Plants I'm Growing: Agave Filifera Blooms (July 9, 2012)

Agave filifera probably has a common name, but I don't know what it is. "Filifera," I've always assumed, refers to the filament-like fringes that form on the leaves (I see now that they're present on the flower stalk as well). They peel away from the margins of the leaves and curl up into little curlicues. It's one of the first plants I planted in the garden of my house, which was new when we bought it in 2000. The plant probably went in the ground in 2001 or 2002, at the latest. About a month ago, a flower stalk began to develop. It's been elongating since then. A couple of days ago the first flowers opened at the base of what has become an immense inflorescence. The flower stalk reaches to the eaves of the house--about 12 feet, I estimate. It represents ten years of stored energy. The photo here shows only the lowest 10 inches or so of the huge stalk. The flowers will open from the bottom up.

The plant itself is not especially big. It stands less than two feet tall. This gigantic organ of reproduction is therefore about six times the size of the plant that generated it. It's like a tulip blossom standing five feet tall, or, in human terms, the equivalent of a man with a 36-foot-long erection. It's no wonder the plant dies after it blooms.

On the Road: Carmel, San Luis Obispo, Paso Robles (July 2-4)

Wine and Missions--and a pair of California Condors. En route to Paso Robles to do a little wine tasting I stopped for a night in Carmel. Having arrived rather late in the day on a Sunday, there wasn't much to do but browse a few shops and look at the sea--but those are pleasant enough diversions. I stopped in at The Weston Gallery, which always has good photography on display. The highlight of any stay in Carmel, though is an opportunity to eat at Casanova, probably my favorite restaurant in the immediate area (along with Taste Bistro). I enjoyed a very tasty Verdicchio from Sartarelli--crisp, clean, and refreshing, but with real character. The spinach gnocchi I had were a delight.

At the Mission in Carmel--formally known as Mission San Carlos Borroméo de Carmelo. The organist was practicing in the main church. A fabulously magenta Bougainvillea was blooming in the inner garden. There was a display of historical vestments, some with rather remarkable embroidery (photo).

Most interesting, to me, however, was the Munras Family Heritage Museum at the Mission--a section I've never noticed before. Of particular interest was a photograph of one of the most important family members, Maria Antonia Field, taken at San Francisco's 1915 Panama Pacific International Exposition, at the French pavillion, according to the inscription in the box. I have a strong interest in photography and the history of photography, but have never come across an image quite like this one. It was mounted in a gilded, velvet-lined box (much like those used to protect Daguerreotypes but about twice that size) hinged on the inside so that the image, apparently a positive color slide (on what looks like ground glass), is raised to receive light at an angle above a mirror mounted below it. To view the image, you look into the mirror. The photograph is beautiful, as is the woman pictured in it. I wasn't aware of an early color process of this type. A little research is in order....

It's remarkable to me that within three minutes of writing the above sentence, the Internet allowed me  to satisfy my curiosity. This appears to be a an "Autochrome-Lumière" (or just an "Autochrome"). The viewing device is called a diascope. The process, which uses dyed particles of potato starch, appears to have been developed in 1903 and first commercially marketed in 1907 (both according to the Wikipedia article on the Autochrome-Lumière). That makes perfect sense chronologically. It would likely have been a novelty in San Francisco in 1915.

About 40 miles south of Carmel on Highway 1 is Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park. I've stopped there before in the hope of seeing some of the few California Condors still alive, but I've never been lucky enough to see one. This time, however, a pair appeared soaring high over a distant ridge not long before I was about to give up. They were too distant to photograph meaningfully, but close enough to see well with binoculars--apparently an adult and a younger bird. On the adult bird, the pale wing linings underneath and pale areas at the trailing edge of the tops of the wings were both visible. The California Condor is life bird number 352 for me.

The rest of my short trip took me through San Luis Obispo where I saw the mission from the outside and likewise a very attractive little Carnegie Library, just next door. A surprisingly dull meal at an enthusiastically recommended restaurant (Vieni Vai) was a disappointment, but an excellent meal the following day at Fenomenal in Paso Robles made up for it. My time in Paso Robles was mostly spent wine tasting--visiting Daou, Tablas Creek, Denner, and Kenneth Volk. Daou appears to be making solid, if very expensive wines. The view from the fancy new winery is wonderful. I just wish wineries would put their money into making fine wine at affordable prices rather than spend it on lavish tasting facilities and then jacking up prices, asking consumers to pay for the extravagance. Tablas Creek, affiliated with Chateau de Beaucastel in France, continues to make some fine wines. Denner was virtually uninhabited despite an appointment, so I never got to taste anything there. The wines came highly recommended, so that was a disappointment--but, perhaps it was no loss: Denner is another winery at which a lot of money has been spent on extravagant facilities. Most interesting was a visit to Kenneth Volk. Mr. Volk happened to be in the (modest) tasting room and pouring wines himself, speaking enthusiastically about the many unusual grape varieties he's growing and making interesting wine from, including Torrentes (a white grape best known for the wines it makes in Argentina) and Blaufränkisch (a red grape usually associated with Austria).

Before leaving the area, I stopped by Morro Bay State Park, hoping to see some birds, but there wasn't much around, although a quick stop at Morro Rock was worth the detour as Peregrine Falcons are nesting high on the cliffs there, occasionally harassing gulls in spectacular dives. At lower elevations (sea level), several immature Brown Pelicans consented lazily to having their portraits made, and three or four sea otters clung to a small bed of kelp close to the shore.

On the way home, I briefly got to look at two other missions--San Miguel Arcangel and Nuestra Señora de La Soledad. Most of Highway 101 follows the Camino Real here.

On the Road: Foggy Golden Gate Bridge

Crossing the Golden Gate Bridge a couple of days ago, the structure was shrouded in thick fog. It's fairly unusual to see it so completely obscured. The photograph here actually shows more detail than was visible looking at it live.

