A few years back I was travelling from Southern California for a show in Bellevue – right next door to Seattle. It’s a two day drive, pretty much up the entire west coast of the US. I had kinda planned on stopping just north of the Oregon border, but didn’t make firm plans as I figured I wasn’t sure if my tiredness would get me that far, or my awakeness would let me press on further. I’d actually spotted a well-priced motel in my aim area, and sure enough, just as California disappeared in the rear view mirror, the eyelids started to droop.
I pulled off the road at what appeared to be a motel-bearing town in this rural stretch of Interstate 5. Miraculously I passed the very motel I’d seen on the internet. The parking lot was only half full. It was late, though. The office only had a dim light on. I knocked on the door. In a few moments the motel clerk appeared.
In fairness to the man, he was obviously of Indian origin – India Indian, not Native American. Different culture. I asked ‘Is there room at the inn?’ ‘No,’ he replied. Oh, ok, nevermind, I thanked him and turned to leave. I’d gotten as far as the truck when he came out after me. ‘I have room at the other end!’ Huh?
Turns out he’d misheard me as ‘Is there room at the end?’ and had completely missed the Christmas reference! In his further defense, he’d only been in the US about 5 months.
We all tend to get a little bit bitchy when we’re setting up. Everything has to look nice, plus we have a deadline to get set up, and we’re perhaps discovering something that’s forgotten or broken or misplaced. Maybe we’ve had to wait in line a long time to get loaded in.
Last year at Sedona, there was a couple in the booth across from me who were setting up. I’d not met them before and no, I don’t remember their names, so this is incognito. This husband and wife team had a range of items, some of which went on a panel on the back wall of the booth, and many that went on tables at the front. As they were working together, they were constantly bickering. This goes here, that goes there, where’s such and such, I need your help with this, I can’t I’m busy doing that. On and on.
After about 30 minutes of listening to this banter, which was getting increasingly harsh, I walked over to them and asked “Do I need to throw a bucket of water over you two?” Turns out a good laugh did help, though they admitted that though they have been married many years and still love each other, they’re usually at each other’s throats during setup.
This was inspired by my ex’s doormat, which said ‘Welcome Fishermen and other Liars’.
They say that fishermen will lie a lot.
They’ve time to make up many a fishing tale,
sitting by lake or stream, all day they’ve got
to turn that fingerling catch into a virtual whale.
And when they come home with a two-pound trout,
the only the only worthy product of the day
they’ll think next time the wife won’t let them out.
“You should’ve seen the one that got away!
a five-pound beast, it nearly broke my pole,
my buddy saw how hard it fought the line,
it nearly pulled us both out of the boat,
an eagle swooped and snagged it just in time.
Someone will help with just how to begin
so get out there and fish and reel ’em in!
Last weekend in Palo Alto, we were setting up booths – we start early because there is only one line of traffic allowed down the streets because of the way we set up, so the people on the non-traffic side get there at 5am to set up. By the time we’re done there’s usually a little trash that comes out of the process, and there was with mine.
Walked down the street a little to where I knew there was a trash can next to a neighbor’s booth. This is what I found.
Nice cover. Is it incognito? I wonder which artist got paid to design that?
I asked the artist next to it if it was something of his he’d rested over the can. No, the city people had come round and put the covers on. What? On a day when they expect a lot more people than usual and have many food stands, they close the trash cans. It did not make sense. Fortunately I have a few plastic bags in the box of tricks so I deployed my own trash can behind my desk for myself and my neighbors to use.
Later, when going to the restroom, I found the city had deployed larger trash barrels near the food stands and porta potties, marked recycle and landfill. It’s always interesting to go to different cities and find what is and isn’t regarded as recycle in different places, but I’m not going to do a survey on that. life is not boring enough.
If there’s a challenge for a sonnet, it’s when the power goes out and it’s soooooo quiet.
Silence can be the loudest sound of all –
the emptiness between the beats of heart,
the absence of now-frozen water’s fall
from rock to pool, in winter. When we start
and fail to stop and listen to each sound
that tells us so much if we just know how
to hear it. The when quiet comes around
we simply can breathe out, breathe in the now,
the peace, the solitude, the soundless bath
of spirit washing over a rattled mind
and so, refreshed turn back to our own path
with spaces between the stars still left to find.
Dark windless nights aspire to extol
the virtue of the silence of the soul.
Yesterday I sat in the Gift Shop at the 29 Palms Art Gallery, as part of my contribution for having artwork in the gallery Membership Show over the summer. This was the first time I had a chance to see the show as I’d been out of town for the reception.
Lee Luke Pickering room #1
Lee Luke Pickering Room #2
Rear gallery #1
Rear Gallery #2. Something might look familiar to my fans there: “Perspective” and “Arrows”
At the front left is “Hunger Bowl”, a composition for a homelessness fundraiser, that never got picked up.
Last shot of the large gallery.
In the evening I attended the opening ceremony and open house for the new Children’s Mental Health Services Clinic in Coachella. The art on display there is also under review for addition to the artwork for the clinic itself.
Waiting Room. Very cheerful.
Reception area, some staff members and one of the artists.
The main meeting room
A couple short speeches were given about the mission of the clinic.
I must check that the reason my painting is on the easel isn’t because the wire broke!
Secondary waiting area with Mark Anthony and his wife.