Through the eyes of an online guest
Most of us have made a conscious decision to live in Northern California. Certainly we’ve had other options. There was a day in the early ’90s when I could have followed friends who moved to Seattle. The Handsome Woodsman and I took a reconnaissance road trip to Oregon, but for some reason we did not load up the U-Haul. Over the years I interviewed for jobs in distant towns, and now I’m grateful for those rejection letters.
My guess is that if each of us took an inventory, we could think of at least 10 friends who left Northern California for good reasons, but decided to replant themselves nearby.
My friend Kara is a master at finding fun things to do. We’ve been friends for a dozen years and when I was dirt poor she enticed me to events that were dirt cheap: Art gallery receptions, poetry readings, experimental concerts. We’ve been to some odd events, like that time we thought we were going to watch a film on campus, and ended up being those strange older women who sat in on a class.
However, due to the pandemic, my heebie-jeebies about crowds has kept me at home more often than I would like. Even outdoor activities are questionably harmful due to the smoke from 700,000 acres of nearby wildfires.
As much as I fight it, there are weekends when the best thing I can think to do with spare time is to take a nap.
One of the easiest ways to regain appreciation for the same-old, same-old is to host a visitor from out of town. Luckily, that’s part of my job.
Recently, my bossman asked me to work on a special project for our “visitors” from foreign countries. Normally, we host international educational programs in town, but in July we were hosts online. Could I capture some of the spirit of Northern California through a series of photos?
Over several months I snapped pictures during my walk through life, and had so many memories of pre-pandemic times.
One day my friend Jim agreed to walk with me downtown. We woke up at 6:30 a.m. to take photographs in good light and without the obstruction of parked cars.
The art on our main streets wasn’t new to me, of course. Back in my days as a reporter, I saw many of these works in the making. Yet, like many of us, I can easily pass a magnificent mural on my way to lunch without looking up from my kneecaps.
However, when you’re showing off to a visitor, it’s easy to see things with a fresh lens. In this case, my visitors just happen to be online.
How did I miss the vibrantly-colored “Together” sign along the small alley by Tres Hombres? When did metal mushrooms sprout on the gate near Satava Art Glass on Wall Street? Who painted that lovely portrait of a young woman in between the bricks on Third Street?
Jim also had his camera and we ran our fingers over Dayton Claudio’s mural on Salem Street, right there in plain view where it has been for a long time. I thought fondly of my friend Scott Teeple, who once gave me a tour of his favorite downtown art, much of it his own. I also felt old when I remembered when the downtown art benches were brand new.
And then we saw it, something shimmery on Fourth Street just on the edge of Broadway. With the grandeur of the Diamond Hotel, the new art on the south-facing wall seems almost tucked away. Yet, up close the dancing salmon sparkle in water made of bits of glass, the sturdy fish jumping toward the sidewalk.
The mosaic was lovingly crafted through the Rainforest Art Project, with space dedicated by hotel owner Wayne Cook.
The creativity in our town is not hiding. It’s still in plain view. I had just forgotten to look.