Wines I'm Making: Grapes Coming Along Nicely (June 30, 2012)

This year was the first year in several that we had almost no rain during flowering of the grape vines. As a result, fruit set has been good. Tomorrow is only July 1st--with at least three months to go before harvest--but the grapes are already looking well-formed. The photo shows a cluster on one of our Sangiovese vines.

Art I'm Looking At/Music I'm Listening To: VineArt 2012, in Santa Rosa's South A Street Arts District

Santa Rosa's South A Street Arts District is worth a visit any time. I don't how many artists have studios on A St. at the south end of Julliard Park, but there are more than enough to spend a satisfying hour or two looking around, and, at the intersection of A St. and Sebastopol Ave., is Jeremiah's Photo Corner, a friendly shop I go to for photo supplies. But last night I went to attend VineArt 2012, a gallery open house with wineries pouring some of their wines, food vendors, and music in the streets.

I went to look at art, but stayed to listen to music. I have to say the music was as good as some of the art. I particularly like the photography of Barbara Elliot who continues to make quirky and compelling images of dolls and mannequins. Many of these are Polaroid transfers, which create an air of distance and nostalgia. A young artist who calls himself Mr. Salazar was exhibiting posters (some originally made for Santa Rosa's The Imaginists theater collective) that are digital collages juxtaposing odd assortments of images taken from various sources--everything from the Rubik's Cube to old paper tags appear as elements in the little worlds Mr. Salazar creates. I was mostly deeply impressed, however, by the music I heard.

As I walked down to Jeremiah's Photo Corner to say hello to Jeremiah I did the aural equivalent of a double take as my brain made the connection between the deeply authentic blues I was hearing and the man folded around a guitar, playing on the corner there (Dave Burke). At first I thought I was hearing a recording--"Cryin' Won't Help You." The quiet but relentless beat behind the guitar produced with a bass drum pedal working against an old suitcase and augmented by a foot-operated tambourine immediately reminded me of the likes of Jack Owens and Eugene Powell--and later, R.L. Burnside, when Burke launched into "Old Black Hattie." The real blues are gone, despite the knee-jerk protestation "the blues will never die" that the old bluesmen seemed to fall back on when asked to say something about their art. The deep blues Robert Palmer wrote about, in particular, was the product of a society in America's Deep South that no longer exists. A lot of blues musicians today think they know what they're doing, but few seem to approach the balance of raw feeling, technical skill, and driving forward motion that makes real blues music compelling. Remarkably, Mr. Burke comes very close to achieving the feat. The whole evening would have been worth it just to hear this music. But there was more. 

In a back corner of the gallery buildings an unlikely ensemble fronted by two women playing trombones and a man in a hat playing a giant, bleating saxophone (a bass saxophone maybe?) created an entirely different mood. I never found out who these people were. Shortly afterward, as I was about to leave the event, I heard the sound of Klezmer music coming from South A St.--an accordion, a wistful fiddle played by a dark-haired beauty, a clarinet, and a soprano sax there were weaving magic. A small crowd had formed. Some were dancing in the street. Passersby good-naturedly danced as they slipped through the people who stood listening or, just as often, they stopped and momentarily became part of the crowd themselves. The accordion player switched to stand-up bass and the young man playing the sax ducked under a battered sousaphone as a new tune began. For a while, he played both instruments. There was soulful ballad-singing in a raspy voice. There was a song sung in French. There was singing in Russian or Yiddish. I ended up staying until the end.

The performers told me that some of them were members of a group called Church Marching Band. Others seemed to belong to another group. I wish I could tell you their names. They were wonderful to listen to. From what I gather, some of them do a bit of impromptu performing around town--an article I read on line describes them being kicked out of Santa Rosa Plaza (our downtown mall) for doing a little concert without permission, playing all the while--noble behavior we need more of. Why should spontaneous art require permission? This is the kind of activity that makes people happy, that enriches communities, that attracts people and makes public spaces vibrant. Serendipity. It's the sort of activity that makes Santa Rosa seem like a real city from time to time. 

  

Art I'm Looking At: Exhibits at the San Francisco Airport (Jun 28, 2012)

Visiting the San Francisco Airport is always a pleasure. It's not just an airport, it's a museum. There's always something worthwhile to see. The shows are generally small, but always top notch. I was out there yesterday and enjoyed seeing a collection of "pillows" and headrests--made of unlikely materials such as wood, woven bamboo, and porcelain--entitled "Sleeping Beauties: Headrests from the Fowler Museum at UCLA;" a collection of beautifully crafted household items, many of them in silver, called "Form, Function, and Beauty: Design Variations in Metlawork from the Margo Grant Walsh Collection"(through end-December 2012); and a fabulous group of 1950s and 1960s Italian motorbikes, called "Moto Bellissima." The motorbikes are all beautifully restored to show off richly colored paint (mostly red) and a lot of dazzling chrome tubing (through the end of July).

The little Aviation Museum was closed for an event, but a collection of remarkably fine aircraft models was on display, visible from outside (all the work of one man, Jim Lind). The models in the exhibit are a small fraction of his collection of some 1,600 models in 1:72 scale--which makes a Boeing 747 about a yard long. The show focuses on aircraft that flew transoceanic routes and features a number of nicely rendered flying boats (through the end of July). See the SFO Museum website for details. Always something to see....

Found Art: Iron Grating, San Francisco (June 24, 2012)

A little symphony in shades of rust. I saw this iron grating in the street recently on a trip to San Francisco. Curious about the manufacturer, I looked up Neenah Foundry. The company still exists. It's been making municipal castings since 1872, in Neenah, Wisconsin.

For more found art, see my blog

Serendipitous Art.

Art I'm Looking At: Wire Sculptures by Ruth Asawa at the De Young (June 21, 2012)

The day before yesterday I spent most of the day in San Francisco. After taking a walk on Ocean Beach and having a grotesque and virtually inedible bowl of oatmeal at a little café down by the water (the coffee was fine; the oatmeal looked and tasted like it had been made the week before and then freshly microwaved--don't people know what good oatmeal should taste like?), I drove over to see the De Young Museum for the first time in a year or so. I mostly saw the regular collection, choosing not to spend the extra money to see the JeanPaul Gaulthier exhibit now going on. It was funny (and a pleasure), though, to see that many people in the museum seemed to be rather better dressed than usual.

