My Art Work

After I retired I started to learn how to paint. Watercolor in particular. At first it was terrible. I could never draw and even my straight lines weren't straight. But the artist who oversees our Art Open Workshop at the library told me that I should not give up trying. I didn't and my work seemed to be getting better. It's still very amateurish, but at least it's starting to look like something. I've only been at it for a few years, working on my watercolors in between my writing projects.  Here are just a few that I have completed.

My niece Kelsey also gave me a lot of encouragement. She is an excellent artist and illustrator, as you can see from some of her art work below:

The Shore of Humility

Celebrant: A reading from the Holy Gospel according to Luke.

Congregation: Glory to you, Lord.

Celebrant: Jesus spoke this parable addressed to those who believed in their own 

self-righteousness while holding everyone else in contempt: “Two men went up to 

the temple to pray: one was a Pharisee, the other a tax collector. The Pharisee 

with head unbowed prayed in this fashion: ‘I give you thanks, O God, that I am 

not like the rest of men—grasping, crooked, adulterous—or even like this tax 

collector. I fast twice a week. I pay tithes on all I possess.’ The other man, 

however, kept his distance, not even daring to raise his eyes to heaven. All he 

did was beat his breast and say, ‘O God, be merciful to me, a sinner.’ Believe me, 

this man went home from the temple justified but the other did not. For everyone

 who exalts himself shall be humbled, while he who humbles himself shall be exalted.”

Celebrant: The Gospel of the Lord.

Congregation: Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

And blessed be those who humble themselves. And blessed be the poor, and everyone who gives life to kindness and to sharing. I find church very peaceful. I like to sit as close to the priest as possible so I can hear the Gospel and the sermon clearly. Sometimes I listen intently; but there are times when my mind wanders.

When I was a child Mass was celebrated in Latin. It was beautiful and I can remember being annoyed when it changed. Suddenly I was hearing the English words, and with that an obligation to comprehend had presented itself. I was so accustomed to hearing the beauty of the Liturgy in a language that was pleasing to the ear, that hearing the Liturgy in English seemed terribly abrasive and distracting. It was a long time before I accepted the service without cringing. Actually, I had to mature first. Nevertheless, there was a certain something about the Latin Mass—a feeling that I have not felt since. Perhaps it’s a feeling only a child gives life to; born of innocence; maintaining its life for as long as we are wide-eyed and bushy-tailed; dissolving quickly into the pubescent air that hits us like a ton of bricks when we are twelve or thirteen or fourteen years old.

I think as children we are a steady current flowing with the stream; little ripples of activity asking only innocent questions. In adolescence we get caught up in the wake of our special time, and it feels good to rock with the overpowering current flowing across our path. We ask no questions since we know it all. As adults we are thrashing waves—turbulent activity, searching and trying to hold on to those beliefs we were fastened to as children. We get caught up in our adult lives; our adult cravings; our money matters and tales of woe. This stuff of our reality can monopolize our emotions and give credence to our unacceptable behavior, and, worse yet, it numbs us to the unacceptable behavior of our fellow man; we can very easily displace our compassion.

When I was a teenager I still went to Mass every Sunday; primarily because my parents directed me to go, but I was not assimilating as I did before. There was too much going on around me that needed my undivided attention. The teenage soul begins the trek through radio frequency, peer groups and confusion. It runs along this path for about four or five years, barely settling long enough to do the required homework and studying that will ensure a high school diploma. At least this was true for me. Music was a big part of that time. There are certain songs I hear now and then on the radio, and I get an instantaneous rush of youthfulness, as if I were thirteen years old at that very moment At thirteen I felt things so profoundly. I didn’t just listen to music; I inhaled it like sweet, fresh air on a spring day. It filtered through every pore of my body, keeping vigil while I slept…keeping my adolescent mind and heart in protective custody.

Every so often the choir sings in Latin and my mind flashes back to those early days in church when all of us “little kids” were directed to sit up in front, Indian style, on the floor. Mass was so crowded in those days, and all of the older kids and adults sat in folding chairs. This was before our church was built and Mass was celebrated in the grammar school. But most clearly is the memory of feeling crowded in; people all around me, listening intently; babies whimpering and my friends and I being good because the Nuns were watching; the Latin Liturgy of Ave Maria and O Sanctissima, O Piisima, Dulcis Virgo Maria! Materamata intemerata. Ora, ora pronobis! And I wonder, where have all the faithful gone.

