What we’ve shared and what we haven’t

After spending much of last week thinking about women and their stories, a visit to the Minnesota Street Project on Saturday afternoon, Sept. 29, was ... totally in keeping with what had captured most people’s attention.

At the Rena Bransten Gallery, Lava Thomas’ “Mugshot Portraits: Women of the Montgomery Bus Boycott” is a collection of precisely drawn images of 1955 ladies. They’re decked out in clothes suitable for business or for church — proper suits, blouses buttoned up and topped with brooches. And each of those perfect ladies gazing steadily into the camera is holding the number she was given upon being booked.

Nancy Toomey Fine Art was showing paintings by Monica Lundy, “Deviance — Women in the Asylum During the Fascist Regime,” works painted with coffee and charcoal on paper, then burned and torn. Despite the artist’s purposeful damage, the faces of her subjects are readable, the glances haunting. In front of two portraits, scraps of charred paper are scattered on the floor.

The galleries are a few steps away from each other, but the subject matter was coincidence. But in my mind, the women in the two distinct sets of portraits are side by side.

It may be, as it is said, that if all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. So — forgive the stretch, but it’s the truth — this is where many women were (literally and figuratively) over the weekend.

At Crissy Field on Saturday night, a series of tents were set up for the Trails Forever dinner and NightHowl afterparty, about raising money for the Golden Gate National Parks Conservancy. This nonprofit works to make the national park’s wonders accessible to everyone.

Just beyond the registration table at the entrance, three women — Susie Buell, Nancy Bechtle and Dagmar Dolby — were talking about what everybody had been talking about all week. The three are on the same side. Buell was wearing a shirt that said “november is coming.” “It’ll work out,” said one. “No, it will not work out for 30 years,” said another.

Amy Tan, who was also there, was wearing camouflage, in keeping with what she said was her new passion — bird-watching. She pulled out her cell phone to share an image of a coloredpencil drawing of two crows she said she’d drawn while watching the hearings. Her caption: “Scripted to appeal to the base and upcoming elections, Kavanaugh crows, ‘I love beer. What’s wrong with drinking a brewski or six?’ ”

The week of political conflict had left fresh wounds and also reddened scars left by lifetimes of buried memories. But at Trails Forever, there was a shared sense of purpose. “Parks for All Forever” is the Conservancy’s message. The goal was to protect what everyone agrees are precious, democratic ideals, of course, but also the land, sea, air, all around us. Trails Forever is a profound endorsement of democracy.

Of course, it was a gala with familiar trappings: reception, specialty cocktails, elegantly appointed tables, flowers (by Kathleen Deery) all the more glorious because of their unpretentiousness. Auctioneer Mark Buell’s skillful presentation of park-related excursions and events led to the raising of an astonishing $1.2 million from auction proceeds and also, after the auction, in donations to a new educational fund set up in tribute to Greg Moore, who has led the Conservancy for 33 years and is retiring next year.

But in the list of fundraising events, this one stands out because every person there in every capacity, whether they’ve bought an expensive ticket or are being paid to serve the dinner, is on an equal footing when sharing the wonders of that being supported.

“At a time when our city seems so divided,” said Moore, greeted with affectionate and vigorous applause, “we can count on something simple and timeless. ... We devote ourselves to the parks that are here for all of us for all time.”

The caterer was McCalls, and the woman who served dinner, refilled my water glass and asked if I wanted coffee was so on top of her job that near the dinner’s end of the evening, I complimented and thanked her. She motioned to the tent, where more than 450 dinner guests were preparing to head to the afterparty. “They deserve that,” she said.

Moving down the table with her coffeepot, she turned her head back to me, and over her shoulder proclaimed, “I love nature.”

PUBLIC EAVESDROPPING “I hope there’s not a long line at the spanking booth.” Man to man, overheard at the Folsom Street Fair by Adda Dada