Category: Sources of inspiration

The mind of one artist, final chapter

After I got to see the Palace of Fine Arts, I pulled out the map to pick a route back to the Dr.’s office. It felt far away, and it was around noon. Knowing I can walk a mile in 15 minutes, I figured I could get there by 1 p.m., and if not, I could call in to report my location. I chose a route that seemed direct but also took me back through the Presidio. As I walked, I kept revising the route to stay off the city streets for as long as possible. It was killing me to not be able to take photos of every beautiful site I passed, but the entire reason I was in San Francisco was to help D, not to build my photo library! (Besides, who in Three Rivers will want paintings of San Francisco??) Now this next part may seem like a bizarre digression, but stay with me. You may or may not know that I spent all of July 2007 in China. While there, I took photos of amusing signs, such as this one:

So there I was, striding for all I was worth, and suddenly there was a sign that made me laugh out loud and stop for one last photo:

‘Scuse me? Where I come from, we call them “speed bumps”. I got back to the Dr.’s office in plenty of time (it must have been my stride), saw that I walked 10 miles that morning, sat and knitted for another 1-1/2 hour, and finally D was ready to go. It was a long drive home, but D is recovering nicely and we had a great 2 days together. I can’t imagine just sitting in the Dr.’s office watching movies in San Francisco, and I don’t think it is being an artist that got me out. However, I do know way too many people would have been afraid to go exploring on their own and am deeply grateful that I am not one of that unhappy little club!

The mind of one artist, part 5

As I walked through Crissy Field, I blew past many many interesting buildings, and I stifled all the questions that were burning a hole in my head. I’ve been told that I ask too many questions; this is stupid, of course, because how else am I supposed to learn stuff? I know, the internet, but that wasn’t and still isn’t always available. Besides, inquiring minds like to know. If people don’t ask questions, they just bumble through life in ignorance. (Take that, you who think I ask too many questions!) Anyway, I was blowing past all these buildings because I could see a dome off in the distance. It reminded me of the one building I remember from some college class – something by the architect Bernard Maybeck that I thought was the most beautiful structure I had ever seen in my life. Despite the distance, I decided to go there and see it or I would always have regrets. I knew I might have to run the final 1 or 2 miles back to the Dr.’s office to fetch D after her surgery, but I HAD to see that building. See why?

It is called the Palace of Fine Arts, but I don’t get where the fine arts go because it doesn’t appear to have any walls! There wasn’t enough time to wander through it, so I had to be content with seeing it across the reflecting pool. It is even more fabulous that I remembered from that class lo those many years ago. And, when I got home I looked it up on the internet and was thrilled to see it was designed by Bernard Maybeck – why did I remember that?? Okay, so you don’t leave my site in overwhelmed awe, I will finish this story tomorrow!

bernard maybeck palace of fine arts

The mind of one artist, part 4

When I reached the Marin end of the bridge, my Garmin showed 4 miles. The bridge is a mile long – did you know that?? I sure didn’t! I was so jazzed up that I called my walking friend K to tell her where I was. She is more familiar with SF than I am, so she sent me to Crissy Field. Not sure what this was, but now it is a HUGE grassy area by the bay with lots of interesting old buildings and great views. On my way there I had to photograph Fort Point, a wonderful landmark to visit if you are interested in sites from The War Between The States (it wasn’t a “civil” war because no wars are civil AND because the south wasn’t trying to overthrow the United States, but I digress.)

The arch over Ft. Point would be an impressive bridge all by itself, don’t you think? Here is Crissy Field. I was beginning to worry a bit about time, so I didn’t stop for many photos there. I did stop for a latte and a map, which helped immensely in my wonderings and wanderings. It would have been even more help if I had my reading glasses, but my pockets were full enough with the camera and cell phone (aren’t I a tech-geek?)

Oh my! Tomorrow is Christmas, so I will have to continue this later.

The mind of one artist, part 3

It was 3 miles to the Golden Gate Bridge from the Dr.’s office where D was undergoing surgery. I was having a blast, and sort of feeling guilty while she was in there suffering. Knowing that sitting in the office would not have helped her in any way kept me out there enjoying the day, in spite of my guilt. I decided to cross the bridge on foot, because as you know, beautiful bridges hold great fascination for me. It is set up very well to accommodate tourists. There were people from lots of different countries taking photos, walking and riding their bikes over the bridge. On the bridge it was very noisy from traffic, and there was a cold wind blowing across it, but it was such a nice morning! Here is how it looked:

That one little building on the Marin County side really caught my fancy. I’m dying to know what it is! Can anyone tell me?

