Sunday, August 29, 2004

Bruce Beasley's Sculpture Garden

Finally made it to Bruce and Laurance's sculpture garden in Oakland. I was so sorry to have missed the wedding on June 21, 2003, of Lise Gulassa and her handsome guy (whose name I forget, and my notes are not here), which occurred at this same site. It's quite a place.

Today, the Beasleys invited sculptors young and old, and the gates were open to a gorgeous sunny day. Bruce's cool geometric sculptures, some echoing the stretching limbs of Tai Chi artists, stood on pedestals like guests at a simultaneous party for the bronzed and ripped. For we of the flesh, a barbeque was going, ice cream was being scooped, and wine was served in real glasses! Plenty of nice garden/café chairs to sit on, plenty of people to chat with.

I had a pleasant little chat with Anne Healy, who did a lot of great things for UC Berkeley when she was a professor of Art there. Tracy Hussong was there, too, looking like she'd been posing for Joe Bahama or whoever the new tropical clothier is who's buying a lot of ad space nowadays. A clean, fresh look. Cool-looking hiking sandals on her peds. She and Randy are talking about going to Mexico at Christmas, because their little boy (who shall go nameless here only to protect his privacy) speaks Spanish like a native. Randy's gotta learn Spanish for, "talk to the kid!" I can see it now, the little guy dealing with hotel front desk staff, souvenir hawkers, corrupt cops, the usual cast of characters one must deal with on vacations.

So Bruce and Laurance have been to Bali... 6 years ago, Laurance thought. They went all over, she said, but she was not sure if they'd visited Tirtagangga... since the volcano figured in, perhaps they went to Kintamani. And they stayed in Ubud, that magnet for Californians.

Since my mom was having ice cream, I had some, too. She's doing great lately, and it's great to see her out socializing. I am getting hefty, filling out my "fat jeans" as I encourage my mom to put away the calories.

Weight loss tip from my dad, who's cutting down and looks good: stay off the booze.

Thought for the day, conclusion to this missive: Maybe we really are all on pedestals. Of our own creation. At the very least, each of us views his or her own body very formally, framed within mirrors, in private spaces. We are sometimes very careless sculptors, but we most often view the results as sharp, overly attentive critics.

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