Out Loud

 

Our Alley

I never thought I’d mumble or talk out loud to myself quite so often. Not just out loud either, but with inflection, detailed perspectives, vigorous counter arguments, alternative viewpoints, and answers to a variety of unexpected statements because I’m often imagining another person in the conversation. This includes what I anticipate the other persons response might be, or what their actual response was from an unresolved conversation I’d had with them days, months, even years earlier.

The habit was triggered after an alarming interaction with an unstable editor during a meeting many years ago. Everything immediately went sideways as soon as he walked into the client’s office, where the client and I were already seated and chatting. He stomped in, slammed down his books and folders on the table and proceeded to accuse us of not informing him about the rescheduled meeting in a timely manner. That wasn’t the case, there were multiple group emails about our clients need to reschedule from the previous day that included him, and even though he’d been mistaken, it didn’t matter because he completely unraveled like someone who was off his medication. The client, myself, and two staff people sitting at their desks nearby were stunned watching a grown man morph into an unhinged toddler. We tried to move beyond his outburst and focus on the work in front of us, but he continued to throw me and the client under the bus for everything he could think of. After this event, I had huge unresolved issues, which shifted from shock and disappointment to anger after he followed-up with an insulting email days later accusing us of colluding. I was so floored that I had my wife and daughter read it just to make certain I wasn’t overreacting. They knew the person, what had happened during the meeting earlier that week, and confirmed how bizarre his behavior was. They perfectly accessed the intent of his email which was to bait me and the client further. I didn’t respond, the client terminated their relationship with him, and we finished the project without him.

After I spoke with my family, I went to the alley to play fetch with our dog. It helped to move and throw, but my anger still increased, and I began talking out loud to myself. The distance of my throws grew farther and farther the angrier I got which our dog enjoyed. I was having a highly detailed and emotional conversation which triggered additional conversations for days afterward. I started to walk our dog more while talking more, especially at night. If someone was sitting quietly outside enjoying the warm evening, they could have easily heard me. I was no different than anyone else I’ve heard working out their complicated issues on public streets. We’re all talking to ourselves in full view, with our demons on full display. I may have the ability to be more discreet about it because I’m not forced to live in public full time, but it’s the same, also, our dog thought I was talking to him on every walk.

Songs :: Revolution Blues by Neil Young, Vaseline Machine Gun by Leo Kottke, Suffer to Sing the Blues by David Bromberg, and Words by Lucinda Williams

© C. Davidson

Ukrainian Village

 

Shoulders of the Sears Tower

My Chicago Apartment Building :: Image – Google Earth

Chicago was dreamlike because it’s a big, complex city where everything is happening at once and constantly shifting from green to gray to blue. It’s architecture is sublime, it straddles a giant lake that feels like an ocean and erupts out of the plains that sprawl endlessly in three directions. After the edges turn to small towns and suburbs, it becomes open farmland like the rest of the Midwest. It’s the biggest city I’ve ever lived in and the biggest I’ve biked in. I used to ride from the south loop north to Rogers Park and Evanston, and from the lake front west to Wicker Park, Bucktown, and the Ukrainian Village. I took trains and cabs much further into distant neighborhoods and outlying suburbs, like Palatine, and Oak Park, but I didn’t ride my bike that far.

Sometimes when I reflect on biking there, I think about the exposure. It didn’t cross my mind at the time, but today it does and I was lucky. I didn’t wear a helmet in Chicago, or anywhere, or any time before that. Not until 2001 after living in Minneapolis for fourteen years, did I start to wear a helmet regularly. I was lucky because I had significant crashes in all of them with only one major injury in my life. Regardless, I never considered wearing a helmet. I knew they existed, and I saw riders on the Tour De France wearing helmets because they’re professionals, but I didn’t. I didn’t wear seat belts until I moved to Minnesota either, even while driving on sketchy mountain roads with black ice, cliffs on one side, and no guard rails, or even on rural interstate at night with herds of skittish deer on the shoulder.

