Sueno

We’ve all heard references to the expansion of the Universe and the gathering momentum at which time seems to be accelerating, especially during these mythical, mystical months heading toward the unknown events of 12-12-12.

But I just experienced it. The time warp, that is. I dreamed that it was next year already, thanks in part to Richard and Jane Salley, the rock star jewelers that I’ve written about here a time or two. You see, while I’m still processing the new techniques we learned from them in Mexico in January they’ve already planned next year’s retreat and sent out the invitations.

So, dear amateur therapists out there, I need some assistance with dream interpretation. Ready?

It is the first day of spring in Oregon, which means a cloudy morning followed by a wink of sun and a temper tantrum of hail. Through the grey bars of rain I can see blurred pinks and greens of blossoming things.

Suddenly I am in Mexico at the Hacienda Mosaico. The sun has charmed the flowers into full blush and the breeze tickles our ankles and cheeks. The sound of salt melting on the margarita glasses followed by cheers and clinks make me smile as the participants reunite. And this time, Lola has joined us!

Dead giveaway cowboy boots, we hear Richard and Jane sauntering up the stone path before we see them. Cheers erupt and there’s a flurry of hugs and shoulder claps and how-you-doings as we sit poolside nibbling, noshing and catching up.

Sascha is wearing the necklace she won a Blue Ribbon first prize for in the Ajijc Society of the Arts Annual Judged Show. Congratulations, we’re all so happy for her!

With us egging her on, Lori slowly inches up her pant leg to reveal the impressive scar she recently acquired from knee surgery. Ouchey wah-wah!

David is holding a copy of Best of America Jewelry Artists Volume II and casually flips to pages 45-46 to show us some of his work. After the group expresses the appropriate number of ooh’s and aaah’s, I subtlety cough under my breath, “pages 61-62” and what do you know, there’s some of our jewelry in there too! The group raises a glass to our 15 seconds of fame as well.

Then we get down to business. Richard and Jane pull out examples of the new techniques we’re going to learn over the next five days and then –

And then I wake up. Noooooooo. It was warm. It was beautiful. I was happy and about to start creating again with interesting people in the lush environment of the Hacienda Mosaico.

So, gentle analysts, what ever could this dream mean?

Autumn Falls

What?! Three short days ago I was wearing a halter dress and peep-toe shoes and today I’m wrapped up in a coat, gloves, hat and a scarf. Brrrr, transition from summer to “autumn” in Oregon can be abrupt.

The weekend - spent not only in a different zip code, but in an alternate weather universe - held delights and surprises for us during the 37th annual Corvallis Fall Festival. The atmospheric conditions in terms of Egyptian blue skies, citrine colored leaves as well as purse-friendly customers helped to create a profitable and satisfying couple of days.

Corvallis, Oregon received its lovely name from the Latin phrase cor vallis, which means Heart of the Valley. Appropriate, don’t you think, as it sits smack in the middle of the Willamette Valley. Before Salem, Corvallis was the Territory of Oregon’s capital in 1855.

Enough of the history lesson. Today, Corvallis is home to OSU (Oregon State University) and the Beavers. They luv-a their orange and black. And their tattoos. So much so, perhaps one enthusiast dyed her pit hair for the home game.

Looking at the photos we take, it’s occurring to me that they reveal as much about us, what we notice, how we see the world, as it does of the place du jour er, week. This next little arty piece inspired no doubt by Edvard Munch’s The Scream is a partial percent self-portrait. I’m cor vallis, that is in the heart of the valley between keeping an open mind and being continually surprised by others and say, their orange armpity hair-ness.

It isn’t until the digital film is developed that we notice that day’s theme and focus, repeating patterns and overlapping colors and textures.

While at an out-of-town show, Groom and I take turns slipping out of the booth and wandering the environs, ever on the hunt for things that catch our eye. We rarely have the opportunity to walk around together, so our way of navigating this separate-togetherness is to each take our own photos and then sit around the glowing computer screen by night, offering our day’s treasure to the other.

