Posts

Posted on

Day Tripping

Elin has flown away, back to winter in Texas. Friday we drove over to the Sacramento River delta area, stopping first at her friend Frank’s ranch near Davis. Frank (pictured above) is this very broad character, with a ruddy face and a white beard, who lapses into and out of an affected Scottish accent. Elin, Bob, and I packed a picnic and lunched with him in a pine grove near one of his ponds. He frequently stopped the conversation with “Hear that? That’s a downy woodpecker” or “See that? That’s a yellow-billed magpie” and on and on and on. After a while I found it hard to believe that his property could support such biological diversity, but was charmed by his knowledge and interest. He warmed to us quickly, and we to him, and even stayed on after lunch to help pick daffodils and prune his pussywillows, which he was going to sell at the market the following day.

Elin as Pinup Queen of the Pussywillows:

We drove from little town to little town, and were especially taken by Locke, which was constructed by local Chinese around 1920, and hasn’t changed since, except for a fun-house type of bulging and tilting due to the settling and sinking of the various buildings. We ended up checking into a real fleabag of a motel in Rio Vista (Bob and Elin masqueraded as “Mom” and “Dad,” and I was “Junior”), and then took off the next morning for apple pandowdy (sp?) at Sonny’s in Isleton, and antiques in Rancho Cordova. I was convinced that I would find the mother lode of California Faience and Jalan pottery there, but found only junk, mounds of it, and nothing of interest except some new juice glasses from the 40’s which look fantastic in my kitchen. At one point while driving along the river, supposedly heading north, we ended up in the same spot twice, and heading south. We can’t figure out how we did it, since the river was always on our left, although I do remember remarking at one point how strange it was that the sun appeared to be rising in the west. Spooky.

Posted on

Nighmare, Noir and Elin

Last night I had a really scary dream. Steve told me and Bob about a really great old house that was for sale, cheap and very grand. It was in horrible shape–the roof leaked, the floors were falling apart, no insulation, etc… but it had lovely bones, an old victorian mansion with magnificent detailing, so we bought it, thinking we could fix it. Well, after a while the house terrified me–I was convinced it was haunted. Then the ceiling started caving in. I told everybody to get out (there were all these interesting people living there already), and we escaped just as the entire house caved in on itself and there we were, in the rain, not knowing what to do or where to go.

Perhaps it’s too easy to read, this dream, and hence my anxiety.

Elin’s visiting, my friend from Vinalhaven. Her visits are always very intense, with lots of activity, mostly centered around food and expensive objects. The other night we saw a wonderful film at the Castro, Clouzot’s Quai des Orfevres, (1947). (There’s a small genre of noir films that rarely get screened, including the unique noir musical, Lang’s You and Me, which borrow from both the gangster films of the 30’s and the screwball comedies.) At the center was beautiful chanteuse Jenny Lamour, who teases men to distraction and to develop her career, but is a one-man woman, married to cute pudgy bald Maurice (totally my type). At one point she says “He’s my flame–he may not burn very brightly, but he lights the way…” Her photographer friend, Dora, is infatuated with her, and we become infatuated with the drop-dead beautiful Dora, but in the end, the inspector says to her, “We’re alike—when it comes to women, we’ll never have a chance…” elevating her to some unknown category of unattainable beautiful lesbians. I won’t tell you about the plot, because you should see it. Just delightful.

Posted on

Panic Attack

Jack Radcliffe just sent me a Valentine.

I am going to completely die.

Hi Chris,
Thanks! Happy Valentines day to you too!
*****

Okay, so he was responding to my Valentine, but I’ve read and reread his sweet and heartfelt note to me, and I’m sure there’s a secret message there. The lower case “d” for instance (he wants a little “d”), and the lack of the apostrophe (he wants to possess ME), or the missing comma after “you” (“I miss you”).

He is just the sweetest guy, so clever and discreet. He wants me, I know it…

Posted on

Fukasaku, Bridge Club

This afternoon I saw Fukasaku’s Black Rose Mansion, (’69), the disappointing follow-up to the absolutely outrageous Black Lizard, one of my all-time favorite camp extravaganzas from Japan (with transvestite actor Akihiro Maruyama as the infamous jewel thief Black Lizard, and featuring Yukio Mishima as one of her human dolls!). Maruyama again starred, but this time as a shadowy chanteuse at an exclusive men’s club. She’s almost Medusa-like in the effect she has on the poor men who gaze upon her and fall instantly in love with her, and are thus doomed.

Last night Big Chrissy and I went to Sarah’s in Atherton for our bridge club. Sarah lives in this really fabulous house with a topiary maze and a Modigliani. She and her husband have a very interesting and quirky art collection, with several major pieces by Nam Jun Paik, Odd Nerdrum, Frank Lobdell, Dale Chihuly, and Alan Rath. There’s a door in one of the downstairs closets that leads to an underground swimming pool. Sarah is a very interesting artist, and I invited her last night to submit some work to the Marjorie Wood Gallery. She served a delicious meal of lamb shanks and white bean soup, and after helping her taste wines for a fundraiser that she’s involved in, we were all a little distracted and a little lit.