I admire the young people who have held on to their faith while only dabbling in stupidity. They have consistently been there—come hell or high water—listening to their Priest or their Pastor or their Rabbi, and fully realizing the comfort it brings. As for me, when was in my late teens and early twenties, I never took seriously the faith I was born into; yet I was a good kid in many respects, and I was kind to others and goodhearted because it was in my nature to be that way. But the church-going and the spiritual part of it was always kept on the back shelf, to be taken down during the holidays, like the ornaments we use to decorate our homes. I would go to midnight Mass and then state adamantly that I would start going to church on a regular basis, and maybe a month or two later it would all be on the back shelf again.

I can see exactly where it was that I lost myself in idleness. It was a time of Saturday night parties and Sunday afternoon softball games, and church didn’t stand a chance of filling any space on my social calendar. I said and I did what I wanted—with all due respect to my elders, of course, but I accomplished very little during those years. As for the present; I’m not going to lament over decisions I could have made and paths I could have taken. What purpose would that serve? Of all the words my mother bombarded me with, “you can’t cry over spilt milk” stood out in the spectrum of opinions and words of wisdom so lovingly offered. I am living the life that was intended for me, and the loitering of my soul during my younger years has brought me to where I am today. Each day—each minute of my life thus far, has had its purpose. Every soul that I have encountered, each one that I have known, loved, admired, envied and even despised has shed a special light on my own strengths and weaknesses, as well as my fears. And one day I realized that God was speaking to me clearly and lovingly through others, and I felt safe.

So, as concerns my little life; I have come full circle from those innocent days of my childhood, through the care free, occasionally obnoxious and confused days of my adolescence, through the young adult tunnel of urgent pursuits and “isn’t everything great”, out into the vast ocean of disappointment, and “hey, it wasn’t supposed to be like this“, finally resting on the shore of humility, contentment and “you know, I think I can deal with this”. For me, personally, my spirituality is the most important part of my life. I feel it so profoundly, like the music of my youth, and in turn it has refreshed my soul. I am once again like the steady current flowing with the stream—still rippling, but with knowledgeable and purposeful activity; still getting caught up in the wake of time and circumstance, but putting those currents in place when I let go and let God. And, like the tax collector in the Gospel of the Lord, I know I’m a sinner, so church has found its place on my calendar. But occasionally I’ll sit on the sandy beach and look back out into the ocean, and, when I catch a glimpse of someone nearing the shore, I wave my lighted torch.

September 11

September used to be the month I couldn’t wait for.  When I was a kid it was the first day of school and anticipation of the new teacher; wearing the new clothes my parents had purchased for me; the promise to do better this year —and Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas were only around the corner. As an adult it was the beginning of my favorite season.  It was the promise of blue skies, crisp cool mornings and warm afternoons that told me “it’s not winter yet, but wait”.  September was the anticipation of vibrant colors and cozy nights.

 On September 7, 1996 we had to put my ailing dog Benji to sleep, and we mourned his passing with a love in our hearts that had grown to intensity during the fourteen years he was our companion.  He was the child we did not have. 

 That September I couldn’t feel the happiness of the usual anticipations, and we tried to be pet-less for a while, considering the freedom we would have to go on vacation without worry.  But I couldn’t last more than a month, so we adopted kittens.  And although I still mourned my beloved Benji, I had little Ali and Tomasina now, and the happy anticipations were beginning to show themselves again.  And there were the beautiful fall colors to appreciate, and the crisp, cool mornings to feel.

The September of the next few years became the month of street fairs in Manhattan with my in-laws and occasional drives to Mt. Airy, Maryland to visit my family.  And, as always, within each day to day endeavor, my anticipation of the coming holiday Season delighted my heart and warmed my soul.

           

The September of 2001 we were getting all new windows and vinyl siding.  They were to start at the end of September.  I was so excited and happy about our decision to make the renovations.  It was the perfect time of year, and I would finally have a house nice enough to adorn with holiday decorations.  So, as the month of September began, I started to feel the excitement of it all.  I remember being in a wonderful place on the morning of September 11^th.  The sky was blue and the temperature was just right.  I got in my car and popped in my Irish Tenors CD and sang as I drove to work, and by the power of my energized mind I went with John, Anthony and Ronan “to pluck wild mountain thyme all around the blooming heather”.  I had been plucking wild mountain thyme all summer -- almost every morning on my way to work.  But that was the last time.

