Good Advice from Alaska
Wise words from a local artist that stuck with me
Going to the small island of Ketchikan, Alaska with West was like accompanying a celebrity to Comic Con. Every room we walked into, people put down their cups, turned with wide eyes, and murmured to the whoever was next to them: “oh my god, is that …?”
West grew up here, so it makes sense. Plus, he’s easy to know. He can talk to anyone. Years ago, he worked at the best restaurant in town (the New York Café) and cut through the doldrum of being a young person on a teeny island in Alaska by making Jackass-inspired videos with his friends. So even if a local didn’t recognize him from early morning café chats, they might remember him locking one of his buddies in a homemade Medieval-style pillory in the busiest area of town, encouraging others to throw rotten fruit at the poor guy. (Actually, I’ve seen videos and they are all laughing through the whole thing. If one of my high school friends threw an old tomato at me, I’d be pissed forever, but it seems the activity brought West’s friends closer together.)
As West and I sat with our laptops over morning lattes, a slow trickle of folks came over to say hi. I assumed West was going to be interrogated — How’s Seattle? How’s the photography life? Did you really meet Filthy Tom Lawlor?
But mostly, people wanted to tell West what they were up to.
And because I can’t control my facial expressions when I’m curious, they often ended up telling me what they were up to.
Which is how I found myself looking at local artist Dave Rubin’s phone before I even finished my morning coffee.
He was showing me a painting of Marilyn Monroe he finished years ago, but is now re-painting on a smaller scale. I love when artists do stuff like this. It’s a helpful reminder that pieces can be done, but art is never over.
After we happily agreed that Marilyn was definitely murdered by the Kennedys, he explained why studying finished paintings, by others or his past self, improved not only his eye, but his ability to let loose when making art.
”I used to try to paint brushstrokes,” he said. Dave is an older guy, with what I can only call a classic Alaska fisherman white beard. I can’t confirm he’s ever fished in his life, just that he’s rocking the style. He was so excited to share his revelation that he got out of his bar chair to stand up next to me.
”I would look at one of the old master’s paintings and see a brushstroke and try to recreate it,” he continued. “But you can’t paint a brushstroke. A brushstroke comes from being free. It has to be in service of this other thing.”
You can’t paint a brushstroke.
There’s been a clear theme in my life lately: go with the goddamn flow. My mind gets caught up in the stickiness of what’s the “right” thing to do, the “right” path. Sometimes when you try too hard to live the life you think you were “supposed” to live, your brushstrokes will end up looking stiff and forced. When you go with the flow, it’s like letting the brush do its thing. Obviously, you need to take care of your “art supplies” and “refill the paint water” every so often, but you might create a piece more beautiful than you could’ve ever imagined if you stop getting in your own way.
My trip to Alaska was, in every sense, going with the flow. I’ve been struggling with how much I miss the sunshine of California and I agreed to go MORE NORTH? NORTHER?!
(Funny story: When we were boarding our plane to Ketchikan, our gate was right next to a plane boarding for Hawaii. Very funny, universe!! *shakes fist at sky*)
“But you can’t paint a brushstroke. A brushstroke comes from being free. It has to be in service of this other thing.”
The more I saw of Ketchikan, the more Dave Rubin art I noticed. His work is everywhere! Paintings in coffee shops, portraits in the civic center, a bronze statue of life-sized humans on the dock. I went back to the New York Café for an evening slice of lavender cheesecake and there was Dave Rubin! Playing guitar!!
He and Hannah the violinist (this is how she is referenced in town) played a rendition of “Somewhere” from West Side Story that brought tears to my eyes.
During another one of my morning New York Café coffee runs, Dave introduced me to his daughter, citing that the three of us were all Marilyn buffs. “This must be what it’s like to live in Gilmore Girls,” I thought. The New York Café is kind of Luke’s Diner and my daily cup of coffee resulted in getting to know a person who, if not also seeking caffeine, I probably wouldn’t have met.
Here are some other tidbits I picked up from running into Dave during my five day visit … He’s from New York City. He played with the Grateful Dead before they were the Grateful Dead. He believes he currently holds the record for most medivac-ed from the island in the shortest amount of times after a heart issue resulted in him being flown back and forth from Seattle three times in two days. Luckily, he said he’s feeling a lot better.
He references Ketchikan’s Walmart, which I hear other people credit as a sign of the town’s development, with disappointment. “People waited outside in line all night so they could be the first ones in Walmart,” he said. “Think about if people did that for opera tickets.”
Dave just got his first ever cell phone — I guess the one he used to show me his Marilyn painting and the one he used to call for help when his chest hurt a few months ago.
Now that I’m not running into him several times a day, I wonder what Dave is up to and how his self-study is going. His painting of Marilyn isn’t just, like, another glamorous image of her being sexy. Instead, she’s undressed in bed, more Norma Jean than Marilyn, being comforted by an angel before they head off to the afterlife together.
I hope he’s discovering all kinds of new brushstrokes.