TEXTURES IN THE CITY

      All Photos by Theo Slavin

I ride BART to my eye doctor's office in San Francisco. I have glaucoma, which has stabilized after numerous treatments. Because I ride the train and walk to the doctor's office, I have time to be an observer of people along the way.

I love being in San Francisco, or any city, but just for a visit. The quirkiness, the bustle, the surges of people all become a cacophony of jumbled noises and sights. It is then that I begin to notice the waste paper, the general dirtiness of the streets, and the homeless, some of them with wild eyes, long grizzled beards, shivering bodies, and incoherent speech.

          Theo Slavin

On my way home one day, I heard a young woman behind me talking with great urgency on her cell phone.

"Can you pick me up at the BART station? I don't want to go inside that house. I want to go see Granma."

The young woman stopped talking on her phone. I wondered what the other person said back to her because she sighed. I continued to read my magazine half-expecting the young woman to jump off at the next stop, but the passenger behind me was silent. At Walnut Creek, I rose out of my seat and walked towards the exit. I looked back. The young woman was sound asleep.

       Theo Slavin

Her pleas made me think of other women who find themselves in situations where they are afraid. At least, the young woman was speaking up and asking for help. My tendency would be to remain silent and find my own way through a problem.

       Theo Slavin

Another young woman caught my eye as I was walking down Market Street. She was a Latina with long, dark, curly hair and a beautiful face that was turned towards me as she and her partner brushed by me. He was small, but tough looking. He reminded me of the gang members I had seen as a juror on a murder trial several years ago. The couple were as close together as physics would allow two objects to be. They were not aware of anyone else around them, but there was something wrong in the way they walked. As the three of us neared the BART station at Montgomery, the woman suddenly veered to the left and ran down the steps to the station below. The man, in a fury, dashed after her, wheeling from one side of the stairs to the other until he stopped in front of her, face touching face.

He growled, "You know I don't like to act this way."

My heart cringed at the statement and I wondered what he was prepared to do.

"Stop and come back with me, " he demanded.

They stood still, pushing with their hands close to their chests, one against the other, as I walked cautiously by them. I thought: I could do something. I could yell at him to leave her alone. But he was intense and scary and I walked on by -- another human afraid to interfere where help could be needed. I walked through the station to the turnstile and looked back at the couple. They were still in the same position.

       Theo Slavin

I was back in the City for another doctor's appointment. I arrived at the New Montgomery station just as the escalator closed down and the trains stopped. Smoke had surfaced on another escalator so all of them had been turned off. Everyone in the station had to climb the two flights to the ground level, which reminded me of living in Tokyo and the older stations there that had no escalators. We had to climb two or three flights of stairs to exit. Today I felt smug as I passed younger people on the stairs. I was still fit to climb.

As I came up the Montgomery Station steps, my mind went back to the couple. I thought again: I could have talked with the station agent. I could have asked the couple a question, "Could you help me? I'm lost." Maybe that interruption could have defused the anger that was building on the steps, but I will never know.

As I came up to the street, a few drops of rain hit me. I saw a young woman with wild, red curly hair, partly secure in a snood at the top of her head. The rest cascaded down her shoulders like steel wool, contrasting with the bright green of her wool coat and dark orange socks that were pulled up to her knees. She rushed by as I continued to my doctor's office.

        Theo Slavin

Later as I left his office, I clung to the sides of the buildings, hoping to miss the raindrops that began to fall. It was cold and wet and I was not prepared for rain. It had been warm and mild the day before. I left my umbrella in the car and wore my coat without a hood. I liked walking in the City, so I didn't really care if I got wet, but the cold was swiftly going through me.

When I turned the corner, I saw a middle-aged man sitting on a tarp on the sidewalk. His face was weathered, but he looked at me with sympathy on his face. I guessed he expected me to have rain gear. He was more prepared than I was. Besides the tarp, he had a wide-brimmed hat and a voluminous coat. We nodded and I crossed to Walgreen's to buy an umbrella. I thought of the 500 Yen (about a $5 at the time) umbrellas in Japan that popped up outside every store as soon as it started to rain in Tokyo. The umbrellas were one of the few cheap items in Tokyo and I collected several each summer.

     Theo Slavin

As I stepped outside the door and opened my umbrella, I looked around the corner for the man. I thought of buying him some soup, but he was already gone from his spot. I hurried across the street to Postino, a little cafe I found on my last trip, which served delicious, warming soup and thin-crusted pizza -- just perfect for a cold, rainy day in the City.

        Theo Slavin

Theo Slavin created the photos that illustrate my essay. If you would like to see more of Theo's work, check out http://theoslavin.tumblr.com

Thank you for reading this longer than usual essay today.  Stay warm and dry.

