The Sincerest Form of Flattery- Theft

Posted on January 13, 2020 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under Erwin Dence illustrations, Original Erwin, real surfers, Uncategorized

Someone stole my illustration for the Cellar Door from the Cellar Door. It’s officially gone, stolen, no longer where it is legally supposed to be. So, first; WHAT? Second; Well, it was a copy of the original, which I still have, and hey; doesn’t this kind of mean someone thought it was worthy of stealing, like; there wasn’t an original Picasso or Manet or Monet, so why not grab an Original Erwin?

Okay, while I’m considering the ranks of artists I’m suddenly a part of… wait; I did have one of my Original Erwin t-shirts taken, on trust and a promise, and not only not paid for (only instance of this- all others were eventually paid for), but the person who picked it up denied having possession of it (hope it is being enjoyed)… first let me make sure I have a copy of the purloined illustration.

Oops; never scanned it. Give me a second. No; I’m a little depressed at the SEAHAWKS losing, at my missing some epic surf somewhere, that it’s supposed to snow and freeze in the immediate future (like the next week), and that a copy of the drawing I don’t want to scan right now was stolen; I’ll scan it in the morning, post something with just it.

The story of the artwork is as follows: When my friend, radical pig-dogger and/or casual surfboard slider (sometimes both on the same wave) Stephen R. Davis (R for Rad), told me he and girlfriend Oceanna Van Lelyveld, were opening a restaurant under the streets of Port Townsend, I instantly started on a drawing.

Oops, it’s not the UNDERGROUND? So what do I do with the lettering I did for the UNDERGROUND? Change it, add something. Okay.

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Oh, it’s The Cellar Door? I started on a new illustration, suitable for advertising or menus or, evidently, stealing.

As far as waves go; I have been working or desperately trying to winterize (ie; get generator started, cover some exposed waterlines, but I did hear stories. As local surfer/boat designer and legend Tim Nolan told me about the big ass North Pacific storm before the more current big a as North Pacific storm; “The waves have to hit somewhere.”

Indeed. Next time.

Maybe in the morning. The scan; talking about the scan.

Black and White and Psychedelic, Plus Polar Bear Wetsuits Flyer

Posted on January 7, 2020 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under Erwin Dence surf illustrations, northwest surfing, Original Erwin, real surfers coloring book, Uncategorized

Though I’m quite focused on finishing my novel, “SWAMIS,” surviving Winter and its lack of real revenue, and keeping my heart healthy enough to survive at least one more SEAHAWKS game; I have taken a little time to work on artsy stuff.

AND, partially due to a recent event in which I selfishly burned (as in took off on a wave next to but down the line from) a well known local surfer… Here’s the rule on that: Burn someone who is equally aggressive (and transgressive, etiquette-wise), or burn someone who is a relatively close friend; and you might be forgiven (plus, you have given that surfer the right to burn you on one [only] equally or better wave); but take off on someone who seems to follow all the rules (that is, is patient, passes up incredibly seductive set waves without whining, as in saying ‘wave of the day’ in the most sarcastic way, or splashing water); and, even if this surfer doesn’t instantly (and rightly) call you out for the callous, childish, greedy wave hog that you are; anyone else who witnesses your selfish move (and there’s always a witness) will; and if you cemented your own reputation for ruthless surf crimes, years ago, for burning, among others, this very same individual (even though you apologized and he said, “It’s all good.” It’s never all good. No one ever means this); and, even though you did, indeed, apologize for your most recent lineup infraction (this time he said, “You don’t really mean it,” and you- I mean me, of course- kind of lost the first person/second person narrative for a second- said, “No, I do,” and you meant that- mostly due to now realizing you’ve sentenced yourself to another seven years or so of bad karma and mandatory niceness/deference toward that individual any time you/I and he are in the same lineup); and partially due to my telling another local surfer (and witness) about how Trish, not surprised at my criminal behavior, would call this incident ‘just another greedy fat boy trick;’ and then I had to explain the history of that phrase; and partially due to Trish getting all excited (not about the incident) and suggesting I might write a series, possibly for future publication, entitled, “Erwin and His Greedy Fat Boy Tricks;” because of all this; I’m thinking about it.

It being my recalcitrant behavior, and, just to throw in another word I looked up just to make sure I spelled it correctly, yes, I must be, might just be, despite repeated claims to be changing my ways, a recidivist wave hog.

Again, trying to change.

The first and defining ‘greedy fat boy’ story would be this: Second eldest of seven children, with both parents working, I, partially because I seemed to be the one who got up earliest, made sack lunches for the nine of us from the age of twelve or so, about the time, coincidentally, that I started board surfing. Sandwiches. Lots of peanut butter and jelly or lunchmeat, about a loaf a day. My parents would bring home a bag of cookies each night, and it was my job to dispense them. Evenly. “Okay, eight cookies each.” Crunch, crunch. “Seven each.” More crunching. I once did get down to three and a half each, but it might have been a smaller bag.

