Do Musicians LOVE the Music?

the ghost of Rincon, adapted from a Ron Stoner photo of Miki Dora, both feeling the music

the ghost of Rincon, adapted from a Ron Stoner photo of Miki Dora, both feeling the music

I mean LOVE the music, Live IN the music. Do artists LOVE the line, the shading, the glow, the contrast, the kinetic movement, the depth, the reality and the magic, all on a flat surface?

Hopefully. No, I know they do.

Do some of us long for the ocean; miss the coldness, the moods, the transparent and so-briefly lifted remnants of such wild and distant violence?

Yeah, when we’re binge-watching something on Amazon (not that I mind) with the rain blowing sideways from the completely wrong direction. But, I still feel the music, hear the music, the beats and silences between the interval, still can, at will, see the visions stored away; somewhere behind too many walls, lines of passion, and boredom, and broken or delayed or destroyed dreams, and those already-fulfilled, dancing to music through time and distance; coming in in waves.

While You’re Praying for Surf, how about…

…adding World Peace?

image-98Yeah, sure; but, I mean… okay, world peace… and some uncrowded and perfect waves.

MEANWHILE, I’m working on a commissioned (not, like, for a lot of money) poster for Franco Bertucci’s band, Locust Street Taxi.  Here’s kind of the progression:image-97image-99image-96Actually, I had to add a lot of copy in the blank space; and then add color. I’m getting the final poster copied today; I’ll post it tomorrow. Or tonight.

MEANWHILE, Archie continues to recover from his recent stroke; supposedly is using computer. I’ll write him, see what happens. MEANWHILE, continuing to get November weather in October here on the northwest corner; always praying for some alignment of the swell and wind direction… oh, and world peace.image-100


Don’t Wanna Hunker, Baby; Even If It’s hunkering with you…

…I was hoping to go surfing, girl, almost any waves will do.                                                                                                  Though I’d rather have some long smooth glides, glassy faces, spinning tubes;                                                                    With some outside sets and a few friends, shouting, “Hey, this one’s for you.”                                                                         But the swell just won’t cooperate, despite prayers, chants, voodoo;                                                                                         And the next storm’s bearing down on us,                                                                                                                                      Guess I’m hunkering with you… and… wait; let me check the buoys…                                                                                       Oh, um, hey;  wait-a-minute, whoa; Baby, Honey; oh, oh, oh;                                                                                                     You know my stuff’s all loaded up, and I’m ready to explode;                                                                                                      It’s, uh, looking like it just could work, and, I mean; What would you have me do?                                                               You know, um, you could just go with me, and, if it’s blown-out or it’s flat… we could hunker in the parking lot and… No? Oh. Okay; thought you just might be liking that.

So… I’ll be back before you know it; with my batteries recharged, and… no; it’s, like a metaphor. Okay, bad metaphor. And now… now I’ve lost my musical thread. Yeah, sure; once I’m heading out, anticipating and hoping… no, not ‘stroking the other woman.’  Wait, I’ll check the buoys… sometimes… oh. Yeah, still looks, you know, good. No, I didn’t say ‘enticing.’ Oh. So, “Go,” you say, “Just go.”

Okay. You’re the best. And I’ll be thinking of you while I’m…I’m…

…I’m headed up the highway, blasting Dylan on the way, the storm on the horizon, but no wind out on the bay; and my other woman’s back at home, tucking in among the sheets.   It’s an image so enticing, I could easily turn back,  but the swell’s now rapping perfectly… and my board, after all’s,  already tied down to the rack.

My only woman, Trish (work and surfing, oh, and drawing and writing are the 'other' women) said the dark swoop (and I was trying to keep this simple, possibly for a t shirt design) looked like a big sea snake or something, so, now the drawing's all more complicated

My only woman, Trish (work and surfing, oh, and drawing and writing, are the ‘other’ women) said the dark swoop (and I was trying to keep this simple, possibly for a t shirt design) looked like a big sea snake or something, so, now the drawing’s  more complicated. Fine. Simple is too difficult.

