. In the print the color of the water contrasts beautifully with the flowers.

The next photograph is a distant view of the fountain. It is still close-up but you see more than just the details. If you look at the rocks you will notice they are red. There is a tiny bug in Mexico called Cochineel and they use it to dye just about everything. In this photo they have put it into the water to make it run red like blood. I am hoping for my opening to get my hands on some and have a miniature fountain with the waters running red.

My next favorite I completely forgot about until my very last search through the photographs. It is softly focused and reminds me of a spirit who is half of this world and half of the next one. I like it because it is skeletons and one of them is being reflected back in a mirror off to the side. I also really like the soft pastels-colored hues and their shocking expressions.

Some of my other favorites include a few pieces that I have completed since my TBI such as the one entitled "Growing Pains". Now that I have a little distance I can see that this piece really captured the frustration, tears and anger I experienced almost every day for the first year after my brain exploded. I am so thankful I had such a caring, experienced and knowledgeable therapist who worked with me every week. Here's the picture of the piece. Eat, Cry, Sleep.

The next piece was done in a class at Art and Soul last year. It is a 3 dimensional piece with the image of the head extending out a 1/2 inch from the rest of the collage using rivets and two pieces of plexiglas to sandwich the image. I like how it came out in it's 2 dimensional manifestation also.

This last piece captures how I feel this very moment. It is called "Art Slave" and features a starving Buddha as the main image. When preparing for a show I know I am not alone in forgetting about the food 'thang'. The work has consumed every waking moment leaving no time for things like food shopping, housecleaning and sitting down to eat. Any rent-a-wife services out there??

That's it for now because talking about food has made me really hungry and I don't want to end up like the Buddha in the picture above. Thanks for reading my friends and I hope to see you in just over a week at The Voyeur on Blair. We are even going to open early (at 5pm) so you can stop by before you head out to the EC. Yona C. Riel

The Digital Works.. the journey to the inside (continued)

2010-08-01T12:05:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven't posted in a few weeks. (have you missed me just a little)? I been working on a show that will be at The Voyeur opening the last Friday in August so I have an excuse. (Just saying). However today since I have a bit of time I am doing a short and sweet post about my digital work.
Though I was online before I came to Eugene, the move from SF changed my 'online' relationship. All of a sudden 'real' life was much quieter and as I was struggling to keep my right brain stimulated. I searched for alternative online art sites and found one where you traded postcards with strangers in other parts of the world. I was also using the worldwide lesbian site called Shoe and to mix things up a bit I would often ask my online friends to trade handmade postcards. It seemed an easy way to keep the city stimulation I was accustomed to going. Following are some of the 'postcards' I sent.

The one above I titled 'Thirteen'. It's not only my favorite number but a significant part of my heritage. I was born on Friday April 13th, my mom was born of Friday June 13th and my grandmother was born on Friday February 13th! I was shocked when I found this out because what are the chances of THAT happening?
The piece above is a cubist woman pondering the number 13. It was collaged onto a 4 by 6 tarot card. Once the collage part was done I scanned it then printed it onto watercolor paper and used a small paintbrush to manipulate the ink while it was still wet.

The next piece was originally collaged onto a digital image of a 'found collage'. The mannequin (a favorite subject matter of mine) is losing her head. The piece is titled 'Evidence'. It became particularly relevant after my brain injury with the words 'brain re-sizement' listed as 'evidence of my insanity'.

This last piece called 'Listening' prominently shows a nude woman listening with a red flower growing like an idea out of her head. In the upper left hand corner there is a mannequin covering her ears refusing to listen. In the lower left hand corner there is a poem.... 'you think you can grasp me, think again. my story flows in more than one direction.... '. I sent this one to an online friend in Montreal.
That's it for now my friends. All of the work I have been writing about in the blog posts titled 'journey to the inside' will be at my show the last Friday in August at The Voyeur. I know it's Eugene Celebration that weekend but I hope you will make time to come and see me. As always your comments are welcome and thanks for reading!
yona c. riel

Journey to the Inside; day five... more older work..

2010-07-15T21:31:00.000-07:00

    Before I came back to Eugene in 2002 I had been using found objects in my collage.   Everything from scrap metal found on Point Isabel to repurposing my own canvases and seaglass. When I moved back here my first home was a warehouse in the Whitetaker just a block off the railroad tracks. Soon walking the tracks looking for odd metal things to use in my art became a regular way to pass the time.
   One day, I walked the other way and discovered a place called MECCA. At that time it was located in a funky building on Railroad Blvd and a woman, Jennifer FG was MECCA's new director. She too had just moved from the bay area and was interested in making art from castaways (which is why she took the MECCA job). We became fast friends. I remember spending a lot of time there rummaging through donated bottle caps, tiles and strange plastic doodads for artistic inspiration.
    I am not really sure how or why I challenged myself to make a piece from cigarette butts. I had tried a few times before I left the bay area with disastrous results. But one day after making a piece from used tea-bags that my friend Alice promptly bought I became re-inspired to try again.

This isn't a very good picture of the piece I called "Old Bags". Once the tea bags were opened up they looked like dresses to me. Each bag had it's own unique hue depending on how long it had been steeped and how much it had dried out after being used. I thought of the tags as heads and the strings attaching the tags as arms, although in this picture you can't really make out the strings.
Sometime while I was making this piece I got the idea to use the paper from cigarettes that did not have filters. Just like with the teabags, after I unrolled each butt the tiny pieces of paper had their own unique qualities.

The dress is made entirely from the papers of over a hundred cigarette butts; the burnt edges reminding me of ruffles. For the head I used a cut out from an old Monopoly box. The collage was made onto a patina-ed door that I nailed tacks down the left side and across the bottom. Then I added an old Mexican metal piece I had hanging around. The breasts were made using white plastic beads and tacked into place. Yes I painted the tips of the tacks red to match not only her 'eyes' but the red 'donut' in her necklace.
Thanks for reading friends and as always your comments are greatly appreciated. I may or may not have another teabag piece made by the time this show goes up but the Lady made from cigarette butts will definitely be at the show. She doesn't even smell like old cigs anymore.... :) yona c. riel

Journey to the Inside; day four... older work..

2010-07-13T15:49:00.000-07:00

Last night as I reviewed thousands of digital photographs it felt very much like going through a photo album with my Aunt Pauline back in April when I last visited her. The big difference was instead of weddings, funerals and 90th birthday party photos there were dyke march photos from 2005, Amsterdam photos from 2002 and random art shots taken all over the bay area. I was plunged into the past. Some photos brought up good memories, some not so much. Once I get the pictures framed and photographed I will include them here. Only my favorites, promise.

Today I am going back to the not too distant past (2003). I was infatuated with Golden's new Quinacridone colors and abstraction. The first piece was entered into the Mayor's art show in 2003. I did not get in but when the Salon de Refuse' show was reviewed by the Eugene Weekly, Molly Templeton did make mention of it.

     There are five or six layers of collage work including strips of text from old books, tissue paper from sewing patterns, several washes of acrylic paint, and oil based pastels accentuating certain areas. I wanted the piece to land somewhere in-between total abstraction and a hint of a story-line. There are two figures, one large and centered with the letter 'B'. The figure looks as though it may step upon a smaller figure appearing in the lower right hand corner. The blue lines made to look like dressmaker's chalk served to connect the figures energetically and visually.
    What I like about the piece is the texture made by the the patterned tissue paper, that whatever story line there is leaves a lot of room for interpretation and the way the print comes through in various areas. I can dig deeper each time I look at this piece and extract a different story.
    The next piece is also done during the same period (2003) and by the looks of it I am again smitten with Quinacridone Gold.   Judging by the look and content my guess is it is a practice piece that allowed me to experiment with the color pallet in the piece above.

Instead of embedding the words under tissue paper I wrote a poem onto the piece in oil pastels after layering and texturing it with several washes of colors. The poem is about 'Art' and says, "In the beginning there was Desire. Once Desire discovered Movement the two fell in love giving birth to Color. A cacophony ensued... and then there was Art".
It is framed and is approximately 21" across and 25" long. Thanks for reading. Yona C. Riel

Journey to the Inside; Day three...

2010-07-09T20:34:00.000-07:00

The two pieces in this blog entry are the last two I did before my TBI in December of 2007. Like I mentioned in previous entries I despised these pieces until I uncovered their prophetic meaning. While I made them I was very aware that I was working subconsciously; digging deep much like an archeological excavation of my psyche. That kind of honest searching doesn't come easy.
The first one entitled 'The Chaos of Nothing' still hurts when I look at it. On the left side there is a young woman looking deep into (the viewer's) eyes. She has a scarf on her head that looks like the colors of a globe. Below her is the word 'Nothing' and below that there is a compass that when you look inside the word 'Chaos' stares back at you.

The second layer is a cityscape in black and white with a big white arrow and the words 'direction, forward, move'. A singular green tree is scrawled into the otherwise colorless cityscape using oil pastels. Underneath is a big red question mark. Next to the question mark there is a 'sign here' sticker, (the kind a realtor puts on a contract). The vintage postcard in the upper right corner with buildings penciled onto it also has written in Mrs. H. M. D.'s beautiful cursive 'We plan now to come straight to you...' It is postmarked 'Texarkana', Mar 1938.

I framed the last six art pieces leading up to my TBI using oak doors because each one metaphorically was an opening to the next phase in my life. Though this piece is somewhat sane in it's design it speaks to my frustration in searching for an artist community. (I really wanted to 'sign there' but my tormenting self-doubt stopped me.') "Why" I was demanding to know, "isn't there a Milepost 5 in Eugene?". "How am I supposed to do art when I don't have a community to support me?"
I was deeply tormented during this time. The next piece is the last one I did before I 'went down' for 5 days into a state of heightened electrical brain activity. (I will never forget the hallucinations I had as I lay there on the floor waiting for someone to discover me before I died.) In all probability the piece was never completed, although now it would be an 'artistic sin' to alter it. This piece in particular has a disturbing and chaotic feel to it although the word is not used.

    I have since named it 'Instant Asshole' because those are the words most apparent in the piece. Though it's difficult to see there is a map of the bay area on the left side of the piece just below the Pop Pop firecracker wrapper (used on a Rickie Lee Jones album cover of the same name). A creepy doll face is split in half with the definition of insanity typed into the space in between. There is a Mexican 2000 peso bill with 'run to where this time?' written on it in the lower right corner.
   In the upper right hand corner there is a head shaped balloon that has a square mouth and a small eye releasing a tear drawn onto it. After my TBI I realized this piece (even more so than the others) was trying to tell me that soon my head would expand out like a balloon and cause massive damage to my brain.
     'The universe' in her loudest voice answered my months of questioning and self doubt by returning me to the state of an infant. (I didn't even know how to swallow when I regained consciousness, much less walk, talk or tell the time).
   All of these pieces will be up in my show at 'The Voyeur' on Blair (next to Olive juice) opening the last Friday in August. I will be posting more art from my photography days and the work I have been doing in the past 3 years while recovering. Thanks for reading and as always your comments and questions are most welcome. yona c. riel

Journey to the Inside: Day two, a roadtrip through the artwork of Yona C. Riel

2010-07-07T17:35:00.000-07:00

Day two of my journey to the inside has me revisiting the same time period (the months leading up to my TBI). The first piece has the temporary title of 'Ignoring Myself'. It is a collage using several handwritten fragments, some cut outs, and a lot of oil based pastels which I scratched back into to get to previous layers. It is mounted onto an oak cabinet door (doors seem particularly relevant for this series of collages.)

Again there are two entities, one a shadow looking away, the other with red spikes coming from the area of the heart. I really didn't like this piece when I did it (was I trying to ignore it's blatant message?), but now that I have the benefit of 3 years distance and a radical change in perspective, both the yellow/pink/gray/lime pallet and the subject matter strike me as raw and real, especially when I consider what the piece was trying to say. Although I drew the four green lines coming out of the right side of the head as hair, after my TBI the meaning of the lines changed to a head about to explode. It's hard to see in the photo but written where a mouth would be are the words 'my head'.
The next piece has a similar feel. The large vacant space between the pieces of the head, the black/white contrast between the hair and the handwritten letter behind it and the numbers from a game of Bingo all indicate a desire to be pointed in (the right) direction.

The sold tag on the bottom of the figure and the bright red placed around the edges reminds me of the anger I was feeling at the time. I was yearning for the edge of a city, either Portland or San Fransisco, and the stimulation those cityscapes had to offer me. I felt trapped in the 'good deal' of a single family dwelling here in Eugene, though I had not lived in one for many years. It struck me particularly hard during this time period because an artist community I was interested in buying into (Milepost 5 in Portland) was just going on the market.

That's it for today. Thanks so much for reading. I have a few more pieces from this time period to post which I will do once I get them framed and photographed.

Journey to the Inside.... a 'road trip' through the art of Yona C. Riel

2010-07-06T23:06:00.000-07:00

    Since posting my road trip in April and my 2 week excursion to San Fransisco in June, it is now time to do a different kind of trip. Instead of talking about everybody else's art I am going to talk about my own, in preparation for my first solo show in a long time on the 27th of August at 'The Voyeur' a new gallery located on Blair between 5th and 6th.
    Going through my art of the last few decades has been like reading a visual autobiography. Despite my diminished brain capacity I remember precisely what I was thinking/feeling while making most of it and the messages lay there on their substrates whispering secrets to me. Perhaps this is because the art has not had a chance to 'speak' to anyone else (being locked in a closet for the last few years while I have been recovering from a traumatic brain injury (TBI)).   Hopefully the show will change all that and the art will morph into it's next life.
   My intent for this 'journey to the inside' is to post not only pictures of the work in the upcoming show but what was going on for me when I made it. Also I will attempt to make it linear dividing the art into pre-TBI and post-TBI because it seems to make sense that way. I want to review one piece a day unless I run out of time, in which case you'll just have to come to the show.
   The first piece was made from a red electrical box found in the debris of a burnt house in Glenwood, Oregon. I was there with a friend who, like myself, was attracted to the remnants after a fire.

   Much of my work is untitled as is this piece. (perhaps my readers will suggest one to me in the comments).   There is a broken bridge (the golden gate) in the lower right hand corner and footsteps walking away from the break. Two entities are exchanging energy, one named e-yo and one with the word 'spirit' on her forehead. The inside of the box has been fitted with cedar inserts painted a lime green. For the outside of the box I sanded out most of the red and painted it black. Then I went back in with stamps and covered the surface with white and red letters and question marks.
   In the upper left hand corner there is a scribble of confusion. The singular spring (cut from the box spring of a couch found in the debris) serves to warp the three lines of communication between the two entities further by spiraling through them.
   At the time I made the piece I was feeling distant from myself. So much so that I really couldn't even hear what the spirit part of me had to say. This is the first of several pieces made during the months leading up to my injury that represent (for me) the beginning of my confused state. I think this piece was completed about 8 months prior to 'the TBI event'. It measures approximately 5" deep by 10" wide and 12" tall. If you want to see it 'live' come to my show at The Voyeur on Blair St. the last Friday in August. If you want to help me name it leave a comment here on the blog. Thanks for reading. Yona C. Riel

the Minimalist Blog entry.. 'The Sea Purple'

2010-06-25T12:52:00.000-07:00

   Last night I saw the movie entitled 'The Sea Purple' at the Castro Theater. The movie was based on a true story of a (another) young woman, Angela, who refuses to marry, only this time it takes place in the 1800s in Sicily.
   Her father is a powerful (and abusive) man and at first tries to force her into submission by physically abusing her then locking her in a cellar. When nothing works (and his wife brings up the issue of the priest molesting their other daughter) he finally gives in but only if Angela agrees to become a man. The small town is unwilling to accept Angela as Angelo but because her father is the quarry-master (and the most powerful man on the island) and Angelo has taken over his position they are forced to do so. Angelo also marries her best friend Sara, who initially is shunned while attending church and asked by her mother in a poignant scene "What did you expect?"
   I did not get any screen shots of this movie but it was beautifully shot on the coast in Italy. Even so the movie itself did not hold together well enough to be one of my favorites. (I got spoiled by the opening night movie The Secret Diaries of Anne Lister and the documentary of Anne Lister the next day).
   It makes me wonder (again) just how many women's lives were subverted, buried and concealed due to a naturally occurring rebellious nature.   It also brings up my relationship with my father and our inability to find a way to coexist. Was I a rebellious girl? Indeed! And thank the gauds (after I got out of that house) I live in a place and a time where I do not have to suffer the abuses that those before me did. Thanks for reading... yona c. riel
PS: tonight with the festivities beginning in the city I will be posting mostly pictures with a few blurbs interspersed...stay tuned...

