Thanks to Guardian Cities editor, Natasha Reith-Banks, and PSU professor, Dr Catherine Howells, I finally got to start a deep dive into Portland’s water system… and then try in summarize it in eight drawings. Here’s the link to the new cartoon essay.
The new issue of Illustoria Magazine (#9: Food) is now available for preorder from McSweeney’s.
It includes Small Talk, a page of factoids and small jokes to assist one in becoming somewhat more conversational. And, since Small Talk is based on the blue book tiles, there’s also a little spread on the studio process.
My headspace is 75% maps.
Peter Guild, 1790-1870, proprietor of the roadhouse on the Tongue, Guild’s Lake, Portland, 1847-1870.
I was distracted by many things I saw last night at Norm Gholston’s place, included this old photo of Guild.
Also, yes, the farms (formerly) lining the west shore of Guilds Lake were definitely the Chinese garden farms (I knew the Chinese farms were near there, but were theirs the buildings in the old photos? Yes). Descendants of those farmers still live and work in Portland.
A 6” cloud study, oil on paper, made from pencil notes taken near Portland’s Fremont Bridge.
Clouds don’t wait for us to go home and get our oil box.
Ang and D teach the young lieutenant how to play Boggle. She did alright.
Miles Cleveland Goodwin spoke Saturday morning at Froelick Gallery. He described the meaning and process of each piece in the new exhibit, drifting from one work to the next in a big, rolling office chair. Raised in Mississippi and living in Georgia, Miles speaks slowly and clearly. Some works are absolutely metaphorical, some stem from a single experience. All are heavily worked and reworked, often simultaneously to allow for dry time.
Miles does not draw. All his activity goes into the paintings. The sketching, thinking, reconsidering takes place entirely in the singular world of the canvas.
Well, unless we include collecting and taking photographs for reference to be a kind of Drawing. I guess we could, carefully. In Miles’ hands, the camera operates as a shared platter passed between himself and the subject, a continuation of their conversation. His camera doesn’t distance, but connects, lightly, meaningfully. It is incidentally part of the process. The image on the canvas is the presence of Miles’ engagement with his collaborators and his metaphors and his paint.
My second-hand Shakespeare lesson continues with Othello.
A sculpture by Horatio Law was installed last week in Tacoma’s Lincoln District. Lincoln is Tacoma’s International District and is anchored by dozens of Southeast Asian-American businesses. In Shimmering-Cloud Gateway, two giant stainless steel clouds reach out over the neighborhood’s main street, S 38th. Horatio has posted videos from the install on Instagram.
One of Horatio’s great gifts as a public artist is his knack for bringing the community into the creation of the work. He spends a lot of time in a place and frequently brings in the hands and ideas of neighbors and local workers. However, the actual construction of a durable, outdoor public sculpture is still taken care by an professional fabrication studio. For Shimmering, Horatio hired Art + Design Works of North Plains, Oregon.
This was my way into the project.
I had been called out to A+D Works earlier in the autumn to help with the paint finish on some very large swans bound for North Carolina. While I was dealing with the swans, Jim Schmidt and Sam Nagmay were welding perforated stainless steel panels between stainless steel ribbons until they matched both Horatio’s designs and the engineer’s specifications.
After the swans were complete, I brought my youngest daughter out to visit the shop. Jim showed us the next challenge: how to attach between 13,000 and 18,000 1.5” metal discs to the clouds so they could shimmer in the wind and rain and yet never fall off. This wasn’t a paint challenge (and Jim had already worked out the process details), but my fingers tingled. I wanted to join the party.
Jim called me a week later to see if I still wanted in.
Much of the disc/sequin prep started at Sam Nagmay’s sculpture studio in Portland. Each disc had a little hole punched through it. All the discs were fitted with screws and locking nuts. The nuts had to sit precisely on the screws, too far out and they won’t thread securely into the panel; too far in and you lose the dangle action. Brady Sheets machined several jigs with hex tips as a base for tightening the nuts.
After nearly a week of disc assembly at Sam’s and an all-day screwing bee held by Brady’s family out in Banks, Oregon, we had six five gallon buckets filled with prepped sequins.
Back in the A + D HQ, Sam and Horatio met up, spread un-prepped discs across one of the clouds and determined how much space each sequin required to achieve maximum coverage and un-interrupted hang. Disc counts for each cloud were estimated and tossed into labeled buckets.
Sam again dumped the flat, un-prepped discs onto a cloud. She pushed and teased them into location. I followed behind her, spinning each disc so they were all in exact alignment with the expected plum-line of the installed clouds. In her turn, Sam came around and marked the perforation hole beneath each disc with a white stainless steel-safe marker. Each disc went into a smaller bucket to be placed into the matching section on another cloud. We flipped up the cloud and Jim tapped threads into the white hole with a small drill.
Shimmering has two beams of clouds. Each beam as three clouds per side, slightly overlapping. After each cloud was marked and tapped, the stain from the welds had to be cleaned and surfaces degreased. This was done first with a TiG Brush and then a very mild acid and a neutralizer (Dawn dish-soap).
