camp rave-claw

four adults, two children, two dogs and assorted gear, begin the weekend~ crowded~tight
my ear illuminated

trippin' out over the swirling pattern of grain in the log jam



the world ends in puddles~ mud puddles



i was hoping for some hot, whale on whale action




surf magazine generic art












two tarps, one smoky, smoky fire
















it never stopped raining, it was as though summer had slipped passed and it was the end of October, without the swell




















jazzercise girl adjusts the tarps
























Rocky's dog Zeus shows up and there's a three way battle in the waves over stick and who can wear their teeth down to the gums




























very wet, very, very pathetic~
































camp rave-claw



































































































the gang huddled~ looking for protection from sideways rain, wind and smoke induced burning eyes






















i just loved this submerged old growth log and root ball, so vanishing
















































tinsil

























beatrix


























getting the hell outta' the rain and driving home, over it




























on the ferry



























the city under cloud over water~ home






























video video video video

Tim Fowler artist

http://www.garde-rail.com/artists/tim/index.html

all of this art is perfectly located within the whispering trees of capital hill, Tim Fowler's amazing art gallery, studio and shop surrounds, envelopes and spills out onto the streets, in secret mossy camouflage, huge, bold and colorful, approachable from the sidewalk~ if your walking, if driving, pull up behind a patinaed '41 sedan, jump out and walk into a world we used to live in, where people used to really live in their homes, create art, sculpture and environments out of the back yard


back when Seattle was a dump, before the invasion of townhouse monotony, before we all thought we had millions of dollars in real-estate, before we all lived on credit, when we were all poor and beautiful losers, doing whatever the fuck we desired



racing motorcycles, carving wood, parking cars full of art on street corners~ talking to each other, calling strangers up from phone booths in strange cities, coming to visit just because someone you knew, was their friend~ a network of artists living out of range of galleries and openings




the Tim Fowler house is the epitome of what a home should be, a destination~ a magical wonderland to explore and discover





Tim Fowler is what every artist alive should aspire to be~ complete






a world unto himself~ with open invitation~ welcoming











































































































talking to children about art
















and racing motorcycles




































building walls with head poppin' holes in them





















































































the world before we felt we had to drive something new and disposable























people had character~ style and grace~
























unafraid to build things, to break things or put on a show in public for no reason at all~
N~
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