The September of 2001 brought fear to my life like I had never known it before.  It brought the pain of watching people jump from tall towers; smoke and debris; people screaming and running for their lives; towers crashing to the ground, and the lovely blue sky morning was suddenly dark and hot, and evil enveloped our beloved Manhattan like a shroud, and it spoke to me in tones of hatred, saying “this is what you get for being happy.”  I lost no loved ones in the towers that morning.  I was so thankful for that.  But my heart ached for all those who died.

The September of 2001 did not hold the promises of the years before.  There were no anticipations this September, and nothing made me happy—not even the renovations that were soon to start.  There was only doubt and fear swaying like a pendulum above my head.  This September brought one vision, and in the center were family members of loved ones lost; holding photos of a wife, a husband, a sister, a brother, a son, a  daughter; desperately hoping against all odds to find them alive; perhaps on some street corner walking in a daze.  I could only imagine the personal pain they were going through and I felt helpless.

We were told to leave work that morning after securing any important documents.  The market did not open that day and for a few days after.  In the days to come we learned that more and more of the Morgan Stanley employees who worked at the many offices in the  World Trade Center made it to safety.  Morgan Stanley was the largest tenant of the World Trade Center occupying over 20 floors, most of which were in Two World Trade Center, and employed about 3700 of our associates; people we communicated with by phone and fax on a daily basis from our branch office in Melville, Long Island.  While I thank God for all those who made it to safety, my heart and soul cries for those who did not.  Cantor Fitzgerald was another investment firm in the World Trade Center.  They are now mourning the loss of a vast majority of  their colleagues.   

I’ve been horrified, afraid, and angry since that day.  These feelings will not disappear any time soon.  That’s what terrorism is.  It beats you up and leaves you to fear what may be next.  

Notes:

The above  was written by me shortly after September 11, 2001. In the spring of 2004 when we were moving to Pennsylvania, I had called an old friend and colleague who had handled the closing of our home years before to tell him of our new address. He asked how my husband and I were doing? All was fine for us and we were excited about the move. But then I asked him how he and his wife were doing, and he told me that they were doing ok, but it was a tough few years for them. I was concerned and asked why, and he told me his son Timmy died on 9/11. He worked at Cantor Fitzgerald. Having been out of touch with them for quite some years, I did not know and I felt terrible. 

Also not known to me at the time was the heroism of Rick Rescorla, Morgan Stanley's Director of Security. He anticipated the attacks on the towers and had implemented evacuation procedures immediately, while many others in the building were told to stay put until rescue workers arrived. Rick Rescorla lead many to safety, but died himself during the attacks because he went back to see if there were others who needed help. Rick Rescorla was among the many hero's who helped save lives that day. 

No Animosity, Just Art

When did mankind first record his feelings? I’d say the artifacts from pre-historic humans tells that story. When mankind first began to think and feel and communicate. Whatever was happening at the time and what was important to them was carved on the cave wall—most likely symbolic of their beliefs. The artist who carved this illustration had something to say. Was the artist a man or a woman? Was the depiction of the animal in repose or was it dead? How was it interpreted by the artist’s fellow cave dwellers? Was there a controversy as to its meaning? Did they debate the illustration or just stand there and appreciate it for what it was? Did someone there have a distaste of it enough to want it removed. Was that individual the head of the family who held power over the others? We cannot know exactly what went on. We can only assume. How they expressed their appreciation or distaste will never be truly known. I leave that up to the archeologists and the anthropologists to make out.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saharan_rock_art

But I haven’t gone all the way back to pre-historic times out of some archeological curiosity. I haven’t the brains. I’ve gone in search of a point to make. I’ve traveled back in time to seek out the very first graffiti artists and to dwell for a time in a cave—in my mind.

Instead of cave walls we now have the outside walls of buildings as a venue of expression—either that or a canvas situated on an easel that will, if good enough, be displayed in an upscale art gallery with the hope of it being purchased by a wealthy client. Raise your hand if you’ve ever been inside an art gallery. How many of us really venture into an art gallery? Some of us maybe. I for one have walked along many a city street and past an art gallery. I have looked in the window to perhaps appreciate a canvas on display, but I have never gone inside.

