Letters from an Artist

July, 2003

7-28-03
Sue and I climbed in Leavenworth again this weekend. Because it was our second weekend of the season, we tried to stay on easy stuff using the new guidebook. Saturday we hiked up to Mad Meadows and the Clam Shell and had a great day climbing slab routes in the 5.4 to 5.7 range. Both areas were stiff hikes up poor trails with the Clam Shell being about 40 minutes from the car. Still, it had a nice 5.7 crack route, and the evening air had cooled down to the point where it was comfortable climbing.
      Both days we had to take breaks around 3 to swim in the river. The rock was almost hot enough to fry eggs. Sunday we hiked up to Clem's Holler, just outside of Leavenworth and a solid hour or more up a climbers trail, only a few hundred feet down from the ridge top. I wasn't sure what was up there so I carried gear up to 2 inches, which meant my pack, with the two full water bottles weighed around 40 pounds. Carrying that much weight in 97 degree heat up a climbers trail is a quick way to take the moxie out of anyone.
      As soon as I got on the crux of the 5.8 route, I realized I'd lost my ambition. It was a scary move over a bulge, and the next clip was 2 moves past the crux, with the last bolt below the bulge, so the fall potential was about 15 feet. The area where the rope would stop the fall had some 6 inch ledges which could snap an ankle if I landed wrong. I wisely chose to back off, and left a wire gate carabineer I'd found the day before.
      I've rarely been a bold climber,Crystal Glass and goose always choosing caution over bravery, with a few exceptions. It's probably why I'm still climbing after all these years (25 years). There are unavoidable circumstances where one has to be bold, but given the choice, as I was yesterday, I considered my options and chose to bail. We looked around for another hour, but found only run-out routes. By then the heat was unbearable and we hiked down, chastened by our stupidity in hiking so far to a strange area for nothing.
      I only have 2 classes this quarter, and my $800 monthly paycheck just arrived. I actually received more than that due to the freelance work I do, but next month there isn't likely to be any freelance work, so I will have $800 to pay $900 worth of bills, never mind food, car repairs and miscellaneous purchases. This new career in high tech is over. Oh, I'm still planning to hone my skills in Flash and Photoshop for a week or two, then do some more job hunting up toward Seattle, but my instinct tells me I will soon be a printing again.

7-20-03
The bricks the old school was built from had a rainbow of colors, and the only way I could find to make the walls look real was to manually put in each rainbow colored brick one tiny tedious stroke at a time. I was searching my palette for the perfect red orange pastel when I saw a young man walking up the narrow sidewalk toward me.
       He was very slender and tall, dressed in the standard uniform of the times: shorts to below his knees, a tank top and carrying a small backpack. He approached me uncertainly, as if wondering if he could ask me directions.

"Excuse me, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"No, go right ahead," I said, wondering whether he was lost.

"Do you sell your paintings?"

"Ahhhh....yes, I sell them in galleries."

"Are you selling them anywhere around here, I mean, locally?"

"I used to sell them up at the Huff Gallery, in the Proctor District, but he's not had any in a while. Now I sell them at State of the Arts Gallery in Olympia."

"What would a painting like that sell for?"

"Oh, between $350 and 400," I said, thinking fast and wondering if I was going to make an 'easel sale', before I even had a chance to photograph it for my records.

"I went to high school here," he said, gesturing at the 115 year old building, "I went back East afterward, but I've always had a soft spot in my heart for the old school."

"Yeah," I said, turning and looking at the venerable old structure, standing proud and lovely in the late afternoon light, "it such a beautiful building, they just don't make them like that any more."

"Well, I'm really glad that you are doing this," he said awkwardly, "painting it, I mean. It's a great thing..."

"Thanks," I said, thinking: another sale lost, and turned back to the painting. It was an awkward angle to catch, standing inside the courtyard, and painting the soaring 8 story structure with all it's minuets and garrets as the afternoon sun raced across the bright blue sky, lengthening the shadows even as I searched for the the proper pastel sticks with which to paint them.
      Just as I was getting back into the rhythm of the work, two women altered course and began walking purposefully toward me across the plaza. Perhaps a short note is needed here to put this in perspective. Stadium High SchoolI had set up my easel on a narrow sidewalk behind a hedge at the extreme edge of the Stadium High School plaza, right up against the building. Because it was a narrow side walk, sandwiched between the hedge and a railing, beyond which was the top of a 4 foot retaining wall, I had positioned my easel straddling the railing, with one leg on the sidewalk, the other two legs resting on the top of the wall.
    It had the best view, but was an awkward place to work. I could stand on the sidewalk and lean against the railing, which almost put me close enough to paint comfortably, but the steel railing bruised my hip. I could stand astride the railing, but that forced me to put all my weight on one leg. I could sit on the railing but not for very long; steel isn't soft. The side walk was a normal shortcut for people touring the school, but due to the cramped quarters, most people avoid it if someone is already there.
      But there I was painting, and here came two lovely young ladies dressed for the ninety degree heat in short shorts and spaghetti string tank tops. I'm sure you've seen these new tops. They are basically a tube of fabric that wraps around a woman's chest. The fabric is held up by two tiny strings that go over the shoulders from front to back and the amount of fabric varies depending on the woman. These two were wearing tops that started about 5 inches below the shoulders and ended 2 inches above the shorts. Not the kind of thing a middle aged guy needs to see, at least, if he wants to get any work done any time soon.
       As they walked by, the bigger one said, "I'm really liking your painting there!" They strolled on down the sidewalk toward the center of the plaza, swaying with that peculiarly attractive motion that draws men's eyes like a moth to a lamp. I thought about calling after her that I was really liking her long legs, but thought better of it. They wandered around the plaza for a while, then walked by again on their way out of the grounds.
      I took one last look at their retreating backs, glad to have the distraction gone and turned back to my painting. I had just found the perfect stick to stroke in some of the darker bricks, when suddenly they were back, right up in my face and close enough to touch. My eyes flickered briefly across the acres of exposed chest before I looked questioningly in her eyes, which were twinkling merrily at my discomfort. They were younger than I had thought, maybe 19 or twenty...my son's age.

