



Buckle up, settle back, get comfortable, because here is a Very Long Post. It is not a complaint; it is a hard look at reality.
On the surface, it seems that the life of an artist is all glamour and glory and unlimited creativity. Maybe that is true for some artists, but I don’t know those people. (I may have met one or two, but they didn’t remain in my memory.)
The reality is that to earn a living with art, particularly in the 3rd poorest and least educated county in the state, you’d better use your creativity in more ways than just making art.

A few years ago, someone important to me expressed surprise that I still participate in arts and crafts shows. Bazaars, boutiques, fairs, festivals—those little events that attract makers of all sorts of wares, usually those who do the making as a side hustle, always wishing they were “lucky enough” to do it full time.
As I thought about what my Important Someone said, “I thought you were beyond those by now”, I realized that I wished I was beyond those. Maybe I should find other ways to sell my work while keeping in the public eye. Maybe I should aim higher, and just stop doing those shows which I have always found so draining.


I can do the work: plan, design, and order enough inventory in a wide variety of different prices, price everything clearly, decide the best way to display the items (so it looks like a nice boutique instead of a garage sale), find all the parts and pieces to put it together, figure out how to load it into cars and pickups (I used to do a show which required my dad’s pickup, Michael’s pickup, and my car, along with both my parents’ and Michael’s help to set up), and finally, figure out how to publicize it in every corner, every tribe, every location of my life, all in preparation for a hard day or two or three. This isn’t draining, only time-consuming, and it cuts into the production time needed to complete commissioned work..
I can stand there all day, because if I was working in a retail store or a restaurant, that would be required. I can meet people, talk to them, learn their names, listen to them tell me about their friends or family members or themselves who draw or paint or cartoon or used to do those things. I can help them choose what fits their budget, hand out business cards, talk to them about drawing and painting and drawing lessons and murals, tell them about my daily blog, discuss commissions, and just be UP and ON all day. I can refuse to pack up early, then load it all back into boxes and crates and into the vehicles and transport it home and unload it, and yawn and limp to the bank the next available business day.
HOWEVER, I am an introvert, (albeit one with social skills and professionalism), so these shows take awhile to recover from. All that talking. All those people. All that energy and noise and cheeriness. Afterward, I need SILENCE. PEACE. SOLITUDE. Then, if the show has not been well-attended, or if it is hot, or if it is cold, or if sales were poor. . . validation comes from people giving you green pieces of paper with dead presidents’ faces, and without that validation comes all the thinking, evaluating, questioning, wondering, speculating.

The world has changed in the 30+ years I’ve been doing these shows. Publicity, demographics and economics are all different now.
Everyone gets his news from a different source, rather than a single local newspaper or billboards and banners on specific routes, or local radio stations. Facebook? —only those folks they follow; Instagram? —only the folks they are connected to; TikTo? k—I know nothing; local websites? —if they know about them.
There is a trend toward minimalism right now. People have inherited possessions from grandparents who grew up in the Depression and from parents who were raised by “Boomers” who have accumulated many possessions (some so many that there is no room to park a car in the garage), and now we all live in an era where anything can be had immediately and cheaply. To top it off, homes are smaller, younger people rent rather than own, and there is a strong bent to pay for experiences rather than possessions. Collecting anything is no longer common, and as far as I can tell, older people’s homes are already decorated while younger people don’t care about such frivolity.
Gas is $5/gallon, groceries haven’t dropped back down in price (although eggs are no longer $7/dozen and I recently paid a bit less than $4 for a pound of butter), cellphones cost a lot to keep updating (no longer does a single landline serve an entire household), and art is a luxury, especially when you have already inherited some, received some as gifts, bought inexpensive decor at Hobby Lobby, or simply prefer to frame a pretty card that someone sent you (because who actually sends real cards anymore?? This makes a card a real treasure.)
So, IF folks happen to stumble across an art fair, they might be inclined to stop simply for the experience. It is fun to see what people make, to talk to artists, to listen to a local musician and eat a Frito-boat (I guess it is, having never had one), to enter a raffle (because often “free” trumps minimalism), and to run into people you know doing likewise.


Does it make sense to continue participating in these shows? Do I need to do this so that I can meet new potential students and customers? Are there better ways to publicize? Has the era of the craft show come to an end? Is this the best way to remain in the public eye?
I can’t decide now. I’m going to limp off to the bank with a little pile of money from selling a pile of little things.

