Portage Glacier

17. Anchorage and Beyond

I camped for the night at Talkeetna Park. There I met David Cornberg who was at the campsite next to mine. Other than myself, he was the only person I met on the whole trip who was camping alone. He turned out to be quite an interesting fellow. He was a Stanford graduate and had majored in philosophy. A little younger than I, he was an artist and poet who made his living as a resource person for schools in Anchorage. Primarily, he taught poetry to children. During our conversation, I mentioned that I just finished reading John McPhee’s book, and David told me that he was the last individual that McPhee mentioned in the book. He was using the name River Wind at the time. I remembered he made a strong impression on McPhee and it was easy to see why. He had many positive aspects  and they were all part of a friendly, outgoing personality.

Out the Pop-Top Window

Out the Pop-Top Window

(click on image for larger view)

We had an extended rap session and I showed some of my work and read him some of what I had been writing. He offered some excellent advice, and read me some of his poetry. He was quite good! As we parted he gave me two salmon steaks from a fish he had just caught. I fixed them that evening with some rice. They were quite good too!

The next evening, while camped just outside of Anchorage, I made preparations for selling art work to the local galleries. I opened the phone book to the yellow pages and made a list of sixteen galleries that looked promising. I eliminated those that professed to handle mainly native art. Half the population of Alaska lives in Anchorage so I had high hopes.

One by one, the following day, I started checking them out. REPRODUCTIONS! Nothing but reproductions; I couldn’t believe it, even the “high class” galleries right downtown! A lot of the smaller towns had galleries that carried mainly reproductions, but I figured the “big city” would have more sophisticated tastes, more cosmopolitan subject matter. I called on fourteen of the galleries that were on my list. Many times I found myself having to explain to the gallery manager the difference between an original print* and a reproduction**. All I would get is a blank stare of incomprehension.

There were two exceptions, the Museum and Stonington’s Gallery, and the latter only took things on consignment. It was a total washout for art sales. What a contrast to Fairbanks! Maybe it’s the presence of the University of Alaska at Fairbanks that makes the difference. It certainly is a much more knowledgeable city where art is concerned. The Anchorage Museum was a definite bright spot in my experience of that city. There I saw an exhibit of John Sloan’s etchings and lithographs which I enjoyed very much. It was inspiring.

I settled for the night of July 2nd at Portage Glacier, Black Bear Campground. Georgia would have liked this site. I wondered how she was doing. I had to admit it was easier and freer traveling without her . . . also lonelier. Just before she left though she was becoming so wild and independent that she wasn’t even good company. I think she made a conscious decision to go wild, but she probably didn’t realize that it would be irrevocable, and I’m sure she didn’t have any idea about the long term consequences.

The next day I arrived at Seward and was favorably impressed. It sits at the head of a deep bay and is surrounded by majestic mountains. It has a port, and a small boat harbor, you can camp right along the waterfront, and NO MOSQUITOES! The town is small but not too small, and there’s a nice little gallery with original art. They bought some of mine.

The Governor had designated Seward as Alaska’s 4th of July city for 1986, and I decided to stay for the festivities. I was told there would be a lot of visitors in town and a parade.

On the morning of the 4th I decided to treat myself to a nice breakfast at a local restaurant. After I finished eating, I was sipping coffee and reading the local newspaper when I happened to look up and my eyes met those of an attractive blond seated at a nearby table. She was wearing a bright red sweater that fit rather nicely. She smiled and I smiled in return then went back to reading the newspaper without thinking much about it. Later, while I was waiting for the parade to start, I walked around town and looked in the various shops. During my wanderings there were a couple of “chance” encounters with “Red Sweater,” and on each occasion I got that same smile. At about noon I found a spot along the parade route and was watching the passing scene when I noticed Red Sweater was standing directly to my right. There was a man standing on her right and I assumed they were together.

Since Georgia left, I had thrown myself into writing in order to take my mind off losing her. I had been working on a piece in the back of my mind that morning, and, even as I watched the parade, I was still turning things over upstairs. Red Sweater and I spoke several times during the parade, commenting on this and that. Toward the end of the parade I made up my mind that I would go get my portfolio afterwards and approach another gallery that I had noticed. When the parade ended, Red Sweater turned to me and smiling said “Well, I think I’ll go in there and get a drink.” I looked where she had indicated and saw we had been standing directly in front of one of the local watering holes. I said something  innocuous like “have a nice day,” and started off down the street. As I left I noticed the other guy was nowhere around.

I had gone about half a block when suddenly all the dots connected and I stopped dead in my tracks. This attractive woman had been making a rather transparent effort to get my attention, and I had been totally oblivious. I considered going back to the bar, but now I was so embarrassed that I didn’t want to show my face. I kicked myself mentally for several days after that because I would have enjoyed some female company at that point in my trip.

There is a saying I have heard from women who have spent time in Alaska looking for romance. It goes:

“The odds are good, but the goods are odd.”

I’m sure that my behavior that day did little to counter this conclusion.

Dot Bardarson who ran the gallery that bought my prints, and who is an excellent  watercolorist and printmaker herself, invited me to a 4th of July picnic at their place “down by the river.” It was a small group of very pleasant and interesting people. I got to see Dot’s studio which is something I always enjoy. Dot introduced me as one of her artists. Then she laughed apologetically and said “Listen to me talking about myartists.” Frankly, I felt honored.

* Original prints, etchings, engravings, lithographs, woodcuts, etc. are presented in the same medium             in which they are accomplished.

** Reproductions are accomplished in a medium  such as watercolor or oil and presented in print  medium       such as off-set lithograph and a camera is involved in the conversion.

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Monday, September 7th, 2009 Chapters 11 — 20 No Comments