The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain. The rain in Benicia Saturday fell mainly on the merch.
Had plans to get up early Saturday morning and hit the COMPASS Realty sponsored Community Garage Sale. Not that I needed anything. It’s the thrill of the hunt. Alas, when I awoke it was pouring. Didn’t let that stop me as I grabbed an umbrella and my map and drove to the first venue — nothing, no action. Cruised by another and they were struggling to put a tent up. Sought out the final three where houses and garages were locked up tight. Quel catastrophe!
And so it went until I saw a fellow standing in his yard, across the street from a home I had marked on the map, dressed in army fatigues, water streaming off his cap, and surrounded by his treasures. “Do you have antiques?” I yelled from the car window. He wandered over, pausing as he fingered his beard — “I have an old dresser upstairs,” he said. “Um. No thank you, though,” said I. “You’re tough standing out there in the rain,” I said. Smiling he said, “so are you!” and gave me a hearty thumbs up which I returned. Hadn’t thought about it that way. Am I tough, or just greedy and driven. Maybe all three. A trifecta! Any chance of a reboot, COMPASS, later this year?
Next on my Saturday list was to hit Open Studios at the Arsenal as part of Benicia Art Weekend. If I got in a few galleries on First and took in one or two music venues it would be frosting on the cake. Had missed the memorial at Randall Sexton’s studio awhile back so that was my first stop. It was a revelation. So many gorgeous paintings filling the space. Randy’s widow Carol Neilson, her daughter, and friends were chatting in a lovely sun room in the back. Orinda plein air painter and Mayor of Moraga Teresa Onoda was helping out.
Randy left a huge body of work, boxes of portraits, nudes, portfolios of sketches from his years of figure drawing workshops, studio works, plein air landscapes, and several large abstracts. Pouring through portfolios full of oil sketches, I couldn’t resist a dynamic pastel of a young ballerina, so reminiscent of artist Edgar Degas’s dancers that I had seen at the Musee d’Orsay in Paris. When I got home, I put it next to a small reproduction of Degas’ “Little Dancer” sculpture that had been my mother’s, the only sculpture that Degas every exhibited publicly. Perfect!
In another Arsenal building, painter Terry Hughes gave me a tour of his capacious studio filled with enormous oil paintings of animals seen on his recent safari, portraits of Indian chiefs that were influenced from matchbook covers, landscapes, and abstracts. He is always trying something new, painting every day and not afraid to tackle monumental canvases in his bold, impasto style.
Motored up First Street Sunday, not a cloud in the sky. I was behind a classic turquoise Cadillac convertible, the kind with the flamboyant fins and pointy lights. The driver failed to stop for a woman in the crosswalk who shook her fist at him. Pedestrians still have the right-of-way even in a face-off with a 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz. A line of vintage cars snaked up the Street. People were everywhere. There was a music combo on the lawn in front of the Capitol. Would have loved to see the Little Art Shop’s chalk art contest but it was cancelled — not due to the rain but to insufficient signups. Next year they will change the requirements so that children can enter making it more of a family affair.
Several of us had tickets for the BTG’s spring production of Blithe Spirit: A Supernatural Comedy by Noel Coward. The matinee was sold out. We were able to score three seats close to the stage. The set was delightful — a comfortable sitting room with picture windows, fire in the fireplace, and an adjoining dining area for seances. This was Noel Coward at his best, complete with dry witticisms, smoking jackets, cigarettes, and cocktails. Coward wrote the play in 1941 during the London Blitz to bring some levity to a tired and frightened nation. Each of the actors had an immense amount of dialogue to memorize, with no slip-ups that I noticed. Loved the repartee of upper-class Brits, ripe with understatement. Every upset was an excuse for a cocktail or brandy. Was delighted by the special effects when a ghosts entered the room — books tumbling out of bookcases, shaking tables, and swinging light fixtures. How did they do it?
Humor has certainly changed over the decades. It was refreshing to hear a character in the play say, “I do beg your pardon,” uttered at the slightest breach of etiquette. Now you hear the “F-word” everywhere, used as a noun, verb, adjective, and even a dangling participle. So boring! Gets my knickers in a twist. A middle ground perhaps? I do think I need a brandy.
The actors adopted British accents and spoke quite rapidly. I found myself missing some of the dialogue. When I got home I read the play on-line to pick up some repartee that I may have missed. “I turn on the subtitles when I watch Masterpiece,” my sister said. “Operas have ‘supertitles’ projected above the stage.” Could that be a possibility going forward? We are indeed fortunate to have such a dynamic, talented, and generous theater group in Benicia. Looking forward to seeing the Pulitzer Prize winning Osage County in the Fall.
Last column mentioned that the space next to NY2CA Gallery on First, the former Bell and Brass, would become another gallery. Wrong. Spoke to BrandiBette Smead at the Library who along with a friend is starting a wellness space there called The Vortex. Both Brandi and her partner are skilled Reiki masters — a Japanese technique for stress reduction and relaxation that also promotes healing. Their plans include guest workshops, transformational life coaching, and other wellness modalities offered primarily to teens and young adults. Celebrate their opening on the first Friday in June.
Apropos of nothing, I heard on NPR that if spiders were as big as humans their webs would be able to stop a jetliner. Checked on-line and given the same measurements, spider webs are stronger than steel. Can you imagine driving over a bridge made of spider webs? Think of all of the bugs it would attract — big ones. Where’s the brandy?
Letters From Benicia 