Graffiti, which has evolved most gloriously from its feral state of sprayed letters to stunning imagery and expressionism, is known better these days as Street Art. It’s outside for all the world to see.

sarasotaday.com/files/fast-life-mural-mto.jpeg

In a documentary released on line in 2013 by famous French street artist, MTO (Mateo), you will be catapulted into the world of street art with all its vision, beauty, opinions and controversy. It is called FL-Unpremeditated Movie and it takes place in Sarasota, Florida, where a whole bunch of bureaucratic nonsense emerges in response to one of MTO’s murals, Fast Life. Some residents interpreted the image as symbolizing gang activity. What I saw in the film was a community at odds with itself; there were many who wanted to suppress what they did not understand, interpreting the mural as malignant and dangerous. Their intentions were by no means malicious. Their concern was for the community and especially how young children might misinterpret the mural. The ayes had it and there soon followed a meeting of the City commissioners and a vote to paint over MTO’s mural. I recommend watching the documentary to see for yourself how it unfolds.

There are a lot of murals to see in this film. The one that struck me the most was of the boxer taking a punch.

jessismith.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/011.jpg

To me it symbolized the conflict within each of us that is not always visible to the naked eye; a subliminal boxing ring and an ongoing battle of forces confronting one another, and each of us is the protagonist in our own story. It is a stunning image.

What an individual has to say through his or her art or sculpture or writings is essential to the development of culture within each society. It is how we evolve as human beings. Individual expressionism is as important to present day humans as it was to pre-historic man, and what I see in MTO’s murals is his passion and the beauty of the art itself.

We need our artists. Without art what are we? Art will continue of course. You cannot stop the spread of creative juices in anyone's brain, in any form. Unfortunately, the support artists are given through the National Endowment for the Arts, will be extinguished. Nevertheless, keep writing your stories and poetry, sculpting and painting, singing and rapping your hearts out and dancing in the streets; anyway you can. Leave the new administration to wallow in the collective euphoria of a narrow mind; bereft of what makes us human. I feel sorry for them. They must never have known and will never know The Pleasure of Art as Sensed by the Brain

http://www.minervaberkeley.org/conferences/the-pleasure-of-art-as-sensed-by-the-brain/

Ecological Design: Inventing the Future

A film about integrating nature, technology and humanity

Review by Christine Young, 2006 

With each second of everyday there is a child born,

and he shall be nourished so that he may grow;

so that he may learn;

so that he may teach;

so that he may replenish the source sustaining his life

in whatever way he can;

so that he may help those less fortunate than he.

And, if not, so that he may draw what he will from his earth

without one thought of giving back—until the day he dies.

© 1981 by Christine Young

“For thousands of years’ humans have adapted to their environments through the process of design; weaving local materials to meet their needs and intertwining nature’s patterns with their lives. Indigenous communities live within the limits of their local ecosystem; nature, technology and culture maintain a dynamic balance. The designs of the industrialized world have developed beyond the limits of local ecosystems. Today our global technologies are depleting the earth’s resources; darkening the skies and waters with waste and endangering much of life’s diversity. Can we invent a more comprehensive way of designing which will integrate the built world with our larger ecosystem, the biosphere? Can we find a way of life which will create a harmony between nature, technology and humanity?” - Ecological Design, Inventing the Future

Narrated by actress Linda Hunt and produced by Brian Danitz and Chris Zelov, Ecological Design, Inventing the Future is about this built world of ours. It’s about the spirit of invention from many vantage points in relation to preserving the earth’s natural resources. It has been put together with much care and insight and is perhaps the icing on the cake of environmental awareness, which has been baked by the expert design outlaws it features, from a recipe R. BuckminsterFuller (Bucky) devoted his lifetime to. Bucky’s recipe is simple: “Optimize the way we use the world’s resources. Do more with less. Don’t wait for the politicians. See what needs to be done and do it.”

Enhanced by the peaceful sounds of Some Songs to the Stars by David Darling and Annie Haslam, the film delivers its message in neither a condescending nor technical tone of voice. It speaks to all people in all places—but its message is clearly meant for the industrialized countries of the world, where industry and technology tend to destroy rather than nourish, and where too often greed drives government and government ignores the scientific evidence that proves our ecosystem is walking a tightrope of vulnerability.

In the first segment, “Design Revolution: The Outlaw Perspective,” we are introduced to Bucky’s ideology and some of his innovative designs. We hear from innovative professionals who speak about their predecessor with admiration. These are the design outlaws and environmentalists who have been influenced by Bucky in all the ways that matter. As software designer Ted Nelson explains, “The responsibility of the designer is the outlaw, and the outlaw thinker is certainly to try to reach forward beyond the restrictions of today, beyond the stupidities of the current political situation—whatever that may be, of the current way things are done and say ‘God, how shall we really be doing this?’” With this driving force and our current technological expertise, today’s pioneers in environmental design are making their own headway; each in his or her own time and each within his or her field of science. What they are doing—some on a large scale and others on a small scale—is extraordinary.