Off World

2010-06-21T23:32:00.000-07:00

'Off World' is a movie set in 'Smokey Mountain', a notorious slum in Manila. A few minutes into the movie we are told 30 years ago it was a small fishing village and now it is 2 million tons of garbage. It is named 'Smokey Mountain' due to the continuous flow of methane gases that leak out of the 12 story pile of trash. Children, 5 and 6 yrs old, and adults endlessly search through the pile looking for plastic and other saleable items for a few pesos a day.

Lucky, born in these slums but adopted by Canadian parents, has returned after many years to search for his kin. He has contacted one person, Julia, who knows where he can find his brother.
Julia introduces Lucky to his brother Mamacita, an effeminate gay hustler who turns tricks to survive. Keeping their connection a secret Lucky decides to crash in Mamacita's place presumably to get closer to 'her' and keep his distance at the same time.

Lucky falls into desolation wondering why his mother gave him away and kept Mamacita. He wanders through the squalor in Smokey Mountain, the visuals of the slum mirroring the emptiness he feels inside, till one night he just lays down, presumably to die. Then Julia saves him in one of the more beautiful and poignant scenes of the movie. The plastic bags are hanging all around them like white surrender flags.

After Julia nurses him back to health he reveals his identity to his brother as they are walking together on Smokey Mountain. Again, the cinematography steals the scene...

   By the end of the movie Lucky has re-connected with himself, his brother and his mother, fallen for Julia and we are to believe that he has found what he was looking for.
    For me, I got so engrossed with the amazing images that the storyline lost it's momentum and I found myself confused but haunted.
   While I was cleaning up the theater I asked a friend what he thought of the movie and he said 'I think it was just a way to show how those people were living in that slum and they could have said that in 15 minutes'.   I have to agree that the storyline felt like it was there to serve the larger purpose of educating the viewer about the conditions in the Smokey Mountain slums and yet I am still haunted by some of the most striking cinematography I have seen in a movie.
Thanks for reading and as always your comments are welcome.. yona c. riel

William Burroughs, The Man Within

2010-06-21T13:00:00.000-07:00

Last night I saw a documentary about the life of William S. Burroughs who was famous for all the things one should not be famous for; he shot his wife, he was queer and he spent most of his life addicted to heroin. He also wrote several books and along with Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac birthed the famed and subversive beat poet movement.

William Burroughs was born in 1914. He came from a wealthy family (his grandfather invented the adding machine) and spent most of his life living on a stipend. Burroughs had a Harvard education and as John Waters said it is often the people with the most privileges who become the most subversive.

In 1951 after being busted a second time for narcotics he and his wife moved to Mexico City. It was there that Burroughs, in a drunken game of William Tell, accidently shot and killed his wife. Not one to express emotion Burroughs exiled himself to Morocco and spent till 1959 writing the book "Naked Lunch". Filled with scenes of male prostitutes, strangulation during sex and ejaculating penises it was banned in the United States until it was heard by the Supreme Court in a famous first amendment trial in 1966. After winning the trial the book was widely published and made William Burroughs an instant cult hero.

What made this documentary about Burroughs interesting to me is the film maker tried to get to what was inside of the man. Though he was revered by Patti Smith and others as the godfather of punk music scene he never identified as such. He was also revered by John Waters and others as the person who began the queer rights movement but again he never identified as queer. Burroughs was ultimately a man unto himself and we are lead by the film maker to believe he suffered considerable remorse, not only for killing his wife but for the premature death of his only son who in order to be acknowledged by Burroughs emulated him (drinking too much and using drugs) and died of liver failure at the age of 32.
Many people will remember that one of Burroughs methods for writing was the use of cutting up segments and then re-forming them into poetry. Later in life he developed another technique that wasn't so successful or known. Out in his yard he would place a can of spray paint in front of a canvas then step back several feet and shoot a hole in the can releasing the paint onto the canvas. Apparently Burroughs always had a great love of guns...

   Towards the end of the movie John Waters said 'for misfits Burroughs was almost a religious figure'. Patti Smith said 'in his last year of life he became lovable', though earlier in the movie she professed to have always been madly in love with him. William Burroughs died 6 months after Allen Ginsberg in 1997 and it was widely believed they were not only best of friends, cohorts with a lifelong shared past but soul mates.
In the final scene of the movie there is a note written by Burroughs simply saying "Love - the most natural painkiller there is".
   Thanks for reading... Yona C. Riel

The Real Anne Lister

2010-06-19T21:47:00.000-07:00

My cousin was recently, after her return from Czech Republic and Slovakia, drilling her blog readers asking where are all the industrious, creative, enterprising women in Eastern European history. If eastern europe is anything like England, women who lived outside the boundaries of a normal life were buried, either by the changing of facts or in the case of Anne Lister in the walls of the mansion owned by her family. In her lifetime Anne Lister wrote more than 4 million words, all in a code she invented based on Greek letters and algebra.

    Lister's diaries were first discovered a hundred years after they were buried by her relative John Lister while remodeling. He had them decoded in the late 1890's by his friend Arther Bourroughs. Both were shocked that Anne wrote so freely about her homoerotic daillances with several women during her short 46 year lifetime. John, also a homosexual, became paranoid and pleaded with Arther to destroy the diaries. Fortunately he did not. But John did succeed in preventing the diaries from being published.
   The next time someone would try to publish the diaries was in the 1960's when a woman named Muriel Green found them locked deep in the library in the city of Halifax, England. The library (who for whatever reason had the rights to the diaries) refused claiming they would tarnish the good reputation of the town.
   It wasn't until 1988 that Helena Whitbread, after 7 years of painstaking research, that the diaries were finally published.
During her lifetime Anne Lister was not only a lesbian (she discovered this at 13 years old) but a landowner, an industialist, a coal miner, and the writer of 4 million words, all things that were unheard of for women during the Regency period in England (the 1800s). On top of all that she married and lived with her female companion most of her adult life and died when they were touring Europe together after she was bitten by an infected tick.   It took her wife 6 months to get Anne's body back to her home in Halifax England where both she and her diaries were buried.
    I am not the least bit shocked it took over 200 yrs to get Anne Lister's story out of the closet.   Part of what I love about this film festival is that stories like this are unveiled. I am eager to continue to go to the LGBT film festival in the years to come to see what other gems, lives and secrets surface.   Thanks for reading.... tomorrow I review an interesting 'gender-bending' brazilian film call Elvis and Madonna. Yona c. riel

The Secret Diaries of Miss Anne Lister....

2010-06-18T09:50:00.000-07:00

... was the opening night film for the SF LGBT film festival this year and it did not disappoint. The photography brought me right to England with a dark blue sky and several scenes taking place in a vast of greenery, including the first sex scene. The clothing, empire waists for the women and britches with knee-highs boots for the men, apparently popular in the early 1800's was also flawless. But what really made the movie work was the story of a hard-headed woman who fought against all odds for what she believed in and the right to be with the woman she loved long before the word feminist had ever been uttered.

    Anne Lister was born into a wealthy family and coal was discovered on the land she inherited. Instead of giving in to her neighbor (who also became a fierce competitor after she refused to marry him) she went into the coal mining business though she knew nothing about it. This allowed her an economic independence unknown to women in that time period. Also despite advise from her aunt and uncle against it, she 'married' a female companion. This in a time when one could be burnt at the stake for less.
   When the director was on stage introducing the film he told a story about a young woman who after seeing "The Diaries of Anne Lister" became brave enough to come out to her family. I too feel brave after seeing it, and privileged to live in a time where we almost have the right to marry.
   The movie was produced by the BBC and came about because a librarian in the 1970's 'decoded' the diaries kept by Anne Lister. If you are interested in seeing it you may be able to find it on the BBC channel or order it from Frameline.org.
   This morning we are seeing a documentary called "The real Anne Lister". I do hope it tells the story of the librarian. I'll have an update for you later.. Thanks for reading. yona c. riel

Day one, LGBT film festival....

2010-06-17T11:49:00.000-07:00

Tonight is opening night for the LGBT film festival in San Fransisco and this year the first movie is 'The secret Diaries of Miss Anne Lister'. Based on a real life Anne Lister, a gentle-woman who lived during the early 19th century (born in 1791) and preferred the 'fairer sex' the film documents her conquests of which she wrote about in a coded diary.

Produced by the BBS (always a good sign) and reminiscent of a Sarah Waters book (The Fingersmith, Tipping the Velvet and Affinity, all meticulously researched novels about lesbians in the early 19th century) The Secret Diaries of Miss Anne Lister promises to be a great movie.
Just in case it gets sold out and I don't get to watch the movie I am working a film tomorrow morning called 'The Real Anne Lister". So either way I will have a little update for you then...
Okay, off I go for a waltz through my favorite parts of San Francisco... yona c. riel

DeLo's Wild party (with Eric Stern of Vagabond Opera....)

2010-06-12T23:38:00.000-07:00

     It all started on May 9th when Delona (aka DeLo) and I went to see Vagabond Opera's first ever full length opera. It was mother's day (the only time I could get up to Portland) and we sat in a small theater with some of Portland's finest steampunks to watch the 'Queen of Knives'.
   Unbeknownst to me DeLo was newly divorced and very happy about it. So happy that she bought 20 dollars worth of raffle tickets after the show. The grand prize was a 2 hours serenade by Eric Stern (the lead person behind VO) and he would come to your house. Eric is an amazing opera singer with years of professional training. He is also one of my favorite accordionist and piano players.
    A few weeks later DeLo announced, heart-throbbing across my computer screen that she had won. Plans were made for a garden party on the night of June 11th.

I left Eugene around noon figuring I would stop in Salem and see an art show on the way up. I also figured I could help DeLo get ready for the party. Instead I got lost. (She admits to having one of the weirdest addresses in Portland which confounds even the most intelligent GPS). Instead of fighting with myself I called and asked for help. DeLo sent this fine young lady to rescue me.

Turns out Tanya had been there most the day helping DeLo get ready. I was grateful that I didn't have to figure out how to get there myself.
Of the three of us not one could remember when the party was supposed to start so by 6pm we were ready for anything. Well almost anything.
DeLo has a couple of guys who rent from her and they all share the gorgeous yard. One of them was cooking up a delicious paella. That's him with the silver hair and the beautiful shirt...

We sat mingling, eating and drinking more than we should have when DeLo's phone rings. I somehow know that it is Eric and because it's now past 8pm I also know he is lost. He was only a few minutes away and there was plenty of conversation and food to keep us busy. About 10 minutes later Eric comes in....

and almost immediately started playing his magnificent accordion. I went into instant drool as I watched his huge hands reach the most difficult chords with ease. To give you a sense of his size the guy in the plaid shirt (Helmut) showing his wife Ida a picture on his camera is 6'5" and a German football player.
I couldn't restrain myself so I asked Eric in the first few minutes if he would play his Marlena Dietrich song. He said he would but not yet. He had to get warmed up.
Eric played for a good hour out in the garden. I later found out he can sing in more than 5 languages and speaks 4 fluently. So we heard some Italian favorites, a few originals and a bit of klezmer. When he started to play a tango, DeLo grabbed her most recent beau and they tango-ed across the kitchen floor....

Then there was the piano. It was beautiful and black and just waiting for Eric's hands to seduce it.

And seduce it he did! The first song he played (very theatrically) was my favorite 'The Transformation into Marlena'. If you can imagine Eric, a 6'3" manly sort of man transforming himself into the 1940's German nightclub singer, Marlena Dietrich, the music accentuating the transformation with perfectly timed dramatic pauses, then you will get a sense of how amused we all were by his performance. I wish I knew how to embed the song into the blog but I don't so hit this link and you can watch a live performance http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IWoU1aJX56E

Eric played for another hour or so and I tryed to get the perfect picture of his hands reflecting in the shiny black piano...

    But drama was brewing in the background.....
   DeLo gathered us all into the living room. Even Eric stopped playing the piano.
   All evening Candace had been animated while she chattered stories about her kid, her dog and her job. I had never met her before so I interpreted this behavior as a woman who likes to talk about herself. But suddenly with everyone hushed and hustled into the living room, Candace seizing her moment slids down onto her knees and proposes marriage to the young man she'd been dating for 3 months. He had no idea what was coming....

When he said yes she rose to her feet, handed the glasses of champagne to DeLo and kissed him passionately. Meanwhile Eric picked up the accordion and played Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire".

"Burn, burn, burn, it's a burning ring of fire.... "

By this point DeLo was beautifully lit and the evening reached it's climatic moment.
One last parting shot...

it's me and my favorite opera singer complete with priceless expressions. Thanks for reading and I hope you had a good time vicariously at Delo's Wild party... yona c. riel

Day 13 ...The Journey home..

2010-05-29T22:02:00.000-07:00

I intended on driving straight through from San Fransisco to Eugene via I-5 but when I discovered this weird little cut off on my map I took it. I had been on the road for almost two weeks by this time and driving home proved to be more tiring than I had thought it would. And I-5 has to one of the most boring drives ever. Does anybody else feel this way or have I driven it way too many times.
I discovered a sweet little town on this serendipitous detour called Shasta. The town had some beautiful old ruins right in the middle of town so of course I had to stop and take some pictures. According to the sign this was a bank in a once thriving gold mining town.

As you can see on the sign below Shasta was quite the town in it's day. The sign says "by 1854, Shasta was home to California's longest row of brick buildings north of San Fransisco."

I took a several shots of the ruins but this next one turned out to be one of my favorites...

As you can see the town has spent the money to retrofit the brick buildings with huge steel rods.

I love surprises like this. Makes me want to drive ONLY on roads I have never been on before. But I was headed home so after a few hours of winding through the mountains I landed in Arcata for the night. I was really hoping for a sweet deal on a good but cheap motel room but I was too tired to look much further than the first one I saw.

After getting settled in the room I walked a few doors up and had a delicious quesadilla and a beer. The next morning I headed north up Interstate 1 and soon found a beautiful beach to stop at. Since I was ending my journey soon I took this shot to symbolize it. Footsteps in the sand leading to a rock mountain says it all...

Even though I needed to get home I knew I wasn't going to see the ocean for awhile so I hung out a little longer and snatched a few more shots. I thought the tire made for an interesting focal point...

And below is the site of a beach sculpture I once made years ago. The sculpture has long since been washed out to sea and now there is graffiti to take it's place...

