Toy Society Drop Number 4: An ugly thing goes to Fremont (where it should fit in nicely)

When Joe and I moved to Seattle, some (gasp) eight years ago, we bought a Seattle city guidebook, a Frommers or Foders or Lonely Planet to show us around the city we had chosen as our home.  Having spent the previous four years in Anchorage, Alaska, we were thrilled to find the prices in Seattle incredibly affordable (Fresh produce year round! Dinner out for under $40!) and the city fabulously full of equal parts foody, outdoorsy, eco-aware, and non-conformist.

The part I remember about the guidebook: It broke Seattle down into neighborhoods, which is actually how Seattlites see/live/visit/talk about the city. (Portlandites may be fond of their double-letttered ordinals, but we've got 'hoods so distinct as to be mini-cities on their own.)  The part I remember about the guidebook: The page on Fremont.  The title was, and I kid you not: Fun, Funky Fremont.

Since then I can neither visit nor speak about this hippie/anything-goes spot perched atop the ship canal to Lake Union like an escaped Macaw without hearing (in my head) those three alliterative words.

For those of you who aren't from around here: Fremont is both fun and funky, but that's a little simplisticly put. Fremont very much has a live-and-let live attitude, and it's filled with hippies and artists and hipsters and vegans and all things West Coast. It is home to my favorite parade of the year--which is opened with hundreds of naked bicyclists festooned in full body paint peddling their way down Fremont Avenue.  It is home to the very iconic troll, who winks beneath the SR-99 bridge while clutching a VW bug, among a number of other public art installations.

Having said all that. I made what can only be described as something sort of ugly. One might call it a doll, but that would be a bit generous.  And last weekend, on my way to the Fremont Sunday market (a raucous and motley collection of "antiques," screenprinted t-shirts, and bongs being hawked alongside mini-donuts and falafel), I snatched the opportunity to re-home said ugly almost-doll.

This is my fourth Toy Society drop, dropped on the intersection of Fremont and 38th, on Sunday morning around 11 am-ish. When we returned, some time later, the almost-doll was gone. May he/she have found a loving home where he/she can be appreciated for all that she/he is and can be. Godspeed.

Number one from two years ago

Better late than never.

Unable to commit to a series of four-hour night classes, (who wants to go to school for four hours after working a full day?), Pratt finally offered something more my speed. That is, a one-night only four-hour class as part of their mini-class series--Spring into Art!--that runs one week in April. (Check that out, Seattle, they have glass-blowing and metal bending and screen printing, and all kinds of coolness for such reasonable prices.)

We spent four hours drawing gourds and driftwood with charcoal on big, porous paper taped to paint-splattered easels while KEXP played in the background, and the teacher flipped through a series of sketches and drawings by the masters for reference.

Gesture drawing, contour, cross-contour--over and over and over--wiping each rendition away with a heavily-soiled chamois, clearing the canvas for more. Charcoal is a mess. But it's so forgiving, and so palpable. Don't like what you drew? Draw over it with more pressure. Or, smudge it into submission with your hand. Or, failing all of that, erase it with the chamois. 

There was wine and leftover cheese from a lecture that had taken place down the hall. My hands were black with charcoal dust; my face sported a few smudges as well. (I was not alone in the wearing of charcoal like so much hasty rouge.)

It was still a loong day. But it was worth it.

Photoshoot (or half of number 26)

These were all self-taken, with us driving around Georgetown looking for backdrops, parking (sometimes legally), setting up the tripod (in the wind, looking out for trains, avoiding the mud), and using the remote to snap the photos.

The dogs were not included, frankly, because it sounded too darn hard without having another person to photograph us.  However, this is a fun way to spend a Sunday afternoon, if the sun comes out, and you feel so inclined.