Golden Gate Bridge

The mind of one artist, part 2

D told me how to get to the Presidio from the Dr.’s office, so I set out in that direction. It wasn’t far, and I got to pass Diane Feinstein’s house, although I wasn’t sure which one it is. They were all rather posh and impressive to this country girl! When I reached the Presidio, there were multiple sign posts directing me here and there; the only place I recognized was the Golden Gate Bridge, so that is where I headed. The trails looked like this:

After a couple of miles, the signs went away, and I just started aiming in the direction of the bridge. I came to this view and was seriously sidetracked for a moment or 6:

Then, I remembered that I had been at the beach in October and no matter how strong the pull is to the beach (and it is strong, oh so very strong) the bridge had to take precedence. I pressed on in the direction of the bridge and was finally rewarded with this view:

To be continued. . .

The mind of one artist

That one artist would be me, but you probably knew that. Here is a story. My dear friend, whom I shall call D, needed a driver to bring her home from some surgery in San Francisco. We have been friends since I was in 3rd grade and she was in 1st and don’t get much time together, so when she mentioned her need, I was all over it! We took my car (hers seems to have a permanent disability of no rearview mirror, and although it doesn’t bother her, I’m not having any part of that!) and went the day ahead of time. (She brought one of those talking lady gizmos that tells you where to go – it was fun, and my speedometer isn’t as far off as I thought!) We had a crab dinner on Fisherman’s Wharf and enjoyed a saxophone player beneath a giant Christmas tree at Pier 39. The next day, I delivered her at 8 a.m. to the place of surgery which had a parking garage. (Parking is a Big Deal in the city!) Here is the view from the garage:

The nice people in the dr.’s office offered me movies to watch while I waited and said that D should be ready to go by 1:00. Watch movies? Are you nuts?? I’m in San Francisco, for Pete’s Sake! (who is Pete, anyway?) San Francisco is incredibly beautiful, full of architectural and historical and semi-natural wonders, and you think I’m going to spend it sitting inside a doctor’s office? Obviously these folks don’t know me. I had my walking shoes on and my Garmin Forerunner on my wrist, so instead of staying in the relative safety of the known, I elected to go exploring. (I’m sure you are so very surprised by my adventuresome spirit, right?) This story could go on for several entries. . . I think I’ll just continue it in another posting!

Storm coming again?

There is a particularly unique quality to the light and color when a storm is on its way. This is how Alta Peak looked this morning:

Here is the full view down my driveway:

Alta Peak Three Rivers

That Bridge again

Same bridge, different view. The light wasn’t much to write home about, but isn’t this a neat angle? Bummer about the line running across the top horizontally – rather than Photoshop it out, I will paint it out, should I decide to paint from this view.

Beautiful Fall Day

Took a walk after 2 weeks of feeling puny and congested. Whoa, just 4 miles, and my blisterical feet were whining. This is seriously disappointing, but I concentrated on what a beautiful afternoon it was and rejoiced in the presence of my nifty little camera!

Three Rivers

Cat Disorder

There is a certain breed of cat that just calls out to me. It is “American Ragdoll”, a breed developed in California in the 1960s. I learned of it by accident when I rescued a cat from an alley in downtown Visalia in 1987. She was Fritzi, the cat love of my life. She was a lucky accident of random breeding, but closely resembled the American Ragdoll. When she died 13 years later, I was on a quest to find a baby Fritz. Wilson was located at a yard sale, and he resembled her physically but was spring-loaded in the p.o.’d position. He was definitely Michael’s cat, and lasted 3 years. (Bobcat? Coyote? Mountain Lion?) Then Prudence and Scout were located at the Fresno jail – they lasted about 1 year. After that, it was Amos and Zeke. Zeke wasn’t long-haired, nor was he quiet like a ragdoll. (still isn’t either of those things) A bobcat tried to take out Zeke but Michael intervened and saved his life. The bobcat returned a week later and picked off sweet little Amos. 2 weeks ago, the Other JB told me of 2 litters of kittens at her RV campground and knowing better, I asked her to describe them. Today I went to meet them – the mother appears Ragdollical, one kitten might be short-haired, and the other has no tail and was too shy to come out at all.

He was the first to let me pet him – he is bold and fresh and will be called O’Reilly.

Mom appears very young and rather small – excuse the blurriness. She is incredibly soft and beautiful and will be called Cashmere.