Perhaps one of the most noted design outlaws is industrial designer, inventor and technical educator Jay Baldwin, who spent more than thirty years alongside Bucky as a student, employee and colleague, and was fortunate to have been with him during pivotal moments of experimentation and prototype. Baldwin was a central participant in the formation and construction of the strongest and most economical structure ever designed, the Geodesic Dome. The depth to which he was influenced by Bucky can be found in his own life’s work and in the pages of his book, Bucky Works: Buckminster Fuller’s Ideas for Today, and as editor of The Whole Earth Catalog (1968-1998), devoted a lot of time to the accuracy of the technical information within its pages.

Originally conceived by Stewart Brand, The Whole EarthCatalog provided readers with the tools and inspiration necessary to proceed competently with their own innovative ideas. There was an ecological consciousness to this periodical that manifested throughout its tenure, which had been Brand’s intention. The Whole Earth Catalog was a forerunner of the Information Super Highway, only with a more precise and focused mind-set, and it was one example of Bucky’s synergetic ideology—of what can be produced by collective efforts for the benefit of mankind.

In the segments, “Design with Nature: Learning from the Earth” and “Designing for Prosperity: Giving Back More Than We Take,” Ecological Design: Inventing the Future highlights the accomplishments of the design outlaws, covering each aspect of ecological design as it relates to a specific area of concern, and illustrating our potential to work with nature in a positive way—to blend our living, working and playing into the surrounding landscape. We’re shown how life around us replenishes without fail. Some of us are already in tune with Mother Nature and respect Her natural environment. We gain energy from being in Her living room (the outdoors) and intuitively know what She needs from us in return. Individually we achieve the necessary balance in our living, our working and our playing.

“If machines influenced the first half of the century, then clearly a concern for the earth is certainly the iconographer of the images of the future. How do we recognize the earth? How do we go back and look at it as a fresh source of imagery? Who amongst designers today will bring about this ecological evolution?”

—James Wines, architect

As stated in the film, Bucky was the quintessential design outlaw, and all his inventions acquiesced to his goal, which was to help mankind build a sustainable living environment. His mission for housing was simple: “apply modern technological know-how to shelter construction; to make shelter more comfortable and efficient; and to make shelter more economically available to a greater number of people.” 

The ideas and prototypes he gave life to would ensure a sustainable living for all mankind while preserving Earth’s natural resources, but they would have to be embraced and implemented on a large scale. Therefore, Bucky was just scratching the service of his new design revolution—and he knew it, as he explained in his book The Grunch of Giants (copyright 1983 by R. Buckminster Fuller): there are “gestation lags between the conception of something and its birth,” and that “because of these lags, the earlier I could introduce the conception model, the earlier its birth could take place.”

For example, in the housing industry Bucky put the gestation lag at between fifty to seventy-five years from time of conception, and most probably his prototypes would surface to implementation during a time of emergency, which he called “emergence through emergency.” As an architect and designer, he could either conform to the current standards of building, or he could go a separate way. He followed his heart and his logic by going the separate way, once saying that he “learned very early and painfully that you have to decide at the outset whether you are trying to make money or to make sense, as they are mutually exclusive.”

“When you try to quantify everything in money terms, you lose all sense

of what’s valuable…there are so many things that really cannot be

quantified in money terms, like the purity of the air or the purity of the water, or the hectares of land that are lost due to deforestation and desertification —the species lost that is going on around the world—none of these things we can put numbers on.”

—Hazel Henderson, systems theorist, futurist

Unfortunately, in our how-much-money-can-we-make-out-of-it society, if there is no monetary value placed on a thing, then it is perceived by the money-making corporations as a thing of no value. This presents a conflict of interest for heads in the corporation when they want to become environmentally responsible. The environmental issues that have come to light over the past few decades are hitting home with many people—and this affects the heads because they want to be perceived as environmentally conscientious by the people who use their products or services, so they will adjust to the concerns of the people who will hold them accountable for their actions.

