29 March 2020. Gil's Inside.
Yesterday, a difficult day, for many reasons--all of them minor in the larger scheme. How to proceed? Do you pay attention to the fine-grained stream of e-mails on the pro's and con's of virus masks? Or how to properly wash vegetables and shopping bags? (These articles always assigned to a woman on the staff.) Or, turn to something--something what? Something beyond. Not to escape, but to remind oneself that we're here because of who we are. Such a loaded expression...
The small photo online showing Gil, the owner, and his wife. Well meaning people. I project, but it looks very much like he's a war vet who went into furniture refinishing. Good with his hands, that's the phrase. She's hugging him, from the side, arms around his middle. We've seen this many times before--a primate gesture, for sure.
You go inside, and the plethora of stuff is almost overwhelming. Everything chosen with an eye for the curious--along very particular lines. How people read the world. Above, for example--an Asian- style plate, with flowers and rings, set on Gil's handmade stand, nicely finished--maybe mahogany, again in a Chinese design. A kind of cartoon, in the best sense--because it's one-off and local, not a corporate production. Sitting on an old tray, original, and the tray on a worn table with rounded corners and a large dark bronze medallion in front. The elephants are alongside.
The temptation to draw them--because I love drawing elephants, yes, but also because they pull you in. Maybe it's inadvertent. But importantly, the drawing won't follow the rules. I don't really want to copy these soulless creatures, who now, in the reality of the drawing, with each new line, insist on becoming themselves...
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A story here. I first met B in a ticket line in the downstairs of Zellerbach. 1971. I was there to get seats for my mother and a close friend (Yvette Crans, a pianist) who were visiting Berkeley together. Mozart. There in the parallel line was a beautiful young woman with dusky blond hair, wearing a trench coat. A yyoung assistant professor's wife, I imagined--all the good ones are taken... She turned around, and we looked at each other. She told me--years later--that my eyes were pouring forth light. I remember taking a packet of Rizla papers from my pocket, and with the Parker fountain pen, the one with blue ink, I made a drawing of an elephant. I gave it to her.
After she was gone, I found the drawing again, upstairs, in the top drawer of a small, well-worn jewelry box. It looks quite a bit like the little one above...
