After an Airport Burrito [I’d forgotten that airport burritos come subsumed in a breadlike substance some consider a “Flour Tortilla”] whose innards were tasty once extricated we flew

away from rain all ’round the bay East

to Denver, the Maven Hotel with an Airstream downstairs promising perhaps interesting street food in the morning, and plenty of time to drop our stuff and walk two blocks up to

Avelina where as soon as we were inside we opted for out and once out opted to be as far from

the din within as possible the better to enjoy the fading day and very good food, definitely

not the case the next morning when the Airstream’s was more interstate C-Store fare than street albeit considerably more limited. Nonetheless even the pathetic microwaved mush of their breakfast burrito was more palatable than Linda’s inedible fruit cup.  How did dey do that?

But do that we did, pressed for time to get to Juno Works where, as well as making a sculpture for someone out of salvaged Bay Bridge parts [I snagged an Original Rivet], Linda’s next

Big One will be fabricated.  An inspection of the premises and a face to face meeting with Kevin the owner were in order before a consultation and handing over a rather considerable check, all of which happened in due course before returning the Earthly Vehicle to valet parking and going a block up Wazee to Robischon Gallery to preview the current show,

 

four women of four generations in four separate exhibitions; Linda Fleming

and Jaq Chartier being two of them.

We then experienced a very pleasant lunch at The Mercantile in Union Station before L. was

interviewed among her things followed by a conference call with Kevin and the engineer at Juno which, cell service in our room being spotty and the lobby way too loud, she took to the street which, despite the Harleys and the buses, was much more amenable.

Evening saw us at a most congenial opening and dinner in the gallery wherein many were met and conversations pursued including but not limited to Allison Hall whose apparent monochrome paintings are anything but [and whose boyfriend Jason is another impressive

painter represented by Robischon] and Barbara Takenaga, who brought out an impressive

number of works from New York for her first show here, haunting and strange.

Friday we eschewed the Airstream to find a much better breakfast at the Merc as our prior fave, the trendy Snooze, was booked beyond when L had to show up for another interview. My eggs were better on their quieter patio anyway. We regrouped at the hotel and again went

up Wazee, this time to fall under the spell of Rockmount Ranchwear, one of last vestiges of the pre-hipster-fication of LODO [LOUD – oh!, if the decibel level in the restaurants, bars and lobbies is any indication] before lunch, taken at the Kitchen where we had the good fortune to run

into gallery director Jennifer Doran, Barbara and her friend Lily Wei [though as a result ended inside pummeled by the even-at-lunchtime throbbing neo-disco] before inserting our Hyundai

into a long slow line of traffic all the way to the Springs where, outside the Art Center, we found Izel and Luz Fleming on a lawn.  L. presented Izel with his Rockmount present and all frolicked

until Christine emerged to take us through “Channel”, her extensive CC show

comprising video, an adobe channel underlain with extensive mapping of irrigation strategies

and drawings made of adobe collaged with photos and subtle lines of graphite.

in the hallway outside Nora Naranjo Morse had sculptures of native clay and, more interesting

to me, of detritus from the dump adjacent to her ancestral tribal clay pit while another spookier gallery contained remnants from a massive show of Virgil Ortiz’ clay, glass and mixed media works “The Revolution Continues” dedicated to bringing the 1680 Pueblo revolt into

the present…On the lawn Luís Jiménez’ somewhat demonic dancers held forth but we went

downtown and underground to the “Rabbit Hole” for dinner in an environment not QUITE as assaultive as the Wazee establishments, then got back into line, made Denver in 2/3 the time and went seeking wine but, a chill rain having rendered outside options impractical and every interior space insufferably throbbing with amplified “life”, finally just took a couple of glasses up to our room and watched the last of a quirky special on Princess Margaret before abandoning all hope of Entertainment  and slipping off to sleep…

Saturday it was breakfast again at the Mercantile, same as it ever was except the Farmers’ Market was in full swing, families with children were everywhere.   We returned to the hotel,

collected the car, found the airport, surrendered the car and, everything having gone

super smoothly, had almost two hours to spare in the upper reaches of the terminal.

Time enough for a little airport food before boarding where as seems to be the usual the

flight took off around half an hour late [I counteda dozen planes in the queue behind us by

the time we rolled up for takeoff] but touched down only a little late in

rainy [not shown] Oakland.  Out for dinner, wintry conditions, paying as much for mediocre

in Benicia as one does for excellent elsewhere [but we love our little town, despite], and Sunday

sunny, then not.  After numerous errands and local color it was time to

finally cover over the ’45 for,

alas, the season.