I loved riding in Chicago and was always surprised more bikers weren’t in the streets. I knew quite a few people and had a small circle of friends, but nobody rode their bike. I was on my own when I crossed industrial bridges with steel grates for surfaces, weaving through alleys near Division and Damen, along the lake, or north to visit Anne and Leo in Rogers Park. When I road west of the river and Interstate 90, it felt wilder and more unpredictable than the part of the city I lived in. I expanded west because I began riding to the Ukrainian Village neighborhood where a friend had moved to. It was unknown territory and although I liked riding everywhere, that part of the city felt unusually familiar. I explored the city on my bike for over two years before I moved away. I relished it. I didn’t realize how open people were there, until I moved to Minnesota, because Minnesota is the opposite. Here it’s conditional. Many people born here and who’ve never left are confused whether they live in a city, or a small town, and that makes them suspicious of outsiders. Chicago didn’t have the time.

Songs :: Home of the Brave by Laurie Anderson, Goodbye’s All We Got Left by Steve Earle and the Dukes, Bruce Springsteen’s Tunnel of Love album, Chicago by Tom Waits, and Someday, Someway by Marshall Crenshaw

© C. Davidson

Spring Lake

 

Spring Lake at Christmas

Tesla-Model 3 :: Image-Tesla

Our Airbnb was a single elegant room, with a queen bed, a full-size bathroom, and a kitchenette within a large house. It felt like a small well-appointed hotel room. There were two other rentable rooms on the opposite side of the house. It was designed in the 1970’s by an architecture professor from NYU. The current owner is also an architect, was one of his students and helped his professor design it while he was in school. Twelve years ago, he purchased the house from his professor.

It was a mix of Prairie Style and Florida vernacular — a 6000 square foot, one-story home with a beige stucco exterior in an older suburban Orlando neighborhood. The low profile, flat roof, wide eaves, large entry overhangs, and huge expanse of windows that overlooked the backyard was distinct from nearby homes. There was an acre of lawn in back that stretched to the edge of Spring Lake, a dock, two kayaks, a compact boathouse with fishing gear and life jackets, a pool, a pool pavilion for entertaining, and a privacy wall on one side. It had an extensive terracotta patio that surrounded the pool and the entire perimeter of the house too, which felt Spanish, or Italian.

My wife likes to kayak and hoped she could during our stay. I wasn’t as interested because any inland body of water in Florida has the potential for a disastrous encounter with a reptile. I’ve read too many stories about people and pets, often a Pomeranian, being surprised and drug into murky waters by alligators and giant snakes. People assume it only happens in the Everglades, or other swampy borderland terrain, but it happens in urban areas and neighborhood developments with water too. She rolled her eyes when I brought it up because this wasn’t the first time I’ve mentioned it. “It’s never stopped you from hiking in the mountains.” “What?” “Possible encounters with wild animals like bears, mountain lions and badgers.” “No, it hasn’t, but somehow it’s different. Somehow being attacked on land sounds better than being dragged into the water, drowned and then consumed, with my shoes and hat eventually popping up and floating on the surface of the lake hours later.”

She asked the owner of the house if there were alligators and he said there weren’t any in Spring Lake because the residents in the neighborhood, especially ones who lived on the shore, keep a close eye on it. He was a friendly, interesting guy with a lot of great stories about his life, but I didn’t trust him regarding the presence of alligators. Maybe he didn’t really know and just wanted to sound like he was in the know. Unless he’s interacted with the lake personally and recently, I’m suspect. “I haven’t seen anything bigger than a small Iizard,” he said. Famous last words I thought. Also, he provided very nice kayaks for his guests, but they were quite dirty which indicated they hadn’t been used in quite a while. That alone begged the question which I didn’t ask, “Have these been docked for a while because there are alligators in the lake?” She trusted him, ignored my paranoia, and eventually found time to go for a long paddle. After twenty minutes she returned safe and smiling like she always does. She’s fearless like her father was.