I continued up Highway One. Fortunate for me it was a beautiful day making for a nice welcome back to Oregon. I resorted to a 'drive-by shooting' for the bridge you see below...

Even though I slept well in Arcata I was still tired and anxious too. I got home about 6 that night and quickly jumped into the bathtub, leaving the unpacking of my loaded to the top vehicle for when I woke up...
Thanks for following me on my birthday road trip. You all were such great company. And as always your comments are welcomed and appreciated... xo yona c. riel

Day twelve... San Fransisco with Joan and Teresa...

2010-05-28T19:03:00.000-07:00

On Monday, Pam and I drove south down to San Gregorio and Pescadero, two places she used to take me when I was having a bad day. The first picture is of the cave we used to sit in on windy days so we could have a little camp fire down on the beach. Every year the water makes it bigger and bigger so now you could have 8 people in there and still have room for a fire.

Here's a shot I took enhanced with the toy camera on my Iphone. It makes an already surreal landscape even more so..

There were also several elaborate dwellings made from driftwood on the beach so I wandered over and took a picture of one...

Then I found some amusing beach graffiti made with charcoal sketched onto the sandy colored rock. I see art everywhere and I suppose this person does too...

After San Gregorio we wanted to find the beach that looks like a moonscape. It is just up the road 5 miles in Pescadero. I have never seen anything like this place in all my travels...

Here's another picture with a little wider view. We both love this place and were so happy we got to visit it again.

    At 5pm we headed back north on HWY One and in Half Moon Bay, the home of Odwalla Corporate offices we found a homegrown funky little fish house to have some clam chowder in. Pam had to get on the plane later that night so we went into the city and I got a cup of tea at my favorite place, Peet's coffee on market street. After all these years the same woman was managing it. She told me she had a kidney disease and needed to have the benefits and that Peet's was a good match for her. She had just recently celebrated her 16th anniversary with them.   (Understandable to me, I worked more than 20 yrs for Odwalla).
     A little later that night I dropped Pam off at her sister's house in the mission then I went over to Potrero Hill, my home for seven years during the early 1990's. I stayed with my old friend Joan and her new girlfriend Teresa. We chatted until 11 that night and the next day Joan and I decided to take a long walk through the city.
    San Fransisco has long been a city close to my heart not only for it's complexities and micro-cultures but for the amazing amount of random art strewn upon walls, walkways and store windows.
    This first one is a store window that uses brown paper bags from Trader Joes, Whole Foods and Safeway to make an interesting backdrop for the life size cutout..

We then walked Clarion Alley which has graffiti most of the way up... this first one had a mannequin's hands and face embedded into a substrate that I never did figure out what material had been used.....

Then there was a mural with the message that we are all aliens. The same mural was here the last time I walked this alley but I took another picture because the colors still make it stand out for me...

The next mural has been around for many years now. It is on Harrison street around where it intersects with 18th. I just love how they incorporate the domes on the wall right into the mural...

Then we walked up to Dolores Street Cafe, had some lunch and steeped our eyes in some delicious 'dyke eyecandy'. Afterwards we headed up to the Castro to see if I could find the book that Page Hodel just published called "Monday Hearts for Madeline."
Page, someone I met many years ago, started making these hearts for a woman she fell in love with that lived across the street from her in 2005 and 2006. Less than a year after they met, Madelene died of ovarian cancer and this past Valentine's day Page published a book that has gorgeous photos of 100 different hearts she had made for Madelene over the years. The photography is superb as are the hearts, made from an amazing variety of mostly everyday things, including food, plants, flowers, paint brushes and metal shavings. I don't have permission to post any of these pictures but the book is available at Book Inc. on Market street next to Peet's. She had an opening on May 26th for her show at Dolores St. Cafe. The show featured several hearts from the book enlarged. I haven't tried it but you may be able to get the book on Amazon.

At some point during my visit, Teresa and I, who have never met before except on Facebook, realized we both knew a woman named Mary Wings. I hadn't seen Mary in 12 years so Teresa picked up Joan and I and we went for a visit to see the lovely Mary in her Boho style house in Precita park. Here she is standing in front of her house...

Doesn't look like much until you get inside and see how she has made a basement into a cool little place to live..

Below is a picture of her wildly wonderful garden of which she insists still grows bulbs from my garden in Potrero Hill....

Then I took a picture of a brown paper bag, graffiti-ed and encased behind glass of which Mary claims to have pilfered from a telephone pole in Paris. Mary and I agreed this wasn't just some scrawled graffiti on a brown paper sack, this person knew what they were doing...

One last picture. This is Teresa chilling out in Mary's garden...

Tomorrow I am going to try to drive from San Fransisco to Eugene. After this many days on the road I am tired but I don't really want to go home quite yet. So we will see what happens... Again, I thank you for reading and comments are always welcomed.. yona c. riel

day eleven... devil's slide and p-town w/pam...

2010-05-28T18:31:00.000-07:00

My old friend Pam was in town for the International Ms Leather contest, held in San Fransisco at the Holiday Inn. I picked her up in my truck and after saying hi to a few people that I remembered from way back and we headed down HWY 1, our old haunt. First stop was a really awesome ruin...

We played around on the ruin taking ridiculous pictures of each other... I am sure you'll remember this pose of mine from a Tiger's birthday party at Pizza Research Institute...

It has taken 2 and a half years for my fingers to be able to flip the bird with both hands... (that's why at least in part I am smiling).
Here's a shot of looking down the cliff onto Devil's Slide beach. It gives you an idea where we are...

There was some beautiful graffiti inside the ruin so once I got up there I took a picture..

By the time we left several other 'tourists' had stopped to climb on the ruin. It had a 'no trespassing' sign but when I am with Pam I do silly things. Just saying.
The traffic was amazingly slow as we drove south down to P-town and Half Moon Bay. After all it was a beautiful Sunday afternoon and everybody with their mothers, brothers, BFFs and surfing buddies were at the beach enjoying it. We got down to P-Town, another old haunt, and gaggled our disappointment to each other about how much it had changed. Still we found some interesting photo opportunities. It was high tide so the beach we used to go to was not there, at least for the next 12 hours or so.

But looking out into the marina there were a few abandoned boats making for an unusual shot...

Also parked nearby there was a cool old truck affording yet another chance for fooling around and taking pictures...

We drove back up to Day's Inn in Half Moon Bay, (which was 30 dollars cheaper than the Comfort Inn next door) and had salmon on parmesan crackers, smoking loon chardonney, and a whole night to catch up on stories.

Day ten - Santa Maria to Colma via highway one...

2010-05-28T17:18:00.000-07:00

The hotel I stayed in last night was the loudest most obnoxious place ever! It was in Santa Maria at "America's Best Value"... NOT! If they changed it to America's Worst Value I might believe them but I will never stay there again. (Sorry I needed to get that off my chest.)

After going to the Starbucks to update my blog I got on highway 101 North. It was one huge vineyard, sometimes even on both sides of the freeway. Occasionally there would be a horse ranch or maybe even a cow farm for a mile, maybe two, but it quickly returned to tidy little rows of grapes, all tied like Jesus to little wire crosses. At Pismo Beach I did make it back to the ocean where three dogs were tearing it up. Ah the life of a dog....

I walked further up the beach and found an interesting rock outcropping...

Then I got into the truck and continued north where I saw the Mission San Miguel and the Veritable Vegetable truck. (I used to driver that semi years ago so it was a nostalgic moment for me.) The Mission was made of what looked like handmade adobe bricks and was established in 1797.

The building reminded me of Oaxaca with all the peeling layers and textures and the huge clay bricks...

Across the street there was an old adobe that had been turned into a museum and was supposed to be open..

Around this supposed to be open museum was a garden of huge and blooming cacti and succulents...

Here's another picture I took in the garden before taking off...

I think California must be really broke because not one rest area was open. And the hours posted on this building Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday were obviously invalid it being Friday and closed. So I wandered back up to the freeway and resorted to a little drive-by shooting (aka guerilla tourism) when I saw this truck...

Yes I am multitasking again.... (that's a good thing right?)...taking pictures while I driving..... (I know it's dangerous and please don't tell my therapist). The only other curious site I had was that of the oil wells drilling like slow moving dinosaurs. I've got to wonder about those miles of vineyards and how that oil is not leeching into the soil...

I made it to my friends Jennifer and Bertina's house by 5pm. Perfect timing for some dinner (vegetarian curry made special by Bertina) and a beer. Then we headed out to see "Kick Ass", an R rated movie about an 8 yr old girl who is also a superhero. It's rated R for the violence and the swearing. Even for me (who claims the "F" word as my middle name) it was disconcerting to hear an 8 yr old say the "C" word and then blow a gangster away with a Tommy Machine Gun but I guess that is what happens in the comic book on which the movie was based. This happens early in the movie, capitalizing on some serious shock value. Still, I want to be Hit Girl for Halloween.
Today I am going to head into San Fransisco and pick up my old friend Pam who is attending the International Ms Leather Competition. We are going to head south via Highway One and stay in a hotel in Half Moon Bay or Princeton for the night. Yona c. Riel

Day 9 - Upland CA to Santa Maria, via the coast highway and Ojai

2010-05-28T15:20:00.000-07:00

There is one cool coffee shop in the town where my mother lives. It's called Boomers and has great 50s decor and run by some local babyboomers I think I should have been in High School with but wasn't...

That's where I started my day. I did not want to go anywhere near Los Angeles so I took highway 214 through Pasadena then I was able to pick up the Ventura Freeway which brought me to highway 101 around Santa Barbara. I wanted to check out the little town of Ojai so I drove the 30 miles inland and got out of the truck for a little walk. Spendy little town with a Nigerian necklace of silver selling for 165 dollars. (Absurd. Fortunately I was just looking.) There was also this really cool chair made from beads...beautiful to look at and photograph but I didn't even bother to ask the price.

I walked up the sidewalk and a young man who said he was a journalism student took my picture then wanted to get my name. I told him about the road trip and that I was from Eugene. His face lit up as he pointed to himself saying "11th and Polk." I responded "17th and Polk". It was a high five moment on 'High Five Day' (according to my friend JJ).
On the way in to Ojai I noticed two things (other than the traffic) There was a place called the "Blue Iguana Inn" and another called the Psychic Boutique. There's an older movie starring Daryl Hanna as a stripper called 'Night at the Blue Iguana' and I wondered if it was filmed there. Sandra Oh was also in that movie but more about her later. Here's the picture....

Way to spendy for me, I could tell just looking at it. But across the street hidden in the bushes was a small house had obviously been there before all the rich people and the vineyards came in 20 years ago....

This is "California" for shack. I bet it cost more than 500 grand too.
I left Ojai for the Pacific Ocean dreaming of a walk in the water. The road was curvy, mountainous; a nice place for a Sunday drive. About 30 minutes later I was headed north on 101 the ocean waves rhythmically curling into white foaming tops then flattening as they broke on the shore. Surfers and bikinis laid about the beach. I spent 6 yrs in southern California during high school and the only thing I miss is walking in warm ocean water. Years ago we used to go camping at El Capitan Beach on a whim. (My father was the impulsive type). Now my friend Colleen, who lives in Solvang, informs me that you need reservations 9 months in advance. It also costs 10 dollars just to take a walk on the beach. Thankfully I asked if they gave discounts to disabled veterans and I got in for free.

I was so happy to be on the beach walking in the water that I took about a hundred photos. I will just post the ones I really like...

And then I took a little self portrait in the water just for kicks...

The water was cold but the salty smell of the ocean and the song of the waves moved through my spirit like the teenager I once was.

     Gaud I miss the ocean...
    I spent a few hours combing the beach for shells and rocks then I got back in the truck and continued north through the one long continuous vineyard from Buelleton to Santa Maria. By this time it was 8pm and I needed to stop for the night. I figured Santa Maria would be cheaper than the other options but I didn't realize it would also be loud and obnoxious. At about 11pm I went to the front desk and complained about the noise. The woman, thankfully, put me in another room. I watched Bill Maher hoping television would put me to sleep. It worked, but 8 o'clock this morning the family next door hollered me awake. So I am starting the day off grumpy.
    Tonight I am headed to my old friends' Jennifer and Bertina's house in Colma just south of San Fransisco. I haven't seen them since the film festival last year. It will be nice to catch up... yona c. riel

Day Eight - Joshua Tree and the road to Victorville...

2010-05-28T14:50:00.000-07:00

First let me say thank you for following my road trip virtually. It really makes a difference when I stay connected to the people in my life that I know and love. That said, I am going get all floral on you today. Joshua Tree had an amazing number of plants in bloom, which is what I had hoped for when I scheduled this trip. There were so many deserted shacks on the way into town I couldn't possibly shoot them all so I decided against shooting any of them. I started to wonder what happened, did they run out of water, go broke, what? It was very depressing to see which is another reason I didn't take pictures of the shacks.

Instead I focused on rock formations and blooming plants, a beautiful pursuit in the desert in the middle of April.

Everywhere I looked there was amazing beauty.. especially if you like the contrast of the living among the seemingly dead.

When I see cactus growing out of rocks I am amazed by the determination of the plant's will to live.

It's a little hard to see (because photography flattens everything into two dimensions) but I am standing on huge rocks looking down upon Hidden Valley.

The next mini walk was to an old gold mine called the Queen Mill Mine. Apparently a lot of gold came out of this place at one time. All that remains are the filled in mine shafts, the remnants of a stone building and some old equipment. Why someone drug that old bed frame in there who knows, but it made for a fun picture...

Something about lives once lived.... legacies.... the thought of which strikes me with a mixture of awe and fear. Are all artists like this? After all it's legacies, our history and the works of art we did in our lifetimes that will remain after we are gone.

The rock formations were another spectacular aspect of Joshua Tree. The unusual one below brings to mind a Tom Waits song, "Whats He Doing in There?" mostly because the cave in the center of it looks large enough to live in....

The next one captured my interest because of it's size. Enormous rock formations remind me of lives that are much older and wiser than my own. (Yes, I believe that rocks witness the life that happens around them and that those memories are stored in the textures and shapes of the rocks themselves. I am an old Rockhound after all). Again I am awed and made to feel small (in a good way)...

I left Joshua Tree around 2 pm and decided I wanted to get to Victorville, California. Leaving Joshua Tree I found 'Old Woman Springs Road' (highway 274) which went straight to Victorville. And on it I found the most beautiful old shack of the trip (so far).

I could tell it was really old not just because of the 'patina' on the wood but because the one inch cedar boards were actually one inch thick. These days one inch cedar is really 3/4 of an inch or less. Of course I had to take a shot from inside. You can just barely make out the fields of yellow flowers that covered the valley.

When I was 15, having gotten inspired by my 500 mile Arizona ride, I headed out alone on my bike along the back roads towards Victorville. I had a girlfriend at the time that lived there and I was determined to get there. I remember it was pretty hot outside. I had no water, no helmet and no food. Between where I started in Upland and Victorville there was El Cahon Pass with an elevation of 4000 feet and about 50 miles. I did finally make it but I called my mom that night and told her I wouldn't be coming home. I hadn't been to Victorville since I was very young and since this whole trip was revisiting my past I had to include it.

I went through Victorville without even stopping because en route I decided I was close enough to my mom's house for a quick visit. She, being 85 and a woman of few visitors was happy to see me. (I hadn't seen her since my head exploding incident in December of 2007). We went out to dinner and hung out for awhile but she is very hard of hearing which made conversation difficult. Also my oldest brother (whose 56 and who I do not get along with) still lives with my mother. This morning before I left she asked me if I wanted the old dresser that I had as a child so her and I struggled it out of the house and into the back of my truck. I hugged her 3 times (she's not the touchy-feely type) and then I came to Boomers cafe to update the blog. It's the only interesting cafe in all of Upland. Besides it's beautiful 50's decor it also has wifi...

