honeysuckle pickle bear

yup, you heard me.

honey suckle (you know… the flowering branch… in the caprifoliaceae family), then pickle (yes, the food i thoroughly despised until a very recent miraculous experience), and then bear (big brown thing… hairy… likes food).

that’s the name of a brand new climbing route in joshua tree, where there are well over 8,000 routes already.  it resides in a secret location that i am not yet allowed to reveal.  the route was named yesterday (yes, you are getting live coverage… don’t tell anyone i told you) by a badass and burly man named kelly, as he watched todd gordon, a renowned climber and new route activist in joshua tree, do the first official lead climb ascent.  why honeysuckle pickle bear, you ask? 

beats me.

beats the other 4 climbers who were there. 

apparently kelly had a stroke of genius, or divine intervention, and screamed out “honey suckle pickle bear!!” as todd was clinging to the rock halfway up.  no one knows why he said it, or what it means, but it certainly generated an ensuing slew of rude comments regarding pickles and bare things (etc) to heckle todd as he wrestled the wall.  and when it came time to determine what the name of the new route would be, there was unanimous agreement that HSPB must be it.

   

for many years todd held the record for putting up the most new routes in joshua tree national park, although i think recently, after he married, had three kids, and started teaching kindergarten, he’s been surpassed by younger climbers who can afford to spend more than just one day a week climbing in JT.  regardless, he is a legend around here, and in the climbing world in general, where he has done over 1,000 first ascents across the world, and is also known as the first climber ever to do 100 routes in a single day.  in fact, he is writing the new guide book to joshua tree right now.

you can imagine how surprised i was to get a voicemail two weeks ago, “hey alley!  this is todd gordon…”  a scratchy, awkwardly shy but friendly, rambling voice continued on about how he learned i was new to the area and would be excited to take me out with his group of climbers on sundays.

pretty wild.

i feel like i’ve had insane luck since i’ve been here, falling into so many opportunities that i didn’t earn… but this was certainly too good to be true.  and slightly terrifying.  climbers frequently have a reputation for being all sorts of crazy, or living extreme lifestyles, especially some really accomplished ones.  would he be an asshole?  total creep?  live inside a cliff, drinking rattlesnake urine? 

well… learning that he taught kindergarten, i took a gamble against all three.

turns out he is a wildly gregarious and unassuming guy, eyes lit up and an animated smile ear to ear, scampering around with his white socked-toes poking out the frayed holes in his shoes.  he’s a total goofball with an enormous heart, rumor is that he turned his house into a hotel for homeless climbers, or really anybody that needed a place to crash.  he’s always been the guy who helps everybody else out, even people he’s never met, and even (especially) when he has nothing.  now he’s in his mid-50s, has a wife and three young boys who he loves, and after two sundays in a row with him, i feel like i already trust him like a long-time friend. 

i spent last sunday morning climbing with him and his buddy norm, who was visiting from out of town, along with norm’s son.   not his normal ragtag crew, but we strung together some awesome, rarely-climbed routes, including a tough one called Norm (yes, discovered by todd and named after the norm we were with).  for a number of years since they were boys, norm and todd were partners-in-crime as they told their parents they were going “hiking” for a night, and four days later would show up back home with a camera full of pictures documenting them dangling from cliffs god knows where.  they used to camp in yosemite, climb all day, and when groups of tourists would pass by, they’d purposely take 20ft falls, screaming wildly, just to watch the visitors shriek with terror.

yesterday we headed out to climb all day with his normal crew, and that’s when Honeysuckle Pickle Bear happened.  so did Lost in the Maze, and Uncle Balzac (yes, believe it or not, named after a character on one of his kid’s TV cartoons), and another wide crack route that has yet to be named.  all these routes are considered “previously unrecorded”, so, to say the least, it was an epic day!  for me, who is still getting used to outdoor climbing in general, it is absolutely un-real to be out with these guys, hearing their wild stories, and letting them send me up on routes i’d never touch otherwise.  and routes that no one has ever seen! 

i never expected to be so lucky.  one thing i’ve noticed here, more than anywhere else i’ve lived, is that as soon as people find out you live here, you are immediately, and without judgement, part of the family.  i went to grab a kombucha at ricochet, a hole in the wall vintage clothing store that has two barstools, and sells homemade organic date shakes and ginger chai alongside cowboy boots and homespun kitchen aprons.  the woman at the old register asked where i was from.  upon telling them i just moved here, immediately her face lit up, and she said “come on back!”  and brought me around into the 5’ x 5’ kitchen to introduce me to the other three guys working there, and tell them my story. 