To get around Orlando we rented a Tesla. Hertz was out of compact cars and had been for many weeks prior to our stay, so they were having a deal on them. We can’t afford a Tesla in real life, but we’re converts if we could. It was like driving an intuitive iMac strapped to a silent blue rocket. We enjoyed driving it and a few days in, we charged it at a super charging station near a shopping mall. It was at 35% which was still plenty for at least another day, but we decided to charge it that afternoon. We backed up to the streamlined tower next to another Tesla being charged and inserted the charger. It looked like a cross between a typical gas hose and nozzle configuration, but with a large three-pin attachment. It was as simple as plugging in our phones. It took about thirty minutes, so we ate our sandwiches, talked, and explored the navigation screen.

I’m undecided how my personal ‘cancel culture’ should work in this situation. I oppose Musk’s politics, how his employees are reportedly treated, and his general entitled arrogance, but the car is amazing. I’m all for canceling individuals and companies who exploit, harm, and kill people and culture, otherwise it’s on a case-by-case basis, with a sliding scale and a lot of grays. Sometimes canceling is crystal clear and other times it’s not. I was told by a friend who we invited over for dinner a few years ago, out of the blue and without context, that I shouldn’t support Picasso because of how he treated woman and a couple of other reasons I don’t recall. “Are you familiar with how he treated women?” I wasn’t. I appreciated the heads-up though — sounded like he was a huge ass. So, when I wrote this, I did some research and discovered she was right — he treated women badly. So, I wouldn’t recommend him to a friend for an intimate relationship if he was alive, or a humanitarian award, but his work was groundbreaking and changed art as we know it, plus I like it. I haven’t canceled him or his art. She can cancel him if she needs to, for that reason and whatever her other ‘real’ reasons are. Regarding our noiseless Tesla, I enjoyed driving it with my wife through the winter sun and palm trees while listening to Christmas songs on the road to her mom’s place.

Songs :: Winter Wonderland by Ella Fitzgerald, River by Joni Mitchell, I’ll Be Home For Christmas by Bing Crosby, Steady On by Shawn Colvin, 10:00pm and Blues Bird by Larry Carlton,

© C. Davidson

Badlands :: [Supplemental]

 

Badlands :: North Dakota

Songs :: Transcendental Blues by Steve Earle, Indra by The Mirror Conspiracy, Personal Jesus by Johnny Cash, and Desert Skies by The Marshall Tucker Band

© C. Davidson

Cassini

 

Toby’s Eye :: 2009

Cassini Burning in the Atmosphere of Saturn :: Image–Artist Rendering–NASA

Only three other people including a podcast icon/actor/stand-up comedian, my mother talking about my father decades ago, and a close friend who recently mentioned becoming more emotional as they’ve grown older. It’s happened to me too, especially over the last few years. I’ve always struggled when it comes to animals in distress, or worse their demise. My ability to read about, watch programs about, and see stories on Instagram that show, or describe, their suffering is almost non-existent now.

I recently watched part of the first free episode of Yellowstone because it’s called Yellowstone and it’s supposed to take place in Montana. Within one minute of the first scene there was a highway accident and the horse that was being transported in a trailer was badly injured. When the shocked character played by Kevin Costner got out of his truck and approached his horse, it appeared to be standing in the wreckage of the trailer, still tethered, but severely wounded, extremely frightened, horrified and making noises that were alarming and heartbreaking. Noises I’ve never heard before. The horse was in agony, so I paused the show. I walked away, poured more tea and went outside to sit on our deck because I had to regroup. I tried to watch the rest of the episode but couldn’t. The little I did see was him humanely shooting the horse.

