Steph – Page 44 – Stephanie Sicore

August 6, 2007August 6, 2007

Refresher at the DeYoung Museum

We drove into the dripping fogcloud, nestled ourselves in Golden Gate Park;
ran across Strybing’s damp green lawns, held hands across Lincoln avenue;
climbed sculptures, tripped security fences;
touched artwork, careened down staircases;
shotgunned white halls, leapt off sacred benches;
sweated, grimaced, laughed, shrieked, held hands;
faceplanted onto a mirrored glass exhibit case,
you guessed who: Chas
took pictures, toppled glass vases;
stampeded back through the arboretum,
held hands under the weepy eucalyptus;
chased squirrels, held hands across Lincoln Avenue;
squirmed in our seats, drank Thai beer;
savored a steaming bowl of pumpkin green curry
corn cakes, satay and pad thai
held hands under the table
another beer, a better reference point;
Amoeba records for a Dr. Who series DVD,
Goodwill, lucky me, offered
a handmade, tailored vintage women’s western blouse
Then a quiet moment off Haight, where I brainstormed in peace;
Then snaked along the San Andreas faultline,
watched the fogclouds creep over Skyline
like a suspended avalanche,
a stampede of white buffalo, frozen in time,
pink-tinged crests from the hidden sunset;
and sundown’s reflection off Loma Linda,
A blushing blue bear on our horizon.
And suddenly we were home.

++more photos are over on flickr++

August 5, 2007August 5, 2007

cosmos

My favorite summer project: the packet of cosmos seeds;
Demeter’s yield from last summer
Rattles softly in the paper, in my shirtpocket.

I walk across the dry grass,
Four curious feet scampering behind me.

One tears open the packet and shakes the seeds
They cascade like rain into the other’s hand.

Quickly, we get to work.

One seed, every few inches, seems scant. We plant two,
sprinkle with water,
and summer flies on by.
No rain, only sun.
We water together,
sometimes alone at dusk,
as baby owls talk over us
up in the pine tree bough
and the crickets start trilling.

One day in July, they pop atop tall green plumes
punctuating the feathery foliage: a blitz of purples, pinks and white.
The nasturtiums cower in awe, shouting loud under-shadow
But they can’t compete, only enhance the stature
of the tiny pack of seeds
that exploded by some miracle into our summer landscape
and framed our reference within the course of this year.

August 4, 2007August 4, 2007

Where we paint in August

It’s not really all that hot here, by Texas standards. But this is California, so everyone here complains of the heat. Californians love to whine about the heat. They whine because they feel entitled to the good weather, now that they’ve spent 2 million on their fixer upper (read: they have)and because many of them, including ourselves, don’t have air conditioning. Oh God! What does one do when it’s 92 degrees outside and one can’t stay cool? You DEAL. But we deal in style. We bring the art studio al fresco, kick off our clothes, and paint like little devils.

It’s really easy to bring the studio outside. One easel for two kids, a couple of clamps for their paper, a stool or chair for a workstand, and a big (really really big) bowlful of water underneath the easel.

We paint; we paint paper and we paint each other. We paint the rocks and the easel, too. We paint swirls and stab paint and squish it between our toes. Tempera is a friendly medium. And when we’re finished, we wash up. A hose nearby makes a handy shower, and it splatters the tomato plants, sending tangy green-red notes into the air. That alluring smell of the garden in late summer, when everything is basking and ripening, sends us reeling; we can’t help ourselves, we spray everything: the walls, the trees, the easel, the sky. And despite the antics with the spray nozzle, we still patter into the house with bluegreen hands, streaking the hallway walls.