I had a job about 100 years ago at a vocational school. It was a terrible job, because one of my duties was to collect on unpaid student loans. One of my few good memories of working there was meeting a student named “Autumn Eve”. I didn’t get to know her very well (fraternization was discouraged between students and hired help), but I never forgot her name.
But I digress.
Let’s take a look at some autumn pictures in Three Rivers.











The flowering pear tree outside my studio is The Champion. (Not interested in hearing about native and non-native trees during Autumn, but thank you for your concern.) Chinese Pistache trees are also stunning this time of year. So there.

That was fun. Let’s do this again in a couple of days.

(Including you, Cousin Bruce. . . You did what you had to do because that is how we were raised, came home to national disrespect, married a wonderful woman, made great kids, and built a good life. I always looked up to you, both literally and figuratively. We will miss you.)
This is an enormous empty lot in Visalia, and I took the photo because I am astonished that it is green! It rained in September and October, something that doesn’t always happen around here. See those enormous trees in the distance? Valley oaks, quercus lobata, the largest oaks in the country (or the world? I forget). They follow waterways through town, just like they do in Three Rivers; that is Mill Creek over there.

I even spotted wildflowers in the lot—morning glories are actually an invasive weed.

Those car places aren’t always boring.

Are buildings ever built with rounded corners any more?


An alley full of succulents? Yeppers. I wonder if it is profitable. I saw it there about 6 years ago, so maybe it is.

I saw the sign for Component Coffee Lab, a place I have heard about but never knew where it was. Looks as if they rent one place to do their roasting, in another, not far away, tucked into a walking alley, is their very cool coffee shop. It was full of people on devices, with plugs available by every seat. Their logo of 3 circles is too subtle for me to understand, and their back entrance could use some landscaping, but everything else was excellent.



What is this?? I didn’t walk right up to it, but saw it when I was in the back of the coffee place on a street parallel to Main Street. What is the significance? That is where Foreign Auto Works was when I first discovered them in 1983. (More oaks along Mill Creek).


*Visalia, population 146,000, is the county seat of Tulare County, about halfway between Bakersfield and Fresno, California’s flyover country. No one knows about it, no one cares, but we feed the world. Might be more helpful to know it is about halfway between San Francisco and Los Angeles, each about 200 miles away. But really, no one cares, and I like it that way.
If you’ve been hanging around here on the internet for awhile, you know that Trail Guy and I drive old vehicles. The reason that we are able to keep them running is due to Mark at Foreign Auto Works. Mark just sold his business to Frank, and we will continue going there. However, before Mark vamooses in retirement, we had him do final oil changes for us. I’m his longest customer and I will really miss him.

Hence, time-kill in Visalia, which I used to go walking and exploring downtown. The first part of the walk is full of auto places: repair shops, tires, transmissions, detailing, used car lots, new car lots, smog checks. When I got through those parts, I paid attention to architecture and other details.
Remember when buildings were made pretty, just because? Compared to buildings in older cities, particularly in the East, this is probably considered a nothing-burger. But I happen to think it is classic.

This part of Main Street connects all the automotive shops to the retail shops and restaurants. For awhile, it was full of antique malls; now there are empty buildings, a gym or two, and some mysterious unknowns (I didn’t linger). Visalia has tried to keep the trees going along Main Street, and as you get closer to the retail part, there are speakers up high on the lights, playing a variety of music. I heard some classical, I heard some Neil Diamond. I wonder why they think music is important walking along the sidewalks.

I stopped in Pacific Treasures, a business that was new when I worked in downtown, 30+ years ago. Now it is one of the few I recognize, and it was a real treat to have a visit with an old friend from elementary school who has worked there for many years. Great store, full of merchandise, so full that I almost developed a twitch. Got it under control, and bought some basil olive oil. My friend said they stock it because I asked for some. Ahem. I asked 9 years ago, and haven’t stopped by since asking. (They could have called, but they probably haven’t had any trouble selling it.)
There’s an old sign. Really old, older than me, prolly older than Trail Guy. The restaurant is no longer functional. Maybe the downtown Visalia organization wants them to leave the sign for nostalgia’s sake.

I love this sort of tile detail. This would prolly cost a mint to have done on a new building.

One more walking in Visalia post ahead.


2. I am a mess in my bookkeeping. Why do I not know if I got a refund or not for all those refrigerators? Ugh. I’d rather draw or paint or teach people to draw than fiddle with numbers, paperwork, phone trees, and records.

