This weekend, I visited creative people from my past. My first stop was with Jay Esparza, someone I met in a high school club. The Fresno High Senate connects graduates with current students, the past with the future. The graduates mentor current students; the club is the oldest of its kind in the country...or West of the Mississippi. My second stop was with "Uncle Charlie" and his daughter. Uncle Charlie is one of my father-figures. His artist daughter is no longer the 10 year old that I once baby sat. She is a beautiful young woman of 35. I have known these three since I was a teenager, when I didn't think that 35 was young.
A few years ago, after a successful career as an art director in the video game industry, Jay returned to Fresno to be near his high school daughter. (She just graduated.) He opened the coolest tattoo shop/ art gallery in town Resistance Tattoo Gallery. Now his art doesn't become outdated after one year or one season. It is permanent...or for a lifetime. He still paints and draws large scale art, but his tattoos are small. And important. Even if some don't appreciate ink as much as they appreciate Sega.
Uncle Charlie channels his creativity into miniature house replicas. While visiting Saturday, I photographed him and his daughter "around the house." I remember when Jennifer was younger, she had a small playhouse that I assume Charlie built. I have wondered if he builds these replicas to connect to those younger years. Fathers often find ways to connect to their children, consciously or otherwise.
When I was about sixteen, Uncle Charlie would take me with him to San Francisco to train for a marathon. Then, he was just Mr. Figg, 50, and mostly out of shape. I figured he was changing his lifestyle to stay alive longer, now I assume it was to be around longer for his daughter. He would play Rachmaninov during the drive and introduce me to other smart people things. When I got older, it was Cashmere and Single Malt Scotch, and Mont Blanc pens.
When I went to college, my girlfriend and I watched Somewhere in Time, the romance/fantasy about a man who goes back in time to be with the love of his life, but for some reason, he dies of a broken heart. Stupid movie. Great soundtrack. (Rachmaninov music.) Until last month, when I learned that the hero dies at the end, I loved the movie. I should have known the movie had a sad ending with such melancholy music. I also should have guessed that Uncle' Charlie's had a stronger connection to the movie. I learned more this weekend.
Figg attended high school in Michigan. The movie was filmed on Michigan's Mackinac Island at the Grand Hotel ("it really is a grand hotel," says Charlie.) Well, it really is a stupid movie. The guy goes all the way back in time, and still dies of a broken heart. So anyway, when Uncle Charlie was in high school, his class went to the hotel for a trip, and soon his class will visit for a reunion. Figg had already seen the movie, which is why he listened to the soundtrack. When my girlfriend played the video, I had no chance. I thought I was smart because I recognized the familiar melancholy melody. Not that my becoming melancholy was Uncle Charlie's fault. Besides, somehow, I never figured out the moral of the movie. I thought that I could go back in time and fix things.
The moral of this post though is different. Art comes in any size, and fathers love daughters more than anything, and sometimes art is the way we communicate. Sometimes daughters understand it. Other times they don't, but it doesn't matter. Fathers love their daughters anyway, anywhere, all the time.
Around the House - Images by bryan farley
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