it was no different with todd.  he was so excited when i originally talked to him on the phone, and eagerly welcomed me in (even offering help with non-climbing things, like tips on which grocery store to use or rides to the airport) without ever having met me.  when we climb, he can’t wait to watch everyone else on the routes, and he’s been snapping pictures left & right, like a proud parent, sending them to me ASAP when he gets home, and thanking me (thanking me??) for a great day.  his group of friends are equally wild but wonderful.  some of these guys, forget about fame or notoriety, have just spent more days on a rock wall, climbing routes, than almost anyone.  one of them lived in a cave for 5 years (literally), and has essentially never done anything else in his life aside from climb.  he’s never been to a dentist, but he’s scaled el capitan at least 30 times and been on the cover of climbing magazine “mmmm, just twice”  he says shyly.   yet he couldn’t care less what the world thinks about him.  with all of them, it’s not about ego, it about loving being out in the park, hanging out, telling stories, the allure of a route, the adrenaline, and the thrill of true discovery every time.  they say you learn best from climbing with people well above your difficulty, and it’s obviously right on.  but what i’m loving far more, regardless of whether i get any better, is the approach and the attitude, and the way this sport brings you together with yourself and others in such a profound way.

i’ve never experienced anything that compares to the rush i get from being out there on the rock.  it requires so much focus, and so much thought, and so much feel.  the ways you intimately connect with your brain, your body, the rock itself, and the other human at the ground who holds your life, i guess literally, in their hands… is un-freaking-believable. 

and it doesn’t hurt to turn around and look out at an absurdly beautiful landscape either…

tragedy strikes

i didn’t think i would have the strength to do this.

but it is only right for you all to know sooner rather than later.  it is with a heavy head and a hollow void in my heart, that i share the tragic news that cling has died.

he was found at approximately 6:42pm on monday, october 10th, strung out in front of my woodstove, head still raised, but left arm completely missing, and a trail of blood leading across the handmade tile towards the wall.  it seems that while i was away in the studio, he snuck out for some exploring, and was taken advantage of by the cruel, ugly hair-tufted roadrunner who hangs around my porch.  i wish i could blame it on the cats, but it seems a deed too cold-blooded and merciless, and performed too exquisitely, even for a feline.

aside from losing my best friend and long-toed desert companion, at the merest beginning of our treasured time together, the hardest part is imagining poor cling, on the verge of death, slowly dragging himself with every last ounce of energy, back into the cabin to find me.

it takes me back to the day at the dentist’s office in fourth grade, when we got a call that my pet rabbit, bunbun (or samantha, it’s unclear why i named her this as well), had fallen through the bottom of her cage, broken all her bones or been killed by another animal, and slinked her way, dying, onto our stone walkway, where she finally collapsed.

well... the desert is an unforgiving place.  and as steve always likes to say (to justify leaving his metal surfaces dangerously pointy), “nature has a sharp beak”.

cling, i will never forget you.

 

we had a proper burial after sunrise this morning, complete with the only 2 wildflowers i could find in a 0.5 mile radius.  thanks to mr. adam ezra olshansky, a special song was written, recorded, and sent via iphone, to be played for cling as he laid to sleep in the sandy ground he loved so dearly.

in case anyone would like a copy, feel free to let me know.

ode to cling 

cling, cling, you cute little thing

somebody killed you and bit off your wing

cling, cling, to you now i sing

i hope that a flower grows from you this spring.

kleenex, cupric sulfate & cling

so my lizard and i have been spending some quality time together lately.  long affectionate stares, upward dog sessions, we even shared the toilet paper once.  i figured it was only appropriate that we immediately get on a first name basis.  steve has a knack for naming (his cats are blacky and stripey), and seeing as i came here to learn everything from him, i went with my gut, and named my lizard cling.  we are becoming fast friends.  he may be tiny, but he sure gets around my little cabin.  when i’m in the studio, he loves to hang out above my bed, front feet on the ledge of my window, peering out.  eagerly watching for my arrival, i’m sure.  this morning when the sun woke me up, he was about 3 inches from my face, sitting atop my book!

