Tribute to Santa Cruz 24x 30x 1.5 acrylic on canvas $215
I lived for 8 years in a small, salty surf village of Santa Cruz. Santa Cruz is famous for surfing and common tourist destination. This made it extremely difficult to find work or housing. I left Kentucky with my good friend named Porter, my Honda loaded, his and my stuff packed in every nook and cranny possible. I had just graduated from physical therapy school and decided on Califonia as my next destination. Porter was starting grad school in Santa Cruz and convinced me to come along.
We drove across the country, camping along the way. My friend was very tight on money and I was not too far behind. We arrived in Santa Cruz, got a hotel and could not find housing, money was tight and we could not afford Memorial Day hotel rates. That evening, with the car still fully loaded Porter and I were walking down by the boardwalk and came across Matt (at least that's what I think his name was). Matt was our age, quite drunk and talkative. He told us of a party at his place. We could come and join if we could give him a ride back home. He offered a sofa for Porter and a case of beer for me. We thought this was great. Matt and Porter sat on each other's laps in the front seat while I drove to the closest liquor store. We bought the beer and headed into the Santa Cruz mountains. We arrive. It is night and it is a long strange building with neglected fountains and overgrown statues. The place is quiet. A pool table missing pool balls sits in the lobby. There was no party, Matt just needed a ride and beer. Both of which he now had. His drunkenness got worse and was bordering belligerent. Porter and I left Matt to his case of beer. This place rented rooms, very bad rooms with cinderblock walls and cement floors, shared bathrooms and community shower, but still rooms. We spread out and looked for the office. After talking with Alden, the owner he offered rent by the week. It was dark and we had no place to stay. This is what we needed badly. I stayed there from Sept through early December. I had a room on the end, the lock was bad, I slept on a sofa the entire time. I bought my own small refrigerator, but still learned to eat all my meals out, and kept all valuables in my car. This place was a run down old mental hospital built in the thirties. A room several away from mine was completely padded. After the first week Porter moved into grad housing on campus and only saw him 2-3 more times before he dropped out and left back for Kentucky.
Back in 2000, physical therapy jobs were very scarce. I put on my nice shirt and tie and drove with my resume in hand to every physical therapy clinic I could find. My first job out there was ripping out sinks and dishwashers in a very large apartment complex for a Texan plumber. With sleeves ripped off his white tee shirt and a mullet down to his mid back, the master plumber watched football and drank beers all day while we installed the sinks and replaced old fittings. We were doing his job for him and he loved us. It was a great job. My friend and new neighbor Byron got it for me. Before I could start driving Byron to work, he was hitchiking 20 some miles everyday up and down the windy mountain road to and from the job site. After work Byron and I would often stop in smoke-filled pool halls watching football and playing eight ball. We both lived in seperate rooms in the converted old mental hospital. Later, after the plumbing job was over, I helped move Byron out into a homeless shelter which just seemed very strange in so many ways. We had become good friends. After he had moved out, I would see him on the streets. "No, now I live down at the camp, down by the bridge. Man.. you should come down and check this place out, think of all the money you could save.. .it's just one big party. Everybody's so cool. And the babes..." I never saw the camp but he was always clean and seemed happy. I would see him in our old bar, long haired and mustached, or sitting at the coffee shop reading books or playing chess. He would tell of his trips to burning man festivals or would disappear for times to work jobs up in the mountains prepairing tofu.
Blue wave 24x 30x 1.5 acrylic on canvas $215
24 x 30 x 1.5 acrylic on canvas Yet another big wave painting. 1/17/09
Red ocean 20x 16 x 1.5 acrylic on canvas $125
18 x 24 x 1.5 acrylic on canvas mad ocean.
Big Ocean acrylic on canvas 30x 40x 1.5 $295
Mavericks, the 30 ft plus wave 30x 40x 1.5 acrylic on canvas $295
This is a big painting and was very fun to paint.