There is a good Sargent in the De Young, an 1884 portrait of Caroline de Bassano, Marquise d'Espeuilles. Sargent depicts fabrics with a skill that's breathtaking. A few seemingly random strokes conjure up textures so real that you can almost hear the cloth rustle as the subject moves ever so slightly (the figure is static yet animated). The strokes of paint in the dress are abstract and painterly, yet, if you step back a little, they suddenly lose their substance and become part of an ethereal whole. The dress worn by this Caroline de Bassano is an excellent example of Sargent's ability to paint fabrics that seem alive. My photograph of the painting here can't do it justice.

Painting faces, Sargent captures the flesh but also the personality. I have no doubt that Caroline de Bassano looked just as Sargent has painted her (not very flatteringly--with her very large eyes, receding chin, and thin upper lip)--but he's also captured her personality--or so it seems. She looks ambitious and superficially confident, but somehow extremely insecure at the same time. She seems deeply in need of something. A pleasure to see this painting again.

Most interesting, however, was a set of sculptures by Ruth Asawa tucked away in a back corner. I would have missed them entirely if I hadn't decided to climb the tower at the museum. "Climb" is a misnomer. I was disappointed to find there is no access by steps (although, in the event of a fire, there must be, during normal conditions the stairway is reserved for staff use, as this area houses administrative offices). Reluctantly, I went up by elevator. The tower gives a surprisingly good view of the surroundings. It's well worth the detour--even without the sculptures in the elevator hall. These are wire constructions that cast shadows as interesting as the sculptures themselves. I must confess that I enjoyed the shadows as much or more than the wire pieces--although it goes without saying, perhaps, that the two are inseparable. In any case, the sculptures are well worth seeking out.

Wines I'm Making: Third Sulfur Spraying 2012 (June 20, 2012)

I sprayed the grapes with sulfur again today, to prevent mold--the third time I've sprayed this year. This is a little late, but I wanted to wait until after the vines had finished flowering and set fruit before wetting them. As we've had comparatively cool weather and there has been a good breeze most days, mold didn't seem to great a danger. Also, I've just trimmed back the canopy to make sure the vines aren't being shaded by excess growth at the top. Having said that, I've learned over the years that it really is necessary to spray. If you don't, the grapes mold and much fruit is lost. So far, everything looks good. The next hurdle will be getting the nets in place before the fruit begins to take on color and the animals start to take an interest. I'm determined to get the nets on early this year.

Books I'm Reading: A Man on The Moon: The Voyages of the Apollo Astronauts (June 15, 2012)

I'm old enough to remember much of the Apollo program. I recall school stopping for virtually every launch and splashdown leading up to and including the first moon walk, on April 20, 1969 (Apollo 11). We were herded into the auditorium for each event or made to sit in a circle around a TV brought into a classroom. I remember the broadcasts in black and white. I also remember the ebbing of public interest in the space program. By the time Apollo 17 went to the moon, most people had moved on--which is a shame; while the first landing on the moon was highly important technically and for political reasons, it wasn't until the later Apollo missions that the exploration of the moon really began.

Andrew Chaikin's excellent book A Man on The Moon: The Voyages of the Apollo Astronauts (Penguin, 1995) covers the period of transition from the Gemini missions to the Apollo program following Kennedy's public challenge (to land a man on the moon and return him safely home before the end of the 1960s) through the last moon landing, in 1972. Chaikin pays careful attention especially to the preparations for the scientific work of the later missions, mostly geological investigations. While I remember some of the most important events of the time, A Man on the Moon puts it all into perspective. Perhaps the most startling thing that emerges is the brevity of it all. Only a little more than eight years separate Kennedy's historic speech of May 25, 1961 and the first moon landing, and the six lunar landings spanned only three-and-a-half years. The last of them was already 40 years ago.

Well written and meticulously researched, the book is based on contemporary media reports, NASA mission archives, and extensive interviews with 23 of the 24 men who visited the moon, as well as interviews with many of their wives and some of their children, and with Apollo program managers, experiment scientists, engineers, flight controllers, flight directors, geologists, historians, NASA administrators, and even some of the men that designed and created the spacesuits worn on the moon missions. The result is a narrative that gives a palpable sense of having been there. Highly recommended.

Beers I'm Drinking: Beers to Compete with Coedo's "Kyara" (June 12, 2012)

I recently wrote about the delicious "Kyara" beer from Coedo Brewery in Japan. I wish I could afford to drink it whenever beer seems appropriate (that is, on hot summer days like today), but it's rather pricey. I stopped in at Trader Joe's yesterday and I got to talking about beer with one of the guys working in the beverages department. I tried to describe Coedo's "Kyara" to him and he recommended a few beers he thought might be similar but less expensive. I bought three as a start. I tasted them together yesterday, along with a bottle of the Coedo "Kyara" as a point of reference. I tasted the "Breckle's Brown" from Anchor Steam in San Francisco, "Bitter American" from 21st Amendment Brewery, in Cold Springs, Minnesota, and "Back in Black," also from 21st Amendment Brewery. Brief tasting notes follow.

Anchor Steam "Breckle's Brown" (6% alcohol): Attractive copper color. Fairly strong hoppy scent with suggestions of wood and chrysanthemums. At first, seemed a typical, overly hoppy California beer, but it proved quite dry on the palate and the hoppy element wasn't overdone. Nice, lingering bitterness that was pronounced, but not excessive. After the Coedo "Kyara," I liked this beer best of the bunch. Recommended. Seems to strike a nice balance between hoppy and malty flavors, although it doesn't quite achieve the wonderful balancing act of the "Kyara," a beer that is rich and malty without being heavy or sweet and that has refreshing, vibrant carbonation.

