Monday, March 26, 2012

The Faire goes on

As I mentioned before, at that time I was waitressing at Bob’s Big Boy - usually with 5-1AM shift. I managed to trade and snag most of those weekends in May off - by working the Friday night before, so I was usually pooped on Saturday’s and often napped for awhile in the back of the booth. The commute was 50 Miles each way from my home to the Faire. Fortunately for me, it only took place during the weekends from 10AM to 6PM, so traffic wasn’t terrible - besides in those days the freeways were nothing like now. The preparation - designing and building the booth, making the woodcuts for it, was really the fun part for me. Once it was all up and going I lost interest in ‘manning’ the booth, selling my stuff, or being at the Faire all day. Luckily for me, my sisters and their friends loved the whole festive scene and were eager and willing salespeople. I kept busy (and entertained) by doing sketches of the Faire – creating more inventory for my booth. My space was between another printmaker who had a little etching press in his stand and some restaurant people who sold either hot barley or cold gazpacho soups –their bets covered whatever the weather. They had a young son who, tiring of his parents gig, hung out with us. I showed him how to cut and print blocks and his grateful folks kept us in free soup for the duration of the faire. The weekends in that month of May provided entertaining amusement for everyone and a unique experience to have under my belt. After that, I was reluctant to do a lot of art fairs, sticking to shorter venues that were closer to home and eventually just sending things to galleries and letting them do the selling – freeing me up to focus my time and energy on just making art. I took in enough money during the Faire to cover most of my expenses – my parents and sisters chipping in on food and gas. Ludy and Jeanne came out to visit while it was on and were there for a day as documented in old photos. Brian - a guy I was dating during that period - loyally showed up as he did at all my gigs, he wore his Lawrence of Arabia-style traditional headdress - wish I had a photo of that.

Here it is forty years later and I find myself in a bit of a flux again. Ageing brings with it a regrouping of energy and attitudes. One of my biggest galleries closed its doors a year ago and I find myself breathing a sigh of relief - yet missing their calls for pieces and projects. It’s as though I do better work when working for someone else – when prodded a bit. I have always been self motivated and industrious, it’s not that, but there is a certain ‘oomph’, an extra effort I seem to throw in when someone else depends on me. So I am sitting back for a bit, taking advantage of this hiatus and not moving with the same zest or zeal. I’m being a bit more selective with time and energy, my eye on changing goals.
Enjoying this warm bed of inertia, I roll over and hit the snooze button and buy myself a little more down-time.

Monday, March 19, 2012

Agoura Rennaissance Faire 1972

Looking over the weekly newsletters and updates sent by the Faire organizers, I am impressed with their thoroughness – which is what made for their tremendous success at the venue. It was a kind of Hippie Disneyland where you could go dressed as Snow White or Mickey Mouse and be part of the park. Costumed revelers wandered the grounds turkey legs in hand ‘pritheeing’ and ‘forsoothing’, wearing the 60’s garb that already had medieval overtones, strumming lutes and blowing on flutes. Every weekend I tossed off my Big Boy apron and hat and donned a laced up vest, long skirt and bonnet created by my sister Chris - my medieval toga were just another work uniform to me. I carved out image after image onto wooden blocks during the week - teaching my ‘staff’ how to print them with wooden spoons. The booth was a yurt-like structure with billowing colored lining material attached to the framework for shade and a ‘festive’ look. Southern California was hot and dry day most of the year, so there was no need for weatherproofing against rainstorms like here in the Midwest where I live now. The Faire was situated on the grounds of the old Paramount Ranch movie set, where cowboys and Indians had chased each other on horseback since silent film days. You parked along a highway and walked over a hill into the locale - thus keeping all the nasty twentieth century vehicles out of view. My first day on the site I took in a load of two by fours and a few friends to help me dig and plant the essential center post – connecting it to a circle of smaller posts fanning out from it so that it was self supporting – all those years of building forts as a kid had paid off. We used brightly colored lining material for the roof sections and the walls -with one wall built out of plywood (disguised of course) to hang framed art on. I scrounged much of the lumber and other materials using old pallets and whatever other scrap wood I could find - keeping expenses down to a minimum. Chris even remembers us driving around the canyons collecting dried twigs to weave together for a rustic ‘wattle’ look on one side. Gunny sacks tacked on the other side of cross timbered railings easily created cheap walls. My wares - being paper - were strung on lines every which way like festive banners. We were ready for business.
Mom (wearing inappropriate sunglasses) and me in my booth