"Excuse me, do you sell your paintings?"

"Yes, I do sell them. I sell my paintings in local galleries."

"Well, about how much would you sell that one for?"

"Oh, probably around $350 to 400."

"OK, what gallery is selling your work now?"

"I've been selling my work through the State of the Arts gallery in Olympia lately."

"Well, I really like that painting"

"Thanks," I said, glancing at her prettier friend, who nodded sagely.

"Well, I guess we'll see you later," she said, and they walked away. I probably need to be a better salesman, but the truth of it is, when I've just done a piece, I'm in no hurry to sell it, and I think tourists can sense that. I want to enjoy it for a while. I want to pull it out after a long day of staring at this boring computer and let the magic of it's beauty raise my spirits.
       I don't have a fancy house, or nice clothes or a brand new car. The part time wages I earn teaching this goofy computer stuff doesn't even pay my bills, and certainly will not pay for long vacations to Europe...or even Oregon. What I do have is my art. It's all mine, and like my own private gold mine, I can pry out a nugget whenever I have the time and energy. They aren't always solid gold...many are in fact quite poor, but the time I spend creating them is more precious than diamonds.

7-16-03
The climbing I did this weekend left me with a residual glow that has lasted through the week. Something about getting out and "chasing the tiger" (confronting your worst nightmare) was just what the doctor ordered. The last climb of the weekend was a route I'd never seen before until I topped out on the route below it, looked up, and there it was.
      It was a short route, only about 50 feet in height, but very steep, bulging a little at the top. Fortunately the bolts were close together and I was able to add a few additional pieces of protection from my rack. What excites me still, three days later is how calm I was on this unknown route. It was rated 5.8+ and looked quite steep, yet I stepped up the one half inch ledges nonchalantly, as if I had been climbing all summer, with none of the fear that usually plagues me on the first weekend of the season.
      Because I am only teaching two classes this summer, Thursday and Friday, I am focusing all my energies on getting my skills back as a web designer. To that end I have buried myself in Flash, a program I've not touched in 4 months. The learning curve is steep, but the skills are coming back. I've worked my way through a new book, and posted some of the new work on this page. In particular there is a balloon game on the "Flash" page that is kind of fun. I've also reworked my preloader so it shows up on every file.
      I used to load an external common preloader, but it became unmanageable when I was 4 levels deep on some movies, and 2 levels on others. One of my students showed me a simpler way, and, after personalizing it I've put it on all my movies as a first scene. Thanks Rath.
      Today I've been grading for most of the day but took a lunch break to play the guitar and write a few words here.My guitar playing is getting much better. I'm at the point where the guitar is no longer an obstruction. It's a vehicle to enhance my voice, and my fingers find new ways to pick the individual strings with emotion and timing that emphasize the meaning in the words.
     Whether this is related to the good weekend of climbing, or perhaps more likely the unexpected check that came in the mail, I don't know, but I'm not complaining. I was afraid that I would have to fall back into printing this month simply to pay our bills, but a check, equal to a month and a half of pay appeared in my mailbox...something about a retroactive pay raise. What it has done is allowed me a month in which to drill down on becoming as good a web designer as I can be. My brief foray into the market 2 weeks ago reminded me how rusty my designing skills have become.

7-14-03
Rockclimbed with Sue in Leavenworth over the weekend. This is the first time she and I have been on a weekend climbing trip without the kids in a long time. I was trying to give a number instead of 'long time'...but it was more than a few years, and might have been as many as 18, which not coincidentally is the age of our oldest kid. I don't think I've even taken her on a date of any kind since last fall.
     We found a nice camping spot about 15 miles up the Icicle river road outside of town at Johnny Creek Campground. As we lay our tired bodies down on the pads at night I looked up and saw we had a clear view of the full moon through the mosquito netting of our old expedition tent. It was just like old times. Before we had kids we would climb, hike or ski just about every other weekend all year round.
     Like a candle kept burning in a secret altar for years and years, I had never given up the dream of reuniting the awesome Webster & Webster climbing team. There was only one climbing partner who ever compared with Sue, and that was Paul, who died of cancer 4 years ago. The three of us went through the Mountaineers climbing course together in 1977 and climbed together for about 4 years before he stopped climbing after suffering a construction accident.
       I've had other climbing partners over the years, some good, some scary...and all of them bad drivers. They come and go, picking up climbing like it was a paperback novel to be read and thrown away. Been their, done that. Through all of those partners, Sue has always been there, commiserating with me about how this one stood me up, that one had a temper problem, that other one wrecked his car....on and on.
       She would go climbing a couple times a year, showing the same great form and reliability, but never really available. But the dream lived on in my mind. I've seen many other pretty women over the years, and while they are lovely to look at, in the back of my mind I'd wonder what was under the hood. Could they climb, and were they reliable?
      Saturday we were both climbing poorly, but by Sunday we had found a new cliff and were having fun. There is a new guidebook out now for the cliffs around Leavenworth and we found a great new area called "Mad Meadows". It's a 25 minute hike up the hill from the road, but the climbing is all moderate. There is even a bolt protected 5.4! What a great find for people like Sue and I who need to start out easy and gradually work our way into the harder numbers.

7-7-03
Had a really busy 4th of July weekend. I was supposed to have gone climbing with Dave, but he didn't show up at the rendezvous. Originally we weren't climbing this last weekend. Then he called me on about Tuesday saying that he wanted to meet 9:30 Saturday morning for a trip to Leavenworth.
      On Friday, when I should have called him to confirm our trip the next morning, I was instead elbow deep in Flash all day, tuning up a project that a couple of my students have been using as an internship project. They tend to get busy with other school assignments, not to mention their personal projects, and the internship work gets pushed off to the sidelines. The project is an interactive campus map running in Flash.
      The design and concept is mostly mine, although most of the Illustration and Flash work was done by two students. Friday I spent about 8 hours getting back into Flash and finishing out the project to the point where it is functional. It was languishing in kind of a demo state, but I brought it up to the point where it only needs some finishing touches. We are still waiting on the complete list of programs and building contents and we need to pretty it up with some "How to use" instructions.
     After waiting at the rendezvous for 45 minutes in Renton, I realized something had gone wrong. I drove up to a gas station and called Dave, only to find out that he was painting his house this weekend. He didn't remember asking me to meet him there, but worst of all, didn't even seem to care that he had stood me up on the 4th of July. I thought there might be time to hook up with Sue and called to tell her that my ex-climbing partner had stood me up, but she was already on her way to Portland to drop Lisa off at the airport.
      Lisa was invited to accompany my family to Europe for a month, all expenses paid by my Dad. She is traveling there with her cousins (my sister's kids) who are of similar ages so she should have a great time. They are touring all the usual spots (the Matterhorn, Paris, etc.) and ending up at the family reunion in England where she will return with my parents. She's never been away from home before for longer than 4 days, or flown on an airplane.
      It's a big deal, and I'm still wondering how I got talked into it. It had to do mostly with the extreme wealth of the rest of my family, my sister and my dad both have money to burn. They've made good choices in their lives, and are now reaping the benefits. I, on the other hand have pursued my heart for most of my life. I've stopped to smell the roses, walked barefoot in the surf, and lived one day at a time, never giving much thought to tomorrow. Well, it's tomorrow now, and I've got to find full time work immediately.
      Determined to salvage some fun out of a blown weekend, I drove home from Renton, picked up my art pack and drove to Tacoma where I began a painting of Stadium High School. I've painted this Stadium High School, Tacoma, Washington, Built around 1910, SOLD100 year old building before, and sold it, but it was from another angle. This time I am painting from the courtyard and was only able to get the initial black and white drawing done on the first day.
      Yesterday, thinking that the bridge would shut down with holiday traffic, I parked at the airport and pedaled over the bridge to Stadium on my mountain bike, carrying my thirty five pound Stadium High School, Tacoma, Washington, Built around 1910painting backpack, where I was able to get about half way through painting the color into the drawing. The orange bricks are incredibly time consuming to paint, and the building has enough turrets and cupolas to make for some very complex lighting. Still, I'm making some great progress judging by the comments from the passersby. I think one lady wanted to buy it already, but I told her it would take me a couple more days to finish.
      Riding over the Narrows bridge is lots of fun. The sidewalk is barely three feet wide, and the traffic goes by at sixty miles an hour, 12 inches away. The larger trucks and motor homes push enough air that they literally shove my bicycle off balance toward the railing, where it is a 400 foot drop to the water. The signs say to walk your bike across the bridge, but no one does.
       I especially like the views down to the barges and cranes anchored in the fast moving tide waters below. They are building the new bridge now, and there is always something interesting down there. It's a visual feast for the eye: the deep blue wind swept waters, stretching 40 miles toward Olympia, the distant mountains to the East and West, 50 miles away, the bright orange cranes 400 hundred feet directly below and the many barges anchored against the racing tidewaters.

 

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