21st Amendment Brewery "Bitter American" (4.4% alcohol): This came highly recommended at Trader Joe's. The woman at the checkout counter confirmed that it was very popular among the male staff members. I was less impressed--which is not to say that this is a bad beer. It's just not what I was looking for--a Coedo "Kyara" substitute. Golden Lager color. Floral scents. Sweet scents. Not very hoppy on the nose. Seems flat after the Anchor Steam beer--probably because it's considerably lower in alcohol and it has a finer, creamier head. Rather strong, hoppy aftertaste. Seems thin on the mid-palate and lacking in body. Having said that, not bad, just not "Kyara" and I preferred the "Breckle's Brown.

21st Amendment Brewery "Back in Black" (6.8% alcohol): Dark chestnut brown. Fairly unassuming nose. On the palate, suggests chocolate and coffee, particularly coffee, with a flat, creamy foam reminiscent of English dark beers--which is not a bad thing, but, again, not what I was looking for here. Slightly sweet on the finish. Less hoppy than the first two beers.

Coedo Brewery "Kyara" (5% alcohol):  What makes this beer so appealing to me is its subtle balance of body, flavor, and texture, with the crispness and refreshingly bright characteristics of a lager. Pretty amber color. Malty nose. Good body and with more presence than the alcohol content would suggest. Crisp, with moderately fine, bright foam that's substantial without being heavy or too creamy. Dry but not overly hoppy. Again, "Kyara" seems perfectly balanced to me. Delicious. Highly recommended. Just wish it weren't so expensive.

In conclusion, I liked the "Kyara" best, followed fairly closely by the Anchor Steam "Breckle's Brown,"a beer I'll probably buy again, then by "Back in Black" and finally the "Bitter American." Despite the enthusiasm at Trader Joe's, I probably won't go back for more of the 21st Amendment Brewery beers, although they were tasty enough. Obviously, personal preference has a great deal to do with the decisions we make about what to buy and what to drink. I was looking for a beer with presence, good malty flavors, and hops--but not excessively hoppy--that also has crisp, refreshing carbonation: Coedo's "Kyara" seems to get this combination just right. The Anchor Steam "Breckle's Brown"is close to this view of an ideal beer as well.

As an appendix of sorts, I also tried the 21st Amendment Brewery "Brew Free or Die IPA" (7%).  I must say, I rather liked it. No longer thinking about the Coedo "Kyara," I took it slowly and on its own terms. An attractive coppery gold with a creamy but persistent head. Hints of hops and molasses on the nose. Very flavorful. Has good body--reflective of its comparatively high alcohol content. Good hoppy taste, without being too hoppy and without the harsh bitter aftertaste of a more heavily hopped beer. Good, extended finish that was nicely balanced between hops and a very faint sweetness.

Miscellaneous: 2012 Transit of Venus (June 5, 2012)

This is a photo of the 2012 Transit of Venus. I snapped it at 5:12PM in the Pacific time zone, about two hours into the planet's six-hour forty-minute journey across the face of the sun. Several groups of sunspots are clearly visible. Essentially, this is the same phenomenon as the annular solar eclipse of last month, but the disk of Venus is very small relative to the size of the sun, so there is no dimming during a transit.

Transits of Venus come in pairs, eight years apart. This one follows one in 2004. The next pair will occur more than 100 years from now, in 2117 and 2125. Transits of Venus show a repeating pattern over 243 years. Two transits separated by eight years are followed by another pair in 105.5 years. That pair is followed by another 121.5 years later. The pattern then repeats.

Transits of Venus are rare enough that only a handful of observations have been recorded. According to Wikipedia, there is no evidence that any of the great ancient civilizations were aware of the transits. The first documented scientific observation was in 1639, made by Jeremiah Horrocks, near Preston, England. Horrocks used his own corrections to Kepler's calculations of the orbit of Venus to estimate the timing of the event. Kepler had predicted the 1631 transit that preceded the one Horrocks observed. Horrocks appears to be the first to have understood that the transits would occur in pairs separated by eight years. Horrocks observed the transit the same way I did, by projecting an image onto a piece of paper using a simple telescope.

The next pair came in 1761 and 1769. Edmund Halley (after whom the comet is named) championed the idea of using the 1760s transits as a means of calculating the distance between the sun and the earth (known as the astronomical unit, or AU), having himself made calculations of the AU in 1676 using a transit of Mercury. He was unsatisfied with his results, however, because only one other scientist had made such an observation. The AU could be accurately measured, he reasoned, using triangulation, but that would require precisely simultaneous observations from widely separated points on Earth. He urged expeditions to make such observations. Halley died in 1742, but people listened. Among those who recorded the 1761 event were Captain James Cook, at Tahiti, on his first voyage around the world. Observations in 1761 from various locations around the globe yielded an estimate of 153mn kilometers for the AU--a significant improvement (Horrocks had estimated 95.6mn kilometers). Calculations from the 1874 and 1882 transits yielded a fairly accurate figure of 149.59mn kilometers. Today the AU is given as 149, 597, 870.700 kilometers--actually the mean distance, as the distance fluctuates slightly. Radio telemetry and radar have replaced the methods used in the past, but I found it satisfying to be able to do essentially what Horrocks did way back in 1639. I had the advantage, however, of being able to find the exact time of the event by using Google.

If you missed this event, there will be a transit of Mercury on May 9, 2016. Mark your calendar.

Rain: Late Season Rain Adds 0.15 Inches to 2011-2012 Total

In a somewhat surprising turn of the weather, we had rain overnight. Late this afternoon, it's clear and sunny again with only large cumulus clouds in the distance. It came quickly and left quickly as well--likely the last rain we'll have in the 2011-2012 season, which officially ends on June 30. The 0.15 inches we got brings our total to 26.45 inches--not bad, but below the historical average, which is a little under 32 inches.