the weather this week made me so excited for the desert fall, when i can light the woodstove at night and cozy up in the cabin (and up the ante for cling & i on our romantic evenings).  believe it or not, it does get cold in the desert!  we had a rude awakening this week – after 100 degree days over the weekend, a giant storm blew in foreboding clouds and a cold front off the coast, and it’s been down to 30 at night.  what we lack in rain, we make up in wind.  it was so bad on wednesday that half the desert blew into our studio and we had to spend the entire morning thursday cleaning up shop.  steve’s kinetics were seeing a life they never knew they had!  

despite that interruption, we’ve been doing a lot of finishing this week.  the three pieces i mentioned in my last post are finally coming together.  but the process has been the best part.

first of all, i had my first patina experience.  steve has pretty rigid feelings about the finish on his pieces.  as with his house, the notion is always to design a piece so it gets better with age.  that generally means no heavy polishing or shining, except in the case of stainless steel, where it doesn’t run the risk of rusting, and the point is to be a stark contrast to the other metals, or to rock, or what have you.  even still, we only clean up the stainless enough so you remove the heat patina induced at the welding joints, and so the piece looks uniform (many times he is working with recycled materials so they are dirty to varying degrees).  occasionally here or there he has tried out some natural-looking patinas and been pleased.  but the goal is always to authentically reflect the material.  so steel is the one exception where he frequently applies a patina, to induce the rusting quickly.  it looks absolutely wild at first, and mellows into a beautiful reddish orange hue over time and weather.  

remember the 9 ft tall base i welded, and subsequently spent 4 hours grinding to a shiny surface whilst dominating a book on tape?  that was to even out the surface and make it rough, so the steel would accept the patina.  the piece is a kinetic (one of my all-time favorites of steve’s, i can’t stop looking at it in the studio), and in classic steve-style, the base is a tall, clean geometric form, designed to be a warm and evenly rusted steel.  mounted on it are two large and gleaming stainless pieces that are wind-activated to swing and rotate in different directions.  in still weather, they ultimately park in a very carefully chosen orientation.  after all the welding, measuring, and balancing is finished, the last step is applying the patina to the base before mounting all the pieces.  this is a painfully simple but ridiculously gratifying process.  we first made a mixture of cupric sulfate (people buy it as a root killer for trees), which steve wide-brushed and drizzled all over the piece in a purposely-messy manner, while i lightly heated the metal using the oxy-acetylene torch (heat helps the chemical reaction happen).  this turned the shiniest silver into a beautiful barn red copper color, with so many incredible variations happening that i had to actively suppress my wowww-ing in order to not sound like an idiot in front of steve, and to focus on the torch in my hand.

next, came the exciting part.  with steve i am learning that the word exciting actually means dangerous.  it’s becoming easier and easier to see through his gentle demeanor to his race-car-engine-building past.  don’t be deceived by his retro pink 1975 patagonia fleece or his loyal love for birds.  he’s a manly man, and a damn tough one.  you can see just by looking at his hands.  he’ll just as soon shoot feral cats from his bedroom window (but this only to protect blacky, of course).  actually, it’s better than that.  he cocks the gun before he goes to sleep, puts it next to his pillow, and shoots right through the screen when he hears it in the middle of the night, because any other wasted movements would scare the cat before he had the chance to kill it!  (ruth is shaking her head the entire time he’s very-seriously explaining this rationale).   truth is, he learned that the hard way, by narrowly missing the cat the first time.  it drug itself, bleeding profusely, across the courtyard, through the studio, and up the hill out onto their dirt road.  the next morning he snuck out with ruth while she was watering the cacti, and tried rinsing away the blood tracks so no one would know!  the neighbor approaches, tracing the tracks towards the riemans’ house, and steve quickly says, “yup!  must’ve been a coyote got’m!  heads up - looks like he was headed your way!” 

anyway, the exciting part is now applying the favorite combination of ammonia and bleach.  steve has me fill two squirt bottles up, one from a gallon of bleach (which reads:  CAUTION!! DO NOT USE IN THE PRESENCE OF LIQUID AMMONIA), and the other from a gallon of ammonia (which reads:  CAUTION!! DO NOT USE IN THE PRESENCE OF BLEACH).  steve chuckles, as he takes one in each hand (at least wearing gloves this time) and showers them simultaneously over the entire metal surface, saying “whenever i see something that says, ‘do NOT do X,’ then what i immediately run and do, is just that!”  we then take a giant old sheet of painter’s plastic and wrap the entire thing in it, tucking it around in no particular manner, and carefully carry the 9 foot metal body bag to the corner of the studio to sit overnight.