Today I am going to take the back roads and try to get to Ojai. As always your comments are welcomed and encouraged...

Arcosant #2 - Day seven

2010-05-28T13:51:00.000-07:00

Just as I was stepping out of the cafe at Arcosanti yesterday a nice 40ish woman named Cabiria complimented me on my boots. She was dressed in ragged jeans and tied a piece of cloth around her waist like a skirt. On top she had on a well worn tank top. I had just written to you on the blog that I had not made any connections here so when she commented about my boots I took the opportunity to talk with her for a bit. Turns out that Cabiria was a San Fransisco transplant and had lived at Arcosanti for 4 years. Also she worked in the bronze casting foundry (which explained her well worn look). She, having seniority, had a great apartment that she pays $120 a month for. I told her I was disappointed with my tour from yesterday so she offered to give me a one on one tour at the foundry. Here's a picture...

After she showed me how they compress the sand into the molds she offered to let me make designs on the bells. Her favorite part of the job was that she could make any design she wanted. I drew a few lines after watching her for a bit and realized that it took some experience to get it right.

    The most experienced people worked on the bigger bells, the least experienced people on the smaller bells. This guy (didn't catch his name) had arrived here last June and was still considered relatively new. That beautiful square box with the amazing hardware is what the molten bronze will be poured into.
     Cabiria had said at one point she was cynical after the four years and while we were working I asked her why. "After being at Burning Man for many years", she said, 'I know if you really want to get things done and you have the people to do it, you can make it happen. Paolo is such a prolific artist, we have an entire trailer full of his drawings, bronze sculptures and architectural models, that I don't think he cares whether it gets done or not".
    I said, "Yeah at 91 yrs old one probably accepts their limitations more so than us younger ones".
    Cabiria said she liked living in community and that Arcosanti is a good place to go when you need a change in your life, although she also mentioned there were some people there with a 'small-town attitude' and it occasionally felt like she was in junior high school.
    Meanwhile they were preparing for 'the pour'. Here's a picture of the two that suited up to handle the crucible as is came out of the kiln.

Bronze casting has some similarities with glass blowing in that they melt the bronze in a crucible. Once it gets to the right temperature two people pick it up and sit it on the deck.

Once everyone is ready for the pour the two who are suited up pick up the crucible and walk it over to the molds. Here they are pouring into the first mold which has four bells in it....

Below is a close up of the pour ... the molten bronze looks a like the golden paint color called Quinacridone Gold...

Cabiria and the other guy are patting the sand down because the bronze is bubbling up which indicates repairs will have to made on the bells later.
Cabiria said it took her a while to figure out how to position herself so that she could lift the molten crucible. As you can see it is quite heavy and it takes some skill to pour it just right. Once the bronze is poured they wait until the molds cool and then remove the bells....

Pictured below is a few of the the poured bronze bells cooling in the sand molds...

And here's a picture of the bells when they come out of the molds...

After the burrs have been polished off the bells they patina them with muratic acid...

I got to take one kind of artzy shot in a storage area for the bells. The red of the structure made a great contrast for the greenish-blue patina of the bells...

Fortunate for me Cabiria invited me back to stay at her place and do a night time fire with a few beers and stories thrown in. I am looking forward to that and it gives me a great excuse to go visit again.

I left Arcosanti about 11 am and headed towards Joshua Tree (the town not the park). On the way I did happen to find 'The Rice Shoe Tree Monument' out in the middle of nowhere on Highway 62.

For some unknown reason when college kids came back from Lake Havasu during spring break they started hanging shoes on what was once an old Tamaskus Tree. In 2003 someone arsoned the tree so the shoes now hang along a wire fence. Also, all along the railway tracks people stop to make monuments for themselves using the multicolored basalt rocks. The ones that stand out the most used the black rocks then the white as a contrast. For several miles there was 'rock graffiti' like what you see below along side the railroad tracks...

As a parting shot, here's my favorite image of the day... I love both the subject matter and the composition of the shot... It's the infamous Sunset Motel weathered to an almost unrecognizable mass of metal. The giant cactus and the endless span of blue sky (a rare sight in Oregon these days) frames the scene.

I made it to Joshua Tree that night about 8pm, dirt tired from the long days drive. As always your comments are welcome either here on the blog or on Facebook. Today I am headed into Joshua Tree National Forest and tomorrow I will post whatever it is that I find there. As always thanks for reading... Yona C. Riel

Arcosanti! an urban labratory....Day six

2010-05-27T11:21:00.000-07:00

They call it an urban laboratory because Paolo Soleri, the Italian born architect that visioned this place into being believes the entire structure of the way we live, cities and suburbs, dependence on cars, is killing both us and the earth. Sounds familiar now but this guy studied with Frank LLoyd Wright and birthed the term arcology. And this was back in the 1940's. By the 1960's his hand cast bronze bells had become famous enough to generate enough money to start building his vision, a self-sufficient community for 5000 people where living, employment and community all intermingle with each other. I don't know what the largest number of people who have lived here is but there are only about 60 full-time residents now. Being that Paolo just turned 91 my guess is he won't actually see his vision completely manifest before he dies. But a good start has been made.

This is what the apartments look like. Multilevel, mixed use structures are intermixed with the bronze casting operation and the music amphitheater.

    Everything is south facing so that when the sun is low (and to the south) in the winter the heat and light are captured. In the summer there are large curved structures that help to keep living areas cool. There is also a swimming pool.
     Every summer lots of young people from all over come to volunteer and work so as to learn about arcology and Arcosanti. Each year they continue to build the urban experiment out here in the desert. Is Paolo Soleri a genius way before his time? Or is he a nutcase with a failed experiment on his hands? My guess he is probably a bit of both and has somehow at the age of 91 accepted Arcosanti for what it is.
    From what I understand he lives in Scottsdale Arizona full time and comes out every Thursday to give lectures to interested persons. Also in the outdoor theater pictured above they have concerts when the weather gets better.

They cast clay bells in this area. I believe this is an earlier structure done with the red sand brought in from Sedona.

The rooms are a lot noisier than I thought they would be. Apparently all this concrete magnifies sound. So I am not sure that I will stay another night because the two people next door were drinking a lot and I could hear every word they said.. even after I went over and told them. Worst part is I forgot my earplugs. I am sure if one is a permanent part of the community it might be a little different, but for the people, like myself, who come and go it's a bit of a problem.
The room was small and efficient. Concrete ceiling and floors. I shared a bathroom with one other person next door (of whom I never saw). Here's a little self-portrait I did in the mirror...

And here is the view from my when I turn around and look out the door...

There is also lots of random art. First a shot of the bells, which accounts for 90% of their income...
Beautifully patina-ed in muriatic acid or liver of sulphur the price tags ranged from $60 to $1000. However they also silt cast bells using clay and these are in the 60 - 100 dollar price range.

If you take a walk on the visitor's trail you can see this sculpture in between the arches. I am not sure but my guess is it was a earlier piece of Paolo Soleri's.

         Lastly this is a sculpture along the dirt road that greets you when you get close to the main structures. Oddly, for community, I didn't talk too much to anyone except a few of the workers. No fast friends here, maybe because I have spent a lot of time on the computer.
     But there are all ages here ranging from 4yr olds to 70 yr olds. Primarily I see 30-40 yr olds, alternative types, and I hear accents from all over the world as I sit typing in the cafe (the only place on the property where there is wifi).   If you ever get a chance to visit here I highly recommend it. There is one room with two twin beds that has a kitchen in it and at this point it costs $65 a night. It may also be a little quieter because it is on the end of the little row of rentals. They serve a healthy and delicious all you can eat dinner every night and it only costs $9. Last night it was string beans with a pesto sauce, roasted turkey and a salad made with mostly leafy veggies.
    Okay, after I get more caffeine I am off to more ghost towns and hope to land in Joshua tree tonight. As always I love to hear your comments...

October (dios de los muertos) in March...

2010-05-21T21:38:00.000-07:00

First, I am sorry I haven't posted for the better part of 3 weeks. I been busy READING for a change. First I bought the new extended version of Rob Brezsny's book Pronoia. Then last Saturday I was at the Barnes and Noble fundraiser for MECCA and the only copy of Michael DeMeng's new book was just begging me to buy it. (Personally I think Michael put a spell on it but that's a whole other story).

And, on top of reading I have been working on a new piece.
After going to Oaxaca for Dios de Los Muertos last year with Michael and a group of amazing people from all over the country my art (and my beliefs about death) will never be the same.
In the Mexican culture (at least in Oaxaca) there are two days every year that our dearly beloved dead ones come back to party with the living. On November 1st the babies and young children come back. On November 2nd the adults return. Having lived in San Fransisco for many years with it's large and politically active Hispanic community, I was already familiar with the Day of the Dead and longed to go to Mexico to experience a real Dios de Los Muertos. Thus I already had a pretty good collection of Day of the Dead skeletons.

I got this beautiful lady from a fellow who is from Oaxaca but now has a shop in Albany on Solano Blvd. I pretty much knew when I bought her that for the first time I had no excuse not to go. So I went. (If you been reading my blog all along you already know all this....sorry for the repeat but bare with me...)

That said, I am writing you today to give you a glimpse of what I been working on in the last few months. It started with a single striking image I saw in Oaxaca. A half alive and half dead Frida.

     This is not a very good reproduction of the image that has changed me in ways I may never be able to fully articulate. Of course I love Frida (like everybody else). She's practically a saint in Mexico. But what struck me was the portrayal of her as half dead and half alive. Here in the rational northern portion of the Americas there just isn't a place for a reality like this. In Mexico, magical realism and all it's various cousins are not only alive but thriving. Frida can be physically dead but her soul lives on forever in the hearts of the Mexican people who love her.   I experienced this again and again while I was down there.
     Having had my own near death experience I knew I had to make a piece of myself, half dead or dying and the other half coming to life. (Pretty much what has been going on since the brain injury). I also wanted it to be 3 dimensional.
     My friend Rogene who I met just a week before I went to Mexico (she was going too) has been working with paper clay making her paintings more 3 dimensional. The moment I saw her work I knew that was the medium I wanted to try for my piece.
I also wanted some of the other art in my Day of the Dead collection to influence this piece.

I love the floral painting on this vase I bought years ago at the Castro St. Fair. I also love the flower bursting forth from the eye.

The picture of this skull was shot through a window so it's not great. I wanted it so bad but it was carved out of wood and hand painted and way out of my price range. Alas I came home with a not so great picture of it. I love all the monarch butterflies. Is it all the bright colors used by the Mexican artisans that keeps their skulls looking so friendly? That and all those big shiny white teeth? It's as if dead people in Mexico are always laughing.
For my piece I was pretty sure I wanted to use a huge cigar box I scored in Amsterdam. Opened, it has a book like quality to it. And that would mean one half would be for the skull and the other half for something else. But what would be on the other side? And are all those weird white flowers really necessary?

It was probably the cover of Rob's book that had me thinking about anatomically correct hearts. Or perhaps it was the aftermath of the Valentine's show and working with the Americanized version of hearts for what seemed like an eternity.
Either way last Thursday, sick and tired of the rain, I drove 100 miles as drops the size of golf balls bounced off my windshield to get to my favorite bookstore, Powell's in Portland. Once there I went to the anatomy section and took several pictures of anatomically correct hearts. Here's what I got...

The piece is coming along slowly but surely and once I get it done you'll be the first to know...
Thanks for reading my friends and your comments are always welcome.... and yes I am going back to Oaxaca again this year for Dios de Los Muertos. And I may just stay a little longer to learn some Spanish. Who knows.. Here's a few more hearts for you to ponder..

Roadtrip Day 3..Lone Pine to Death Valley and Rhyolite Nevada

2010-05-21T10:43:00.000-07:00

I left Lone Pine by 10am and took my first picture of the day before I left town. Turns out there was a very cool, but closed, store right next to the hotel I stayed in...

and it was even for sale (which should be no surprise since I think half of the places I have seen so far had 'For Sale' signs on them. Another reminder of just how bad the economy is....)

After mulling over the artistic beauties (skulls, metalwork, old gates, etc) I continued south on HWY 395 taking the turn off for HWY 190 to Death Valley. Before I got to the park I stopped at a sulphite mine. Being an old rock hound from the 80's the scattered junk looked pretty amazing from the truck.

And besides I just love it when nature has made art out of throw-aways. Here's a long shot of the mine.....

I walked around for a good hour and found several old bricks (great in the yard), a few old blue glass fuses (still wondering why they were out there) and some weird glass like green rock (which I later found out was obsidian.. Here's one more shot of found art...

After I left the sulphite mine I continued up HWY 190 into Death Valley. I was excited for two reasons. First there is an amazing ghost town on the border of Nevada and California called Rhyolite. I had seen pictures and really wanted to go there. Second, I believed my timing was right on to see a lot of the desert wild flowers in bloom, which they were.

I took so many pictures of Rhyolite that I am only going to load up about 8. If you ever get to this area in my opinion it's even better than Bodie if only because it is not as well known. Okay here's some pictures. There were several old structures still standing, the most amazing was the old bank. It was a few stories high, constructed of handmade brick and the closest thing to the ruins I found in Oaxaca. Another amazing structure was the general store right across the street. Course it's all dirt roads now....

And then there was the old shack. I love the textural designs of the old boxsprings against the pale blue wood. And the rusty old metal tube that once had a wood stove hooked up to it...

There was one train car that had been left up there.

The metal on it had a beautiful natural patina...

And then someone had made an interesting outdoor museum.....

I presume it had to do with death and bicycles but I didn't get the actual story behind it....

There is a whole long line of these ghostly persons in the next shot. The mountains and the strange clouds made for great contrast...

I also found a tall sculpture of a abstract of a woman..

Rhyolite is my favorite stop so far. That and my awesome finds at the sulphite mine removed the disappointment of not getting to see either Bodie or my beloved Buckeye Hotsprings yesterday.
    Death Valley was really crowded. Tourists everywhere despite the overcast sky. It seems to me everyone was out looking for wild flowers (a lot like myself). At the general store I saw two dykes (shock of all shocks) and at the park ranger station I saw another couple. The last two looked like they had just finished a shoot of Showtime's L-word.
    Tomorrow I will post some pictures of death valley, the flowers and the 'artist pallet' drive.... I am headed to Arizona now in hopes that I make Arcosanti by my birthday which is tomorrow. thanks for reading my friends... it keeps me connected out here on what would otherwise be a lonely road.
   yona c. riel

Leaving Las Vegas - day four

2010-05-21T09:37:00.000-07:00

The only reason I stayed in Vegas was because Pahrump (which is 'Nevada' for PO-dunk) had no rooms left. I arrived late, 8pm and apparently 800 extra men were there learning how to fire weapons. So Vegas it was...

I stayed in a huge casino all bright lights, cigarettes and slot machines; both totally the opposite of what I wanted and the opposite of Rhyolite. In an attempt to make themselves more family friendly there was art everywhere. Mona Lisa stared back at you as you plugged the machine with quarters.

There was a enormous, opulent fish tank...

I couldn't get a really good shot inside the tank but the next one has a Harley sitting in front which helps with understanding the scale of the thing....

When I arrived in Vegas it was 9pm and I was hungry so after getting situated in my room I went down to the Sundance Bar and Cafe....

I was seated next to a (presumably) fake forest. It was so funny to me I just had to take a picture of it....

