William Bayer (left) is an internationally-renowned crime author. His novels have been translated into a dozen languages, his books have been transformed into television movies, and he has won numerous awards for his writing. He is also my Art Buddy.
Once a month, Bill and I go on various art adventures; galleries, private collections, or museums. Our gatherings involve lunch while we catch up on local chit-chat and gossip, plans and projects, and our respective artistic endeavors. Then we head out for several hours to the splendor of our eyes and minds and souls. We are cut from the same cloth, Bill and I are: Lovers of many mediums, aficionados of emotive arrangement, debaters of classical forms, or simply gluttons of the primal desire for beauty…
He is a man with exquisite and discerning taste. When I first met him — through his wife, Paula Wolfert — I was taken with his stunning collection of Art Deco silver, North African bedouin curved daggers, and a voluminous collection of over-sized film noir one-sheets (movie posters). How could I not be star-struck? We shared a love of film which for him, I’m sure began being raised by an Oscar-nominated screenwriter, Eleanor Perry. We bonded early over our love of films when he learned I was *trying* to explain to some online foodie community ignoramuses that Casablanca was NOT a noir film. It turned out that he had not only written numerous crime novels, but one specifically close to my heart, THE GREAT MOVIES:In Cinema History, 60 Films Deserve to be Called.
For some time, I have been pondering expanding my jewelry skills into the world of food and wine. The wine part was easy, having made and and exhibited pieces based on Champagne tins. Then it hit me; walking into my pantry, I spied my voluminous collection of Rancho Gordo beans. Steve Sando, a good friend of mine, is the purveyor of these jewel-like legumes and the inspiration of setting a stunning bean as one would set a precious gem, was too good to pass up…
I started with a Scarlet Runner as a ring and a few Christmas Limas to be set in earrings. The earrings are proving to be more a challenge in the setting but at least I finished a ring!
Several weeks ago, multiple newspapers made the announcement that Absinthe was legal again. Legal or no, I had been experimenting with Absinthe in various forms for several years; friends who were making their own, other friends who were smuggling it themselves or having it smuggled into the country, and also ordering it myself from Alandia (with nary a hitch!).
During a lovely Sunday afternoon outing, I settled in at the bar at my favorite North Beach restaurant, Rose Pistola, when I spied an Absinthe fountain behind the counter. "Was it just decorative?" I asked our bartender? "Nope," Tom replied, as he reached up to show me the bottle; Distillée au Val-De-Travers, a Swiss-made version. For the record and for anyone who cares to send me gifts, I actually prefer the Swiss-made Absinthes…
Tom was very deft in his assembly, pulling out the appropriate spoons and sugar cubes. Okay, so they don’t have the right glasses. I can overlook that. Taste-wise, the Kübler is very strong with the burning licorice taste which killed the taste buds for the Bolognese I had ordered. Fortunately, I was pretty well sated with the lovely arugula salad and chickpea farinata I had already eaten with an earthy super Tuscan I had ordered, a 2003 Tassinaia. But what fun to have the full ritual of the Absinthe, more than expertly performed! Bravo, Tom!
Here on the West Coast, train travel is a bit of a rarity. I know East Coast folks utilize them considerably more than we do which is a damn shame. As an adolescent growing up in Southern California, I used to take the train a lot when my parents moved to Oceanside to visit my friends in Orange County. This was before I had a driver’s license or a car. Needing to get to Reno the day before Thanksgiving and knowing that the last thing anyone really wants to do is tackle airport madness, I decided to make the journey via the California Zephyr, the Amtrak train which starts in Emeryville, California and goes all the way to Chicago, Illinois. During that trip, I sat in the coach area with the hoi palloi and sufficed my hunger pangs with a mediocre burger in the dining car. As The Boyfriend and I needed to head back to Reno for Christmas, I cajoled him into taking the train but making a true adventure out of the trip with a little fondue preparation…
I really do. It has been almost two weeks since I overloaded my senses with what was probably more than ten thousand different art projects. Many of those visuals still haunt me and yet last evening, my dreams were filled with yet even more creations that I do not believe I have ever seen in real life. What is slightly annoying is that the dream involved the interaction with an artist (a young, handsome man) who was creating a sculptural painting of some sort that could only be viewed from one particular perspective. The image of the creation in my dream has stuck with me all day long and has made me wonder about perspective art.
