Ghost Door

Recently a band of merry Sketchbook Skool classmates who discovered they all happened to live within a few hour's drive from one another, decided to descend upon Port Townsend and get to know one another.  And sketch the town.  We all arrived from our various points on the compass, had coffee at 10:30 AM at Better Living Through Coffee, and scattered to pick our fave subject.  Linda Tennant, Diana Jackson and I found a good area we settled into.

This is a view from the parking lot where The Upstage used to be, a wonderful venue that had many fabulous entertainers come and perform while folks dined on great food.  So sorry I never got to see Maria Muldaur perform there before they shut their doors.  Now it looks like a ghost town, other than the bicycle shop still in the complex. Off to the right was also the back door to The Undertown, one of our fave hangouts, sketches of which I've posted on this blog.  Also closed now.  

Rocky's Theatre

Jim and I attended the 2014 Port Townsend Film Festival last weekend, Jim as a volunteer photographer, and me as a tag along sketcher. The heart of the events centered around the Rose Theatre on Taylor, one of our most fave places to hang out. Rocky Freidman, the owner, happened to be sitting out front in the sun, enjoying the crowds, when I spotted him. How often does one get a chance like that, to sketch Rocky with his venue as a backdrop? He glanced over at me now and again, and then got up, disappointingly, and walked away down the street. Oh, well, no matter, I worked on the building facade a little. Suddenly, there he was, squatting down on my right, exclaiming, "Oh, my God! That's me!" He was excited, even though it didn't look like anything but chicken scratches at that moment. He flipped through the other pages of my Moleskine, and decided he would pay me whatever I wanted for that drawing, when I was done. I told him I couldn't tear it out, but would make him a print. He grinned, and I said, "My husband and I have had so many good memories at your theatre. I couldn't charge you, it's my gift to you." Well, it's done.

Papa's Handkerchief

I have been reflecting on my father, my relationship with him when I was a young woman (he died in 1977), and wondering how to honor him with my current work. The only things I have of his are this handkerchief, and a navigator's pin (?) he wore during WWII, when he was stationed on an aircraft carrier. 

My mother had done her best to raise me to be a good housewife in the '60s, so I was in charge of ironing and pressing all of my dad's shirts and his endless stack of freshly laundered hankies when I was ten or eleven. I felt so abused at the time, thought that was my mom's job, not mine. Funny the way an old, threadbare hankie can bring back such vivid memories.