We are continually surprised by how much we think alike and yet how one will capture an image unseen by the other. Angles, perspectives and subject matter continue to call us and we are excited as our own hearts (and minds) open to answer.

We refer to this one as “blue chair in green ivy.” And as anyone who’s walked around with me while I’ve had the camera will attest, I loooooove mannequin faces. I’m currently building an entire series on them, to be revealed at a later date.

Ha! This amazing vendo-matic postcard machine, well, let’s just say I didn’t know taking photos at an art show could be considered hazard duty. The “amazing” part of the vendo-matic postcard machine was that it produced bubbles and squirted water. I got hit right in the face with a shot of water, so I renamed it the Blasto-matic. Picture me dripping wet on the other side of the camera, my Sunday coif wilting and my stern face smiling. Sort of smiling. Later.

Speaking of water and cameras, as it’s raining and I’m pouting, we haven’t figured out yet what to do about taking photos while it’s coming down in buckets, cats and dogs, or any other euphemism for precipitation. So who knows what we’ll discover in the next seven days…

Eunique Eugene

Every city, town or country village has its own unique flavor, but where we live, a phrase can be frequently overheard among locals, “only in Eugene...”

Each year in September, a city-wide party called the Eugene Celebration selects its campy monarch, the Slug Queen. The 2009 theme was “Strange we can believe in.” True to form, the panel of celebrity judges crowned Grand Duchess Anislugsia as our current Royal Gastropod, who reigned over the masquerade Slime Ball. Tee hee, our Queen, well, his majesty’s civilian name is Mark van Beever and Oregon is the beaver state.

Oui, Madames et Monsieurs, Eugene is a very unique place to call home.

Voila! a cross-section of our local town’s people. Don’t pass over this photo too quickly, for it deserves a second glance. Notice the variety of hairstyles and apparel. We’ve got a person with a blue coif, facial hair, jeans, a black shirt and a flame tie. Don’t assume that’s the child’s father. Here, that could be its mother. See the guy squatting down to the right wearing a pink shirt? He’s also wearing a green skirt and I saw him later holding the baby.

In the back row, there’s a dude sporting tropical shorts and a woman in Bo Derek braids, a style popularized by the movie “10” released in 1979, just a mere 30 years ago. However, that tri-decade old hairstyle is a whole ten years ahead of the game, because the third largest (or thereabouts) city in Oregon has an unofficial subtitle. Eugene: where it’s always 1969.

This is not too difficult to fathom considering the fellow on the lower far right is wearing The Uniform: Requisite Tie-Dye T-shirt, glasses, baseball cap and Jerry Garcia hair and matching beard. Half the population in Eugene looks exactly like this and I’m not just talking about the men.

While at the booth, I amaze tourists with my uncanny intuitive ability to guess they are from out of town. “How did you know?” they ask. But if they are not wearing a skirt, a skort, a utili-kilt, The Uniform, or Birkenstocks, their clothes tend to match which is a dead giveaway. That, or their hair is combed.

Speaking of Jerry Garcia and Dead giveaways, the car is typical of the luxury automobiles crowding our streets. Those and bicycles of every size, shape and configuration.

Eugene (pronounced yoo-JEAN, not YOO-jean), was named after Eugene Skinner, a New Yorker who decided to “winter in California” with his wife in the year 1845. Or maybe they just came west and got stuck there for awhile before continuing on to what eventually became the 33rd State on Valentine’s Day, 1859. How romantic. Ahem, mayhaps Oregon is actually the 29th state as four in the Union are considered Commonwealths (Kentucky, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania and Virginia).

Our burg, Track Town, is known for Phil Knight and his Nike Kingdom (ever heard of the University of Oregon?), the tragic death of distance running phenomenon, Steve Prefontaine, the Olympic Team Trials, and The Arts.

The Eugene Saturday Market has the distinction of being the oldest continuing outdoor Market in the United States, the one upon which many are patterned.

As you can see, there’s no place like home.