The increased emotion doesn’t end with living things. There’s a documentary series called Seven Days Out. It highlights a specific event for seven days before an absolute deadline, like the opening of Eleven Madison Park in Manhattan, the Kentucky Derby, a Chanel Haute Couture fashion show, and the Westminster Dog Show. The episode I’ve watched several times is NASA’s operation to terminate the twenty-year Cassini project called The Grand Finale. The experts knew from the beginning that it would eventually use up its power source at an approximate moment in time, but because they couldn’t predict the exact moment, they had to be proactive and control its end. Their goal was to make certain that no fragment of the probe would end up on one of Saturn’s moons, or on Saturn itself, and pollute that environment. So, they sent it into Saturn’s atmosphere at seventy-thousand miles per hour to vaporize without a trace. Watching Cassini during its last week, especially its last hour, minutes, and seconds, was like being present during the death of a sentient being, almost like the horse on the shoulder of the road.

— — — — — — —

“The spacecraft’s final signal will be like an echo. It will radiate across the solar system for nearly an hour and a half after Cassini itself has gone. Even though we’ll know that, at Saturn, Cassini has already met its fate, its mission isn’t truly over for us on Earth as long as we’re still receiving its signal.” Earl Maize, Cassini project manager at Nasa’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory

— — — — — — —

Songs :: The Horses and Flying Cowboys by Rickie lee Jones, Bad by U2, Understars II by Brian Eno, I Grieve by Peter Gabriel, and Pink Moon by Nick Drake

© C. Davidson

Peters Pasture

 

Open Prairie :: 1998

Peters Pasture felt wild when I was young. Brown and black horses grazed out there without any fences to keep them in. They roamed free, even running together with their long manes blowing, until they returned to their stalls somewhere near the river at dusk. They never seemed to wander onto the adjacent streets, or peoples nearby lawns, the ones with thick green grass. It was a big chunk of land, maybe fifteen acres that reached between and separated three neighborhoods, but it felt much bigger than that because the southern end merged with open prairie.  

Our neighborhood had typical orderly streets with simple houses, from small ramblers and contractor homes to modest two-story ones. It was called Grande Vista and most of the streets had Spanish names too. I don’t know why all the names were in Spanish, but it was called that because of the views, and if you were on the edges of it there were big ones. When walking into the nearby fields to the south, it was easy to see the terrain slowly rise to the western bluffs and gradually descend towards the Missouri River to the southeast. Hiking even further out, I could see the Highwoods and Little Belt Mountains which were just hazy blue silhouettes. Years later they became more defined because as I got older, we would ski, swim, hike, camp, and gather with family and friends in them.

Our neighborhood was west of the pasture. The neighborhood to the north was called the Country Club, because it bordered a golf course. The third neighborhood on the east side of the pasture was radically different from the other two. Homes were sparse on bigger tracts of land, and the families who lived there had horses, out buildings, and property near the river. I imagined their lifestyles were exotic too because they could interact with their horses, go fishing, and water ski from their docks all in one day.

Since the pasture felt off-limits early on, my interaction was limited to the perimeter. As I got older, I found ways around it which opened-up everything. To get to the river, I stayed south of the pasture and hiked across the windy prairie where the Meadowlarks were and the grasshoppers scattered. Sometimes I was alone and other times I was with friends. Either way, the adventures always began at the same spot and continued along the river for hours. We crawled over and under enormous, downed trees, and skirted thin sandy beaches, snags, and rocks. Next to the river there was less wind, so the smell of sweet grass permeated the afternoon. Sometimes we built forts that were tucked into the cut banks which remained there until high water washed them away. Many miles downstream, too far to walk to, the land changed from prairie and cottonwood trees lining the Missouri, to mountains with shear rock faces and canyon pine.