Over one hundred years ago, Anheuser-Busch began recycling used brewing grain to feed cattle. The environmental issues we face today were of course not as apparent back then, but this waste-not-want-not ideology (in the hands of a major corporation) was a means for Anheuser-Busch to save money while giving back to the earth—and that constitutes making money and making sense. Granted, the bottom line for the corporations will always be making money, but some heads are learning how to incorporate social and ecological concerns to meet their goals, and to that end they will have influenced all concerned in a positive way.

It is obvious that we are at a critical juncture in our efforts to preserve natural resources. When Ecological Design: Inventing the Future first premiered in 1994, the price of gas in the United States was approximately $1.30 per gallon. As of this writing (2006), it is on average $3.05 per gallon, and a major hardship for working people who depend on fuel to get to their jobs, in order to make their salaries, and provide for their families. Nothing has changed in terms of our dependence on fossil fuels; the construction and the manufacturing and the driving of automobiles in the densely populated, industrialized places on earth is a contributing factor to the high carbon dioxide content present in the atmosphere; our buildings and our automobiles are not designed for sustainability and our over-consumption is appalling. But it’s not just the responsibility of the architects and the corporations to change things and to set better standards; as individual members of society we clearly must make some changes in our daily lives.

In the Washington Post (6/10/06), Roger K. Lewis’s article, “Shaping The City, Sustainable Architecture Can Help Reduce Carbon Dioxide Emissions” reported that Carbon Dioxide "is in the air like never before, but not just as measurable parts per million in the earth’s atmosphere. Increasingly the subject of everyday conversation and cultural discourse, rising CO2 emissions are seen by many as no less a threat than terrorism, uncontrolled immigration, avian flu or escalating gasoline prices.” 

This is a great article to follow up with as it reports the facts about carbon monoxide and global warming and the critical need for reducing our dependency on fossil fuels. It reports the challenge delivered by New Mexico architect Edward Mazria to “design all new buildings, whatever the type, to use half the fossil fuel energy used now by buildings of that type.” If architects can accept and meet this challenge, then by the year 2030 new buildings will have been created that are “carbon neutral” and will use no energy from fossil fuels that produce greenhouse gases.

The 2030Challenge is a tall order, but it stems from the fact that our archaic buildings are a “major source of demand for energy and materials that produce by-product greenhouse gases.”  This challenge to stabilize emissions and then to reverse emissions to an acceptable level is set at a pivotal point in time—and is not so tight a time-frame as it sounds if based on Bucky’s gestation lag theory, and that most of the innovative work has been done already. Landscape Architect Ian L. McHarg (1920—2001), one of the design outlaws featured in Brian Danitz and Chris Zelov’s documentary, was a very significant presence in the community of design architects. In his book, Design with Nature, he provided the professionals with a time-frame as well, and “a simple concept strong and powerful enough to help architects heal the fragility of our planet through how and where” they build.

Roger Lewis’s report corroborates what design outlaws around the globe have been proving—and what Ecological Design: Inventing the Future has effectively communicated to its audience: architects and designers can build within the limits of their local ecosystems. What remains to be seen is whether they do it, and whether we as individuals can adjust ourselves, mind and matter, to the ever-changing needs of our planet.


Additional information concerning R. Buckminster Fuller, Articles, Works for Sale, Art and Architecture can be found on  Artsy. 

The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill

Winner of the Genesis Award for Outstanding Documentary in 2005

In May 2007, the documentary aired on the PBS series Independent Lens.

Review by Christine Young

Produced, directed, filmed and edited by Judy Irving, this documentary is a tender story of love between a man and a flock of wild parrots who have made San Francisco’s north waterfront their home. 

Homeless and searching for some kind of meaning in his life, Mark Bittner finds a no-rent situation as caretaker of a small cottage in the Telegraph Hill section of San Francisco where, outside in the gardens, he notices four parrots.

In the beginning, Mark’s attention is on the parrots intermittently as he goes through his daily routine. His curiosity about the parrots soon becomes admiration. Admiration soon becomes love, and each new day brings another delight and another lesson about their ways. Mark’s gentle and unassuming nature is appealing, and you can see why the parrots would accept him and trust him as they do, and how natural it is for Mark to embrace them.

This is a wonderful film that reveals the beauty of San Francisco in a personal way. The stealers of the show are definitely the parrots, and Mark’s devotion to them is inspirational. Judy Irving does well in presenting the compassionate side of human nature and the spiritual connection we have to the world and the wildlife around us. I can’t imagine anyone not liking this film.