After my quesadilla and beer I headed up to my room and had a great night's sleep. The next morning I went down to Starbucks (one of the few places in the casino with free wifi) and wrote my blog entry. (be forwarned everything at Starbucks in Vegas is double the price, unless you are gambling, in which case they offer free coffee).
After writing the blog I got on the HWY 93 to Hoover Dam. It was crawling with tourists. The traffic was so slow I grew frustrated. Due to the construction I knew the slow traffic would persist for at least long enough to get a drive-by shooting of the dam. Guerilla tourism I called it...

Not my cup of tea. But it had to be done as it was the fastest way to Kingman Arizona. I made a brief stop there to take a picture of a sign along HWY 66 but I really wanted to get to Jerome, Arizona or at least Prescott so I didn't do a lot of stopping.

I continued down HWY 93 until I got to HWY 71 which said it would take me to Prescott.

A storm was coming in and the lighting was very strange so I jumped out of the truck alongside the freeway, took a little hike over a few fences and found this rock outcropping made more magical by the strange contrasting blue-gray sky....

Once I turned off the main highway there was an abandoned house. This one was pretty creepy complete with one page of girl on girl porn presumably left for the next squatter ....

Was somebody buried in that tomb looking thing? Great place to shoot a horror film. And it was even for sale....

I drove on and intersected with HWY 89 and found the most amazing little artists town called Yarnell. The very first business as you come in to town had this sign.

I went back to see if they were open but the closed sign was up and the dogs were barking so I meandered slowly threw the town.

I say meandered because the town was full of strange things to look at even though it was getting late. (Now that I am home and rewriting this I wish that I had stayed there but I feared no internet.) This is a town I want to visit again, since it had a lot the artistic looking businesses, yet few tourists...

Finally about 7 at night I got to Prescott and found a place with free internet. I had forgotten that Prescott was at such a high elevation. The whole way up I was remembering the bicycle trip I did on this road when I was 15 years old and the 40 mile downhill stretch of rolling hills and hairpin turns. I still love going 50 mph down a hill on my bicycle but now I where a helmet. Again I had a good nights sleep after my long day of driving. My excitement about Day 5 was two fold. First the next day (April 13th) was my birthday. Secondly I would get to be in both Jerome (one of the towns we stayed in on my bike trip) and Arcosanti (which was my goal for this road trip.)

Day One Road trip...

2010-05-20T21:08:00.000-07:00

I did not leave Eugene until almost one o'clock, admittedly a late start on a 13 day road trip which would take me about 1000 miles away from home. I got on I-5 south long enough to pick-up HWY 58 which crosses the Williamette Pass. I jumped out of the car only once and took a few shots, knowing there would be a lot more snow shots to come on this trip. (and yes there was that anxiety about my late start).

After that I drove south on HWY 97 till I got to Klamath Falls. Cute town. Wouldn't wanna live there. (Didn't even take a photo). Good cheap place to get gas though. South of Klamath Falls is this little road called HWY 140. I had never been on it before and was not sure whether it was passable or what elevation the summit was at. It was a dreamy, easy ride because on that weird little road I found a small town called Bly just loaded with the sorts of things I am looking for on this trip.

This great little bldg was constructed in 1899. I love that they repainted the 'Wild West Show' mural.

And right around the corner was a second hand store that probably hasn't been opened in years.

All this stuff was just sitting outside. (Maybe it's worth more 'gone' than anything else). There were several old glass fuses, 3 old clothing trunks and even an old bathtub rusted beyond repair. Quaint but basically worthless except to summon up that nostalgic feeling some of us adore.

Next place I stopped was on the outskirts of town. Two abandoned buildings caught my eye, one right across the road from the other. How could I not stop? Yes I did see the 'no trespassing' signs but I figured if I am just taking pictures I am not hurting anything. The first one was cute and small. The huge old handmade yellowstone bricks and the signage caught my eye. "South Fork Trading Post" the handpainted sign read...

I looked around the back and found the door had already been opened by someone else.....and inside was an old piano. Does this say Jeanette Wall's 'The Glass Castle' to anybody else? If you haven't read that book it's a short, intense read featuring several old shacks and a scene with a piano that you will never forget.

The place across the street was once a beautiful country style home with a huge inviting porch.

It too had an obvious 'No Trespassing' sign. (I take nothing but pictures and leave nothing but footprints). I peeked into the hole where the window had once been and found the remnants of a life once there. Perhaps several lives now located on the other side of town or some new horizon several miles away. The turquoise chair says 1970's but I have no idea whether this place has been squatted in after it was abandoned by it's owners.

I took a little hike around the back and came upon this... (the next big windstorm is going to take this down.)

After traveling for a hundred or so miles I finally got to HWY 395 and a little town called Lakeview. Must of been the same guy that owned this place because they too had several 'valuable' items just sitting out there on the dirt sidewalk.

and around to the side more junk presumably for sale....

I continued down HWY 395 till about 9 that night. Tired, I found a Super 8 motel in Susanville. It was Friday night and I forgot that high school kids in small towns often rent motel rooms to party in. There was a group of them hanging about smoking cigarettes around the entrance to my room. I did get some good sleep after the bozo next door turned his TV off. But the wireless internet was so bad I couldn't download these pictures onto my blog. But that did give me time to post some pictures on Facebook and mull over Day Two. (to be continued) Yona c. Riel

Andy Warhol at the JSMA

2010-05-20T11:55:00.000-07:00

I went back to the JSMA last night for a second view of the Andy Warhol/Gus Van Sant show. This time I was accompanied by my friend Karol. As we walked up to the museum there were several thousand small flags on the lawn

I thought it was about the number of deaths in Iraq, as it has been in years past but this one was about children being sold into slavery in the U.S. I recently read a story by Dan Rather on this very subject. Disturbing. Unfortunately most of these little flags had Jerry's or Home Depot printed on them making it look more like a advertisement for them. Here's another shot...

We went into the JSMA this time to hear the curator's talk about the show. Turns out the guy I had thought was Gus' lover was in actuality one of the curators. You can see them both, one standing by the 140 polaroids taken by Gus VS, the other up front talking about the show.

They pointed out during the talk that most of Gus VS's work was done in black and one because he could get a negative from that particular polaroid film and enlarge it but most of Andy's polaroids were in color so that he could use them to inform his silkscreens. Also Andy was smitten with a polaroid camera called the Big Shot and the museum just happened to have it.

   It might not be that easy to tell in the picture but what a huge and awkward camera.
   In the show, at least for Andy's side of it, the curators arranged the silkscreens by the polaroids that informed them. For me, as a artist, I found adding the depth of an artist's process into the show made it better than most shows. I enjoy seeing how an artist gets from idea to finished piece the way a carpenter might like to know another's experience with certain types of wood.
    The first series of photos are all Mick Jagger. There are three of them...

The curator talked about Andy literally undressing Mick with his camera. From what I can tell Andy did that with all the people he worked with. Sexuality played a huge role in his work as did idol worship. (It makes me wonder what Andy would have thought about shows like American Idol if he were still alive.)
Following is the silkscreen that came from the 3 polaroids above..

The next subject of Andy's work is Debra Harry who was the lead singer for Blondie. Here's a few polaroids that Andy took of her..

and here is the print that he made of her. Everything is in black and white excepting her huge red lips. The curators talked about how silkscreening something reduces it down to an image with the fewest of details and how that process was perfect for making a piece iconic.

The next subject of Andy's camera was Truman Capote. This first one is the polaroid...

and the next one is the silkscreen that became of it...

It's interesting he has completely erased the body in the print and makes me wonder if Warhol simply did not find him attractive or if he thought the hat, the eyes and the hand with a cigarette defined the man. Or both.
The next silkscreen is of just a torso, duplicated with red lines accentuating the gestures. We know more about the pose or the way the artist feels about a male chest than we do about the identity of the subject...

The last three silkscreens of Andy Warhol's are ones that are not famous and also some of my favorites. The subject matter is fruit. The museum did not have the polaroids to go with these silkscreens so I just have pictures of the art.

There were a few other exhibits going on at the same time, most notable was the camera work of Weegie and the installation work of Nam June Paik. I was impressed by both of them and I hope if you make it to the show you will make time to see these two other exhibits. Very worthwhile in my opinion.
Lastly I would like to mention the show in Portland, at the PDX Contemporary Art on Flanders street. It is of Gus Van Sant's 'cutups' and goes through May 29th. As always your comments are greatly appreciated.... Yona c. Riel

Gus Van Sant and Andy Warhol at JSMA, opening night...

2010-05-20T11:18:00.000-07:00

I began the evening grateful that a friend decided to accompany me. I had been searching for a week for a warm body but it wasn't until I went to Saturday Morning coffee with the girls that I found my companion for the evening, my old friend Eva.

   As we were approaching the exhibit Kitty, the much loved mayor of Eugene was walking out. (I am wondering as I write this if she had her own private showing or had somewhere else to go...I guess as The Mayor you got to do a lot of hit and runs in one evening.)
    After we said "We love you Kitty" we stumbled into an already packed maze of people on the first floor of the museum and it was only 10 minutes after the doors officially opened. I immediately asked for directions to the 'Gus VS show' then Eva and I headed upstairs into even more people many of whom were crowded around Gus Van Sant. I perused the walls beautifully arranged with polaroids as I waited for the moment when I could get a word in with Gus. There was a tall faggy guy (I say this in an endearing way) who looked and acted like he was both from Portland and Gus' best friend.
    "Remember when I wrote that song?" I overheard him asking Gus, "Well it was about him" he says as he is pointing to one of the 140 polaroids that were displayed like a giant montage. "Whose this?" I heard him ask, "and whose this?" "What film were you thinking about casting her in? Oh my god that is Kelly Lynch".... It went on like this for several minutes, Gus patiently answering the bazillions of questions thrown at him by the numerous people surrounding him. (Later I heard he is quite shy and somewhat of an introvert.)
     Finally after looking around some more and noticing the quality of the enlargements from the polaroids I went up to Gus and asked, "How did you get such great quality from a polaroid?"   "Well when you shoot the 665 polaroid film", he said, "you get a positive and a negative. So you just put the negative into the enlarger and you can make them as large as you want since the negative is basically 4x6 just like the picture."
   I was stunned he had saved all those negatives because most people, including myself, unthinkingly throw them away.
   I started taking pictures with my IPhone so I could post them on my blog. I took a picture of Gus while I was close enough to do so but it came out too blurry to identify. I also took a picture of the director of the museum who was wearing a fabulous dress that looked like it was made from newspaper. That one didn't come out either.   But this one of Charlise Theron came out beautifully. I love the way the shadow from the window blinds cross her chest and her short butchy haircut...

This shot of Daniel Day Lewis came out great also. This was one of the polaroids that Gus had enlarged to larger than life size. It was almost like he was in the room...

   It is fascinating to me how other artist do their 'work'. What tools they use and how they make their decisions in my mind defines an artist.   From the information I gathered Gus would often try out actors who did not have agents. He took the polaroids to remember use in visual arrangements with others that he was thinking of casting in the film to get an idea of how they would look together. Often he would write their name and contact information on the back of the polaroid as this would be his only way to find the person if he did decide to cast them.
   (Polaroids, for me, are embedded with instant 60's nostalgia since it was the only camera I remember my father ever having. He bought it soon after our move to America and it became a frequent guest on camping trips and family days at the beach. When he first got the camera he would take photos all the time and these became a documentary of my childhood from 10 yrs of age on. Okay, enough about me.)
     The next picture will be familiar to many. It is of Keanu Reaves. I am guessing he is 18 yrs old here, possibly younger. He starred alongside River Phoenix in one of my favorite Gus VS movies

'My Own Private Idaho'. It was one of the first successful movies about gay men. Gay hustlers no less. I still love the movie. It spoke in a real way about the bonding that takes place between people who share a 'subculture'.
The next picture is of the late River Phoenix who after 14 movies and just as he was rising like his namesake overdosed on heroin and cocaine. In the picture he looks so young and innocent it is difficult to believe. And it makes me sad all over again for the loss...

Next is an icon who appeared in more than one of Gus' films. Perhaps you will recognize the infamous William Burroughs who it seems only does cameo performances. Apparently he was a good friend of Gus VS' and informed much of his work. WB also worked with Gus on music videos. William would recite his poetry and Gus would make music for the poem.

It's a little blurry but I think the picture of Burroughs sort of suits him don't you think?
I took several more pictures of Gus Van Sant's polaroids, some recognizable and some not. First there is Jennifer Connelly again looking quite young...

Then there is this beautiful portrait of David Bowie. That white triangle under the right eye is a classic portraiture technique and suits him well...

Most of Gus Van Sant's polaroids were arranged on a large panel. They were also in black and white since that is what the 665 film came in. There were 140 of them arranged on a 4' x 6' panel. I didn't recognized many of them which is why it was great that Gus answered "Whose this and whose that?" all night.
I heard him say he took his camera to the Independent Spirit Awards when he was nominated for 'My Own Private Idaho' and this is why the 3 Coppola's are included on the giant panel. The Coppolas were up too high so I couldn't get a good shot of them. But you'll recognize this next guy if you are even a little versed in quirky filmmakers....

It's John Waters who has strange black makeup on the right side of his face....
The last of Gus VS' polaroids is a very young Nicole Kidman. She starred in To Die For, made sometime in the early 90's...

       By this point it was time to walk down to the room where the food and wine were being served. They had chicken rosemary sandwichs and lots of makings for a salad and dessert. After all that looking and talking about art a cool glass of chardonnay was in order.
     From there we hit the photo booth which was 3 dollars for 2 sets of 4 different pictures. There was a steady line all night. Most people came out laughing. Cheap thrills, and you even get a takeaway.
     Since Gus Van Sant was in attendance that first night I spent the majority of my time there focusing on his work. I intend on going back to the show on Wednesday when the curators will be speaking about the hows and whys of the show. I will do an entirely different post on Warhol's work. Thanks for reading and as always your comments are welcomed.... yona c. riel

Day two... when your dreams turn to dust maybe it's time to vacuum

2010-05-20T09:38:00.000-07:00

I got out of Susanville at a reasonable hour. (For me 10am is good.) My hopes and expectations for the day were so high they nearly went through the roof of my truck.
My plan was to drive south on HWY 395, through Reno/Sparks and into California to find one of my favorite haunts from the early 80's. I had a girlfriend back then that was building a house for her parents in the area. When I visited her she would always take me in her old Chevy truck to miraculous places. One of those places was Buckeye Hot Springs. Buckeye is seven miles up an unmarked gravel road. Once you find the area you can park in it's a harrowing walk down slimy rocks. Meanwhile right next to the hotsprings the Stanislaus River is crashing down it's bed making melodramatic harmonies.

The local people who know the area often go down in the spring once the snow has cleared and build up a pool for the 120 degree water that comes out of those slimy rocks. If you get too hot in the 'pool' it's just a step over a pile of rocks into 40 degree water. You have to hold on though, especially in the spring because the snow melt makes for a furious current.

As you can see in the picture I was a little early. There is no way my truck was going to make it through even a few inches of snow. Any sane person would have left it at that. But my hopes were so high (especially after finding the dirt road), I locked my truck up and walked up the steep and snowy road till I could walk no more (about 3 miles). A voice in my head was saying 'this is no fun, I'm tired, blah, blah, blah' and another voice kept answering 'just one more hill and if we don't see it we'll turn around'. (yes, I do talk to myself). After about an hour the voice who wanted to turn around finally won. I could feel the tingle of tears start to irritate my eyes. (Disappointment is one of my least favorite emotions.)
So I walked all the way back down the road, and took a few shots of the view.