Songs :: Loom by Olafur Arnalds, Comes a Time by Neil Young, Let it Flow by Elvin Bishop, Green Grass and High Tides by The Outlaws, and Small Town by Aaron Espe

© C. Davidson

Birthday Walk :: [Supplemental]

 

Mní Ówe Sní (Cold Water Spring)

For JL

Songs :: The Silence Between Us by Bob Mould, Let’s Go by The Cars, Feel It by The Crusaders, Take Five by The Dave Brubeck Quartet, and Summer Wind by Frank Sinatra

© C. Davidson

Truck Stop Near the Border

 

Firewood :: Image–Sutherlands.com

Image – Traveling With Jared Blog

Long road trips of any kind, anytime of day, in any weather, and in any state of mind are good. My favorite time to drive is the afternoon if I’m in the plains, mountains in the evening, and past midnight almost anywhere. I’ve done countless trips during the heat of the day through the Midwest, the south, the west, and eastern Montana. I’ve stopped a lot in the North Dakota Badlands for extended breaks during some of those. I rarely take the time to hike into the park, but I always stop at the overlook for a while and if I’m lucky, a few bison are resting in the grass nearby. The badlands of South Dakota are just as beautiful and feel even more surreal. Years ago, my wife, our daughter, one of her friends, our dog, and I, parked our RV overnight in a KOA Park in the middle of the southern badlands. It felt like we’d landed on a different planet because the landscape is so wild. I think it’s better in the Badlands than another planet would be though, because it had amenities like a pool, showers, breakfast options, craft activities for kids, and geological hikes that explain the formations and what’s likely buried beneath them.

I’d been driving for eight hours when I arrived near the border. It was early evening, still hot, sticky and hazy. I was road weary and felt dusty like I’d been on a windy prairie. I hadn’t been. I began my day in eastern Ohio. It often takes me awhile to leave the town I’ve stayed at overnight, regardless of where it is. I move slow in the morning and I like to linger at favorite coffee shops and eateries in familiar towns. If it’s a new town, i like to search for new favorite place.

Early evening at this truck stop, in the middle of nowhere, was also a perfect time to linger. I’d purchased what I needed and found a grassy patch with shade to sit. My wife and I had spoken earlier that day and rather than interrupt her again, I texted. It was brief and included where I was, when I might arrive and everything I just purchased—gas, wiper fluid, skittles, Gatorade, a coke, two mediocre wrapped deli sandwiches and a pick-me-up doughnut for later. I mentioned that bundles of firewood were cheap here and I might buy a couple of those as well. After a minute, or two, the text dots started to pulsate. Then they stopped and awhile went by before she responded. “Are you OK? Firewood?” “Yeh, I’m OK. I decided not to buy the firewood.” I was happy staring up at the enormous four story sign on two black columns that read Waffle House. Admiring the huge black type on giant yellow squares, eating my dinner, and watching the heat waves rise from the fields was just enough.

Songs :: Dusted Mind by Steve Gunn, Southern Cross by The Ozark Mountain Daredevils, Hoover Dam by Sugar, Into the Mystic by Van Morrison, Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl) by Looking Glass, and State Trooper by Bruce Springsteen

© C. Davidson

Ongoing Postcard Series :: [Supplemental]

 

Postcard Series :: 2019–2024 – Produced for my fellow Postcard Collective artists and studio mailing list.

Songs :: Pulses by Steve Reich, Strangered In the Night by Tom Petty, Higher Ground by Stevie Wonder, Escape Artist by Zoe Keating, and Lake Marie by John Prine

© C. Davidson

Reality Distortion Field

 

Amtrak Routes :: Image–Amtrak

Benefit Street Apartment – 1984-1985

Benefit Street Apartment – 1984-1985

First Baptist Church Crows and Ravens – Providence :: Steeple Image–Providence Public Library

My second winter on Benefit Street was oppressive — weighed down by the cold humidity of Providence, and phone calls like sniper fire because a relationship was unraveling. It got dark early too and I questioned everything. Every couple of weeks beginning in the fall of my first year, my thesis, the research, the visual work that supported it, and all my studio coursework was questioned, poked at and dismantled. Critiques and reviews were nothing new, difficult or easy, I usually looked forward to them, but my doubt was relentless that winter. I was tired. Everyone was tired. On some days, biking home for dinner up the hill and past the First (first) Baptist Church was stressful, the crows that congregated there seemed to caw louder as I approached. Occasionally one or two unexpected ravens would burst from the murder towards me like a scene from The Birds. It felt like a sign and I took it personally.