3. Phone calls are a mess. For many years after Kodak croaked, I used Shutterfly to print my photos and to create photo books. Several months ago the site stopped working. My photos won’t load. I postponed calling them because those kinds of phone calls require much time and patience while listening to menus, terrible hold music, and people with difficult accents reading polite scripts. It took 45 minutes for Shutterfly to determine that the problem is DuckDuckGo. I told them that I will no longer be using Shutterfly because I am unwilling to download another browser.

4. Keeping life simple creates a mess. Well, not exactly a mess, but some sacrifices and some work. Since I insist on keeping life simple by not downloading another browser, I will not be able to print photos or photobooks unless I spend time looking for another company.

5. Laura Ingalls Wilder’s life was a mess. My favorite blog, The Frugal Girl, posted What I’ve Read Lately. One of her books was Prairie Fires: the American Dreams of Laura Ingalls Wilder by Caroline Fraser. That book sparked more discussion than any of the others mentioned. It also led me to Wilder, a podcast by Glynnis MacNicol which completed and corrected (and stole some of the magic from) the Little House books. The impact and influence of those books is worldwide, transcending several generations, and now, sparking controversy. Warning: the final episode on the podcast was full of vitriol and cussing so I didn’t finish listening.

6. Staying current with computers is a mess. While editing a new book, Word lagged. The spinning beachball of doom responded with rotations every time I did anything on the book. I went online to see if there was any help. The main information was that Word needed to be updated. In attempting to update, I learned that my laptop must first be updated. I called Apple and learned that my laptop is maxed out in terms of updates. (They think a 2015 is old?? Listen, punks, I have a NEW car that is a 2004, so what are you talking about??) So, wanna know what I did? (I figured this out all by my lonesome—please be impressed.) I divided the 187 page book into 2 documents, so there! Now I can keep my 2015 going, while all those know-it-all children keep buying new things (probably made by slave labor) and putting their old (probably functional) machines out there into landfills (or their mama’s basements.) But I’m perfectly reasonable and calm about it all.

7. AI is messing things up. But if you want to find things on the internet, information NOT created by Artificial Intelligence, type what you are seeking into the search bar, followed by a space and -ai. That’s a minus sign with the letters “a” and “i”. I haven’t tried it yet but learned about it on a non-AI using blog.

8. AT&T is a mess, and they are messing with me. In 2023, I tried unsuccessfully to get a phone reconnected at the cabin. AT&T had no humans available who could handle landlines in California. They couldn’t understand how to flip a switch to activate the phone, which was already in place from previous years. They insisted that a tech guy needed to drive up the hill to do the job in spite of merely flipping a switch in the past. Alas, the road was unpassable for the AT&T giant truck. So, we decided to do without a phone and have managed without one for three summers now. A few months ago I got a letter from a collection agency that I owe AT&T $666. (evil number!) Au contraire, they provided no service, I had no phone, I never received a bill, I owe nothing. However, this crock of barnyard fertilizer has cost me several hours on the phone with the collection agency, and several dollars in mailing things in a manner that no one will be able to lie about receiving my documentation. They insist that I owe them, and I insist that I do not. I wonder if I can get through to Dave Ramsey so he can tell me how to deal with these stupid hon-yocks.

BONUS—This made me laugh: A dear friend recently said, “You can lead a man to knowledge but you can’t make him think.” Gotta be thankful for dear friends!
Perhaps November will be less of a mess and we can learn some good things together.


I will not be posting this week due to a situation. (Not everything in life is bloggable. . .)
Fret not! I’ll be back when things are settled a bit.
I spent a day in Visalia with a friend, and we walked around downtown, marveling* at the changes from when I worked there 35+ years ago.
We snooped. Climbed to the roof and took photos all directions.

It wasn’t clear enough to see the mountains to the east. I realize these photos will mean nothing to people who aren’t from the area.






We marveled at a building that has been completely remodeled since the olden days when I worked nearby. the owner happened by at the time, recognized both of us, and gave us a tour. I didn’t take any photos inside.


We also ran into another friend of ours. Visalia is the Big Town, the county seat, but Tulare County is still small enough to feel at home, even in the Big Town.
*I have verbed** the word “marvel”, which may actually be legitimate.
**And now I have verbed the word “verb”, which definitely does not pass a grammar test.


I painted that view with that tree about 15 years ago.


There is a yard that we can count on to have wonderful fall colors each year.