And a long shot just so I could show you where I was. (which was about 6000ft up on the eastern slope of the Sierra Nevada Range).

I drove back down the gravel road and several minutes later I reached Bridgeport. It's a red-neck town from way back (gold miners and desert rats). It hasn't changed much in the 20 years since I had last been there. The only business I could find open was the bar where I quickly met 'Mr. No' and 'Mr. I Don't Have Time For You'. I asked whether Buckeye Hot Springs still existed. Mr. No said "It's up there alright but if you drive your truck up that road it ain't coming down till the snow melts". Then I asked about Bodie. Mr. No said that was off limits. That someone was up there last week. Caught a ride with someone else. Apparently I have lost my skill at getting information out of red-necks.
So I got in the truck, drove down to the cutoff for Bodie, went around two roadblocks and when I was a mile and a half away I found this sign with a was a big green locked gate that I couldn't drive around.

While I was sitting there reading it and thinking about riding my mountain bike up the road a green 4 wheel drive pickup with a man and a woman in it drove up. The woman jumped out and unlocked the gate. While she was out of the truck I asked her if I could ride my bike up there to the site. She said, 'You could if the park was open. It closes at 3 everyday'. Major disappointment number 2 for the day. So I turned around and took a couple of landscape shots. The sun was just getting low enough to make the snow iridescent.

If I had gone ahead and broke the rules I would have had some backlit ghost town ruins to show you. But as they say 'When your dreams turn to dust maybe it's time to vacuum'.
So I drove down to Mono Lake. It too has changed in since I'd last been there. There was a lot more water in it than I remembered, obscuring the majority of the salt formations that make it amazing.

I then drove to Bishop and checked the pricing on a few hotels. The cheapest was way out of my price range. Besides in the 20 years since I had been there it has changed dramatically. They now cater to people who can afford to have cabins up there and go skiing during the winter. In the spring they cater to those who play golf. Cheapest hotel was over a hundred bucks.
Lone Pine, with a population of 1000 and an all night howling wind turned out to be where I ended day two. I am happy because I caught up on the blogging and the internet was pretty decent. Stay tuned for day three which will be a trip through Death Valley and some ghost towns in Nevada. Thanks for reading.... yona c. riel

day five... Jerome, AZ

2010-05-20T09:10:00.000-07:00

Many years ago when I was 15 yrs old I took my first 500 mile bike ride. It was with American Youth Hostels and we rode from the rim of the Grand Canyon to Wickenburg AZ via HWY 89a. It took us a week and the second to the last night we stayed in what was then a ghost town, complete with a haunted 'hotel'. That is the first I'd ever heard of Jerome and I have had the fondest of memories ever since. So now, 40 years later I had to go back.

These days Jerome is a thriving tourist town, complete with overpriced shops and lots of things to spend your money on. I went into several shops one of which was the Jerome Artist Coop. I talked at length with a 60ish woman who was a fiber artist. There were several interesting pieces to photograph but I limited myself to just a few. First is a painter...I really liked his work but I sent the card to someone without remembering to write down his name.

The next few pieces are assemblages, Jerome style...at least I got the name of the artist in the shot....

I found the subject matter of the next painting, the Sunset Motel, on the road back to California... I wonder now just how many Sunset Motels there are in the US?

Here's the picture I took a few days later of a very old 'Sunset Motel' sign in a tiny town that I swear didn't have a name.. (more on that story later)...

I am pretty sure this was the bldg we stayed in. At the time it was vacant, no beds, no hotel, just a place to sleep. We, all 15 of us, including myself (the youngest) and a 71 yr old guy (the oldest) put our sleeping bags out on the old wooden floor and we all slept together in the same big and supposedly haunted room.

My how things have changed. It is now the Jerome Hotel and a spendy (over $100/night) place to stay. After I figured out I could not afford to stay the night in Jerome I left a few hours later. But on the way out I captured a few images that were of the old Jerome, the one I wanted to see. I love whatever this stuff is lining the sidewalk. Something about big rusty parts gets me every time..

And here is a front yard on the way out of town with lots of very weird yard art... That's an old piano holding up a taller aspen branch playing a blue plastic guitar. His girlfriend (or band mate) is a little more developed being plaster applied to a wire mesh figure and pretty close to looking like a woman (although weathered and somewhat deteriorated).

Right up my alley. And despite the tourist flavor of the strange contraption below I still thought it was pretty cool.

I left town via HWY89A and thought I would stop in Clarksdale and/or Cottonwood, but when I got there nothing perked my interest enough to stop. Also after talking to a 60ish woman in the artist coop (who happened to be a fiber artist and who also told me about this great technique she was doing) I decided against going to Sedona because it would be even more touristy than Jerome. So I turned off HWY 89a onto an even more remote road and that meant I had several opportunities to take photos as I drove down the mountain. I still love driving steep mountain roads with hairpin turns every few miles just like the ones I used to seek out on my motorcycle.

It also meant I got to Arcosanti in time for the 3pm tour. I am going to post more about Arcosanti tomorrow but I will say what a fricken awesome place. Here's a few teaser photos...

Good nite you all and thanks for reading. I LOVE to hear your comments as it keeps me connected to you and lets me know your reading. If your really into it you can google Arcosanti and get an idea of what I am so excited about.

self-discovery walk...

2010-03-08T16:41:00.000-08:00

Every Monday, at least till August, I spend an hour with my favorite person of the moment, my therapist. Besides being wonderful to look at she's really smart and loving. Last week I went in there and told her I was angry that she is moving on (Dallas... long story). This Monday I told her I was really, really sad and afraid that I will not ever find someone like her again. Instead of fixing me, Bean allows my tears room to exist, makes a little container for them to pool up into. Reminds me to be gentle to little Yoyo. After an hour of her most exquisite attention I return to the sidewalk for a blustery walk down to allann bros for lunch. I get 2 maybe 3 blocks down the street and find the first mini miracle of a psyche that's been cleansed.

         Someone has made beautiful art (I'm calling it Flowering Hubcaps) with hubcaps and bicycle chains and adhered it to the side of a building. Love that sprocket on the bottom perhaps signifying that it is all run by bicycle.
     Just before entering Allann Bros I imagine that I see my friend Maram on her bicycle coming home from school and (having just past a theatre where the Hurt Locker is playing) adding to that imaginary scenario that we have a few moments of face to face and I suggest we see it together. "I'll buy," I say in my moment that never happens. Instead I walk into Allann Bros., order my favorite panini and Assam tea, then wander about for a table, with my 'side of soy' precariously balanced on top of my cup of Assam.
     After lunch I head up Fifth street and though I have seen this house hundreds of times before, the lighting is making it stand out more then usual today.

I post it on FB via my Pixster application noting how the white magnolia blossoms are scattered around the stark black volcanic rocks. By now I have noticed I am almost a completely different person than the one who set out just a few hours ago. My psyche has done what I call a '180'.

I continue up 5th street and because I don't really want to hear the traffic I turn south onto Tyler. It is not my usual way home so even without really looking for, I am sure to find more 'mini miracles'. After a treacherous crossing of hwy 99 I come across a mailbox full of surprises.

It's a mailbox for an apartment bldg that has been plastered with words from a few different Magnetic Poetry kits. Being who I am in that moment I decide to stay for awhile and play...

......knowing tomorrow it will be re-arranged again by perhaps even the postal person. Is this just a simple way to keep one worker from going postal? The poetry kit gets the best and the worst of me with a few simple re-arrangements....

Above can certainly be said to be better than below....

But perhaps it is the appearance of the "P" word that has me judging. Or perhaps the "I feel no children feed". Whatever; (I flip my hand in my San Francisco accent) it was fun enough to get me home with some new ideas about how to proceed on a piece I am doing.... and a fun little blog entry to share with all of you.

Artist Trading Card Swap at MECCA...

2010-02-27T16:01:00.000-08:00

It's the last Saturday in February and for the first time in several months I made it to the Artist Trading Card Swap at MECCA. I made a 'good haul' (at least in my book). I went there with 10 ATCs and came home with 8 new ones. Following is a picture of each and a little blurb about the person I traded with.
First Mija finally gave up her marlboro card...

Even though I am no longer a smoker I still have a weakness for tobacco packaging and memorabilia. I traded a card that I had gotten a few months ago from one of the few men who showed up. It was a card with holes in it, all wired for sound 'so to speak'. Mija had her eyes on it immediately. Next I traded with Carole aka CRAY....

It's titled 'Roam'. I have traded with Carole several times before but normally she has something from the 40's like ration tickets or old ads. This was a bit different and hopefully will remind me to roam a little more. Next, I see we had a pro here (meaning she trades on ATCsforALL.com).

This one is titled 'She Wore a Hat' and someday when I have more time to dedicate to this mine too will have titles and signatures. I like the 3 women in this one and the placement of the lettering.

Next I traded with another woman I have not had the pleasure of meeting before. Her name is Dianne and her card had an image of Ayn Rand on it.....

Along with a little quote from her. We both agreed (being about the same age) that when we were in our late teens we thought of Ayn Rand as one of our heroes. Since then, having developed a more mature and liberal point of view, we have both abandoned our idolization of her. Still the card gave us a 'talking point'. Next I traded with Mindy who I have seen at Saturday morning coffee and the ATC swap a few times.

It's entitled 'Solar' and is hand drawn on a red construction paper. Mindy spends a fair amount of time doodling or so it would seem. I suppose I should have taken pictures of the different cards I traded away but I didn't. I did however make a special little series just for this Swap. Somewhere long ago in my travels through trashcans, garage sales, thrift stores and occasional 'street trades' I came across an original booklet for a Barbie doll. It was clearly marked 'copyright 1960'. I love the simple line drawings for what was soon to become one of the most opulent ad campaigns ever. Check it out...

I cut out some words from a french feminist and each card got a little piece of the paragraph. We will see if I get more takers next month. The last two ATCs are from the same young man. His name is Dustin and judging from his looks I suspect he is from U of O. Check out these great little drawings done with sharpies.

I am pretty sure Dustin didn't make it home with even one of his own cards. Everyone was pretty excited to trade with him. The one above is entitled 'Wormwood'. The other one I traded for is called "Pink Floyd was Playing"

You don't have to be artsy to come to the ATC Swap at MECCA. All are welcome. It happens the last Saturday of the month and is an easy way to meet and trade with other folks who like to fool around with collage, drawing, computer art and semi-sculptural mixed media. Really there is only one rule and that is the size.... (2.5 x 3.5 or a 'normal' trading card size). We start at 11 am and usually go for just an hour or sometimes an hour and a half. Hope to see you there next time. xoyo

Aftermath of the show ... musing on Heartwork...

2010-02-20T18:12:00.000-08:00

I remember telling my therapist the Monday before the valentine's show that I was extremely anxious about it (it was to be the first real show I have done since my head injury more than 2 years ago). There was a hint, even on that Monday, that one of my pieces MIGHT be on the cover of our local alternative newspaper. Still, I was suddenly frightened I would not have enough hearts to go around and because I had been working non-stop for two months I was too tired to make anymore.
My therapist in her ever so wise way mentioned I was adding to my own torment with this useless anxiety. Being my own worst enemy, AGAIN. (Turns out I had one heart left... perfect! one for me!)
I have had a week to calm down now and get back to more of a normal routine. Back to my volunteer gig 3 days a week and back in the saddle of my bicycle as often as possible.

Of course I am thinking of ways I can do it better next year. Often while I am out riding with the music singing in my ears I can see in my imagination 'heartwork' I want to attempt. The winged heart did not have a lot of fans this year so maybe next year I can come up with a better design.

3 dimensional hearts have been re-occurring often ...especially a tortured heart splitting open or with a crack in the center.....

The more anatomically correct Mexican heart with fire has been 'swimming about in the back of my

psyche' too.

So we will see what comes next....

On a final note I want to thank everyone who either bought a heart from me or supported me in my first (post traumatic brain injury) show. I feel very blessed that the Eugene Weekly used one of my pieces for their cover and I even wrote in to say "hey, that would be one way to make Eugene more artzy every week.. put a local person's art on the cover".

It is sure to be a more heart-centered year....even if those hearts are primarily in my sketch book or the heart table.

February 11th, 2010.

2010-02-11T21:46:00.000-08:00

     I have long been dreading this day, February 11th 2010. It marks the one year anniversary that I heard from an "ex" via email asking if we might be friends. I, still feeling anger from an incident that had occurred the last time we saw each other, responded with an email asking for an apology. Of course I never heard from her again.
   And the February 11th before that I was 'two months out' from a near fatal head injury, screaming at two people I care deeply for "Why didn't you just let me die!!!" Obviously the meds needed a little adjustment.
     But February 11th 2010 the gauds decided perhaps I could use a little love from the universe. I woke up to the news that a heart piece I had created was on the cover of our local alternative paper, the Eugene Weekly. Suddenly February 11th became one of my favorite days of the year so far. The dreadful depression I have been a slave to for more years than I care to remember seems to be better managed this year (thanks to exercise and 2000 units of vitamen D a day. And the remorse of 'a love best left undone' seems to have relocated itself (at least this week).

For this February 11th I am celebrating loving myself better each day. (Yeah it's a few days early but that doesn't really matter). And the better I love myself, the better I can spread that love around to others in my life. When the day arrives that a special someone comes along she will not be the type to 'kick me to the curb'. She will not be partnered to a substance of which I will always fail against. And I will not feel like I am licking the floor for scraps whenever I want and/or need attention.

No, I am going to start using February 11th as the day to plan my own special Valentine. A day to do some real Heartwork of a very special and personal nature. Perhaps making nuno-felted hearts everyday for the last two months (in preparation for the Valentine's show) has left me lighter in my head. It has definitely left me lighter in spirit. It feels good to be letting the love in and spreading it around like one would spread seeds in a garden. It feels especially good when I give myself a delicious, juicy hug and say 'I Love You'. Like a gently raised kid I am eating it up cause it really is good for me.

Julie's 50th B-day party...

2010-01-24T12:42:00.000-08:00

I am diverting here for a posting to do a mini blog entry of Julie's party last night. If you didn't go or don't know these people there are some unusual photos taken w/o the flash. If you went you might be able to find yourself in some of the photos.

Above is the party girl dancing with one of my best friends Suzie.

This is Julie, the b-day girl and Sandy her partner sharing a cocktail with a weird little LED lite in it... ... one of my fav photos of the night.

Below is the fabulous Elena talking to a couple of ghosts......

Then there was the disco ball installed for the evening in the skylight, swirling light vibrations like happiness energy throughout the room.

Lots of good friends just hanging in the kitchen area...Pam Mathis, who i haven't seen in forever talking with Penelope who is standing next to Carole talking to Suzie... so good to see everyone having a good time...

By the end it was a beautiful blur of lights dancing in the ethers ...

More Valentine's...

2010-01-20T18:56:00.000-08:00

As promised I took a few more pictures today. The first one is of the scarf I made last night. In my humble opinion it did indeed turn out to be a winner. here's the picture:

What I like best about nuno felting (and what makes all that hand washing worth it) is the texture it creates on the silk. This piece of silk has a beautiful lustre to it and thus the texture looks almost like ripples in a pond. Here's a close up:

This scarf is also longer than my other ones (and lighter weight too)... great for spring or autumn wear.