I was lucky though because I had a few thesis ideas the summer before my first year, as nebulous as they were, so I didn’t feel like I was starting from scratch. While I was on the train from Havre to the middle of North Dakota, I stared out the window when I wasn’t asleep, but beyond there, while in the Midwest and northeast, I started to take notes. Days later we reached the outskirts of New York City and into the tunnels beneath it. Eventually finding myself in the middle of Penn Station with all my gear — two suitcases, one large backpack and travelers checks. Two hours later I boarded a smaller train leaving for Providence. It was dusk and all I could do was stare out the window then too — seeing the broken pediment of the AT&T building, the World Trade Center towers, fragments of the Chrysler Building, and the Empire State Building was overwhelming. I’d only seen New York City in pictures or in movies before that. I was hypnotized. I imagined pointing at those buildings from the sidewalk with my dad, then looking at each other, and simultaneously recounting the conversation we’d had only a few weeks before about the architecture I might see, what Yamasaki might say about his towers.

During that long winter, a classmate disappeared for weeks during Winter session. One afternoon, a few of us were at the Snack Pit, a campus coffee shop, and someone asked, “has anyone seen X?” No one had. “I heard that he was holed up sewing and building huge nylon kites by hand,” I said. They all thought I was joking. A day or two later I asked his closest friend how our classmate was doing. “He’s having a bit of a meltdown.” “What’s going on — I heard he’s making kites?” “Not really sure what’s going on and yes he’s making kites in my apartment.”

Eventually he resurfaced and finished strong. Like all of us, he’d had his struggles, and although I felt for him, I wasn’t worried for him. No matter what, he always pulled it off. He always shaped his projects into something thoughtful and beautiful. We had successes, but it was mostly our flaws and failures that changed us. We became a small community, thrown together from all over, and whether our work was ever resolved, or even interesting, for two years we had to believe it was.

— — — — — — — 

“You have to create a reality distortion field and believe that what you are doing is right. Believe that what you are doing is important. Believe in the goal and believe that you will accomplish what you set out to accomplish. You must believe to the point of knowing it as a fact.” Paul Hudson

— — — — — — —

Songs :: Here by David Byrne, Time After Time by Cindy Lauper, How Soon Is Now? by The Smiths, I’m On Fire and Downbound Train by Bruce Springsteen, and What Do You Want by Joan Armatrading

© C. Davidson

O H I O :: [Supplemental]

 

Ohio

Songs :: Traveling Star by James Taylor, Ohio by Neil Young, and Carry Me Ohio by Sun Kil Moon

© C. Davidson

Bridger Canyon Road

 

Campus Map Section :: Image – MSU Services

Bridger Canyon Road :: Image – Still from the movie Torn.

Handmade Houses: A Guide to the Woodbutchers Art :: Art Boericke, Barry Shapiro Photographers

It was Friday and my writing class in Wilson Hall ended at noon. Afterwards, I wandered the corridors for a few minutes because I liked to glance at the nameplates next to the faculty member’s office doors. Reading the names of the writers, philosophers, and literary professors always made me happy — professors on the verge of big breakthroughs, like a new way to view ‘quality’, discovering an image to describe ‘home’ in their new poem, or the birth of a literary journal. It always felt serious and authentic there and I loved that feeling. Then I walked into the courtyard and unlocked my bike under a grove of birch trees and rode to the art building.

I had to stop by the art department office to drop a form off and ended up chatting with Leola for a few minutes. Leola was the department secretary, office manager, and heart of the place. Like lots of people in her position, she quietly held most of the knowledge and power. She had the answers for everything you’d ever need to know — not just answers to all the paperwork questions from students and faculty, but she could tell a ceramics student what the melting temperatures were for each cone during a kiln firing, why the video equipment had been glitchy lately, the office hours for every faculty member from memory, and when the photo chemicals were scheduled to arrive. She knew everything and everyone.