MAKING A LIST FOR LIFE

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about making lists and received many interesting responses. Lists are more profound than we think. Even a simple grocery list can tells something about the person who wrote it. The process of list making touches a nerve in many.

One person, who has a Taskmaster sitting on their shoulders, stopped making lists and enjoys the freedom that has ensued.

One person keeps her list in a journal, crosses out items that have been done, but continues to have a record of all that she has accomplished, or not. Those that are 'or not' on the list give her something to dream or plan about for the future.

One person, in her twenties, made a list of all that she wanted to do in her life, tucked away the list, found it in her 60s, and realized that most of what she listed she had achieved.

One of my aunts kept a daily record of the weather,  which showed many, many years worth of living on a secluded farm in Minnesota.

Another friend started her day with a list of calls she needed to make. She was a networker and loved by those she contacted frequently.

One person makes a list that includes items she needs to do, but also rewrites past entries to make her realize how much she has done.

My sister laughs at the number of lists I make, which can be found all over our house. They bring order to my life (I have a list on the door leading to the garage of all of our daily, weekly, monthly, yearly chores). They spark my imagination: I have a list of unusual names that I've gathered, which includes Twyla Tharp and my mother's dad, Elzeor Jean Bellefeuille de poire (shortened to Belfi when his ancestors moved to Canada from France). I've even made a book of lists. Here is the Table of Contents (another list, of course!)

The book includes the lists for the preparations for a New Year's Eve party:

and a list of random things about me:

I like what  Steve Maraboli said about lists:

“Rename your “To-Do” list to your “Opportunities” list. Each day is a treasure chest 

filled with limitless opportunities; take joy in checking many off your list.” 

I hope this Inktober has been a fruitful way for you to make a daily practice of what you decided to do!

Inktober Third Week of Drawings

Inktober is the perfect month to share with you some of the work by my cousin, Todd Heimdahl. He is an artist who creates ink drawings like these on this page. They are spare and quiet and set us right into the empty prairie that he loves to draw.

Can't you just feel the chill of the snow and the stillness in the air? 

Todd's work can be found at Prairie Edge Trading Co. & Galleries        

 prairieedge.com 

I've been working hard at some drawings for a printmaking class at Kala Institute in Berkeley. The instructor is Kazuko Watanabe, a terrific teacher. I'm saving my next batch of Inktober drawings for next week.

Enjoy Todd's work instead!

Check out Kala Institute at http://kala.org  They offer classes in printmaking and digital arts. Great place for artists to get together! And right next to Berkeley Bowl, a visual food treat.

ONE DOT

Twyla Tharp leaps like a puppet, legs and arms extended
Over my head with a horde of other women bold in their days
Women who have jumped, vaulted, rattled into our consciousness,
Thwarting our culture's stand against women.
Gloria Steinem, Maya Angelou, Billie Jean King, to name a few,
Fly with Tharp, baiting me with their triumphs.
How to leave a legacy of a life well-lived, one person among many.
My belief: we are all connected dots in the universe
When I am gone, something else will rise like Spring and replace me

Still

I would like one little moment in the sun.

  by Martha Slavin

Does someone really inspire you?

Twyla Tharp, dancer and choreographer, is coming to Berkeley this month with a new production. Long ago, Tharp caught my attention because of her unusual name.

 I longed to be a dancer all through my school days into college. Yet, I didn't have the early, strenuous practice needed to land on the stage as a dancer. Twyla Tharp did.

I watched a documentary about Tharp as she explained how her mother drove her each day to excel. She was in class starting early in the morning till late at night. Instead of burnout, her extreme practice developed her perfectionism which heightened her skill as a dancer and choreographer. She is an example to me of someone who turned a negative into a positive. She is still performing at 74, working hard, looking beautiful, and sharing with us her inspiring creativity.

Read more about Twyla Tharp here:

http://www.sfchronicle.com/performance/article/Tharp-headed-for-Berkeley-performance-looks-6556187.php?t=d7cbb092def7bebdba&cmpid=email-premium#asset-photo-8723779

Who has inspired you?

Here are this week's Inktober challenge:

MAKING A LIST

Do you keep a to-do list?

I do. On my list today:

Call to change tickets for a play.

We have tickets to a play, but the performance is scheduled for Halloween. We have close to 800 trick-or-treaters come to our door that night. Our neighborhood Halloween has turned into a huge block party with families walking up and down the street, the police supervising, and lines of merrily costumed kids forming at our door. We don't want to miss that night.

So on my list today is to call the theater to change our reservation.