i spent friday morning buffing the other two components to this piece.  they are stainless steel composites, at least 5 feet long, which are mounted on two different bearings atop the 9ft base.  buffing is essentially glorified dentistry, performed with a power tool on giant metal jaws, attempting to clean the myriad of heat-induced patinas from all the welded joints and knobs and nooks. with my safety-glassed eyes hunched 4 inches from the piece, contorting my limbs however necessary to reach each cranny, this happens to be the one studio job where i feel like a successful dr. welsh.  

just before lunch friday, the moment of truth arrived.  we took the body bag and the two buffed stainless kinetic pieces outside to the windiest spot on the property, and assembled the whole thing atop a thin flat stone pedestal steve has drilled for it.  unwrapping the plastic around the steel base revealed the most incredible rusted colors.  not only is it exploding with burnt orange and red browns, but there’s just about every color of the rainbow subtly showing through… blacks and purples and copper greens, splattered and wrinkled and pouring all over the surface.  it could not be a more perfect contrast to the bright stainless pieces that are mounted atop it.  we stood back 20 feet and watched the wind bring it to life, and i’m not kidding, i got goosebumps.  steve is silent for 3 minutes and then chuckles and says, “well…. sure looks a lot smaller when you get it outside, doesn’t it?!  little puny thing…”  we both laugh.  

the other main piece we’ve been working on has finally been finished as well!  this is a small wall-hanging kinetic made out of stainless steel that i feel especially attached to.  not only is it a piece i’ve done the majority of on my own, but it’s been a long and wild learning process for both steve and i.  we made the round composite with the vision of it sitting atop a 3-dimensional steel horizon line of some sort.  i spent hours drawing up designs, making models out of cardboard, and actually welding together those parts, and we were continually unsatisfied.  even steve came up with TWO brilliant 2am work session ideas that we put into action (involving hours of measuring, machine shop-ing, and assembly) and then nixed right at the last minute. 

man, it was frustrating.  

 

but it has taught me more about the artistic process than almost anything, and inspired a slew of incredible discussions between steve and i.  as he loves to say, “an artist is always a little bit unhappy”.  and it’s totally true.  anyone can bring a piece to 80% or 85%.  but getting that perfect finish to push the piece over the top and make it really come together in a powerful way is truly difficult.  so much hinges upon the presentation of a piece.  you can make a beautiful part, but ruin it with a careless presentation.  and vice versa.  you can take a kleenex, “even a crumpled up, used, shred of kleenex,” says steve, but with the right presentation you can suck someone in and convince them that what they’re looking at is the most important thing in the room.  we could have stopped any number of places along the way, and i guarantee we’d have a piece that everyone would have liked, and someone would have bought.  but you have to go with your gut, even though it involves working (sometimes far) backward, digging in, and dissecting, on every level, why you are unsatisfied, what specifically is lacking, and how to possibly fill that need.  it’s abstract problem solving, it’s mysteries and discoveries where the currency is human sensation and emotion, and it’s that type of thinking that makes my brain swell and surge.

needless to say, we now have a small wall hanging piece that we are both excited about, and will be for sale at the studio tours oct 22-23.

speaking of which, forgot to tell you all about that.  every october, the famed art community here along highway 62 opens it’s galleries and artist’s studios to the public.  they are known as the highway 62 art tours (www.hwy62arttours.com) and are legendary, partly because the artists who have chosen to make the desert their home are a tremendously inspiring and unique group.  the tours take place over two successive weekends, where you can travel well over 30 miles from studio to studio, and there is a ton of live music, performance art, and other entertainment.  steve is hosting on the first weekend (22-23rd), and so we’ll be here at the studio from 9am to 5pm all day saturday and sunday, schmoozing with visitors and hopefully selling lots of pieces.  both the two pieces we finished this week will be up, as will the other one we’ve nearly completed, which was technically our first tiny piece together.  i’m also secretly really excited to sneak away to some of the other artists studios to visit myself.  