“It’s a Heavenly thing to be allowed to touch a bird.” — Mark Bittner (photo by Daniela Cossali).

As a matter of fact I didn’t want it to be over, and on the strength of my enthusiasm for Mark and these delightful creatures, I couldn’t wait to read Mark’s book of the same title, The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill (Harmony Books, 2004), which Flickhead presented to me for my birthday.

The book is great! I particularly enjoyed the story concerning Mark’s early days in San Francisco. It’s a place I’ve never been to, and he brought it to life for me. Through his description of his youthful and aspiring days during the 70’s, he brought to my mind this period of my own youth that had somehow escaped my notice. The psychedelic quality of that time and space, along with the music of the flower children, was in my peripheral vision — occasionally admired, but not experienced in the flesh. My small hometown wasn’t really a happening place. San Francisco would have been an exceptional place for me to visit at the time. I would have fallen under its spell. Perhaps I would have stayed there.

Mark’s story is genuine. He describes himself as a regular guy who has had some good times and some bad times. When he was a kid he wanted to be a writer. When he grew he changed his mind and put his efforts into being a musician — which is why he wound up in San Francisco, where musicians sprouted like wild flowers through cracks in the pavement.

Later, when music didn’t pan out for him, he had no vocation, no direction in life, and no place to live. He depended on the generosity of others who would occasionally help him out. He read a lot of books and studied the Eastern philosophies that might somehow help him find what he was looking for. He lived in his friend’s beat-up van. He was evicted from the van. He slept in an alley. Police chased him from the alley. He slept on a roof. He gleaned what coins he could find on the ground and bought day old bread from an Italian bakery. He worked odd jobs for food, and was at a very low point in his life when he discovered the path that lead him to his future.

Mingus (above) liked to stay inside with Mark, occasionally hiding and then popping out to play and poke at his feet.

A flock of wild parrots was Mark’s saving grace; their existence in the gardens outside his door and his pleasure in observing them was a distraction from the worries about his future. He intended to bird watch, but the parrots were a pleasant surprise. Their flight and their antics — their mere existence in a part of the world they are known not to come from is a marvel. From this point on Mark cultivates a relationship that blossoms, and in doing so finds a respite from the cares that have plagued him all along.

The film and the book compliment one another. It really doesn’t matter whether you read the book first or see the documentary, as one will lead you to the next. But my suggestion would be to read the book first. I think that knowing the story and having it all in your mind first will make watching the film even more enjoyable. The stories in the book, of course, go into more detail about Mark’s life and his feelings and about the individual parrots and their personalities. I was considerably touched by the stories of the sick or injured parrots he had brought into the house to care for, especially little Tupelo. These are the birds he really got close to.

We are not all cut out to be seekers of fortune, but I think we are all seekers of truth — our own truth. In either quest there is the primary notion that what we are seeking will ensure our happiness. Like Mark, I grew up as a child of the 50’s, a teen of the 60’s and a young adult of the 70’s. I sought happiness and never put a dollar value on it. I thought happiness was the husband and the children I longed for, and I focused on that to the exclusion of everything else. Ironically, I didn’t marry until I was thirty-three and I have no children; so all those years I spent seeking what I thought would make me happy right then and there, could have been spent learning all the things I crave to learn now in my fifty-sixth year.

But that is a spilt milk situation that cannot be relived and shouldn’t be cried over —besides, I have found happiness in many things that were not on my original to-do list. When you’re older you come to realize that happiness in this world — so says Nathaniel Hawthorne — “…comes incidentally. Make it the object of pursuit, and it leads us a wild-goose chase, and is never attained. Follow some other object, and very possibly we may find that we have caught happiness without dreaming of it.”

Accordingly, Mark’s path through life brought him to where he is today. As a result of his curiosity and kindness toward the parrots he was given the privilege to hang out with them and to get to know them more intimately than he could have imagined, and that brought him unexpected happiness. He’s written a book about his experience and it’s the subject of a great documentary — can it get any better than that? I suppose it can.

Thank you Mark for sharing your story with us. Thank you Judy Irving for showing it to us. But most of all, thanks to the wild flock of parrots for gracing our world with your presence.

A note about the soundtrack music

The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill is dedicated in memory of Chris Michie, who began working with Judy Irving with the intention of writing background music for the ending credits. He soon wound up composing a delicate and emotive score for the whole film. It was Mr. Michie’s final project before he passed away on March 27, 2003.