beastly, wrong. I refer of course to this weather. 103 degrees in Portland yesterday and something like that today. I don't believe in public bellyaching about things that cannot be changed by mere wishful thinking, but man, i just gotta say for the record: this is by far my least favorite kind of weather. Most other kinds I can enjoy. If it is super cold you can bundle up or cuddle up and everything is cozy and nice. But this stuff, forget it. On the bright side: cold lemonade tastes really really really great when it's like this out.
Been busy as usual. Last week spent 5 days in Tacoma at a creative expression workshop, using visual art/crafts means to explore various facets of self. Useful kind of exercise. It was especially good for me as an artist, precisely because the pieces I did were specifically not intended as art but rather as vehicles of inquiry, which somehow freed me up to expand beyond my lazy bounds and work in ways and media I do not usually touch.
Back in town, did some more work over at Peninsula Park Commons and today volunteered for several hours at the Scrap booth/table at the Division/Clinton Street Fair. Blast-furnace hot out there but it was fun hanging out and roping people into playing scrappy-twister. Apparently I am good with kids, because several times now at these sorts of things I have interacted with them in a way that caused someone to remark that I am good with kids. I guess I don't talk down to them, I just relate to them on basically a human level. They are very aware and energetic (usually) and actually smarter than most adults. Haven't addled their brains yet. That'll come soon.
I meant no offense to hippies in the previous posting. By many people's definition I am a hippie: i.e. a countercultural freak of some sort. By other definitions I am not. For example I don't wear tie-dye (and most especially not tie-dye or India-print pants,) my hair is neither long nor white-boy dreadlocked, I never really got into the Grateful Dead (though I don't hate them either, i'm basically neutral on them,) have never even listened to either Phish or String Cheese Incident, and I bathe almost daily. So there you have it. Not a hippie.
To summarize: in the broader cultural-historical sense: I am something analogous to a hippie (along with most of inner Portland.)
In the commercial fashion and pop-cultural sense: I am not a hippie.
And, okay, lots of fun stuff too. Second year of volunteering on the greeting crew at the Oregon Country Fair. Enjoyable time, won't bore you with too many details because I wrote an entry last year and would just be duplicating. I'll say this though. The creative expression there (art, handicraft, and music and other performance) runs in two broad categories: good and bad. Most of the actual handicrafts are good, or at least well made. The visual art (framed drawings and prints, etc.) often atrocious, and the music runs from fantastic (whether old-time, jazz, or non-categorizable) to absolutely dismal hippie jam crapola. Luckily there is always something new around every bend. The best was various combos playing along the pathways saturday night, including members of March Fourth jamming with their horns and drums for what seemed like hours in Chela Mela Meadow. Way better than the "midnight show."
The weakest and strongest point of the whole fair is the clothing of fairgoers and participants. 50 or 60 percent of it is an aesthetic atrocity, i.e. tie-dye and india-print stuff, which no offense to my hippie friends and family (and i love you dearly) is tireder and less creative than a Thomas Kincade print. Just an opinion okay? I just happen to think tie-dye doesn't belong on people older than five. Batik is okay though. Alright? Can I still come to your potluck?
But when people at the fair really do get creative, wow, its a sight to behold. We need these kinds of events and times to really go the extra mile and push the boundaries of what works. What i really appreciate are the people who obviously made their getup themselves with enormous care and imagination.
Three pieces of it! Very weird. I got back from a big weekend camping trip to Walupt Lake (AWESOME camping trip, 30 super Portlandian people plus one super Pittsburghian, campfire food of all kinds, hikes to mountaintops, swimming in the lake, etc) and noticed that three of my framed pen and ink drawings were gone from their lineup on the ledge around the woodstove. At first I didn't pay much attention, thinking i must have moved them to another spot and forgotten. But that is not the case. They are simply gone. I could hardly believe it. I have only one suspect: a sketchy tweeker (i.e. meth-head) friend of a friend of a friend (more or less) who was at the house awhile back during a get-together. He had expressed vivid interest in one of the very peices that has now gone missing, but was disappointed to learn that I was asking a whole 60 bucks apiece (which is still a ridiculous bargain for original artwork.) He told me he would get ahold of me after his next paycheck, but never did. So he is suspect number one and only.
So, what the hell to make of that? I guess it's flattering or something, or a sign of the extreme desirability and collectibility of my artwork (to drug addicts at least.) So line up, legit collectors! Get 'em while they're still cheep!