part of what i truly admire in steve is that he mostly creates just for himself, only in the sense that he’s not inspired or driven by whether he’ll sell a piece or not.  people think that’s crazy.  but he’s motivated by (and he says this as he taps his chest with the tips of his fingers) something really moving him from within.  he wants to believe, and does believe, that even one person can make a difference.  his way of making a difference or an impact on human lives is through his art.  but that’s freaking tough.  especially as a visual artist.  for him, his pieces are sewn 6 layers deep with meaning and message, but not everyone else sees that.  how do you move people in a powerful-enough way to really hit their heart, affect them, inspire change?  part of the message, at least, has to come through humor.  it’s the easiest way to relate to everyone, and negativity gets you nowhere.  steve says he’s toyed with some more blatant, or more in-your-face pieces.  he did a series of paintings on the exxon valdez spill that were pretty aggressive, but they just didn’t feel like him.  we could throw a mini bulldozer on one end of the balanced kinetic, and 3 tiny birds on the other, but then where is the line between art and illustration?  illustration answers questions, art asks them.  you just don’t know…

the other night i took a hike at sunset and at moon rise, up ryan mountain, the highest peak in joshua tree.  because it’s far out in the middle of the 800,000 acre national park, and was after a long day in the studio, i didn’t quite make it early enough to hit the top before dark.  but i watched the colors light up the rock formations all across the park as i gained altitude, and when the cool air was finally jet black, i turned on my headlamp and hiked down.  i cooked some soup on a giant boulder with no one around, and stared at the stars, still in disbelief that this is my backyard.  spending hours a day with steve, living amidst his sculptures, and being surrounded by this absolutely overwhelming landscape makes me conscious every day that we are so human, so tiny, so unwise for how we praise ourselves and our things, compared to how we treat each other and this world.  and in the wake of steve jobs’ death, it’s a humbling reminder that there is no reason to settle, no reason to listen to anyone but your inner self, and no excuse not to seek out pursuit of something you truly, truly love.

steel metal

coincidentally this was the name of the special duo my cousin kyle and i formed when we were younger.  we also had (have) a spy agency, but i’m not allowed to tell you the name of that.  steel metal was just our public cover, and sounded cool when we played cards and stayed up late eating beef jerky.  little did i know those two words would evoke a whole new world at this point in my life…

it’s officially been a week that i’ve been working with steve now!  i’ve learned upwards of 15 different machines and power tools, including the two major types of welding (TIG and MIG), sandblasting and plasma cutting, and already have plunged full-on into multiple different projects, including finishing one small hanging piece, getting halfway through another, and also helping to finish a large kinetic piece of steve’s that is one of my all-time favorites.  i’ll hold out to show you pictures of these until they’re really finalized…

it’s amazing to think about how much has happened, how much autonomy and freedom he’s already given me (whether i want it or not!), and how damn much i’ve learned, on so many levels, already.  

a typical week day looks something like this:

6:30am – first curve of sun seeps out above the east edge of pipes canyon and i’m instantaneously awake.  my house is like a giant fishbowl perched on the opposite edge, my north and east-facing walls are solid windows, and there’s no escaping the desert light, so i am my own alarm clock.  having forever been (and i don’t see this changing) a stayer-upper-until-5am-er, this new type of thing they call waking up at a decent hour is something i’m feeling especially proud of right now.  in fact between this and the pickles (see previous post), i could come back to the east coast already and call this a success. 

7:00am – im soaking in the porch morning and hear a grinning steve & ruth rounding the gravel side of my house for our morning walk.  they have a 2-ish mile loop they do every - and i mean every - weekday morning, and have been for the 30+ years they’ve been living here.  they go down across the canyon, along it, and back, finishing up the sandy wash that leads to the house.  they eagerly asked if i would join them every morning, and not only is it an incredible hour of light and chance to reflect on the day, but the act itself is a beautiful thing to be a part of.  the two of them inhabit their own world, which i am only beginning to grasp, but between them exists a rythym, in every sense of the word, like nothing i have ever witnessed.  i walk a half step behind them so that i can just try to contain my smile the majority of the time, while i listen to their patterns of stories and ideas and observations and questions, and watch their quick steps part around each creosote bush and immediately join back up again in sync.  so far i have learned everything from why the desert “stink bug” is constantly doing headstands (he’s collecting the miniscule bit of dew that has accumulated on his back overnight), to which film is one of malick’s best, to how to effectively kill a feral cat (this one’s a good story for later), to jeremy rifkin’s 5 pillars of energy policy.  while we walk, literally no bird or seedling goes unnoticed and undocumented.  i love every minute i get to spend with the two of them, but in the mornings i feel especially swept in their tide, and i excitedly oblige.