1972 in flux

After graduating from UCLA at the end of summer quarter, I worked at a few different odd jobs and was basically out of sorts, a BA in art history was not ‘useful’ for any particular job. I lived at home with little money and was reluctant to pursue further study in art history as its only end seemed to be college teaching and I was not eager to jump back into that pond. In early fall a placement agency found me a job at a local printing company doing odd jobs - mostly paste-up. I grew to hate it, it was a very small business and I made no friends there - the only other employee being a Chinese press operator who spoke no English. I used to go home for lunch since it was only a few minutes away. I grew so upset with my situation that at one point I was in tears and decided to just quit. It was seemingly hopeless—then I came up with an idea of taking a solo car trip, hooking up with college friends and relatives who were spread across the country. I had a VW which I filled with painting supplies and clothing, a pillow and blanket, and Styrofoam cooler and with a few funds scratched together took off the beginning of November not returning to CA until late December. I returned to the holiday hub-bub of a large festive family and continued to avoid reality well into January. I shifted around looking for jobs –finding temporary work at a flower shop for a few, weeks prior to Valentine’s Day. The smell of cut flowers all day long and my wrinkly fingers constantly wet from soaking blooms will stay with me forever - now each time I enter a florist, the smells conjure up that happy time. Sitting at the taco stand across the street from the shop, I mulled over job prospects with the other girls and I decided to try waitressing – an entry level job with no requirements. I worked at Bob’s Big Boy for about a year – spending my free time swimming, visiting college friends, driving down to Oceanside to my parent’s beach house, making art and applying to Graduate schools. Oh yes, and for the month of May, running a booth on the weekends at the Agoura Renaissance Faire.
I was persuaded to apply for a booth by my sister and our cousin both of whom were heavily into the medieval J R Tolkien stuff- I was not a fan of the Hobbit, nor of prancing around in medieval garb - though I had embroidered my jeans a few years before and did like Renaissance art, Shakespeare, and all things Tudor. They applied and got me to send one in also – (hoping for a booth- which meant more of their friends and them could get into the faire for free and have a hangout there). Applying to the Renaissance Faire was an entertaining diversion after sending applications and slides off to universities. In my proposal, I laid it on thick - giving them exactly what they were looking for. I did get OK’ed for a booth and since Chris and Anne hadn’t - they signed on as ‘workers’. The application process must have been in March because the first meeting for staking out the perimeters of the booths was April 3.

