A wet morning but…

We managed lunch in the yard in and out of sun that first [Mon-] day though late afternoon brought a spectacular run of intensifying electrical storms culminating, as I struggled back from the jetty, in hail.  All day [and many more] editing the 466 pics from NY…

With such  weather it was looking like the bay area of distant memory; brightness, crispness, winds and waters…

…of course one always spots The Vehicles; land yachts by the Yacht Club and elsewhere;

Down a nearby alley Donald King’s eternal 1949 Willys wagon project [all the parts – except a motor – are in the back. Really!]…

…it’ll be the perfect cruising companion for my ’45.  Someday;

The week then brought a rather major steel delivery towards its end [not shown]…

Saturday we made it to the new gallery/homeless ghetto in ‘Frisco* for Robert Hudson’s opening at Brian Gross.

I’ve enthusiastically followed Hudson’s work forever but felt with this exhibition he was definitely hitting a late-life stride, a joy to behold.  All the more so after my Whitney experience with the overly lauded “Famous Frank” Stella, of whom the New Yorker recently opined; “his ambition rolls on, unalloyed with self-questioning or humor”.  Although I don’t personally know either the decidedly under-lauded Hudson’s ambition seems to have remained restrained while the other two aspects are both very much [and always have been] at the forefront.  Score another for the home team, not that anyone’s paying much attention.

*Given its proximity to the longtime headquarters of the ‘Frisco Hell’s Angels I use the nomenclature with all due respect.  Sorry, Herb.

…and then, of course, back across the waters, a worthy journey, followed by a seasonal first dinner at our winter haven, the Union Hotel on First Street.

Next day, Sunday, our seldom-seen friend Enrico showed up for a visit, dinner and the night, taking off after a rainy [VERY rainy] morning walk and though things cleared soon after the yard remained too wet for lunch…

Wednesday following yet another steel delivery I accompanied L. across the Great Waters to the land of homeless encampments while she met with grad students;

Walking up to Utah from CCA seemed strangely inhospitable compared to, well, anywhere…and not just friendly little Benicia or Burner-zombied Gerlach.

Unlike New York, for instance, there’s no real street life and the alienation between the desperate homeless and arrogant smokers lurking just outside their design showrooms [enough of them that the entire area stank of nicotine; jeez, you’d think exhaust fumes would offset it, but, no way] palpable. Almost no one walking, and those who do don’t risk eye contact or acknowledgement of any kind. Creepy; a meanness to this new SF for sure.

Brian was inexplicably closed so I couldn’t revisit the Hudsons but next door Catherine Clark had Sandow Birk’s large ink drawings depicting mind-boggling imaginary monuments which deserved, and to which I gave, considerable time.

Subsequently locating the entry to Tod Hosfeldt I ventured in; raw German paintings and, the atypical space rough and smooth and immense, atypically the first place in a long time I could picture showing my pictures. Not too likely, however.

…eventually wandered back through the early twilit nicotine stench to await Professor Fleming and go crawling up Division to the lower Haight, then spend just as long circling for parking; ah, City life!  [Where’s MY F-ing Google Bus?]

…and so descended on Carmelita Street for a most enjoyable evening of food and wine and talk, much catching up to do that never gets done as too much time between and too many other subjects of interest ever intervene. [not shown]

Spent the night there and after breakfast took off in traffic all the more appalling to one who lived here long ago [and it sucked then], further aggravated by careening cyclists from every direction, to the echoing empty underground garage of the De Young Museum.

Once arrived L sought the docent she’d been handed off to after the original docent who had arranged this talk for the docents had decamped with a select group of same to Berlin…

…said second-string contact never made contact nor showed up [not even for the talk!] but thanks to a sympathetic security guard we found the tech for the auditorium, who was knowledgeable, accommodating and all L. really needed anyway.

Meanwhile I, ever paranoid, was by this time wondering if the whole thing might be some cruel time-wasting hoax pointlessly perpetrated by the Ladies Who Lunch…in Berlin. But not so…

…soon after the set-up a well-informed presenter materialized and, at ten, nicely presented L. to a sparse but attentive crowd. From then to noon ensued a laboriously researched and heroically wide-ranging lecture nominally keyed to the museum’s rather sketchy sculpture collection with entertaining digressions and anecdotes, after which we ourselves lunched with two ladies, old friends, in the warm winter glare on the patio, talking of many things, including but not limited to The Russians and their unreliable histories [not shown]…

We duly exited the still echoing parking, traversed the western addition…

…a CALTRANS muddle on the bridge…

…and sailed home to puppies to continue prepping for the desert ahead.

A last day, slightly less than two weeks since arriving from New York, went to sourcing groceries, sorting groceries, packing and an unlucky Friday the 13th bike ride [crashed into a bush by the yacht club] while Linda and her crew made great strides with the recent steel deliveries…

 

Friday brought the horrendous news from Paris, people with legitimate grievances and nowhere to turn lashing viciously out in the direction of their not exactly well-meaning oppressors, massacring innocents in retaliation for the endless massacring of their own innocents in endless cycles of inhumanity…my brother was there, but, not being a fan of the Eagles of Death Metal, safe.

So if freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose, what does “Democracy” mean to the Middle East?  Don’t get me started…

And at last, last morning, fog drifts in; late to rise, late to breakfast…

late to leave [eleven]; more to come

As ever, somewhat

M