Tucson. November, 2006

Look at these innocent critters. Ruby on the left, Pablo on the right. Butter (or the dog equivalent) wouldn’t melt in their mouths. Or not at least until my friend David says the magic word, “Snackies!” And then all hell breaks loose. Jumping, whining, chaos. I think they thought my camera was some kind of food when I took this early-morning photo. Hence their attention.

Tucson. November, 2006

My friend Miles is a painter whose primary medium is encaustic. By mixing pigment with wax, he employs this ancient technique to create some pretty amazing visuals. I was one in Tucson to see an installation of his called Hive, which is exactly what it was. A walk-through, wax-coated hive, made from some of the same plastic webbing you see here in his multi-panel work shown at his Tucson gallery. An acclaimed champion of encaustic, Miles teaches classes in the medium and generously shows and encourages other artists who use it. I’m glad they have air conditioning in Tucson. It gets so hot there sometimes, I worry. (I'm hoping that I'll be able to visit Miles's gallery today in Tucson. Or maybe I already did so yesterday.)

Tucson. November, 2006

A part of every trip I make to visit my friends Simon and David in Tucson is my “walk” from their home at the base of “A” Mountain to the downtown campus of the University of Arizona (with stops at thrift shops, cafes and Mexican folk art stores along the way.) The university art museum is a jewel. Ditto the Center for Creative Photography just across the way. Their shows are always first-rate, like this one: Richard Avedon’s In the American West. The place is never crowded, allowing the visitor some peace and quiet in which to examine not only the special exhibits, but also the offerings from their vast permanent collection. And, frankly, it’s nice to duck out of the constant Arizona sunshine for a little while into a place of subdued and gentle darkness. (With any luck, I’ll be making my “walk” through Tucson this very day, ending with an art opening of Simon and David’s work this evening. Life is good.)

Tucson. November, 2006

On my first trip to Tucson, back in 1987, Simon introduced me to Mexican fast food. Specifically here at El Rapido. He pulled up in his car, instructed me to go inside this hole in the wall while he waited, and ask the counter person for a quesadilla. I didn’t ask questions, I just followed orders. And when the flour tortilla filled with queso and a stray jalapeño or two arrived, I was transported. I’d never had anything like that in New England or New Jersey. (Now, of course. But then, no.) Of course, how could I not love it when it contained one of my two favorite things in the world: melted cheese, in any form. (My other favorite at the time was getting paid to watch TV. Now, you couldn’t pay me to watch it. But melted cheese still reigns.) If things go as planned, I'll be enjoying a Mexican lunch in Phoenix today with my ex-Bose-o pals Eileen and Ted. Yay!

Grand Canyon, AZ. March, 1995

Unrealistic expectations. I was thinking about this earlier today when I saw a print of the Acropolis in my dentist’s office. I remember arriving at the real Acropolis a few years ago and thinking, “Yeah. Nice. And filled with history.” I guess nothing could have lived up to my expectations, filled with mythic wonder, built up over the years. I had pretty much the same reaction when I first saw the Grand Canyon on a visit there with my friends Simon and David. Impressive? You bet. But again, nothing like my expectations. (I love this picture of David and Simon that I call “The Fondas.” Henry. And Jane. And if all goes as planned, I should be arriving at their welcoming Tucson home this very afternoon.)

Pompeii. October, 1984

One of the things I remember reading about the eruption of Vesuvius, the burying of nearby Pompeii in ashes and lava, is that people were caught unawares, overwhelmed in the activities of daily life. The blacksmith hammering, the baker removing loaves from his oven, the housewife shopping. Just like this woman here, returning home from the modern city’s central market, bags in hand, taking a shortcut through the famous excavations. Careful, honey.

Lisbon. October, 2009

And why not? In Barcelona, we’d seen the Museum of Chocolate. In Istanbul, The Museum of Innocence. My town has a Museum of Plumbing. Why not a Museum of Bread? Unfortunately this one turned out to be a shop rather than a real museum. But who knows? There may be a real Museum of Bread somewhere. Perhaps on a future trip...