Last night I found myself at Fort Mason wandering around the San Francisco Fall Antiques Show Preview Gala thanks to Gallery Lefebvre for whom our daughter is working. The place was teeming with beautiful people and things and art and food to consume. Just outside evening was quietly unfolding on San Francisco Bay where freighters headed in and out through the Golden Gate in silent splendor, filling me up to overflowing, my own private art extravaganza.
Earlier this week I heard Dan Buettner on NPR talking about his book, "Thrive: Finding Happiness the Blue Zones Way." (hint: Work less, make more friends, live in a beautiful place near where you work, enjoy the arts, and spend time out of doors.)
It just so happens, I've been doing just that. Being with friends in this beautiful place we live and getting outside in the warm October air. Sure enough. Feels pretty darn good. The stuff that Art is made of.
Amazingly, after weeks under the lights and weekends in the refrigerator, this pear was sweet and juicy, and everything a pear should be. I ate it all. Grateful for its goodness and beauty and inspiration.
The ultimate exercise in paring down.
Pears seem positively mundane compared to the art of Charlotte Salomon at the Contemporary Jewish Museum. Intense. Emotional. Obsessively she created 1300 paintings about her life and times bearing witness to the Holocaust which ultimately took her life at 26. Sad and poignant and horrifying. Her creative spirit defiantly fills the room. A powerful reminder that lodges deep in the heart.
It's Fleet Week in San Francisco, a celebration of Naval Aviation. I left the museum to find aircraft carriers in the Bay and sailors on every corner. Old timey planes flying by in formation. It felt like a time warp. As I write it is a golden October afternoon, everyone is out enjoying the sunshine and the week's end. People watch in awe as the Blue Angels fly overhead. Their power and precision both beautiful and disturbing. A reminder that lodges in the heart.
For the moment I'm sticking with pears. Beautiful in their simplicity.
These pears won't last forever. My studio smells sweet. I want to eat one. But. When they are gone, that will be the end of this series. And although I could go to the market and find some commercially grown who knows where, it wouldn't be the same as finding a few freshly picked from Schoppert's crop left on the kitchen counter.