8:00am – back in the cabin, big bowl o granola and fruit with a mug o coffee on my porch and i’m raring to go…

9:00am – steve and i assemble in the studio and dig right in.  this usually begins with him revealing an idea he had in the middle of the night… it is almost always a brilliant solution to a problem or question we had left to mull the evening before.  he calls this the “2am work sessions”, and grins as he says, “i tell ruth, whaddya think?  i just lie there?!?!”   we eagerly crank it out til noon-ish, and it’s usually the best part of the day.  he says he always does his important work in the morning, when the brain is fresh and the energy is there.  the afternoon is for the “mindless” stuff, when he can throw on an audio book and cruise.  (since dealing with machines that send sparks flying clear across the studio, i am a little slower to categorize these things as “mindless”).  nonetheless, i agreed to let him pick me up another michael cunningham book (specimen days) at the library when he went to get his (the hours).  he taught me to MIG weld steel and then grind it on friday (this is the process where you lay down a bigger, rougher type of weld, and then grind the whole metal surface so it looks shiny and will evenly accept the patina that makes it looks nice n rusty again).  i welded together a 9ft tall base to one of his pieces, and then ground the entire thing in the afternoon, which took 4+ hours.  it is incredibly tedious, so i finally understood the serious appreciation he has for books on tape!  the two of us cruised along with giant muffler earphones and fanny packs from the 70’s that housed $5 (yes… $5.00) walkmans.  we traded grins and thumbs-ups across the studio every 20 minutes to confirm each other was alive and happy.  although imagine a chuck norris version of sandpaper for steel, mounted on a giant spinning power tool that sends a flood of sparks shooting out literally everywhere across the studio (and some back at my face).  thus, while i got through half my book, i will not be accepting questions regarding the plot.  hopefully by the time it’s my turn to listen to the hours, i can zone off in virginia woolf land and not are-my-fingers-still-there-land.

12:00pm – lunch.  me, my porch, handmade chairs, and as much water as i can guzzle.  oh, and elaborate (but short-lived) hand washing.

1:00pm – back at it.  generally steve has already had another of those brilliant ideas (i’ve come to accept that if 5 minutes has passed since something’s been unresolved, he’s bound to chime in any moment).  by 5pm my arms are getting noodly, my brain is slowing to a crawl, and i’m thinking about sneaking a little downward dog in the corner of the studio.  i look over at steve, who’s always beaming back at me or ready with some hilarious comment, and am amazed that at the age of 70, he is still slinging around the heavy machinery as if it were nothing.

5:30pm – we give in & clean up the shop for the day, sneak up to see ruth (who runs all the business operations) and have a beer.  i usually sit through steve recounting one or two good stories of me from the day.  until thursday his favorite story (and he has now told it 5 or 6 times to different people) was the day he taught me to use the plasma cutter.  it, too, send sparks shooting out, hopefully downward, but sometimes back at you, and they definitely ping up your clothing (or your skin), so it takes some getting used to.  he showed me how it worked, handed the machine over to me, and disappeared across the studio.  i took a deep breath and went to town.  about 10 minutes in i hear him cracking up uncontrollably.  apparently i had THE most serious and dramatic facial expressions going on, and steve could not keep it together.  5 seconds later i burned a hole straight through a yellow and brown blanket covering another of his machines, ed.  try not to look at my photos too closely.

thursday, though, i managed to shock myself with the TIG welder.  this is very common (and steve had warned it would happen sooner or later) if you forget to place a cable somewhere to ground the machine, or (and this is what i learned) if you hold your hands far enough from the metal you’re welding that you become the ground anyway.  the noise (which is a loud, sustained ZAP like lightning striking an electrical wire) and the sight (a green glowing arc from the machine to the opposite hand) are generally more alarming than the actual pain (though my thumb was throbbing for the next 2 hours), so it scared the living sh**T out of me and i shrieked like a baby pig.  again, steve’s laughter rang out across the quonset hut, knowing exactly what i must have done.  