Plants I'm Growing: First blooms--Cacti in the Garden (June 3, 2012)

I've become lazy about noting the first blooms on plants in the garden this year--an indication that my curiosity has been satisfied. About four years ago I began wondering how consistently plants bloom each year. I wanted to know if you could create a botanical calendar by planting the right species. I wondered if a year calculated as the date of first flowering of a given plant in two successive years was close to 365 days. With these questions in mind, I began recording the first blooms on all the plants in the garden. By doing so and collecting data, I came to the conclusion that I had thought most likely from the outset: that there is often a fairly significant difference from year to year, but a long year is usually followed by a short year, and vice versa, so that on average, plants do, in fact, calculate years close to an astronomical year.

Much has begun to flower in the past few weeks that I haven't recorded, but this morning I noticed two cacti in the garden had started to bloom and I was inspired to get out the camera. So, I record here first blooms of 2012 on the cactus Opuntia basilaris, or Beavertail Cactus (above), and on Opuntia elata, an obscure prickly pear cactus with a beautiful orange flower that appears to be native to Venezuela. The Beavertail Cactus bloomed on May 9, in 2009, May 20, in 2010, May 18, in 2011 and June 3 this year, so this is actually quite late for this plant. It has calculated years of 385, 354, and 381 days, averaging to 373 days, which is still somewhat long. Chances are good that it will bloom earlier next year. I really like the contrast between the blue-green stems of this cactus and its fuchsia-pink flowers.

Opuntia elata bloomed on June 4 in 2009, June 22 in 2011, and June 3 this year. I don't have a record for 2010 because I was in Europe that summer, but June 3 seems a typical bloom date for this plant given the past records I do have.

Miscellaneous: Bookshelves Full (June 2, 2012)

I recently wrote a short post about the bookshelves I built with my brother's help in my office/studio (here). I said that I expected the new space to fill quickly, as it seems to be a rule that new shelves appear only long after they've been sorely needed for some time. Here's a photo of the finished project--completely full already after only a week, as predicted.

Now, I need some new bookshelves....

Found Art: Blue Tire Tracks (May 30, 2012)

Somebody drove through fresh paint. The splash of paint and the overlapping blue tire tracks looked like art to me. Found art.

For more found art, see my blog
Serendipitous Art.

Music I'm Listening To: Hilary Hahn with Osmo Vänskä Conducting the San Francisco Symphony (May 25, 2012)

Last night Hilary Hahn joined guest conductor Osmo Vänskä and the San Francisco Symphony for what turned out to be a rather exhilarating evening of music. The concert opened with modern Finnish composer Kalevi Aho's one-movement Minea, a piece composed in 2008 on commission from the Minnesota Orchestra. Hahn was then soloist in Prokofieff's Violin Concerto No. 1. After intermission, the Symphony played the Shostakovich Symphony No. 6.

Minea, debuted by the Minnesota Orchestra in November 2009,  has not yet been released as a commercial recording. I heard it last night for the first time. The opening was memorable--a sustained tone held by many of the instruments on stage seemed to float over odd sounds produced on the brass instruments that suggested waves beating against a beach. The woodwinds were very much present, especially the flutes and bassoons, fluttering in long scale-like passages using many half steps evocative of Arabic or Arab-influenced Spanish music--something oriental anyway. Minea kept building through the addition of more instruments and a faster tempo. Eventually, the very large percussion section seemed to take the lead. By the time the piece was coming to a climax it had something of the relentless forward motion of Ravel's Boléro. Every section of the orchestra seemed to get a turn, which reminded me of Bartok's Concerto for Orchestra. Difficult to describe, but a lot of fun.

Hahn was wonderful in the Prokofieff. Although she seemed to lose her concentration momentarily near the beginning of the second movement, it was a brief lapse (if it wasn't my imagination), and the rest of the performance was fairly riveting. I especially enjoyed the way she very clearly articulated the raspy, chopped notes that punctuate the concerto and the wonderful metallic quality she gave to the sections played close to the bridge. Just watching her rather fierce concentration was mesmerizing. It helped to be in seat C106, virtually right in front of her, and no more than about three yards away. The whole orchestra sounded rather good from that position--with an unusual clarity for Davies Symphony Hall. Some of the members of the orchestra seemed as entranced as the audience. Hahn, meanwhile, while tightly focused, found time to look over her shoulder from time to time to take in the view of the orchestra, clearly enjoying herself--which seems to be her habit. I noticed her doing the same thing last time I heard her play live, when she performed the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto in San Francisco, with James Gaffigan conducting, in November 2008. Last night Hahn wore a beautiful tapered black silk taffeta gown with starkly contrasting splashes of flowers and leaves in gold embroidery and appliqué. The performance was very warmly received.

Hahn delighted the audience by playing two encores, one modern, one not. She first played The Blue Curve of the Earth, which she herself commissioned from composer Tina Davidson--a scintillating piece of restrained energy with much use of pizzicato playing that I rather enjoyed. Hahn seemed almost apologetic when she took up her violin a second time, eliciting a laugh, this time to play a portion of the Bach A minor Sonata No. 2 for solo violin. "They gave me permission to play another one," she announced, and she played it very sweetly indeed. Hahn signed autographs after the performance. I asked her to date mine. She said matter-of-factly, "You'll have to tell me what the date is," no doubt a symptom of much travel.

I don't think I've heard a better reading of the Shostakovich. The ensemble was focused and tight. Vänskä elicited a memorable performance. All in all, perhaps the best concert this season--although I'd be hard-pressed to choose between this one and the December 8, 2011 performance with guest conductor Esa-Pekka Salonen and soloist Leila Josefowicz. Happily, there's no need to choose.

Photo of Hilary Hahn by Peter Miller. Photo of Osmo Vänskä by Ann Marsden. Both photos courtesy of the San Francisco Symphony web site. 

Beers I'm Drinking: Coedo Brewery, Japan

I don't have an appropriate category for a post about beer ("Food I'm Eating/Wine I'm Drinking" will have to do), but I recently had the opportunity to attend a restaurant trade show in San Francisco sponsored by N.A. Sales Co., a company that mainly trades in supplies for Japanese restaurants. I sampled food and many different types of sake and beer. I was impressed by some of the beers coming out of a number of small breweries represented, but particularly by the five offerings from Coedo Brewery, one such brewery in Kawagoe, about half an hour north of the northern part of Tokyo. Known sometimes as Ko-Edo, or "little Tokyo" (hence the beer's name), Kawagoe is famous for the many examples of Edo-period warehouse architecture that remain in its old commercial district and also for its sweet potatoes.