Monday, March 12, 2012

Last Leg - El Paso to LA

Here is the last drawing in my sketchbook -
looking West on Interstate 10, 45 miles east of El Paso.
Flipping through the pages, I find notations about sketches and paintings I meant to do for the new friends met along the way, but of course I was 22 and once home, life got in the way of good intentions.
I had spent the night at Sul Ross State in Alpine, Texas. A quiet restful evening, everyone was immersed in studying for finals and finishing up term papers. I remember camping out in the TV room to keep out of their way. I was on my way to pick up little sister Nancy (15 years old then) who arranged to ride along on the tail end of the trip. She arrived right on time, air travel being a snap in those days. We parked and walked around for a bit - I think we may have crossed the border to Juarez, but maybe not. I was now in ‘big sister mode’ and watching out for more than just me. Suddenly I had RESPONSIBILITIES once more and because of that, the trip was basically over. We stayed at a little motel in Denton, Texas and awoke the next morning to a dusting of snow – Nancy had never seen snow in the desert, so that was a treat for her. Travelling on through Las Cruces we made a bee line for Tombstone, which I knew she’d like as much as I had. As luck would have it we encountered authentic looking cowboys strolling the streets and realized that they were filming that day – double plus! From there we headed up towards Phoenix where we planned to eat steak dinners at the famous Pinnacle Pete’s restaurant that my Mom had recommended. It was a huge place decorated with neckties hanging from the rafters – refusing to have his supper club be a 'fancy eatin’ place', the owner insisted on cutting off the tie of anyone hoity-toity enough to dress up for dinner at his establishment. My Mom had taken my young cousin there dressed in his Sunday best, wide eyed he held back his tears and struggled to keep his cool as they snipped off his only tie. We stuffed ourselves and returned to our dingy motel – our budgetary trade-off for good eatin’ - but it did have COLOR TV – the only requirement Nancy insisted on.
The final leg back to LA was uneventful, the desert whizzed past us as we listened to a new comedy act Cheech and Chong doing their Santa Claus routine on the car radio. Home and Christmas glowed in the distance. About the only other thing my sister recalls from that trip was the Budman stickers I had put on my car in Louisiana – I didn’t much like the beer, but loved the stickers.

Friday, March 9, 2012

Biloxi Redeux

I decided to visit Pam and Gene again before making the long trek back to California, so with
a new headlight in place I was travelling east along the coast once more. I arrived to hear the news that Gene had been promoted and was busy sewing his new stripes on his uniforms. My visit with them put my vagabond existence into perspective – I too needed to get to work on with whatever life lay ahead for me, this adventure had begun to lose its carefree jauntiness and the need for direction and purpose began to rear its ugly head. How to pursue my interests and give them some kind of substance? I wasn’t involved with anyone then, getting married to transition away from home was not an option. I wasn’t trained for any career. I knew making art would always be a part of my life - but only part. I needed another intermediary state, a place where I could be on my own but still buffered from ’life’. I needed to buy a little more time. The answer for me was the same as for so many others - apply to grad school. So back I headed, my final week of freewheeling and freeloading a hazy blur of passing scenery, road signs and friendly faces, my focus directed towards the Western horizon. I didn’t know it then, but I would be headed east again in less than a year to begin building my own life, this time to the Midwest and Iowa - as unlikely a place to me then as Marrakesh.













Thursday, March 8, 2012

New Orleans

From Natchez I drove south, deciding to bypass Uncle Charlie and visit him later after seeing some of New Orleans. I had been there a few years before when driving cross country with a friend, taking her new VW back to CA. We had stayed in the Harriet Beecher Stowe ‘corn cob’ house, which was a bit rundown and thus easy on the wallet but had plenty of atmosphere and was smack dab in the French Quarter, where we planned to visit as many bars as possible. We did well in that department and lived to tell the tale; this time around I didn’t have the need to down
‘Hurricanes’ with the same gusto. I met up
with Kaye, who was staying in some fancy
hotel in the quarter with the sorority uppity-ups.
I described events in a postcard home
Baton Rouge
Postcard #3 Dec 6
New Orleans really
Well did make it to New Orleans LSU ФM alums all around 23-24 took Kay & I out on town a little – kind of Quiet talk stuff – seafood on lake Ponchtrain & drinks in Court of Two Sisters & revival music at Preservation Hall – I ended up staying with one (apt in New Orleans) while Kay was in Hotel – Ritzy French Quarter w/ national bigwigs met them etc – had a good evening as was a little tired of all the driving & motel jazz & wanted to see some more of new Orleans – so Sat was slow & touristy – also cheap as dinner on ФM really nice – Sun drove back to Baton Rouge & Uncle Charles- nice – will paint & relax for a few days – need some quiet & non college jazz – also fix my headlight – doesn’t work – hope it isn’t expensive –Connie
Back with Uncle Charlie I relaxed and spent much of my time in the kitchen chatting w/ him and painting from the quick sketches I had made while out and about in New Orleans, I made arrangements for my car, getting the light fixed, an oil change, and a check up. Luckily I did draw that while waiting around at the car place. And I was relieved that the tab wasn’t too pricey.
I worried about my aging Uncle who was 76 then – driving himself around, being alone, and yet he lived another 10 or 12 years. From my 62 year old point of view now, he wasn’t really that old - but when I was 22, he seemed quite doddering.