Greedy fat boy.

Other stories would have to include my insistence that I developed my bad (O could say unpopular but effective) surf techniques and (oh, I want to say skills- that would be wrong) skills, my ‘ghetto mentality,’ surfing in crowded city lineups.

“But you’re not in the city now,” you might counter. Hmmm.

“And then,” Trish said, “You can go with the greedy fat man.” “Hey.” “It’d be all right; you’re only being self-deprecating.” “Oh; okay then.”

Still love cookies. Too many fucking cookies.

Okay, so here’s my latest illustration. Yes, it’s all out black and white psychedelia. Yes, I have told those who I’ve shown it to that, yes, I want people to wonder what kind of drugs the person who drew this is on.

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Here’s my fake flyer for fake wetsuit company, Polar Bear Wetsuits. “Maximum stretch, minimum shrink.”

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MEANWHILE… Good etiquette has its rewards (or so they tell me).

Pay-back and Pay-for at the Hama-Hama Oyster-Rama

Posted on April 21, 2019 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under Erwin Dence illustrations, Original Erwin, real surfers, realsurfers illustrations, Uncategorized

Abigale said she would buy one of my t-shirts if I promised not to ever drop in on her again. “Wait. Me?” “Uh huh; you.” “No.” “Yes.” “Is this a [spot name redacted] thing?” ‘Uh huh.” “Well, I must have thought you weren’t going to make the section,” “Oh,” raising her voice noticeably, “I was totally going to make the wave.”

“Oh.”

So, I’ve decided, here is how life goes: We have to pay back favors given, and pay for mistakes made.

So, yeah; I gave Abigale a discount on a shirt, five bucks off, and promised not to drop in on her ever again. “Well,” she said, obviously thrilled with her new, limited-edition, Original Erwin shirt, “I did pull your leash.” “Oh? Um, did that stop me, or did I keep on surfing?” “It stopped you.”

Oh. So, a little background: Abigale, who I actually met a couple of years ago when she was involved in running the SURFRIDER FOUNDATION Cleanwater event in Westport (I think it was the year I was given an opportunity to judge some heats, irritated the shit out of the head judge [mostly, my opinion] because I talked way too much- wasn’t invited back into the booth); was in the booth at behind and kitti-cornered to mine, doing some promotion for the upcoming (May 4th, I believe) WARM CURRENTS event.

I will insert photo of REGGIE and me when I figure out how to get it from hotmail.

REGGIE SMART was displaying some of his art along with my stuff, and is involved because he’s working on some surfboards CHRIS BAUER, Port Angeles shaper plans on having at the event. I walked over to the WARM CURRENTS booth with Reggie to see if there might be an opportunity to push some of my stuff when I was confronted with my nefarious past.

SO, that was the ‘pay-for’ portion of the day. The ‘pay back’ was giving a discount to a woman who works at the HAMA-HAMA store down SURF ROUTE 101, and was very helpful to me when I painted the interior a couple of years ago; and actually remembered me, out of my usual painting outfit, when Trish and I stopped in more recently.

AND, I guess I should add, in one of these two categories, that I did (and, begrudgingly, will) discount the remaining baby-poop-colored shirts. Hey; I liked the color. All of this is a learning experience.

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That’s Reggie’s art on the, um, ground, out of the salty puddles, but, yes, on the oysters.

Having a booth at the HAMA-HAMA OYSTER-RAMA was also a learning experience. I’ve always felt a bit sorry for folks sitting in booths at events where people were there for some other purpose than buying some awesome drawings.

Most of the day, not knowing whether (or exactly how) to engage the passers-by, I felt sorry for myself.

Not so much.

SURF-SHELLFISH CELEBRITY ADAM ‘WIPEOUT’ JAMES is my contact, His sister, LISSA MONBERG, was running the event. I saw Lissa once, Adam several times, though he was usually a blur passing quickly, schmoozing the paying attendees. Fist bump, hug, medium five; Adam, the most gregarious person I have ever met, has skills.

WHAT the participation (I punked-out last year) forced me to do is to organize my artwork, cull a percentage, push myself toward a more polished and professional approach. My daughter, DRUCILLA (or Dru), recently moved back to the northwest from Chicago. She went to Loyola University, 21 years ago, graduated, worked in new business acquisition for a major advertising firm. More recently she worked for (and is continuing with some freelance work for) THE ONION.

She’s settling into a house in the historical district of PORT GAMBLE, and is working on making my website better (I have no skills) as well as the business end (even less skills) of trying to make some money from art.

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Here’s Dru in the booth.

