Wandering Artist's Journal

Jane Grossenbacher's memorial was yesterday. Jane was the most life-affirming person I've known. She hated "killing time" - playing cards fell into that category, as far as Jane was concerned. One of the last things she told us was "The only good thing about dying now, is I don't have to learn digital photography." Her ashes will be buried in a secret place near Taos. I didn't stay for the meal after the service, because I was too sad to talk (or eat.) But I'll never forget her. Jane's web site Jane's last show More photos on Flickr Jane's big printmaking party Jane's Obit Jane's Guest Book

The painting, "Hope" by victorian artist George Frederic Watts , is apparently the inspiration for Jeremiah Wright's sermon on "The Audacity of Hope", which inspired Barack Obama. From the Christian Science Monitor : Entitled "Hope," the canvas hanging inside London's Guildhall Art Gallery as part of an exhibition by Victorian painter George Frederic Watts might appear unremarkable to some. In drab browns and grays on a blue background, it depicts a young blindfolded woman strumming on the last unbroken string of a harp, her ear to the instrument. Obama's controversial former pastor Jeremiah Wright invoked the image as a symbol of inspiration during a sermon in Chicago 20 years ago. The harpist, he preached, "is sitting there in rags ... her clothes are tattered as though she had been a victim of Hiroshima… [yet] the woman had the audacity to hope." ...

When I first moved to Delaware in the early 60s, it felt like we had landed in a dark and malevolent place. Schools, parks, restrooms, movie theaters, and other public places were segregated. Corporal punishment was celebrated: teachers mounted wooden paddles above their desks and the town green had a whipping post. Once, after a weekend cross-burning, I asked one of the participants why they'd done it and the guy dissolved in laughter, saying " it was just a joke." Even at 12 years old, I had lived in many culturally divergent places. Like most military kids, I had learned that the local residents in every new place believed that their customs and traditions were the best, if not only, way to live. We had learned to go with the flow and keep our judgments to ourselves, but usually the matters in question involved clothing, food, or language. This time it meant swimming in a stew of fear and hate that was so omnipresent it was invisible to long-time residents. Legal in...

The lines weren't bad first thing this morning, in the Outer Sunset District - 15 or 20 minutes. On our way to the polls, we saw a good omen: And SFist had a sample of real positive thinking - what if we changed Bush Street to: