Every time I’m in Portland, it seems like I have a list of errands a mile long. Inevitably I get caught up in the bustle of the city, ticking items off my list, and usually only taking a break long enough for a hurried sketch now and then. But whenever I get the chance to visit the Japanese Garden, all the noise disappears and time seems to stand still.
Which, I’m pretty sure, is precisely the point of the place.
You know, as much I love Paul Bunyan and his mighty axe, I’m breathing a sigh of relief that he and his ilk haven’t gotten to every bit of forest on the continent. Because far better than any lumberjack (even a mythical one) is a patch of virgin, old growth forest. Thankfully, the only folks you’ll see among these towering douglas firs and red cedars are fellow tourists—carrying camera tripods instead of axes.
Well, I wouldn’t exactly call this statue the handsomest Paul Bunyan in the world, but you gotta love that plaid shirt and winning smile. He’s got plenty of moxie—which makes me think Portland is the perfect place for him.
If you’ve seen the film advertised on the marquee, you’ll know that there probably isn’t a better place to see it than at a bright pink vintage theater.
Window dressing, I am sorry to say, is a dying art. There are still so many old storefront buildings in the U.S. with massive display windows. And so, so few of them still use those windows to display anything, let alone create an imaginative world in still life.
Whenever I find an exception, a holdout from the good old days of theatrical store displays, I’m ready to jump for joy. So you can imagine my excitement at the fact that just a few short blocks from my house sits NW Costume—a living treasure. The owner swaps out the displays every few months, and the results parade through like a revolving door of mannequin-theatre masterpieces.
I’m generally a morning person—especially when it comes to sketching. But I live at 47 degrees north latitude, where for months at a time, being a morning person means spending a lot of time in the dark. Right now I’m still shaking off that lazy Northwest winter-mode version of “early,” where 8 am still feels like the crack of dawn. Now that we’re racing toward the summer solstice, “early” means something much different. If I want to make more sketches like this one (where, I might add, I had to drive for an hour just to reach that location!)—well, I’m clearly going to have to whip myself back into shape.
Roche Harbor is a hidden little pocket on San Juan Island, with impeccably preserved turn-of-the-century buildings, picturesque lime kiln ruins, a pristine saltwater inlet, and wharf buildings that hearken back to some (perhaps slightly revisionist) halcyon era gone by. Yet I had to force myself to even look at those things, let alone sketch them—because I would have been perfectly content to spend all day staring down at my feet.
You know, Salmon Beach is already a kind of mythical place, the kind of hidden world you read about in nautical legends. So it was completely fitting to follow the boardwalk path around a curve and suddenly find a siren* waiting on the rocks below.
*sculpture by Marilyn Mahoney
The last post reminded me of another favorite whale effigy of mine: Victoria’s iconic topiary orcas. I only had a few minutes to spare for this sketch, because Don the talented gardener only needed that long to prune the thing. He finished before I did, and wandered over to to see what I was doing. Not only did we have a nice conversation, but he was also kind enough to identify all the plants for me (since that’s never been my strong point).
So wherever you are, Don, thanks for giving me a bit of your time—and for helping keep Victoria beautiful.
I have never yet managed to visit Heceta Head in anything other than a raging gale. (Thank goodness for the car overlook where I could park and sketch in comfort while the Pacific threw bathtubs of icy spray at my windows…)
But then again—what better way to see firsthand exactly what lighthouses are for?