Year Two

The idea was, it was really still-life art not reality. It was absent definitive value as the knowledge of anything particular like who lived there and why. I suppose I was always like that. When a kid I was the only one out there looking at the ambience of autumn leaves or spring high lake water, snow drifts or summer calm water. To me the beauty around was worth more than all the money in the world.

But I was always looking from the outside in, and what was inside I did not know. But at that time I really didn't want to know. Not knowing I could make it whatever I wanted. I learned that in Europe. Not knowing the language, one could make people to be saying whatever one wanted which would suit the particular envisioning of the moment.

Eventually I did get inside by plastering and painting. I remember job on Russian Hill. I used to look at these fancy places, big houses or cottages in the tree studded hillsides thinking that magic people lived there. What I found was just another landlord's renter mill.

I collected books at Salvation Army which was just a few blocks away at Valencia and Army. I collected the classics in hardback and obtained a goodly little collection cheap. Also bought clothes some or which I still have.

At some point I realized that this place Winfield Street was a bit like Headquarters Army. My apartment was at the top of the stairs above the pottery shop like my office was at the top of the stairs at HQs Army. People came to HQs like people came to the pottery shop. In the first weeks at Winfield I had some strong dreams that the area was a HQs of some sort but underground.

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