While I was there, I checked a painting in the painting studio I’d recently started in the corner and then walked back over to B. and said hi. She asked me what I was up to. “Not much. Just got out of a class. Seeing who’s around and then heading home. How about you?” I asked. “My class just ended too. I’m heading home as well. No plans after that.” “Don’t you live somewhere on Bridger Canyon Road?” I asked. “I do. Have you been to our place before?” “No, someone must have mentioned it.” I said. “I’ll just be hanging out later. Stop by if you’re looking for something to do.” “Oh… thanks! That’d be a nice ride.” I said. “It’s a big house with a large open porch on the north side of the road. It sits by itself and has quite a few big trees around it and there’s a red mailbox at the entrance to our road.” “That sounds easy to find. I’m not sure I’ll make it, but thanks for the invite.” “Sure.” I headed downstairs and rode home.

After I’d eaten lunch and worked for a while, I decided to take B. up on her offer. So, I grabbed my day pack, a sweater for later and headed out. I road through town on North Rouse which merged onto Bridger Canyon Road. It was a narrow county two lane, with virtually no shoulder in either direction. Cars drove at highway speeds too, so it wasn’t very bike friendly. I was relieved to see the roof of what I thought was her house rise into view. It had a large front porch, a detached garage and all sitting on at least five acres surrounded by Cottonwood, Blue Spruce, and Elm trees. There was a grove of aspen trees on the backside of her house too that became even bigger as it crawled through the drainage and up the foothills towards Mount Baldy. The mailbox was painted red just like she said, so I rode up the gravel road, laid my bike down and sat on the huge front lawn to catch my breath. A few minutes later, a screen door closed behind me, and I turned to see B. waving from the porch. I joined her there and we sat for a while talking about bike riding, the expansive view, her home and how she ended up there. Eventually we went inside and sat at a long, heavy farm table in the dining area, drank coffee, talked and smoked cigarettes. The window light that had been creating hazy floating smoke grids in the air above us disappeared as the light through the windows slowly dimmed. The house began to feel more and more familiar like I’d been there before, like the shotgun house in Somers on the north end of Flathead Lake, photos from the Handmade Houses book, or the Far Out House back in town. It’s a powerful singular feeling.

Songs :: The Blue Man by Steve Kahn, Albatross by Fleetwood Mac, Freeway Jam by Jeff Beck, Something You’re Going Through by Graham Parker, and Good Times Roll by The Cars

© C. Davidson

Conflicted :: [Supplemental]

 
Journal–Sketchbook Cover

Journal Cover

Lift :: Ink on Paper – Journal - Private Collection

Song :: Divide and Conquer by Bob Mould, Stay Hungry by Talking Heads, Red Moon by Big Thief, How To Be Invisible by Kate Bush, and Give It (Once in a Lifetime) by Lambchop

© C. Davidson 

hereandthere :: [Echo]

 
 

It’s been hot and dry lately and today was no exception. My wife was out of town, our daughter was working her afternoon/evening shift, and I was home working on the exterior windows of our house. As usual, it involved scraping, slicing, picking, and power sanding with 40 grit sanding disks on the sashes and sills. 40 grit removes paint quickly and if I stop paying attention will change the shape of the wood in seconds too. I was feeling a bit low after lunch. Maybe it was my exhausting news feed.

Most of the time though, the Remain in Light album is the answer to everything, so, I tapped the icon, inserted my ear buds, climbed the ladder and started to grind. I quickly got into a physical groove and began to feel better. Five feet off the ground and a couple of songs in, I was suddenly transported to my second studio apartment in Providence. It was in a three-story brick house that had been modestly grand in 1870. By the time I lived there, one hundred-fifteen years later, it’d fallen into disrepair and was subdivided into eight apartments. Each apartment included a beautiful architectural detail that made it interesting, and a constant parade of mice and cockroaches which made the place feel like Federalist Grunge.