Meanwhile, I should probably do some updating: It’s raining, TV weatherpeople hyping up the next storm. During the past few days, even the NCBC, National Data Buoy Center has had high wave warnings, hyping the storm that’s been hitting the coast with unsurfable waves, the angle just too south for the Strait of Juan de Fuca. I thought I might go today, just like I thought I might go yesterday; and just like I think (hope) I might go tomorrow.  I got skunked the last two times I went (counting one trip, with five ‘step off on the beach’ rides as a non-skunk.                                                                                                                                                                                                      A week ago yesterday, a Friday, I went to my Dad’s in Chinook, arriving too late to attempt another go at Seaside, and thinking it would be blown out, anyway. It wasn’t.  On Saturday I got up super early in a driving rainstorm, drove to Westport for the SURFRIDER’S CLEANWATER CLASSIC. Horrible conditions. I did hang out with DARRYL WOOD, and another Port Angeles guy, JOE; and we did sell quite a few hoodies and t-shirts for the OLYMPIC PENINSULA CHAPTER of Surfrider with a design by TODD FISCHER. Oh, and I sold a few Realsurfers Coloring Books, gave one to the first surfer I met in Washington State, Darryl, and another to DARRIN, who I never seem to immediately recognize, but the surfer who gave me a ride to the beach when I was caught in a rip last winter. The contest was shortened and shut down due to the crapfest conditions, heats moved to Sunday.  On Sunday, the conditions had to have been better. I was home, looking at buoys and forecasts, a bit bummed because I hadn’t even ridden a crappy wave.  OH, and I did sell my commissioned work (see next blog down) to TOM BURNS, a judge at the contest, headed immediately afterword to California.

SO, TRUMP continues to grapple with having groped, we’re getting November weather in October, BOB DYLAN won a Nobel Peace Prize in Literature, and, HYDROSEXUAL STEPHEN DAVIS, who I criticized for going to La Push ahead of the storm (and he scored), is also heading for California (he’ll be working Tom Burns surfing) … we finally did get some news about ARCHIE ENDO. He’s still in Thailand, conscious, but unable to speak. He’s communicating with the aid of a board, words and phrases in Japanese. Longterm plan is to move him to Japan where his father lives. We asked his daughter, Lillian, to let him know a lot of Northwest surfers are pulling for him, and I’m waiting a chance to go surfing with him again.

SUPER UPDATE: Keith just called me to tell me I really missed it this morning. Yeah, thanks for going along with the policy of not calling anyone, the “If they don’t know, don’t tell them.”



Going to Chinook, maybe Seaside, then Cleanwater. Classic… and, Damn, I’ll Running Late

I stole this photo of a typical Westport contest scene from Drew Kampion.  Knowing I was headed down to my Dad’s in Chinook, Washington; and maybe checking out some post/during/pre-storm surf at Seaside, Mr. Kampion, top-tier surf wordsmith, and someone who spent some time judging heats and doing various contest-related chores, sent this photo. I did reply, saying I’m stealing it. He was (and I can’t guarantee it’s actually his photo) encouraging me to give his love to the Surfrider folks who brave harsh conditions to help run the annual contest, or, whoa, even compete in it.


Yeah, south wind, sideways swell, sixty yard impact zone, waves that look like the stuff you paddle through to get to the waves you want to ride, roll-throughs, closeouts; welcome to the Northwest Surf City.

I have some notion that I may be able to sell a few Realsurfers Coloring Books while I’m down there. It is a great time to hang at the surf circus that Westport can sometimes be; so, if you’re going; see you there.


Here’s the second drawing I did (on commission) for Tom Burns, a northwest surfer for, for, forever; with all the stories to prove it. He sent me two photos, thirty (might have been forty) years apart, same classic spot on the Strait. I completed a first drawing, but Trish said he looked like he had a big ass. He’s thinner here. I expect a bonus. Tom will be judging heats at the Surfrider competition. I did judge last year, but, I don’t know; I’m kind of loud, fool around a bit, judge harshly, perhaps… still, kind of hoping they’ll ask me to fill in while one of the judges takes a bathroom break or has to be treated for hypothermia. We’ll see; and I’ll let you’ll know.

UPDATE ON ARCHIE: I’m thinking no news might be as good as we can get. Recovery is slow and probably lonely, half the world away. Still sending whatever good thoughts I have; and I’ll pass on anything I hear.

Atsushi “Archie” Endo in Classic Form…

…and maybe you recognize the stance, even the spot, quite a bit different now, and changing as we speak. The shot was taken by Archie’s friend, and mine, Stephen Davis, making use of his water housing.


While a favorite surfing spot recovers from over a hundred years of being restrained, Archie, hopefully, is moving toward recovery. Steve and I, and some of Archie’s many other friends (not all at once) are waiting and ready to slide a few sparkly rollers with him. Again, not like a party wave, but, after a ride, watching from this very angle, maybe hooting just enough to embarrass him.