I must also thank Dru’s pretty-much lifelong friend, MOLLIE ORBEA, for her tremendous help in this endeavor. Mollie has a sign company, ORBEA SIGNS, is most of the reason Dru lives in Port Gamble, and lives two doors down from Dru. Mollie supplied the tent, a table, the banners, the table runner, the easel, the table easels that kept falling over, and the beach chairs that, once seated in one, one would naturally assume the posture of a booth person who really doesn’t give a shit if you buy or not.

I, of course, was half-expecting complete failure. I participated in a STARVING ARTIST sale once, in 1972, next to the Green Stamps Redemption Store in the Pacific Beach area of San Diego where we lived (LOCALS!) at the time. I think I paid ten bucks to participate, got sunburned, sold one original drawing for fifteen bucks. SO, YEA! SUCCESS!

I was also quarter-expecting (so, less) complete success; upper-crust Seattleites lining-up, adorning their bodies with ORIGINAL ERWIN t-shirts, adorning their walls with limited (by me) edition illustrations.

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They were lining up all right. For ice cream.

I don’t want this to sound like I didn’t make any money. I did sell some stuff, did learn a lot; like, next time… Original Erwin cookies. Pay For and Pay Back.

Mid-Winter Strait Session Report

Posted on February 19, 2019 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under northwest surfing, old surfers, Original Erwin, real surfers, Uncategorized

You might notice the snow, the hat, the lack of any waves actually showing; you might wonder what that is in the background. A chunk of land? No, it’s a board.

tim nolan

I got to this spot at 8am, trying to beat the wave-killing high tide, surprised (and a bit worried) at the treacherous conditions (the parking area, not the waves); this, in my front wheel drive car (rather than the all wheel drive work van), and after driving good (not icy, not compact snow) conditions on surf route 101.

I was too late. Or too early. High tide was at eleven. Tim had been out since seven (first light), picking off set waves, sliding across the outside sections, easing out when each wave mushed-out. It wasn’t exactly barreling, but Mr. Nolan was getting the most out of each ride. Gliding. Cruising.

So, I was hanging out. On my way west, I had followed a woman (I think her name is Hannah) from Joyce (one of only a small group of true locals) in her full-sized SUV, at about 60 mph; slower, much slower when negotiating highway 112s downhill slalom course. Once I turned into and over the remnants of the snow-plowed curb and onto the pullout road, I was committed, wheels in the deep ruts, plowing through the iced-over snow between the ruts. Ahhhhh!

Hannah (possible Hannah) pulled perpendicular to the beach, and soon joined Tim in the water. Meanwhile, I tried to find a less-snow-choked area to park, way too worried to pull out of the ruts. I finally backed into a position under a tree and behind one of those Sprinter vans, the ruts deep and muddy.

NOW, I have to give Hannah a lot of credit for her commitment. A mother of two kids, she was surfing when (apparently- one doesn’t ask) seven or so months pregnant, and then (evidently) only several weeks after delivering her third child. When she did get out of the water, I went over to tell her I thought she might have been speeding (again, I was keeping up), she told me she got the short straw, and her husband (Dave, I’m pretty sure) would get to surf when it (hopefully) got better.

Meanwhile, the tide still rising, me still waiting, a guy who delivers mail to Neah Bay wheeled his (classic, short wheel base) big-tired Jeep into the parking area, straight into a divet, jumped out, lit up a smoke, walked over toward me. “I have to admire your confidence,” I said. “Oh, I can get out,” he said. “I’m not a surfer,” he said, using his cigarette to draw a line across the horizon, “this any good?”

“If the swell doesn’t fall off or the angle doesn’t change, or…” He wasn’t really interested. He wasn’t a surfer. He probably did burn out half of his clutch trying to rock back and forth (forward and back, I guess), before ‘locking-in’ his lugs (I hope that’s the term for putting it in four wheel drive), and getting out; no doubt lighting up another smoke.

About this time a small-sized pickup with (only) two boards in the back makes the turn and slides through the ruts, pulls up and cranks a left, straight toward the water. “Four wheel drive?” “No, it’s rear wheel drive.” “Oh.”

I recommended another (not secret) spot he might try with the high tide. Somewhere in here he (John, from Auburn) bought an Original Erwin t-shirt from those I still have (all now large or extra-large) in the Toyota. When John couldn’t get out, he tried to put chains on the back tires. Not so easy.

A guy who had, evidently, walked in from the highway, helped me push John’s rig back into the ruts. When the pickup made it to the blacktop the guy said we’d met before (“Oh, okay,”) and introduced himself with, “Luke (I hope that’s right). No one knows who I am, but everyone knows my girlfriend.” “Who’s your girlfriend?” “Kim, Kim with the VW bug.” “Yeah. Kim. I think I was out the first time she surfed at ________ ______.” As Luke walked away, evidently going to look elsewhere for waves, I said, “Luke. Yeah. I’ll remember you the next time.” “Sure. That’s what you said the last time.”