While I stripped the wood creating a big, hazy cloud of paint and wood dust, I was also standing on a parquet wood floor, behind my desk chair, facing my drafting table with pages of writing on yellow legal pads, walls covered with sheets of tracing paper, filled with notes, grids, icons, and images. The afternoon light streamed in from the Palladian window, which lit up an eight-foot freestanding Doric column behind me, painted in mint blue with a white base and capital.

Sometimes then and now is all right now. Whether I’m on a ladder here, or standing in an apartment there.

— — — — — — —

“Daydream transports the dreamer outside the immediate world to a world that bears the mark of infinity.” Gaston Bachelard–The Poetics of Space

— — — — — — —

Songs :: Take Me To The River, Making Flippy Floppy, and the entire Remain In Light album by Talking Heads, More Than This by Roxy Music, Rebel Rebel by David Bowie, Legendary Hearts by Lou Reed, and Brick House by The Commodores

© C. Davidson

Yellowstone [Supplemental]

 

White Buffalo–Yellowstone :: Photograph – 2009 – Size variable

Yellowstone :: Photograph :: 2009 – Size variable

— — — — — — —

“If you want to understand America, start by looking out the window.” Lee Friedlander

— — — — — — —

Songs :: Grizzly Man by Richard Thompson, Two Lane Highway by Pure Prairie League, I Robot by The Alan Parsons Project, I Remember by Robert Glasper, and Hejira by Joni Mitchell

© C. Davidson

lastweekandwheniwasnine :: [Echo]

 

My wife and I usually play pickle ball at two different sets of courts located in two different city parks. Both locations accommodate tennis and pickle ball, use the same net, and are delineated with different lines. Our favorite is at one end of an idyllic neighborhood park near the bluffs in Saint Paul, and across a winding street from a large K-8 school. The courts are enclosed on four sides by a ten-foot chain link fence which is lined on the outside with flowering apple, pine, maple, and elm trees. Clusters of larger trees further out into the park create individual rooms with pods of shade, and still allow the sunlight between them to bathe the lush green grass.

We played there recently and during our water break between games, I walked to a far corner of the court to gather balls that had collected. As soon as I entered that small area of shade next to a group of pine trees and deep grass outside the fence, I was instantly transported to my grandparents’ house in Great Falls. I was nine years old in a secret corner, on the shady side of their home. It was located on the north side of their garage, under the broad canopy of the apple tree, where I squeezed through the dense hedge. The other side was mysterious and unsettling like an in-between place in the Hayao Miyazaki movie Spirited Away. I found myself sitting for a long time on a short brick ledge, in the cool air, stiff limbs, and lush leaves, cushioned by thick, ancient moss. I was on the verge of discovering something huge that day, an experience of a place that felt like a different world. I never told my grandmother, or anybody else, where I’d disappeared to because it was mine, and I couldn’t explain where I’d been anyway, what I’d seen, or how it made me feel.

It all returned in the coolest and greenest corner of our court. It was immersive and became even more complex because as I stood there, it began to link other moments. I couldn’t have imagined that the smell of damp pine, grass and apple blossoms could transport me to my grandparent’s secret hedge, and then continue to unfold into something even bigger.

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“Daydreams transport the dreamer outside the immediate world to a world that bears the mark of infinity.” Gaston Bachelard–The Poetics of Space

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Songs :: Spirits In the Material World by The Police, Keep That Same Old Feeling by The Crusaders, True to Life by Roxy Music, The Stable Song by Gregory Alan Isakov, Blumenkriege by Sei Still, and Series of Dreams by Bob Dylan

© C. Davidson 

Delilah [Supplemental]

 

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For Delilah, Kristin, Bill and Ella

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Songs :: World Gone Strange by Andy Summers, I Don’t Know by Beastie Boys, How To Be Invisible by Kate Bush, Delilah by Marshall Crenshaw, and Very Temporary by Bob Mould

© C. Davidson