This is what's also on my list today:

Call to get some fencing put in,
call to find someone to refinish our front doors,
fix the fountain,
count the number of my dad's drawings that I have,
finish the family photo albums from the 1970s and 80s, (yes, I'm a little behind)
call my sister,
email people who emailed me several days ago,
talk to friends,
call the plumber,
get a copy of our property tax bill,
clean out storage locker, (where am I going to put that stuff)
fix sprinklers on the hill,
draw layout of plants to replace part of the front lawn.

A big, unrealistic list to finish all in one day. Some of the items have been on my list for several years while I wait for the right moment.

But thinking one thing at a time, right. So before I start on my list, I go upstairs to brush my teeth. As I walk by the railing, I see the stack of books waiting to go upstairs and think:

"Oh, those look interesting," as I rifle through a few pages, teeth forgotten. Oh, back upstairs, without the books, I clean up a cat hairball - yuck - hang up a sweater, fix my hair, brush teeth, do not go into the other upstair bedroom to start sorting out objects to give away, oh, I did, but only to pick up a photo box to put stuff in to take to Sunday's printmaking class. Downstairs, those books again, walk back to workroom, ignore computer and the emails waiting, pause at work table, thinking how long it's been since I was able to paint (last week), and the state of the table as more and more things are layered on top of one another.

Waiting for the right moment when I can do one thing at a time.

Buddhist call this monkey or beginner mind when your mind flits from one thing to another and you don't know how to pull your thoughts back, let them go, and concentrate on just one task at hand. So I close my eyes and take a deep breath, watch my neighbor, who used to walk vigorously up and down the street, as he now slowly walks by with the help of a cane. I calm myself down watching him so that I can begin, so that I can realize that my list will get done, one thing at a time.

Go.

 *   *   *   *   *   *

Here are this week's One Ink Drawing a Day for Inktober:

INKTOBER

#inktober

A challenge to you: make the month of October a month when you will do one thing with intention each day -- an ink drawing, a painting, a photograph, an essay, a poem, a letter to a friend, a new recipe, a gratitude sentence, organize one drawer a day. Commit to your intention, whatever you need to do to make your life a richer place.

A couple of years ago, I wrote a sentence of gratitude each day. As I was writing every afternoon, I didn't feel a new sense of gratitude come over me. That was a little disappointing, but I kept at it. At the end of the year, when I reread my pages and pages, I saw my world with new eyes. Those small moments of gratitude changed me. I realized that change doesn't always happen immediately. It took a whole year of putting gratitude down on paper for me to realize what I had to be grateful for.

So I challenge you to do something with intention this month that may alter you in a way that you weren't expecting.

Inktober is a national challenge to artists to do one ink drawing each day for the entire month. In honor of Inktober, I've decided to make this my challenge.

Here are my drawings for Oct. 1 and 2:

#Inktober

#inktober

You might choose something entirely different from art for your challenge. Keep it simple. What idea can you commit to each day this month?

Check out Jake Parker's website. He is the originator of the Inktober idea. http://mrjakeparker.com/inktober


Let me hear from you about your choice. We can encourage each other on our month of intention!

REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST

My mother-in-law died recently. She was 94 and had had a long, rich life full of travel and friends. She was not a collector of things as I am. When she moved into assisted living, we helped her clear out her possessions. We did a further sweeping away when she moved into skilled nursing. What was left in her room when she died were several small glass blue birds given to her for her volunteer work at the local hospital.

In the last couple of years of her life, she and I became closer than we ever had been before, enjoying the time we spent together. These birds, an accidental collection of hers, have taken on special meaning to me. They represent memories of Lillian.

Starting with my grandparents, I have kept a memento of each passing elder. The token brings back the person whenever I look at the object. My grandmother was the first to go, and the jade plant on our back porch is a cutting from the original jade plant that my mother brought home after my grandmother's death. My grandmother told me family history, taught me the 'proper' way to do things, and saved my favorite magazine so that I could cut out the paper dolls in the back. She had a small garden where iris, grapes, and calla lilies grew, which sparked my interest in gardening.

My mother sent me envelopes of autumn leaves each year. I've saved them in a box and added many more of my own. When I sift through them in September, I remember her and realize how often I use leaves as symbols and motifs in my artwork.

The most unusual memento, an electric can opener, represents my grandfather. Yes, a can opener, which was the only thing left in his apartment after my mother had packed away the things she treasured. The can opener continued its useful life for many years until it finally gave out. Now it sits in my workroom as a bookend. I have other objects that belonged to my grandfather now, but the can opener always brings a smile to my face in memory of the whimsical, fun-loving storyteller who was my grandfather.

Iris Apfel, who is 93 and still a designer, once said in a New York Times article:  "I think it's wonderful to have stuff and live with memories and things you enjoy."  If Iris can do that, so can I.