Good beer, like good wine, should be distinctive, and enthusiastic people in love with the product they make always seem to enhance the experience. Coedo has got both. I spent a pleasant fifteen minutes talking with Coedo president and CEO, Shigeharu Asagiri, who led me through a tasting. The blue-labeled Ruri (the word means "lapis" in Japanese: All of the beers are named after something Japanese associated with the beer by color) is a pilsener type (5% alcohol). Kyara (a yellow-brown traditional dye) is a lager (5%). Shikkoku (black) is a dark Schwarzbier (5%). Beniaka (red) is a barley lager (7%) that also uses the local sweet potatoes. Shiro (white) is a non-filtered hefeweizen, or wheat beer (5.5%). I enjoyed them all, but particularly Kyara, which had a clean, refreshing taste but not at the expense of flavor and body. Kyara has a rich malty aspect but manages to be quite crisp and dry at the same time--wonderfully balanced. These beers were a welcome change from the often overly hoppy local beers of northern California. Recommended--I just wish the stuff weren't so expensive.

[Update: More about Koedo beer.]

Miscellaneous: Bookshelves and Manifest Destiny (May 22, 2012)

Reading--once infected with it, there's no real cure. At least the symptoms are pleasant: Reading is a happy virus. Reading and acquiring books don't always go hand in hand--we have libraries--but I like to own the books I read, even if I sell them, trade them, or give them away once finished. I never know when I'll get around to the many books that interest me, but I like always to have something ready to go. It's a luxury, perhaps, to be able to walk into a room with bookshelves full of choices when it comes time to start something new, but it's a luxury I allow myself. It seems, however, that there's never enough space. Bookshelves fill quickly. Then books get slipped sideways into the gaps between the shelves and the tops of books below (the crack fillers). Books begin to pile up on the floor....

I decided recently the time had come to build a wall-mounted bookshelf behind the desk in my office/studio. I've been working on the project for about a week with the help of my brother, who is much better at these things than I am. It was he who suggested using European birch plywood rather than the pine I had had in mind. Pine, it turns out, tends to be poorly seasoned these days. It's usually young and wet and therefore lacking in dimensional stability. So I designed a simple bookcase seven feet wide and two feet deep, with a shelf in the middle, providing room for two long rows of books, the middle shelf supported by a divider. In the end, I decided I liked it better with only one divider (in the bottom), so I will fill the slot we made in the upper side of the middle shelf where an upper divider was to have gone.

Now that the bookcase is mostly built, I've begun to mentally fill it with the books that already need a home. I can see most of the new space disappearing almost immediately--as soon as the paint's dry. What's left of the empty space will call to me as the land of the American West called to settlers looking for living space in the 19th century. Manifest destiny.

It will be only a matter of time--and not much time--before all the new space has been filled. The crack fillers will begin to appear again. Then little stacks of books will rise here and there on furniture and on the floor, and very little will have changed.

Of course, the cat has been helping. He said something about inspecting the drop cloth....

[Update: Go here for a shot of the finished project.]

Books I'm Reading: Once Upon a Town

I've been to North Platte, Nebraska. I've driven along its quiet streets, looked at the grassy park near the center of town, and visited the Union Pacific Railway's classification yard there. I went to North Platte on a little detour during a drive across the country a few years back--an impulsive act resulting from my realization that I'd never really seen much of the United States between Lake Tahoe and St. Louis, Missouri, and by a certain restlessness. I had purchased a book called Road Trip USA (Jamie Jensen, Avalon Travel, 5th Edition, 2009) just before leaving home that recommended lesser known points of interest along some of this country's lonelier roads. I was surprised to read in the section on Nebraska that the southwestern part of the state, along Highway 80, was a beautiful place. In my mind, there had been little to distinguish any part of Nebraska from the image of unrelenting flatness I associated with its southern neighbor, Kansas. The area right around Highway 80 proved rather boring, in fact, but at Laramie, Wyoming I turned off the interstate and headed north on Highway 71 to Scottsbluff, Nebraska and the countryside there was very beautiful, indeed (photo below).

North Platte is known as the hometown of Buffalo Bill Cody. Here you'll find Buffalo Bill State Historical Park, site of Buffalo Bill's Scout's Ranch. There's a Buffalo Bill Rodeo in the summer. Railroad enthusiasts go to North Platte to visit the rail yard used to configure freight trains coming across the country (below), the biggest classification and switching yard in the world. As I noticed on my trip across country a few years back, today's interstate highways often follow paths cut across the country many years before the automobile. North Platte was a stop on the Oregon Trail and it was a Pony Express stop. The Lincoln Highway, America's first transcontinental road, followed the Oregon Trail in this part of the country. North Platte was part of that road as well.

I must have been close to the location of what became known as The North Platte Canteen, but I saw no sign of it and didn't think to look, although I had heard something of the story before. Bob Greene's Once Upon a Town (Perennial, 2003) tells that story in detail.

During the Second World War, hundreds of thousands of soldiers moved across the country on troop trains to their deployments, usually on the coasts. Many troop trains went through North Platte. Some soldiers passed through on their way back home on leave or after the war ended. Someone local got the idea of handing out food and drinks to the servicemen on their brief stops in the town (usually 10-15 minutes at most). It was an idea that took hold. Once started, the informal canteen provided a steady stream of refreshments, encouragement, gratitude, and friendly words to young men on their way to war--many of them having left home for the first time. It's remarkable that the canteen was open without fail from 5:00AM until after midnight on every day of the year in every year of the war (and for a period afterwards, greeting men coming home), staffed and supplied entirely by volunteers. Every train was met, without fail. All the food and drink was donated by the citizens of North Platte and surrounding communities. It was an act of love.