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Athens Georgia to Memphis to Natchez

From Tennessee I traveled down to Athens, Georgia and Alpha Alpha – the first founding chapter of my sorority.
There I had time to write a nice long letter home.
- yes well I picked a winner tonite – Georgia wonder chapter Alpha Alpha – whoopee-do big 100 members & 65 living in but not real exciting types – Alabama girls had far more zip – these chicks are what makes everybody shun sororities I guess – of course there are some nice ones but generally nothing spectacular – house is gorgeous Sothern Mansion whole bit w/ old high ceilinged living rooms etc like in movies but kinda musty all over – dirty old like - & rooms are poor set up for living – 4 girls to each bunk beds & cramped tiny – but have to cram them as House is expensive – noticed several large rooms being little used – but that’s their problem – had to see what this chapter was like but kinda wish I’d gone back to Atlanta or Gainesville – haven’t seen them yet – tomorrow perhaps…one thing for Georgia – even though the sororities are quantity and not quality the countryside is beautiful I really like it – the leaves are still in process of turning everywhere & all those grassy green clearings & wooded hills & rocks are neat – Louisiana is pretty green too but too flat for my taste – most of the states are beautiful in their own way
I was travelling through the land of ‘Uncle Remus’ and Faulkner, Harper Lee and Carson McCullers, a lush landscape oozing literary tradition at every turn , where any day could become a ‘zip-a-dee-do-dah day’. After another night at Bama I headed up to Memphis to visit the sorority’s national headquarters, for no particular reason, like most of my destinations on this trip just decided to up and go there, didn’t expect much and was not disappointed so off I headed back down, stopping in at Ol’ Miss to park for the night. Lonely for camaraderie, which I wasn’t finding there, I headed south wanting to see some scenery and drive along the Mississippi river. I planned to take a look at Vicksburg battlefield - having been a Civil War buff – It was such a beautiful park overlooking the river it made my day, markers diagramming gun placements and noting the death tolls seemed out of place in such a gorgeous spot - awash in fall colors where once it had been bathed in blood. Were it not so rainy I would have sketched more and followed the trace parkways criss-crossing every which way, but instead worked my way down river to Natchez and a motel. Cold and rain quashed any plans to drive around and gander at plantations. I got a bit lonely that night with the rain pelting down outside and was ready to head south and be with friends again. I followed highway 61 south the next morning towards New Orleans.