Posted on

Larry, Merce and Alex

This week I saw an incredible show by Larry Sultan, my former teacher, at Stephen Wirtz.  Larry’s known for a very sensitive and intimate body of work in which he photographed his aging parents in their affluent suburban retirement.  His recent work consists of large-scale photos taken on porn sets, also in suburban southern California.  Unlike Ken Probst, whose images of gay porn sets include both the central action and the peripheral activity of cameramen, lighting guys, etc…, Larry focuses soley on the activity surrounding the shoot.  Occasionally you’ll see a leg sticking in the air, or a tumble of indistinguishable body parts half-seen through a rose bush.  My favorite image is almost like a Cartier-Bresson in its capture of the decisive moment.  A woman in a slightly-parted loose-fitting robe revealing a bare leg and enormous high heel strolls off a set,3 dogs groveling at her feet.  The form of each dog mimics the curve of her heel, their asses high in the air, simultaneously begging and offering.

Last night I and Alex saw the Merce Cunningham Dance Troupe at Zellerbach.  One piece, How to Pass, Kick, Fall and Run, from 1965, was accompanied by a composition by John Cage consisting of two voices, Merce Cunnigham and David Vaughan, reading short very droll pieces about domestic life, at alternating speeds.  At times, one story was very clearly heard, at other times, the words blended together into just sounds.  While it was great to see and hear an icon of 20th century art, the first piece, though, Pictures, was pure magic, with various groups of dancers alternately moving around each other and then freezing into very sculptural tableaux.

Alex and I rode in the last car of the last BART train, but were unlucky in securing any company other than ourselves for the ride back to the city.

Posted on

For the Personals

I photographed Alex last night.  His lover of something like 28 years is no longer interested in an erotic life with him, so it’s been my mission to help Alex secure temporary companionship over the internet by taking pictures of him in various stages of undress.  Alex and his lover have been collecting my work for years–I completed a huge commissioned work of them a few years ago that I might have to rework into 2 smaller pieces if they split up.  I posed Alex as a della Francesca dandy and a Mantegna St. Sebastian.  Alex is very sensual, the complement to his lover, who is slightly restrained with his affection and physicality.  He responded to the lens as if it were caressing him.  I stayed on my side of the camera.

Posted on

Bob’s Birthday Dinner

Gary Danko with Bob for his birthday tonight. Sharing our courses, it started out nice, the fois gras was delicious, paired with carmelized onions and fuji apples in a deep reduction, just spectacular, but the lobster salad was not very lobstery, despite the generous amount of lobster, and way too salady. The seared scallops were delicious, but again another problem with the lobster–upstaged by lima beans? This is not right. My venison was delicious, but Bob’s pheasant resembled turkey so closely that we thought that somebody was up to something fishy in the kitchen. The cheese course included an outrageous blue from Tasmania that was one of the best cheeses I’ve ever tasted–deep, pungent, spicy, just great. It seemed like the whole meal was defined by one hit and one miss per course. Dessert was the same as the other courses with a chocolate souffle that was overcooked and lifeless, and a heavenly cheesecake with citrus and sorbet that stimulated the taste buds and the imagination. Since the meal was so all over the place in terms of flavors, we chose a light Languedoc, which was very pleasant and well balanced, although ultimately lifeless, just earth and fruit. We had a hard time finding a wine for under $100, having mistaken the page numbers for the prices several times before finding a suitable range of wines to choose from. I want to be dazzled for this much, instead I was only tickled.

Posted on

The Hours

I saw The Hours last night, which seemed to have every great actress in Hollywood starring in it, each of whom delivered, particularly Nicole Kidman, who was so remarkably un-Nicole Kidman-esque that I got annoyed trying to catch sight of the familiar Nicole; Julianne Moore; and especially Toni Collette in a brief but unforgettable performance as Julianne’s neighbor. At one point, a comforting series of little kisses from Julianne ends in a big wet one planted smack dab on Toni’s lips. Toni says simply, “You’re sweet,” as if unaware of the longing behind the gesture. Even when it’s made implicit that the kiss may have been more, you see the denial delivered very tenderly, and at the same time you see her struggling against falling apart (she’s just discovered a growth on her uterus) behind a facade of smiley cheerfulness.

The film delivered a powerful but subtle message about the development of lesbian cooking skills, beginning with Virginia Woolfe’s near fear of food, to Julianne Moore’s incompetence in the kitchen, a metaphor for her discomfort in the mothering department, to Meryl Streep’s triumphant catering job at the end of the film.

Posted on

A Nice Long Day

Well, it looks like “It’s over” means something with a little more flexibility than I had thought the other night. My life and art are very much intertwined with things Big Chrissy, so I appreciate the chance to continue working together towards something really wonderful.

I hopped out of bed yesterday morning and ran quickly down to the market to pick up some apples and flour, zoomed up the hill to Chris’, popped a pie in and out of the oven, and was immediately swept away by Dave and Dave, who treated us to a lunch at the Cliff House. I’ve been here 19 years, and I’ve never been, except to visit the Camera Obscura, the Musee Mechanique, etc…, and the buffet was really great, with spectacular views of Seal Rock and huge waves. They need to tear it down and rebuild the Victorian building, though, and Sutro Baths while they’re at it…

Chris and I spent the rest of the day making the best chilli that I’ve ever had, and that we’ll all be eating for the next month, hot dogs specially chosen for the Pratt, home made cornbread, etc, etc… and only after an hour past the time when The Pratts were supposed to be there did someone say, “Did you talk to The Pratts about tonight?” Well, it seems like there was too much communication, but none of it very successful, so sadly we dined sans Chris and Dan. We must try again, for I miss those guys whom I’ve met only once but have grown so fond of through their online presence and cute pictures.

The boys and I then went to the Stud, where Chris and I were approached by several bloggers who had actually read our journals, we bobbed our heads by the dance floor, looking so thirty- and forty-something, while Dave and Dave went off and made out with several guys at the bar. They are something, those Daves, and should be in charge of all libido-related activities.