that episode was quickly dwarfed by the lesson on sandblasting.  my favorite moment so far.  steve uses a sandblaster to impart a subtle finish or texture to metal sometimes (and has used it frequently on watercolors as well as on glass).  it’s a big tub on a cart connected to an air-pressured hose, like the kind you see the evil pesticide sprayers using.  he buys silica sand to fill the tub, which is apparently pretty bad to inhale.  “so, first,” he says, “you need to wear this little respirator.”  by “this little respirator” he means a GIANT double-breasted (this isn’t standard terminology, but i’m goin with it) respirator like you see in the biohazard labs during the movie hot zone.  you’d think i’d feel right at home.  well, he popped the bugger on and tightened the hell out of it.  i could barely swallow and my upper lip was sweating uncontrollably within 4 seconds of desert heat.  “now,…” he says, “what happens is that the sand sprays back at me and gets all caught in my eyebrows.  then, when i’m bathing or sleeping, it dribbles down into my eyes…. and i just HATE that!” (now i’m laughing).  “oooooo-kay” i say.  “so what i do,” steve continues as he holds up a dirty looking, fluorescent green colored wad of fabric, “is wear this little pillowcase that ruth made me, and cut a tiny slit in for my eyes!”  and he proceeds to put the bright green pillowcase over my head, over the respirator, and pull the 2-inch slit right over my squinting eyes.  to make things better, the slit is cut directly over the side seam, so the pointy part of the pillowcase is sticking straight up like a cone on top of my head.  “THEN,” he says, “you put on the safety glasses over the pillowcase, and headphones over that!”  as soon as we get it on, complete with my heavy duty gloves, i try to turn to look at him (can’t really even move my neck because the respirator is so tight) and we both start cracking up so hard we can’t get a single word out for 2 minutes.  “okay!” he sarcastically cackles… “i’ll be in the studio…. have fun out there!”

man, do i love him. 

in addition to learning to use large machinery, i’m learning just as much (or probably more) about all aspects of the creative (and non-creative) process.  steve has one main goal for every piece he makes.  that is to balance three things: the CAT (concept, art, technique).  concept is of course the message he wants to convey and the themes, symbolism, meanings woven into each other.  the art refers to all the “standard stuff you learn at art school” (i.e.  warms advance, cools recede, the eye is drawn to sharp contrast…etc).  and the technique is a lot of the hubbub i just described above, the part that requires less active brain.  steve says his biggest goal is “to achieve a perfect balance between those three things... and i told ruth, when i do, i’ll retire!”  his fluency and lucidity with each of those 3 things is overwhelming in itself, so i am still just loving absorbing it all.  every day we sit and stare at one of our half-finished pieces, tinker with it, talk about it, and tinker more.  discussing these questions (what works, what isn’t working, why is it or isn’t it) literally feels like crack for my brain.  i absolutely love it.  the act of conveying feeling and affecting another being through an abstract medium is so pure and reaffirming.  and wrestling with how that conveyance happens gives you stunning windows into the human brain.  my favorite writer, bob hicok, says it simply in his self-written biography:

“I write poems and stories. I have little faith or interest in my thoughts on writing. Those who do a thing are often too close to be perceptive commentators, particularly where love is involved. I love writing, maybe most of all because it doesn’t matter, because poems don’t lift bridges or make refrigerators shinier. The nakedness of the endeavor—just one person, sitting at a desk, trying to express something they feel in a way that will allow others into their mind—may be among the most human things we do...”

i dreamed of doing an apprenticeship with steve because, of course, i admired him so much as an artist (wouldn’t anyone kill to learn from him?!).  but there was a more vague gut feeling i had, something harder to define than the art itself, but the entirety of the process, the whole of his existence and web of thought.  i was ready to bank all my cards on this – just to be around him.  i didn’t have much more of a tangible goal than that. 

somehow, that was enough for him, and somehow, without knowing what the hell an apprenticeship meant either, but believing our brains aligned enough that this would work out, he has so far filled every undescribed expectation i had, and more.  i’m just excited to keep holdin on and takin in….

will tell you more on life outside the studio soon… j-tree is thus far all i’ve hoped it’d be… among many highlights, have already met some incredible people out here, attended an open-air birthday party & potluck for a 98-year-old woman, gone to a giant orchid festival, seen gillian welch and dave rawlings put on a show to 700 people (you could hear a pin drop) under a starry desert sky with wodsmoke and BBQ and tequila in mason jars, awoken 4 times around 3am to coyotes so loud i can’t hear myself speak, hit the double feature (straw dogs & contagion) at the desert drive-in (BYOPAB – bring your own popcorn and booze), and befriended a lizard who lives with me and eats my spiders. 

now just itching to get my climbing hands on some of those j-tree rocks!!  looks like it’ll be very soon…