Meanwhile, the guy from the Sprinter suits up, goes out on a Lib-tech (small, short) board, and a guy with two longboards on his all-wheel-drive pickup, who watched but didn’t help push John’s truck, suits up, says he thinks the east wind will blow it out by the time the tide drops, and besides, “It’s not crowded.”

Longboard Guy (didn’t get or don’t remember his name) grabs a really long board, makes a negative comment on SUPs. “You know, at San Onofre, they have to go to one end of the beach.” “Fine. I do say anyone under 60 who rides one is a _______.” Now, I only decided to blank out the word I always use here is it might be considered sexist. So, maybe I should replace pussy with whimp. Not sexist.

About this time, a regular-sized SUV pulls in. It’s Cole, a guy I’ve seen quite a few times out on the Strait, and a friend.

Somewhere in here, knowing I couldn’t concentrate on surfing if I didn’t think I could get out of the parking lot, I side-slipped and rut-rode my way out to the highway, considered parking on the side of the road, but, with the snow piled on the fogline, decided the odds of someone (like a log truck or an RV) side-swiping my vehicle were pretty high, and counting on my ability to get out twice, I pulled back in; still parallel to the beach.

Somewhere around 10am, Tim Nolan gets out of the water. Since I’d spent quite a bit of time leaning against his all wheel drive (says it right on the car) Suburu, I give him a hand with his board.

“Are you catching up to me yet?” He meant in age. “Yeah, I think so. You were working it, man.” “Thanks.”

Incidentally, Tim is 71, I’m 67, and his continued commitment to surfing continues to be an inspiration to me. When I first met him, probably 16 years ago, he told me some of my best surfing days were still to come. And he was right.

If you surf on the Strait of Juan de Fuca, you probably recognize Mr. Nolan. A boat designer in Port Townsend, Tim participates in flat water SUP races, has paddled every bit of the Strait (on purpose), and helps out in some community support activities that I only heard about from others. That says something about his character.

So, Cole and his buddy came over to Tim’s car. He showed us the results from his Apple watch. He had travelled 3.9 miles during his session, with red lines (a lot of them) showing each ride. “About half of that (somewhere around two miles) is surfing.”

Very impressive. I kind of thought I was getting a contact high from my proximity to the two younger surfers. Legal, of course. Just to make sure, I touched Cole. “Yep; now it’s a contact high.”

I went out at mean high tide. The wind changed to west rather than east; more people came out, including, surprise, Adam Wipeout (who showed up when I had told myself I was going to catch five more waves and was down to one); so I kept surfing.

On the way back, after I had to back up, gun it, probably damage my transmission to power through the pile at the highway, I figured out the whole experience- three hours of driving (there and back), three hours of waiting, and three hours of surfing.

No Apple watch, lost track of number of waves. And, if I factor in the wetsuit donning and un-donning, and the stops at Costco, Walmart, the DISCO BAY OUTDOOR EXCHANGE; yeah, 12 hours or so. SO, GOOD.

A Few New Tees A Few Good Waves

Posted on December 1, 2018 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under Erwin Dence illustrations, Original Erwin, real surfers, Uncategorized

I picked up some tee shirts at DL LOGOS in Port Townsend yesterday. The outfit is run by Dwane and Loren (oh, that’s why it’s DL), and they have what I (having worked in several sign shops), a fan of such places, consider a pretty cool shop.

Rather than the smell of heavy and toxic chemicals (lacquer thinner, paint, methyl ethyl ketone), it is one, warm, due to the fact that the inks need the heat to dry, and, two, has more of a plastic-y smell. It’s similar to the smell of a toy, from some years ago, that enabled kids to melt plastic around all kinds of shapes.

One of the guys, D or L, and I went through the boxes of leftover or extra tee shirts a week or so ago, got a selection of sizes and colors. From the first batch of shirts I learned that not everyone wants a L, XL, or XXL; so I got some smalls and a few more mediums.

SO, after I kept a couple for gifts, one for myself, sold some shirts to friends, one to a woman on the job I was working on, there are now less available at TYLER MEEKS’ DISCO BAY OUTDOOR EXCHANGE.

AND, rather oddly enough, as the first potential buyers were going through the selection, I realized I was a little reluctant to let the shirts in the coolest colors go; mostly because the next potential customers couldn’t see how cool they were. Mine, in, yes, the XXL, is on a sort of forest green, and, yeah, it’s fine, but in maroon…

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Whoa!

I am working on some seasonal, surf-related cards, and, with the knowledge I’m getting from actually producing and trying to market art and products (and throwing in that I enjoy the hell out of the whole process), I will be doing more shirts soon.

Here’s are the first shirts, a black and white version of one of two new designs for tags I’m working on, and an illustration that probably won’t make it to ORIGINAL ERWIN shirts.