The North Platte Canteen disappeared when it was no longer needed. The building that temporarily housed it has been torn down. North Platte--then and now a place known mainly as somewhere on a road to somewhere else--for a few years was an overflowing well of the most generous hospitality. Once Upon a Town, based mainly on interviews with people who volunteered at the canteen and of the soldiers that found brief solace there becomes somewhat repetitive because of the use of personal accounts (many of which are necessarily similar), but the cumulative effect of the many little stories is to create a vivid picture of one corner of the home front during WWII--a picture that seems worth handing on to future generations.

Cars: 1961 Studebaker Hawk (May 22, 2012)

This car parked a few slots down from me yesterday at the grocery store. It's a 1961 Studebaker Hawk. 1961 was the last year of production, according to the man driving the car. He seemed pleased I noticed it and said something about it. I thought it was pretty, so I photographed it.

Miscellaneous: Annular Eclipse of the Sun (May 20, 2012)

I just got back from Reno, having made a spur-of-the-moment decision to drive there this morning to get a better view of the annular solar eclipse today (actually, now yesterday). From Santa Rosa the full ring at the peak of coverage would not have been visible. We went to the Fleischmann Planetarium on the Reno Campus of the University of Nevada--it seemed a likely spot to find people who'd be watching. Unfortunately, it clouded over exactly at the best moment (photo), which obscured the views of the ring of light around the moon's shadow, but it was still a lot of fun to see.

Wines I'm Drinking: 2005 Lucien Albrecht Alsace Grand Cru "Pfingstberg" Riesling

I'm always excited to find an Alsace Grand Cru at a reasonable price. I love these wines and they are usually expensive and hard to find. This one is not as good as some Grand Cru wines I've had from Alsace, but it's very good wine and a real bargain at only $7.99 a bottle at the Santa Rosa Grocery Outlet. This Riesling would normally sell in the $35-$40 range. I've delayed posting this a day because I wanted to go back for a case. If there's any left after you've read this, go snap it up. Recommended. Brief tasting notes follow.

A medium, slightly green-tinged straw color. Distinct Riesling "petroleum" scents. Hints of honey on the nose. Clean and attractive nose overall. A bit distant at first on the palate. Delicate, but with extraordinary length. Bright sappy flavors initially, then rather austere on the mid-palate (with the acidity momentarily taking over from the fruit flavors), but the very dry mid-palate is followed by a delicate, honeyed sweetness offset by a more subtle acidity that lingers and keeps things interesting on the finish. At the very end, the wine is then slightly richer again, although the overall impression is of a steely, restrained fruitiness that just suggests sweetness. With a little time, begins to suggest hazelnuts. Excellent value.

Wines I'm Drinking: 2007 Cellier des Chartreaux "Chevalier d'Anthelme" Côtes du Rhône

Always on the lookout for a good Côtes du Rhône, I tried this example from my local Grocery Outlet. Brief tasting notes follow.

A nice, deep, plummy red. Vaguely suggestive of cassis on the nose, at least at first. Some meaty scents. Later began to suggest vanilla and violets. Fairly dry and tannic initially on the palate, but rather light-bodied at the same time. Has a little fruity sweetness on the mid-palate, but the flavors fall off fairly rapidly--at least that was my first impression: With a little time and with food, this began to seem more interesting, gaining a little presence. Eventually it acquired a nice peppery scent, suggestive of Syrah. Not of any special interest, perhaps, but typical Côtes du Rhône and fairly priced at only $5.99 a bottle at my local Grocery Outlet (Santa Rosa, California). Although, I probably won't go back for more, this is decent, everyday wine.

Music I'm Listening To: Jean Ferrandis Joins the Santa Rosa Symphony (May 13, 2012)

I attended the Sunday, May 13 performance of a series of three concerts by the Santa Rosa Symphony conducted by Bruno Ferrandis, featuring the conductor's brother, Jean Ferrandis, on Flute. The program opened with Debussy's Jeux (poeme danse-ballet) for Orchestra. Ferrandis played the Mozart Flute Concerto No. 2 before intermission and Ibert's Concerto for Flute and Orchestra afterwards. The program ended with Ravel's La Valse (poeme choréographique) for Orchestra.

I had not heard Debussy's Jeux [meaning "games" or "play"] before. I can't say I much cared for it--or this performance of it, anyway. Debussy wrote the piece for a ballet conceived and choreographed by Nijinsky (now lost, apparently). The dance involved play--both literal (tennis) and figurative (flirting, erotic pursuit)--among three dancers, two women and a man, although Nijinsky's original idea was to use three men. According to the program notes, Debussy (once he agreed to take the commission) became interested in "the rapid moments of tennis and in erotic games of flirtation, pursuit, resistance, and yielding" and he is said to have tried to capture some of the feelings of change and discontinuity that characterize both types of play. Not having the dancing to turn to, however, the music seemed to me merely fretful and disjointed.

The Mozart concerto was something of a disappointment as well. It was competently played, I suppose, but lacked any real sparkle. Ferrandis (the soloist) seemed not fully engaged. The flute sounded thin and distant. The whole came across as rather bland, despite Ferrandis's exaggeration of the dynamics (Ferrandis, the conductor, that is). The Ibert, however,was nicely done--played with verve and enthusiasm. I got the feeling that Jean Ferrandis was much more in his element playing a modern French piece than playing the Mozart. Following the Ibert concerto, which the audience received with rather more enthusiasm than it did the first half of the program, Jean played an encore, which sounded like something from Debusy's Prelude to The Afternoon of  a Faun.

The Ravel was enjoyable but not wholly satisfying either. Ferrandis, the conductor, failed (in my opinion) to fully exploit the internal contrasts of the piece and he took the ending at what seemed an unnecessarily rapid and accelerating tempo.

Yesterday will have been my last concert in the Luther Burbank Center (or the Wells Fargo Center for the Arts as they insist on calling it). The Santa Rosa Symphony will start next season as the resident orchestra at the new Green Music Center. I very much look forward to hearing the new hall.

