327 Market

The last 24 hours have been a wild ride.

I picked Wobbly up after work yesterday and we made our way to the City in the rain. The wait on 101 was softened by the picnic we counjured up out of nothing... heavenly dangerous pizza and scones from the PTA.

The Mysterious Art Patron was waiting for us at the gallery on Minna St. I recognized him immediately. I had vaguely associated him with Antonio Banderas, and sho' nuff, the MAP was significantly hotter. He greeted me with a nice peck-on-the-cheek. (danger! danger! he's married!). He was impeccable turned out, sexy and hip all at the same time. The place was packed with bohemian metros (I think there must be a lot of sub-categories-- they were pretty earthy, but not quite "granola"), art students and hipsters. The music was cool, we caught up on the last eight years of our lives, talked about work and life and art. I danced. I showed off my sketch books (I had three on me).

A well-dressed man sold us incredible tamales. He sat down at our table and told us he was having a showing of "food art." "The show tonight," he said, "would include three kinds of tamales." He didn't need to say any more. I ordered the "chicken in colorado sauce" piece.

I felt so vindicated. The MAP wanted to see more art, so I brought the submarine and my most recent sketches (sorry, they haven't been published yet). He started asking me weird questions like "have you ever been in the Navy? "Do you spend time on ships?" I said "No...no" terrified that I had failed at capturing that claustrophobic, confining atmosphere I was striving for. Turns out he had been a machinist in the Navy and knew all about crawling through hatches and being in tiny spaces and rivets. So it seems that the hundreds of interviews, the field trips, the researching at the library all paid off. [insert sly grin here] I get such a thrill when people connect to the work. The only detail I forgot was in the birthing scene, Sailor M forgot to cut the umbilical cord. Doh! I in the next edition, she'll cut it.

We had to break the party up, eventually, since we were all working adults. I so wanted to stay all night and talk. I had blown my voice by yelling over the din. The City was great; all damp and wet and reflecting light. Wobbly and I wandered through the alley back to the car. The weather was almost balmy and you could see a slice of stars in the gap between skyscrapers. One of the lots had just had a builidng demolished, and the equipment was scattered around like fallen space ships. The colored lights from the neon signs gave the place an eery, surreal atmosphere. I had to stop and smell the musty City dirt that was lingering on a big earth mover (ah, it took me right back to Fort Point-- a favorite haunt of mine as a child). We are going to all hang out again.

[sigh] one of these days I am going to wrest myself from Flip Flop and move to the City.