Claire and I had the best break a few weeks ago — after doing more chores in Uncle Fuzzy’s house we headed to Fort Baker in Sausalito hoping we could get a snack and sit outside the Presidio Yacht Club which is the coolest, funkiest, unfancy yacht club you’ve ever seen with forgettable food, watered-down drinks and the best view of the Golden Gate Bridge you could dream of — you’re sort of underneath the north tower looking up and it’s gob-smacking (especially at night). Alas, the yacht club is only open weekends these days, so we wandered around a bit and I took a few photos of nearby old military buildings. This one, a shuttered old shack all alone on the hillside, has a sign on the door indicating hazardous materials are stored inside. Likely whatever is in there is a pile of salt-corroded rusty bits by now, but this sentry, nestled in the coyote brush and california-dry grasses, was intriguing and I thoroughly enjoyed painting it today in between tasks like wrapping up a sold painting for mailing, clearing out dust bunnies in the living room corners, washing ash off my upstairs deck all while very much cracking up as Obama took the gloves off in today’s campaign speeches. Full day, fun day. Lovely to breathe the clean air and enjoy the watery views from my spot here on the estuary.

10″ x 10″ watercolor, pen on paper = $130

No posts last week; was a bit burnt — Covid fatigue, regular bouts of nausea from political news, worries about my family, feeling the loss of Uncle Fuzzy, missing my grandkids, getting through the heat wave. Needed to step back, rest, stop trying to produce successful paintings. By the weekend I was coughing up boluses of emotion like hair balls and needed serious time in my studio. I had a hunger to take out all my oil pastels (like crayons; sticks of pigment) and lose control with them, using them on boards (and canvas; more on that tomorrow) with abandon; I love this medium but they take forever to dry so I don’t use them heavily. I ended up with this small painting. I’m still liking it on Monday, which I guess is good; I might be happy with a painting one day and then the next day think it’s dreadful and who the hell do I think I am, calling myself an artist? Ack. Creating art is tricky and tough and satisfying and treacherous and full of land mines, especially if an artist is emotionally involved in her creations. Today I’m bumbling around, just doing what’s in front of me which helps. Following Hillary’s advice to women: Get up every day and keep going. OK art fans I’m going to upload this post now as it’s almost time for Zoom Zumba class. Thank you dear ones for reading my blurbs.

8″ x 8″ acrylic, pencil, oil pastel on claybord = $75

My lovely friend and almost-relative Nancy in San Diego kindly sent me photos of her prolific pomegranate trees, as I love painting these interesting colors and shapes. It’s so cool how they grow together, almost conjoined, on the branch, and I honestly don’t know how the trees support all that heavy fruit once October arrives. One pom had split open, making it look like Pacman or a hungry whale roaming the sea for plankton (food segue: I made a yummy pomegranate-related favorite recipe the other night, roasting “matchsticks” of butternut squash, flavored with ground sumac and accompanied by a yogurt sauce with pomegranate molasses).

I love Autumn. But I am particularly enjoying this year’s season change because I’m hopeful the crushing heat waves will dissipate, the air will clear, and we will have November election results that give relief. Then we can figure out how to get through quarantined holidays; hooboy. What a year! Let’s all keep on keeping on, friends and loved ones. We’ll get through this. We are sturdy folk.

10″ x 8″ watercolor, pen, acrylic ink on paper = $100

Russell Spalding Delong lived a good and full life. He left for his final migration Saturday, Sept. 19, at age 84, surrounded by love and singing and affection. I would call that a good death, my dear Fuzzy. He even got banded by the UCSF team who picked him up, as he donated his body to the medical team there. What a pure privilege to spend so much time with him over the past several months, helping Claire, his heroic, angelic, generous friend and caregiver. Uncle Fuzzy (so named for his furry, bearded face) was a character, to say the least. And he lived large — boy howdy, did he! From helping to launch GGRO (see GGRO.org) in the 1980s to traveling the world in a men’s chorus (he had a magnificent, deep basso voice) to finding the love of his life in a Pacific Sun ad when in his 30s to managing the bouncy fluffballs that were his Keeshonds (who were always Molly and Peter no matter how many pairs of dogs he had over the years) to being a dedicated member of the Mill Valley Monday night poker gang — well, the list is long. He was irascible, stubborn, difficult, opinionated, single-minded. He was also lovable, kind, funny, scrappy, loyal, tough and an enthusiastic story teller. Dear Fuzzy, you are missed. And loved. I hope your final flight is taking you to places more beautiful than you’d ever dreamed.

7.5″ x 7.5″ watercolor, pen on paper = $75

I played with monochromatic media yesterday, working from a photo I had of poppies in Tilden Park. I love those white, papery petals — they seem fragile but are quite sturdy. [Uh oh. I’m climbing on my soap box again, I can feel it! Fair warning.] So there’s a cliche or stereotype that really bugs me — that being emotional is being weak (this usually is applied to women). I can’t stand that. Tell me, is giving birth to another human being weak, for god’s sake? Of course not. Is crying a sign of fragility? Horse poop. In my view humans who are not afraid to express emotion are the sturdiest folks on earth. OK, rant over. Pretending I’m Roseanne Roseannadanna over here. Changing to another topic, the air is clean and lovely here today. And my heart aches for the thousands of people run out of their homes by fire and smoke and destruction and catastrophe. We have much to do. Please vote.

7.5″ x 7.5″ water-soluble graphite, pen on paper = $75

Greetings, earthlings. I am writing today from the orange atmosphere of Mars, where my floating space pod landed overnight after being transported here without my permission.

Sigh.

A challenge to paint today from my kitchen countertop, as I am dependent on sunlight unfiltered through thousands of feet of smoke plumes from all over the west. Kitchen lights had to do, and if I ever see blue sky in the future (something I’ll never take for granted again, ever) I will see how this painting looks in normal light. But I took a photo of these softly-lit, feminine, pink lilies last week from the walkway near my marina before armageddon had completely arrived. Lilies always make me think of Easter. And I’m hoping somehow there will be a resurrection of life here in the west where we aren’t on fire all the way up to Canada. I’m almost convinced it’s a conspiracy of orange — orange air, orange idiot in the white house. A Fanta conspiracy? It’s dreadful and frightening, of course. This morning I thought I’d misread my clocks as it was still dark outside long after the sun was supposed to show up. I thought about staying in bed all day, truly. I spent an hour cleaning a layer of ash off every surface in my bathroom, and the window was only open a few inches; you can see a layer of ash on top of the water in the estuary outside. Feels like a freak show, yet I am grateful for having shelter and food and safety. My hope is that things are so bad world leaders will start taking these catastrophes seriously. Please, everyone, vote. And thank you for joining the ping-ponging trip through my brain today.

7.5″ x 7.5″ watercolor, pen on paper = $75