Photo of Jean Ferrandis (uncredited), from the Santa Rosa Symphony website. 

Plants I'm Growing: First Blooms--Penstemon Heterophylla

This iridescent blue penstemon is one of my favorites. I've seen it growing wild in inland areas of northernmost California and in southern Oregon. It's tough and needs little water. First blooms of 2012 in our garden yesterday, May 11.

Miscellaneous: Obituary--Stuart Talcroft

(August 15, 1926 - February 7, 2012)

Playing chess with his father, circa 1934

Stuart Talcroft, last residing at 6433 Pine Valley Rd., in Santa Rosa, California’s Oakmont community, died on February 7, 2012, at Santa Rosa Memorial Hospital, at 8:10AM, following an extended battle with colorectal cancer. He was 85 years old. He is survived by his wife of more than 40 years, Nancy A. Talcroft, and two sons, Ian M. Talcroft and Colin M. Talcroft, children by his previous wife, Barbara L. Talcroft. Stuart was born August 15, 1926, in Buffalo, New York, to Alfred Charles Talcroft, originally of London, England, and Marguerite Ethel Smale, their only child. Stuart grew up mainly in Kansas City, Missouri, attending elementary school and Westport High School in that city, near the William Rockhill Nelson Gallery of Art (today known as the Nelson-Atkins Museum), about which he always spoke fondly. 

Hugging a B.O.A.C. aircraft model, circa 1959

After his initial retirement, he worked for several years for Malm Luggage in San Francisco and Corte Madera, California, but the bulk of his business career was with British Airways, having started in 1958 on the New York reservations desk when that airline was still British Overseas Airways Corporation (B.O.A.C.). By 1965 he had become a Senior Sales Representative. He was named US Salesman of the Year in fiscal 1966/67, according to a résumé dating to the mid-1980s. In 1968, he became Deputy Sales Manager for British Airways, stationed in San Francisco. In 1970, he became a District Sales Manager, working in a number of regions of the US, with postings in Minneapolis, Hartford, Rochester, Atlanta, Cleveland, and Detroit. He retired from British Airways in 1985.

"First post-War car," a Pontiac convertible, circa 1947

Before starting a career in the travel industry, Stuart worked as an actor, associated with the ABC, NBC, and CBS broadcasting networks, with the Theater Guild, with Mutual Radio Broadcast Network, and Paramount Pictures. It was theater and film that truly interested him. His encyclopedic knowledge of the history of the cinema was well known among friends and family. A résumé from his acting days shows that he worked in radio (playing in episodes of Gunsmoke, Night Beat, Johnny Dollar, Line Up, Mr. President, Defense Attorney, Sky King, The Cisco Kid, and Red Ryder); in TV (appearing in Racket Squad and in Fireside Theater productions on film and making live appearances on Hawkins Falls, Hollywood Opening Night, Space Patrol, Hall of Fame, The Colgate Comedy Hour, and Hollywood Career); and on the stage (appearing opposite Agnes Moorehead in Come of Age, directed by Byron Kelley, in Jane Cowl’s touring production of Elizabeth the Queen, directed by Bievans Davis, and in summer and winter stock performances in La Jolla, Phoenix, Santa Monica, and at the Pasadena Playhouse, where he played 14 leads between 1948 and 1951. In summer and winter stock, he worked with performers including Vincent Price, Marsha Hunt, Victor Jory, Kurt Kasznar, Aldo Ray, and Teresa Wright. He worked as an actor during the 1955 summer stock season at the Chase Barn Playhouse, in Whitefield, NH, and was director there during the 1956 season).

Stuart served in the US Marines as a hospital corpsman in the Pacific Theater of WWII between 1944 and 1946, and was called for service with the fleet marine force during the Korean War. During both conflicts, he also worked as an entertainer on the Armed Forces Radio Service and in Special Services. Immediately after WWII, he spent a year working as a stage manager for the Martha Graham Dance Company. Between acting and his career with B.O.A.C./British Airways, Stuart worked briefly for Angel Records, today part of E.M.I.

Publicity photo, circa 1955

Stuart used to tell stories about his days as an entertainer, occasionally involving famous people—about a pleasant day spent with sculptor Isamu Noguchi moving sets for the Martha Graham Company, about Leonard Nimoy and Charles Bronson at the Pasadena Playhouse (he admired Nimoy's diligence and didn't think much of Bronson's talents), and one about riding around Hollywood with Victor Mature who had put a large phone in his car and pretended he was talking on it while driving—but mostly when watching films Stuart would point out largely unknown actors and actresses he had worked with. Watching old movies with him could be a lesson in the lesser-known personages of Hollywood.

Stuart was in many respects a self-taught man, but he was educated at Kansas City Junior College, in Kansas City, Missouri, and held an Associate Degree in Theater Arts from the Pasadena Playhouse (1950).

He had always said “Play Mahler at my funeral,” and he loved sailing. Although he was never able to indulge to his satisfaction the latter interest, the large library of books on sailing and the hand-built ship models he left behind are a testament to the depth of that interest. Stuart was cremated, according to his wishes. On March 18, his ashes were spread from a sailboat (The Hasty Heart) in San Francisco Bay, near Keil Cove, a recording of Mahler’s Symphony No. 1 playing in the background.

Stuart Talcroft, 2009

Plants I'm Growing: First Blooms--Scabiosa Farinosa, Salvia Sonomensis (May 8, 2012)

First blooms yesterday, May 8, on two plants in the garden, Scabiosa farinosa (pictured), and Salvia sonomensis. The scabiosa is a mounding plant with unusually thick, leathery leaves for a scabiosa. It does well in our hot summers with comparatively little supplementary water. The salvia is one native to this area--as the name suggests. The scabiosa bloomed on May 4 in 2009, April 20 in 2010, and on May 2 in 2011, calculating years of 351 days, 377 days, and 371 days, averaging to just over 366 days, or close to an actual year.