Friday, March 2, 2012

Tennessee

I pulled into Chattanooga and was immediately swept into the whirlwind preparations of the family packing up to go to Gatlinburg, Tennessee, where my step-grandma Ludy, had rented a cabin for us to have a rustic holiday. Her mother was living with her at the time and was to go along but had fallen and hurt her back so was staying behind with a relation to look after her.
“Grandma is cool but pretty old – has only one leg which is kinda neat in a way/ she really gets around on her crutches & refuses to wear her false leg or use a wheelchair – she is in love with the old cabin (painting) we sent Ludy – she used to live in one.”
Of course I didn’t write down any more details about her at the time and now I am burning with curiosity! I was just a stupid self involved kid then. Food, suitcases, and whatnot –were packed into their big car - I planned to drive myself up separately in my VW (in case an early escape was needed). Upon our arrival, one suitcase was unclaimed. Opening it up, they found it filled with pajamas, pills, Marlboro cigarettes, and an Esquire magazine. We quickly surmised that it belonged to the Aunt who was staying to look after granny. It was whisked off to the nearest big town to go back on the bus to Chattanooga. Aunt Betty would have had a tough time trying to don Granny’s PJs as they all had one leg cut off and sewn shut to accommodate her stump. My stay in Gatlinburg was a mixed bag of fun and chaos-
“wow Gatlinburg is a real California style tourist trap. Pretty if you can keep away from town – which we didn’t – saw Ripley’s Believe It or Not “Highlight of trip” whoopee- really cold yucky foggy weather except for Sunday which of course we wasted as we all slept in & missed it & had to leave – oh well”
I did do several paintings on the screened in porch, which was cold and damp but made warm with shots of Southern Comfort. I seem to remember that Ludy rode back to Chattanooga with me so we could chat, she was my step-Grandma and only a few years older than my own parents, she married my Mother’s Dad after he had divorced my grandma and had his fill of a frisky young second wife who proved to be too much for even him. He and Ludy had two children, one a year older than me the other a year younger – it was always a source of amusement to me to refer to them as 'Aunt' and 'Uncle' when they were more like cousins. Our families were close despite the distance between Tennessee and California - we bridged the gap with letters, phone calls, and visits back and forth. Ludy was always peppy and full of fun, like a bonus Grandma. How neat it would be to drive through the Smoky Mountains once more with her riding shotgun.

November 22-23 Mississippi to Alabama

Tuesday November 23 I was headed up through Hattiesburg, Mississippi, surprised to find myself driving through pine forests and not the cotton fields that the entire south is supposed to be covered with. I stopped for gas and a breather in Meridian, once and possibly still home to relatives on my Mother’s side. My history is vague and hazy as to which great aunts lived where and for just how long. Galveston was home to the Akerholm family for most of their later years. My Great grandparents had immigrated separately to the US from Sweden, arriving at Port Arthur, and then settling in McComb Mississippi. There they started their family and after a few kids headed north to Chicago, where they lived and worked for the next ten years or so, increasing their brood - my grandmother Nana among them. She was born the year of the great Chicago World’s fair of 1893 – where the White City was constructed – quite possibly the family attended the fair , maybe my great grandfather who was a carpenter, worked on its construction. Meridian, Mississippi was where my grandmother’s older sister, Nida, lived at the end and my mother visited there over the years when Nana was lonesome for family. My grandmother settled far away like I had and I understood her longings for home and childhood. Every adventurous mile she had put between herself and her family was tinged with a hint of regret, the distance between now scattered with graves. I follow the path back along a series of steppingstones composed of sketchy dates, occasional letters and snatches of conversations. I should have visited McComb, Mississippi, where more of the family had lived and died -but this trip wasn’t that kind of pilgrimage. Were I doing the journey now, I would not have skirted Galveston and Port Arthur, in 1971 I was too filled with life and youthfulness to linger over now empty homes of people I had never met. Grown older, I think about the past a lot – then I was all about the present and the yet to be. It was ancient history - I’d find out about it some other time, ask questions later - I had places to go and my own life to chart. I didn’t dawdle there, but refilled my tank, smiling and waving off the young kid who pumped my gas and begged me - ‘can I go?’ I was headed on to Alabama and the college where I hoped to spend the next night.
The University of Alabama was arranged with a fraternity and sorority area of matching houses of red brick and white trim and finding my call letters I knocked on the door and was met with friendly faces. They had a sensible arrangement for sleeping and living, 3-4 girls shared a large bedroom which was used for study, socializing, dressing, etc. - while down the hall was a large ‘sleeping’ room filled with bunks, kept dark 24hours - so the weary could find rest at any time of day or night while their roommates chatted. The girls were in a festive mood since Thanksgiving vacation was imminent and everyone was ready for that nice family break before finals and papers crowded out the last few weeks of the semester. I joined in by quizzing one for a test, proofing another’s paper, hemming a skirt, in return I got to do my laundry and eat in their cafeteria, call my Tennessee relatives and the next day was on my way north.