I also took some pictures of the pendants I am working on. First one is a sterling heart set in a silver plated box and strung on rayon with a magnetic box closure. Here's the picture:

The next one is similar but it is a handblown glass bead with a matching lime bead on the top and both are also set in a silver plated box pendant. This one however is on a chain.

The next piece is an african red heart bead (more anatomically correct than our hearts) set on a silk strand. A gold rose was E-6000-ed to the front and small matching african red beads w/black glass czech beads complement the pendant.

Next is a pendant made w/a steampunk button, a victorian reproduction heart and a small sterling goddess charm hanging from the bottom. It is strung on black artificial sinue and accented with black glass spiral beads and vintage white-hearts (they are actually red beads with white centers).

I made one other thing which is a winged heart, nuno and needle-felted with a cord hanging from a card. You can leave it on the card or remove it and hang on the wall or leave it on the card and set it in a frame. It features a reproduction of a brass button that was popular in the early 1900's.

That's enough for now... I will be posting more regularly up until the sale in hopes of getting you to come out and join us for a good time and some valentine's treats. Even though I am official single I buy myself and some friends a Valentine's every year. After all the holiday is basically about Love in the many forms it takes. What could be better than that?

Valentines is just around the corner....

2010-01-17T11:48:00.000-08:00

...and I am making Mixed Media Hearts using handmade nuno felt, vintage skeleton keys and an assortment of beads. They are hard to describe so here's a picture:

Each one of them is going to be very different, perhaps symbolizing something that you love...

I am also making them into hands since not everyone likes hearts. Each one has an old skeleton key needlefelted into it and a strand of beads or a button or some other embellishment.

They come on a blank card with an envelope so you can use them as a card or if you remove them you can hang it on a wall or in the window. You can also use the card as a canvas and frame them. All this for only 18 dollars.

I am also making some new scarves for spring-ish weather. They are not as heavy as the winter scarves I made for Holiday Market. They are still nuno felted onto a hand dyed silk chiffon substrate. Here's a picture of what I have so far:

deep red and gold on a brown silk chiffon

Pink and green on a burgundy silk substrate:

I am making a few pendants too using some very old skeleton keys, steam punk buttons and various odds and ends that I have collected over the years. Here's a few pictures:

And another one...

The sale starts Friday, Feb 12th at Susan Klein's studio on 2nd street. I will send out more details as we get closer to the date. Meanwhile save some time on Valentine's weekend to come shopping. Friday nite we will have wine and probably some chocolate, Saturday we will serve some cookies and Sunday afternoon we are doing a tea with the artists. Thanks for reading and I hope to see you in Febuary. xoxoyo

A New Decade upon us...

2010-01-02T19:40:00.000-08:00

    New Years for me is a capsule of time that I can use year after year to compare 'myself now' with 'myself before'. In my case as of this writing a head injury in 2007 reset my clock so that I only have 3 years worth of comparison; 2007, 2008 and 2009. Still it is an effective measure for me of whether or not I am moving in the right direction.
     Being an artist most of my real goals are not about money or acknowledgment; they are about whether what I have been creating is fulfilling the part of me that lives in the imaginary world of my creations. I have heard 'that part' referred to as the muse, one's soul and the creative spirit. I call it 'the land of the gauds'.
Today I was working on a rusty and weathered piece of metal. Though it has been hanging on my fence for nearly 5 years I have never much liked it and my eyes have slid right past it every time I went in and out of that gate. But suddenly today I saw it in sections and I realized it would make interesting additions to the art I have been working on the past few days.
     I was trying to split open a jump ring to separate the sections and it required precision use of both hands. My left hand has not been fully functional for the past few years and serves as both a symbol and a signal as to how I am doing. In comparison to New Years 2009 I have a good deal more functionality in my hand. And New Years of 2008 I could not even dress myself without the help of a friend.   So though I was initially frustrated by my hand's inability to do what I needed it to do I kept trying different ways to open up the jump ring and separate the different parts.

     Still there will always be a part of me that remembers I once wore a superwoman cape and could accomplish anything (or so I thought). Certainly before my head injury getting the parts of the rusty metal thing separated would have been a 'no-brainer'. The memories of my old self and my new self can make the comparison process a messy, non-linear, ball of confusion. And sometimes, when I limit my comparisons to what my left hand can and cannot do it is very easy to see how much healing I have done. After all I am using both hands to type this very message to you. It has taken two years for the pinky finger in my left hand to learn how to hit the 'a' key instead of the 'shift' key. And I still get it right only half the time.
    In terms of my progression as an artist I made two pieces this year that were very personal in nature and that I am proud of. The first one you can read about and see here: http://yonacriel.blogspot.com/2009/12/re-post-resurrection-of-yo.html . The second one was a piece I started in Oaxaca and completed when I got home. To read about and see this one go here: http://yonacriel.blogspot.com/2009/12/la-madre-de-todas-mis-santos-patronas.html
   Despite having completed a mere two pieces this year, that's two more than I completed last year and thus in my better moments I say to myself, 'you did good, I am proud of you'.
   I won't show you just yet what I am working on now. Let's just say it involves a lot of heart. Once we get closer to Valentine's day I will post some pictures of the pieces I am making for a show I am doing Valentine's weekend. Thanks for reading. And happy New Decade!

My favorite songs discovered this year

2009-12-24T21:29:00.000-08:00

      I don't know if it's his dark moody voice or his equally dark and moody lyrics but many songs by M. Ward have appeared on my playlists this year. I downloaded 'Transfiguration of Vincent" from the libary which I think I like better than "End of Amenisia". Most notable are "Carolina" and his version of David Bowie's "Let's Dance".   The guy is definitely gifted when it comes to lyrics. In "Carolina" he sings he "used to feel like California, now I feel like Carolina, split myself in two". I bet even Tom Waits thought that was a good line for a song.
     Speaking of Tom and good lyricists I think he is one of the best out there. Last year I saw the movie 'The Diving Bell and the Butterfly" and just when it gets really intense Tom starts singing "All the World is Green" extracting uncontrollable tears and some serious shock and awe out of me. It was really hard to leave that movie as they returned to the same song when the credits rolled.
     And then there's Alice. I do have a really good friend named Alice but I am talking about the Tom Waits song with that name. If you have never heard it get the cd of the same name from the library and download it. "....with a secret kiss, comes madness with the bliss, I must be insane, to go skating on your name, and by skating it twice, I fell thru the ice, of al..ICE...".

     Maybe it is because I am in my 50's and I shared similar experiences, but Rickie Lee Jones is another amazing song writer that keeps on giving me 'ear candy' year after year. Her new album "Balm in Gilead" is all good but my favorite is the one she wrote for her daughter's 21st birthday called "Wild Girl". This song has everything that I love about Rickie; from her chords, to her pacing, to her particular way of articulating a verse, this song brings forth those salty tears again and again, letting me know she has hit my spot.
     Okay, yeah, I am a sucker for really good ballads. But I also love a good world music sound. Balkan Beat Box, who was last scheduled to hit Eugene at the Shed a year or so ago (and was cancelled due to imigration B.S.) put out an amazing song called "Ramallah Tel Aviv". We are talking middle eastern rap (just for the record I detest rap music) .... and it was music to my ears. Difficult to describe. All I can say is it makes me wanna dance unlike any rap song I have ever heard.
     Then there's a band called Bajofondo. I got into them because I like 'nuevo tango'. But when I heard "Pa Bailar - Siempre Quiero Mas" I flipped. Beautifully rhythmic. Very danceable. Gorgeous female lead vocals featuring Julieta Venegas.   It gets me all mushy even if I don't understand most of lyrics.
     I also discovered another singer songwriter this year, Devandra Banhart, probably because he was the free single of the week from either Starbucks or I-tunes. Went to the library to see what else he had done and sure enough his album 'Cripple Crow' is a winner. I love "Santa Maria da Feira" the most for it's beautiful vocals in spanish mixed with just enough folky guitar to appeal to a '50-something' like me.
   Perhaps none of these are new to you, but if even one is I will consider my list a success. I would feel even more 'successful' if you left your favorite songs discovered this year. They don't have to be new, just new to you. And thanks in advance for reading and responding.

The resurrection of Yo

2009-12-22T11:06:00.000-08:00

Being an artist, for me, has not always been pretty or fun. Nor does my process fit nicely into the perimeters of a timeline. I can start a project with a ‘guesstimation’ of when it will be done, but I never really know what will happen once I start.

In September 2006, I started a life-size mannequin by covering a foam one (I had laying around) with papier mache. Then, I used the plaster gauze to make a smooth, hard surface to collage upon. I then collaged the entire surface with maps I printed out from various sites I found on the web. In the next step, I laid tissue paper that sewing patterns are made of, and then finally I painted over the entire surface, thinking I was going to sand back through the layers and come up with some interesting texture as skin.

By the summer of 2007 she was completely covered. Her torso and arms were sanded down revealing an unusual textural surface with an occasional word showing through. Her legs had red and white striped ‘socks’. Her face had tiny words embedded deep into her skin and eyes. She sat peacefully in a cross-legged position with her fingers laced together. And I hated her. I just could not make any real meaning out of her even though the surface of her ‘skin’ looked just fine.

     Day after day, my frustration with ‘the mannequin’ grew whenever I tried to work on her. Finally, sick of the frustration, I cut off her arms, then I cut off her legs and I wrote ‘I hate you’ and ‘throw me in the river’ all over her. That day I promised myself, tears flowing, that I would throw her in the back of the truck, drive down to the river and throw her in. ‘She will finally stop haunting me', I thought.

     Then in December of 2007, I had a near-fatal head injury to the right side of my brain caused by a sinus infection. I was in the hospital for a month. By the time I got home I still had very little use of the left side of my body. I could not put on my own clothes, tie my shoes, zip up my coat. Making art was out of the question. But everyday for several months I would walk up to the hospital for my physical therapy appointments then walk back.
     Eventually, I learned to read again, type, use my cellphone and most miraculous to me the pictures inside my brain came back. (I had secretly feared I had lost my imagination). To make art I would collect things in baggies and hang them on the wall and try to extract meaning from them. And I spent a few hours everyday writing. The mannequin was the last thing on my mind though she still haunted me whenever I went out to the shed. (I never did make it to the river.)
     I spent the next year volunteering at MECCA trying to learn how to work with others with my new limitations. The head injury caused a lot of fatigue along with heightened anxiety when dealing with people. The volunteering helped me learn how to negotiate my new limitations.
     When Mija (the director at MECCA) first said the words ‘Art Challenge’ I immediately knew I had to resurrect the mannequin. The moment I saw the old lamp I knew that the lampshade was the skirt I had been looking for. And the base of the lamp would be heavy enough to hold up the mannequin. So inspired was I, that I strapped the lamp onto the back of my bike because I had to start work that day.

This is when it dawned on me that resurrecting the mannequin mirrored my own resurrection from the brain injury.

Everyday, for the next two months, I would find little things at MECCA that spoke to me and I knew they belonged with the Resurrection piece. Death sits on her head to remind me that it is always near, and a skull sits in a closet (or a coffin) on her back to remind me that grieving is a very necessary part of the healing process. As I first said, for me, making art isn’t always a pretty or timely process. But, at least this time, it is what makes meaning in my life.

nuno and needlefelted mixed media..

2009-12-19T17:55:00.000-08:00

     Last winter while I was recovering from a head injury a friend turned me on to nuno felting...(a technique where you felt through a porous fabric like cheesecloth or lace). I was addicted almost instantly. As with any new activity there was a learning curve. I made several scarves using all kinds of fabric as a base. Some I liked. Some not so much.
    For awhile the scarves just sat there in a pile collecting dust. Then one day after acknowledging that this was a process, I hung them all up on my wall in the order that they were made and made a sign "Progression of the Scarflet Species". It helped to know that just because some of my attempts were less than perfect I still learned something from the experimentation.
     This year for Xmas I am making everything (as opposed to buying stuff). A few friends got scarves made just for them. One friend will get something a little different.

I cut the winged portion of the above piece out of one of my 'failed' attempts. I cut the heart portion out of another one of my "less than perfect scarflets". Since I like to mix things up a bit I embellished the winged heart with an old button, several different beads and a leather cord with some red beads on it. Here's a picture zoomed closer in...

Now, lets see who gets it.. hummmm... i think i will keep that to myself a few days longer... xoxoyo

La madre de todas mis santos patronas (the mother of all my patron saints)

2009-12-04T19:57:00.000-08:00

If you been following my blog you know that a month ago I returned from Oaxaca. I went down there to take a class with Michael deMeng. The class was of the mixed media/assemblage variety and it focused on diablos and santos (devils and saints). I had a few ideas about what I was going to do down there but foremost was to celebrate the death of a relationship I no longer wanted hanging around in my psyche. What better place to go than Oaxaca for 'dios de los muertos'.
I packed a rusty old vintage singer oil can into my bags along with several of the paints Michael recommended. I also packed a couple of gears and an old round tin that used to hold saddle soap. Below you will find an image of La Madre in her first incarnation.

By the time I got home I already knew she wasn't done. She was supposed to be the mother of all my patron saints. When I left Oaxaca 'La Madre' could barely stand up without leaning against something. And where were all my patron saints? I liked the singer oil can for a body and I liked the gears. I also liked that I used some tin pieces from Oaxaca like the flaming heart on the front of her body. The wings hung downward like a mother bird protecting her young so I knew those were okay too. First thing I did once I got home is I added a base. It made the whole piece a lot more stable. Then I painted the red lines along the bottom edge of her wings so they would not be so distracting. After about a month of toying around with 'La Madre', I am pretty sure she is done. Below is a view of her in her new incarnation.

The pink and gold spirals going around the base have the names of several made up patron saints written in black. I purposely wrote them in the spirals, in spanish, making it impossible for anyone to read. (I guess I forgot to say before I started this piece that I am not religious and it's just catholic kitch to me). First I made a patron saint for older women who live alone. Then I made one for women who feed the birds and for women with long necks. There is even a patron saint for all the goddesses (diosas) and one for whimsical women. I added yet another heart that I found in Oaxaca to the top of the figure thinking it needed more overall balance. Then I added a glass bead in the shape of a spiral in the center of the base that she stands on. Lastly I wrote her name in gold on the top of the base. "La Madre de todas mis santos patronas".
I'd say she is done. Tell me what you think...

the Thanksgiving Blog.. (it's gunna be long cuz I got a lot to be thankful for)

2009-11-26T14:00:00.000-08:00

     Those of you who have known me for at least 2 years will remember I had a near death experience in December of 2007. The last thing I remember happening that year before going into the hospital for a month was Thanksgiving dinner at Michael's house. So, this holiday is tinted with other meaning for me.
     After close to 2 years of healing I can say I am thankful to be alive. I am also thankful for the numerous people who helped saved my life.
     First, there was George, my neighbor, who 'knew something was wrong' after not seeing me for 5 days and finding me unconscious, so near to death that my imagination was sending me pictures of myself already dead and his wife Betty who insisted I might still be alive and calling 911. Then there was Micki, the chaplain on duty who held my hand and kept vigilant eye contact with me while I was being wheeled around the emergency room, all the while unconsciously deciding whether I was going to stay with the living or pass over to the other side.
     I am thankful to Tina, Suzie, Sandy and Joan and Michele (who drove all the way from San Francisco) for bleaching my house and disposing of everything tainted with the bodily fluids of my dying process and to Tina again for asking my mother to buy me a new bed. I am thankful to Dan, my old boss, for getting a hotel room for my mother and brother during that first weekend when no one knew whether I was going to make it or not.
   During that month in the hospital so many people came to visit me. I know now that all the love and attention is what helped me decide to stay with the living. I am thankful to Carole for getting the Buddhists to pray for me, to Amy for playing french music on her accordian, bringing tears of joy to my eyes. I am thankful to Jennifer who brought me her lucky chinese dragon jammies and later when I could eat bringing dinner and setting a little table so we could eat together. I am thankful to Michele who brought me silly things and made me laugh. And to Maram, who decorated my room with Jewish stars and read me poetry when I couldn't read myself. To Lisa, who lent me her vintage Avengers videos, and to Lanier who fed my cats everyday for a month.
     I am thankful to Candy who brought me magazines and lattes and later when I was home her amazing homemade corn chowder.   And to Joan who came back up from San Francisco and stayed with me for 2 weeks, shooting me up with antibiotics everyday.
    I am thankful for finding Bean, the neuropsyche lady, who became my therapist and continues to lovingly listen to me every week. And to Kendon who asked people to bring me food when I couldn't ask them myself. I am thankful to Pam who wrote me everyday for 6 months and called me as often as she could.
    I am thankful to Suzie who went to every doctor's appointment with me and wrote down all the facts. And to Tina who paid my bills and took the brunt of my negative emotions and who continues to give generously of her time to our undefinable relationship. I am thankful to Alice and Gaylyn and Jill for visiting me whenever they could and spreading their brillance throughout my hospital room.
     And I am thankful to the nurses and doctors who cared for me like it wasn't just their job. And lastly I am thankful to 'the Gauds' who have been with me through out this process which I now understand to be a soul retrieval. I thank you all for loving me and not letting me leave planet earth just yet. I am forever grateful for your love. You are the village that has helped to resurrect me.