If anyone ever asks if you want to try a TiG Brush, say, “Yes, please!” I’ve got no pics of the TiG Brush in use, but imagine this: a carbon-fiber paint brush tip on a sturdy wand calling up sparks and blasting stains into smoking soot.
We wiped down the clouds and took them out for a final rinse.
Brady and Sam took turns welding the clouds to the beams. Usually, this seemed to mean a lighter placement tack, followed by a thicker weld. Getting in between the clouds was tricky. Sam and Brady had to improvise a small, flexible hood for the tightest spots.
As welding continued, Jim and Briar, a rigger (and Brady’s brother), discussed how they would swing the clouds off the truck and into place in Tacoma.
Public Art fabrication is a massive ongoing conversation about logistics. Every material and structural consideration has to be predicted, tested, revised, applied and then guided through overlapping layers of public and/or private bureaucracy. From the first template cut to the last sidewalk bolt, Sam and Jim toss challenges and solutions off of each other, often reaching the same conclusion from opposite directions.
How were the steel clouds swung from wall to saw-horse to wall to gantry? Two or three people lifted them onto a set of dollies, just like you rode around on the gym floor in 4th grade.
As the clouds joined the beams, we called a couple more hands to attach the sequins. Matt, a rigger buddy of the Sheets brothers dropped in for an afternoon, and artist, Ilan Schraer, came out to do a few days on the cloud wall.
Every nut was hit with red Loctite and then screwed into a tapped hole on the cloud. At first, most screwing was done by hand, but soon we added very low-power drivers to the mix, finding the sweet spot between speed and an over-torquing mess (stainless steel is finicky). Sometimes we had to re-tap a hole or move a disc one hole over, not too often though.
The exact number of discs prepped came within a few hundred of the exact number needed. A handful were tossed aside as stripped or stuck. In the final hour of the sequin dash, I took a hex jig from the tool room and assembled one last pile of sequins. Ilan juiced them with Loctite. Brady, Sam and Jim, busy elsewhere as well, took turns screwing them in.
We called the sequins done.
Outside the shop, in the last of the twilight, Jim ran the orbital over the support columns. We zapped and scrubbed them down.
Sam and Brady began to ready the clouds for loading.
And then I went home.
I missed the loading and install excitement. I was back in Portland, inking and coloring my quick pencil notes. Like you, I’m relying on Horatio’s videos to see how his work looks on site. I have a kid at school in Tacoma; I’m sure I can cough up some excuse for the drive, maybe before Christmas.
If I’m lucky, shimmery-sequin-action-wise, it’ll be a sunny day and a windy day and a rainy day all rolled into one.
Oh! Hey! The ribbon-cutting ceremony for Shimmering-Cloud Gateway happens this Saturday, November 17th. Horatio will lead a tour starting at 10:30. Alright, maybe I’ll wish for not too much wind and rain, just enough to sparkle.
A reminder. Here is a sketch from about 10 years ago at Ona Beach south of Newport. It shows two members of my family as a wave suddenly washes up around them, chest high, over the heads of the 7 and 4 year old they barely grabbed hold of.
They had not been standing in the water, just near it. They were not sucked out to sea, not this time. But it was close, very, very close.
On a recent visit to the Coast, some visitors from Southern California repeatedly scoffed at our admonition to never turn their backs to the ocean and, especially when climbing on wave-struck rocks, to stay much closer to shore. They were insulted by our insistence.
They survived. This time.
Friends of Willie and Joe and other WWII living historians recently set up camp at Pearson Air Museum in the Fort Vancouver Historic Site. We made a brief visit and the family let me draw a little. I even had time and space to ask permission (though I did not get names, I'm so sorry, I've really got to work on that detail).
As you can see, this spread took two notebook pages, much bigger than my scanner and not quite a satisfactory stitch job either. Anyway, this one glows pretty well when I crack open the notebook itself.
This tent also did a particularly good job presenting women in the armed forces during WWII and the experience of displaced persons. Also there was some nifty bike restoration happening.
Mesa Arch, Canyonlands National Park, Utah
We are home from our summer visit to Colorado. On the way out, we stopped and stayed a night in Cisco, Utah. We dipped into Arches and Canyonlands. Nothing long, just a check in, a couple of walks.
At Mesa Arch in Canyonlands I angled for a good view of both the visitors and the drop off. I'd just begun pencilling notes when a woman and baby sat down to pose. The baby was chill, maybe nine months. It was definitely at the age where it might suddenly arch its back and kick out and you have to lean back fast to contain it, not drop it. If this baby were to arch and the mother were to lean back I don't see how they would keep their seat. I finished my pencil note and ran away back up the trail to the parking lot. I love being a witness, but maybe not to this.
I saw no flight for life helicopters, nor later saw any news items, "Infant kicks mother, self to death in Utah," so assume the child opted to remain chill, alive.
We had a nice visit.
Thursday, June 14, 2018, the Hotel Denver in Glenwood Springs will host a Trunk Show of work packed in from my Oregon studio. This will be the first large showing of my paintings on the Western Slope since the 2004 exhibit at the Woody Creek Store (that one was fun).
It’ll run from 2pm to 8:30. I promise I’ll set up the little paint box. See you there!
First we'll do some train and ocean travel together for practice maybe. Yes? Not that she couldn't pull this off.