Volkswagons, Bicycles and Taxis...

2009-11-23T20:05:00.000-08:00

My first occupation in this life was that of a volkswagon mechanic. Remember the very first 'idiot' book that came out? Well it taught me everything I needed to know about repairing most volkswagons. Imagine my surprise in Oaxaca when every other car was an old volkswagon, usually chopped and painted like the one below. This one was made shorter, into a two seater and I presume it was not originally a convertible. I know it's a bit weird but all the volkswagons made me nostalgic for the 70's. So, I took about 30 shots of the most interesting ones. I won't bore you with all of them but indulge me with just a little browse....

I found this one.. an art car... kinda like one of my bugs from the 70's. I had 20 of them during the 10yr period between 1972 and 1982. Okay enough about the bugs.

The other interesting vehicles i saw were taxis and bicycles. And sometimes a taxi was a bicycle. These little vehicles are not allowed in the city of Oaxaca so you will only see em when you go to the outskirts called Xoxocotlan or Xoxo (pronounced hoho) for short. lastly a few shots of interesting bicycles...

Here in Eugene we are proud of our homemade bicycles but i have never seen one like this here.

The Sand Sculptures of Oaxaca

2009-11-15T17:26:00.000-08:00

One of the surprises for me about Dio de Los Muertos in Oaxaca was the tradition of making sand sculptures. Enormous sand sculptures. Some were easily more than 50 feet high and 25 ft wide.

They started bringing the sand and the bricks to contain it on the 29th of October. By November 1st several sculptures/paintings were well under way both around the zocalo and on one of the main streets leading down to it. Of all the questions I asked I only got one definitive answer about the tradition. The Sand Sculptures/Painting were done by students of the local art schools.

Some were religious in nature but most were depictions of huge skeletons. Occasionally mystical creatures were drawn.
Primarily red, blue and yellow were used but occasionally a golden glitter was added, especially when the drawing was religious in nature.
Some were pretty funny like this last one of a skeleton crawling out of his world and back into that of the living. Beer in hand, smile on his face, it looks like he just might make it back.

One thing is certain, this particular sculpture got his picture taken often during the course of dio de los Muertos.

Sofia Reyes, famous crafter of 'black pottery'

2009-11-08T11:37:00.000-08:00

After a visiting the several shops where they make alebrijos we came upon a tiny town where the famous potter Sofia Reyes lives. Sofia is 90 yrs old. We were so honored when this living legend gave us a demonstration of her technique. She uses NO pottery wheel. Instead she balances the clay on two inverted dishes. The picture to the left shows her transforming a lump of clay into a vessel. Note, only the hands are moving. She has been doing this all her life and has also taught her daughters and their daughters to make the black pottery. The pottery is fired in an outdoor, underground 'kiln' of sorts. It looks like a simple hole in the ground though I am sure there is much more technology to it than that. I had no more room in my luggage by this point so I did not buy anything from her amazing inventory. But many of the group I came with did. While we were in her shop much ruckus could be heard in the streets. Turned out a mini parade was going by with all the town's children dressed as muertos. I went back to sit on the bus with Damien the handsome and flirtatious driver who offered me some local made bread. I had to refuse since most 'local's' food is made where they have no running water and it is way too easy for a gringa like me to get sick. But as I was waiting for the others to return I saw a lovely little old lady walking home in the rain and I took a picture of her thru the bus windshield. I thought it came out pretty sweet. Next entry is a vignette with pictures of the visits to the alibrijas wood carvers....

"It Felt Good", a show at MECCA

2009-10-24T11:22:00.000-07:00

     With a title like that I bet you thought I was going to talk about something else. This will be my last blog entry before I head south to Mexico. Michael deMeng, the teacher has been sending plenty of photos from Oaxaca and I already know I am not going to want to come home. But knowing I have wonderful extended family and friends here will sure help.
     Also the show "It Felt Good" with so many wool creations I am sure it will knock your socks off. Here's my latest scarf. The base layer is a blue silk chiffon that loves to get all bubbly with texture when Nuno felted. What looks yellow in the picture is really a chartreuse that compliments the soft rose colored yarn. This is my favorite combination so far and if I don't keep it for myself it will be for sale in the show.
   I got another picture for you. It is of my tee shirt that I made from several other tee shirts for Day of the Dead in Oaxaca. I love the dreamcatcher image in the center with the whimsical bird and horse on the side. I make these shirts for myself cuz I just love to indulge myself with some wearable ART....
See you when I get back.

A creative's journey: The Felting has Begun...

2009-10-22T21:35:00.000-07:00

A creative's journey: The Felting has Begun...

The Felting has Begun...

2009-10-22T21:32:00.000-07:00

     On Friday, November 7th, just after I return from Oaxaca, I will be part of "It Felt Good", a show at MECCA dedicated to a wide variety of local felting artists. From needle felting to Nuno felting and everything in between there will be much for the eyes to feast upon.
     I intend to have ten new scarves for the show; each one unique in color, material and design. And, this time I am actually going to put sale tags on them.
   In the scarf shown to the left I used a 4 inch wide, black cotton lace with a floral pattern as a base. Then I laid out gold merino wool roving to make for some contrast. Next I made circular patterns using the curly red mohair yarn. Finally I finished it off with some lime green kid's mohair in the center of the patterns made by the red yarn. Red, Black and Green... an old favorite of Bay Area politicos and an awesome combination that mirrors all those bloody leaves that are falling everywhere.
    I hope to see you all there on First Friday. We will have some goodies to munch, a little vino and lots of beautiful felted eye-candy. And I am sure I will have lots of great stories fresh off the road from Oaxaca.

Dios de los Muertos

2009-10-10T21:06:00.000-07:00

     Perhaps because I lived in San Francisco for so many years with it's enormous hispanic community my version of Halloween in much more akin to Dios de los Muertos; a celebration of those who have died.
     Every year on November 1st and 2nd all over Mexico people 'celebrate' the lives of their beloved dead ones.   Lovers, brothers, mothers and sisters not to mention 1st and 2nd cousins and anyone else deemed important. Little skeletons of these special people are made, often doing what the person being honored used to do. In my collection of 'skeletons' one is a camping scene. Two skeletons with yellow hats are sitting under a full moon playing music as they lean up against a Joshua tree. Laying at their feet, is a sleepy eyed dog, just waiting for the next adventure. The most recent addition to my 'skeleton family' is a sexy woman in a red dress showing just a bit of leg. I love the playful nature of Dios de los Muertos which is why I have been wanting to go to Mexico during the holiday for over a decade to celebrate.
     I am so happy to say this is the year. Because (due to my own recent near death experience) I couldn't possibly go alone I am going with Michael deMeng (google him, he's fab) and a group of a dozen or so others.   Michael is an awesome assemblage artist who I met several years ago at Artfest. He was teaching a class on using old polaroids as mini canvases. The end product was a 3 dimensional piece that you looked into as if it was a little world inside a 3" x 3" frame.   I would have dig around really deep in my old files to find the pictures. So you will just have to trust me on this one when i say they were 'fricken awesome'.

It's occurring to me as i write this that both of my most recent pieces have had a distinctly hispanic edge to them. In my piece called 'the resurrection of Yo' she looks to me like she was born and raised in Oaxaca. The piece I did at Art and Soul begins with a drawing of a skeleton's head with a blood red path that flows from the area where the doctors drilled into my head. No wonder the minute I saw the drawing I knew I had to work with it. (There's a small picture below... before I worked with it and another one after. I am aware that many might see it as a tortured soul sort of piece. Especially if you don't notice all the music that frames the collage. But it was really done in the spirit of Dios de los Muertos; a tribute to my previous self and to the new person I hope to become.

Nothing like a 'near death experience' to turn one's life around. And I am so looking forward to this trip to Oaxaca, Mexico and all the transformations it promises to bring. Many, many pictures when I get back, I promise.

Art and Soul and community...

2009-10-05T21:24:00.000-07:00

     I am sitting here in my living room, pellet stove putting out the heat, music singing in the background and I can't help but to reflect on the many incredible moments I experienced during the brief 4 days that was Art and Soul 2009. It is held every year in various parts of the country but generally hits Portland sometime in early October.
     Just last night Mija, Christina, Helga and I were laughing so hard we could barely stop ourselves from wetting our pants. We had gotten together after dinner in our hotel room to share our 'finds' and show each other the art we made in class. It was already 9:00pm by the time we got up to the room. After all the excitement of our little "Show and Tell" wore off, the wine and the chocolate helped loosen our lips and soon we were telling our secret pasts lives to each other. One person's included tales of being a proprietor of LSD during the Haight-Ashbury days. Another's including stories of illegitimate sons. But soon the wine had us entertaining thoughts of the absurd. Someone mentioned suppositories and suddenly the idea surfaced 'next art challenge: things you last put up your butt'. Howling with laughter our imaginations brought us to ever more absurd places until around 11pm we were suddenly too tired to continue.
    After everyone was gone I lay in bed pondering the conversations of the day. Aside from making some amazing art and some even more amazing new friends I suddenly realized my 'artist construct' had dramatically changed.
   I, like many of my generation was taught that artists were tortured souls who had no other means to connect with people. Jackson Polluck got himself so drunk that he killed himself in a car crash, Van Gogh spent too much time alone and ended up cutting off his ear. Seraphine made her own wine and though she sold a few paintings in her lifetime, died in an insane asylum. The list is so long that many of us have been convinced one must be crazy to be an artist. Although I have disagreed with this construct for many years it wasn't until this weekend that I reaffirmed the importance of community. Artistic community. Making art with other people and sharing it. When creatives get together an 'energy' bounces between them in an almost manic manner. Call it what you like but it is so robust I can almost see it's presence. And it is this 'energy' that keeps me coming back year after year to artist retreats like Art and Soul. That, the laughter, the crude jokes and the secrets too. Tonight, I am in love with almost everyone.

Blabbing on about Rob again and the meaning of love...

2009-09-29T20:04:00.000-07:00

Every week Rob Brezsky puts out a little column of jewels (in the form of words). Last week i wrote a bit about his new book but i find myself wanting to write about him again this week. Am I in love?? you may ask. Probably in some form or another. I like peeps who say things that help me to feel good. Share the love as some would say.
So this week what caught my eye the most was this little shpeal...

'"I may not love you," wrote R. R. Doister, "but I can certainly love my fantasy about you." Personally, I've been guilty of embodying that attitude toward certain people in my life. There have also been allies to whom I could have said, "I do love you, although I love my fantasy about you a little more." And it has even been the case on numerous occasions that I've been proud to declare, "I love you even more than I love my fantasy about you." What about you? Where do you stand on the issue? This is an excellent time to get on the righteous side of the great divide, which is to say: Adore your special people for who they really are more than for your fantasies about them."

For my own 'bit' i seem to be struggling with falling in love with the image of something or someone. I have more often than I would like to admit fallen for the way a woman looks or the way she moves or the sound of her voice as opposed to what she is really saying. Lately I have been falling for the excitement of a bigger city (portland) and a living situation in which i can fire up the chop saw in my living room and no one will have a problem with it. Is this somehow a 'low-level' search for my union with my gaud? or is it my firey desire to create whenever i feel like it? Who knows.... but at least I am thinking about stuff before making life altering decisions.
PS. i am listening to 'the black heart procession' this week especially their nuevo tango jaunts like 'voiture en rouge' and 'tropics of love'. If your into accordians and waltz-like music check em out...*

Rob's new book

2009-09-24T10:33:00.000-07:00

This week, with the failure of my computer and other unsettling mini dramas I did not get to do my blog post. But, I do have something to share. Rob Brezsny who does the Free Will astrology column has expanded his book Pronoia. Do you remember when Ram Dass wrote 'Be Here Now'? I was dazzled by all the wonderful drawings and sideline distractions. Rob's book is much the same, a wonderful right brain journey for those of you who are into it...
On a side note this week in his free will column Rob got waaaaaaay political. here's an excerpt:

'During the dialog about health care in the U.S., certain highly relevant facts are never discussed. For example, it's ludicrous for right-wingers to fear that a government-run health system would freshly infect our capitalist system with the stain of socialism. The truth is, America has long had the biggest socialist enterprise in the world: its sprawling military establishment, which is completely paid for by
taxpayer dollars and run by the government! Another unacknowledged fact in the dialog about health care is this: The single smartest strategy for financing a new health care system (as well as dramatically improving the economy as a whole) would be to reduce military expenditures. Americans don't seem to realize that their monstrously huge military empire is a case of supreme overkill: It girdles the globe in ways that are unprecedented in the history of civilization. We have 761 military sites in over 100 countries! I bring this to your attention to illustrate the way that a seemingly serious discussion can be thrown off course and rendered unproductive when it ignores critical information. Please make sure nothing like that happens in your personal sphere in the coming weeks'. The link for Rob's revised book is http://www.amazon.com/Pronoia-Antidote-Paranoia-Revised-Expanded/dp/1556438184/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1253901312&sr=8-1 and at a mere 14 dollars even I with no job can afford it...

Artist Trading Cards and Candy Boxes

2009-09-14T10:51:00.000-07:00

Every month on the last Saturday we hold an Artist trading Card party at MECCA. Although I am currently working on a few larger pieces I love taking a little break to make up some ATCs for the trade. It is like having a wild fling in the middle of a serious relationship (without all the complications of course). This month my love affair came in the form of these strange little candy boxes from china that someone donated. They are too small to work as ATCs on their own so i cut down some Tarot cards that I found to 'frame' them. You can still open the little boxes so inside I put several bits of miniature ephemera; plastic numbers, fortunes from cookies, old stamps, chinese game cards, letters, stickers and whatever else i could fit into the little boxes. If you live somewhere near eugene oregon and are available Saturday, September 26th from 11am til 12:30, come by MECCA with a few of your own cards to trade. It's a fun easy way to have a little creative exchange in your life. And, if you don't live near and want to trade with me, just send me a message via facebook and we can work out the details in private emails.