Thickair Blog

As a kid, growing up in Baggs, Wyoming I watched a lot of Bugs Bunny cartoons and for some reason a lot of black and white movies. I once watched ‘A tree grows in Brooklyn’ and as a nine year old, it really stuck with me.  So long as she could see the tree, growing outside her window, everything was ok. So when I moved to Colorado at age twelve or thirteen, and as my mom took me to antique stores with her to find decorations for the house, I found myself transported to another place and time in the bookcases. My first ‘antique book’ purchase, was ‘A tree grows in Brooklyn’, because it was a title that I already knew.  I think I was probably the only kid in the nineteen eighties who read hard-back novels published in the nineteen fourties. I had this wild fascination with the World War 2 era, Bugs Bunny and all things New York. I started wearing vintage hats, listening to jazz on National Public Radio and continued to watch movies only made in black and white.

So here I am, fulfilling my childhood dream, of moving to New York.  I am in a little apartment in Brooklyn, not even in a neighborhood that has a name really. Unlike Francie’s view of the tree, however sad, it still gave off the energy of hope, living and growing. My view on the other hand is just sad and vacant. I see the easement space between my building and the one next to it. In the morning the sun light wedges itself carefully into the dark slice barely reaching the edges of the window. Directly across is the window of the neighbor, slightly off center from mine, such that the brick of the building is mostly what I see. When every building was once made of brick, mason’s would come up with ‘design’ techniques to distinguish one from the other. The building I get to see everyday is the ‘messy’ brick style, where they let the mortar drip and ooze out from under every brick and then went back and threw more over for an added layer of ‘texture’ all the while marking it with a tool to make scratch textures as well. Then painting overtop the whole mess. One of the least attractive experiments in masonry. The two foot space has over time become a trash-can of sorts for random scraps of paper, dirt and rubble. I see a red envelope, opened, perhaps a forgotten valentine. My window has a long dripping of what appears to be vomit. I can only imagine that someone from an upper floor, opened the window and wretched out into the void. The mass of the building and gravity pulled the liquid such that it landed on my window. I have cleaned many disgusting messes before in my lifetime, but this is one I can’t even start to think about doing. One would have to spelunk into the space with a ladder, and scrape and wipe through the steel bars that protect the windows from potential thieves. Soon I will hang a drape and cover the window so I no longer have to look at the funky brick and the regurgitation on glass.

I always felt Thomas and I were a match in spirit, though our language kept us from expressing ourselves fully. He, Panamanian biologist, living humbly, sweetly in El Valle de Anton Panama, as father, protector and steward. Me, Gringa – crazy about plants and all things ‘good’.

To approach his farm, you take the long asphalt road toward the spookily ‘under-construction’ Hotel Campestre. The hotel has been under construction for over four years, and no progress has been made, however it is still open for business and it is an eerie place to be when alone. At the crossroads, toward the ‘fanciest’ hotel in town, you however instead turn left at the first dirt road intersection you meet. As the road ascends, you meet several ‘local’ style houses, grown over, plants for sale etc. When you reach Thomas’ … you know. There is a friendly sign, typical Panamanian, letters carved in cursive in an oval shaped wood, out front stating that it is a biological, ecological center. You enter the yard and suddenly, gardens appear, and the energy of the human-plant relationship overtakes you.

Mostly, he grows lettuces, carrots, and a few other crops. You arrive and the dog barks wildly, however he is roped to a pole. Further on in front of the patio you see parrots in a cage and gold fish in a bowl. Entering the garden, the food emanates a sweet silent sound, and you pull it out of the ground, it is luscious. His carrots are the best I have tasted on the planet.

His wife Margarita generally greets you, as Thomas is often away training other farmers of the organic methods. She is plump and always extremely pleasing. If I had a choice of mothers, I would pick Margarita. The children, a range of ages, are happy, playing and always willing to lend a hand. The front porch is a meeting place, where you gather to calculate your bill, rinse your goods, or often, those people who are so completely drawn to Thomas and Margarita just hang out there and bask in their energy.

Every perimeter of the home is lined with plants unique in their purpose and beauty. Behind the house is a pond, where Thomas keeps Tilapia. Once I purchased some Water Hyacinth plants from Thomas, when he had just made a thinning of them. Actually, he gave them to me as a gift. But he sang a little song to the Tilapia, and they slowly, reluctantly surfaced. Lured by his song.

Beyond the pond is a beautiful stream, and spring where the trees are tall and fruitful. There are benches he has setting there for reflection, and once I saw him remove an ant from his body with his finger and thumb, gently, not pressing it hard enough to injure it, and release it back onto the bench.

The moving waters in the spring pond are warm, inviting and renewing. Emerging any portion of your body into it drinks the essence of the purity driven to the surface of the earth. Above the pond is the terrace garden, where he has more crops of lettuce, corn and carrots. Often, Gringos bring him ‘organic’ or ‘heirloom’ seeds from the US which he plants and harvests. However, he has a complete sustainable system at work, re-using seed, the new seeds are experimental at best.

Thomas’ face is like warm honey. Subtly sweet, shy and enveloping. Always, he wears his big hat, and once, I wore my ‘Panama-made’ hat, he smiled, kissing me appreciating me for my kindred spirit. He always was a complete gentleman, host and friend. You would think you were at a world class destination, not a funky, home-style organic farm. Run by a guy who has complete vision in a country who does not yet have the understanding and knowledge of why this might be important. It’s not even important in the richest country there is…so you can imagine the struggle.

Thomas and I knew we were deeply connected, however me shy with my Spanish and he, rarely around, we saw each other perhaps a hand-full of times. Each however each meeting was significant, meaningful and fully engaged.

This all is a prelude to my story about how I took Thomas and his family to the beach. El Valle is the caldera of an extinct volcano, and is approximately 35 minutes from the Pacific coast. However, many of those that live in the valley as locals do not often visit the beach. Thomas was once a professor, and I suspect experienced some ‘luxuries’ such as the beach, however now with his family of five and his passionate pursuits in education of organic farming he has little time for such endeavors.

I had a couple of friends living on the beach who also know Thomas. At the time they had a 5 year old son, who is an American who had befriended Thomas’ oldest son. The day we all visited together, despite the language barrier, they hugged at first encounter (I mean how cute is that for 5 year old boys!!) and then continued to play guns and robbers or whatever kind of chase/capture game they could conjure. During the games, we explored the gardens and the parents started discussing the upcoming birthday of the American boy. They were also leaving the area, and as a ‘birthday/goodbye’ party they wanted Thomas’ children to come and celebrate, because of the close friendship. No one had a car, except for me. So I volunteered that I would bring them all down to the beach the day of the party. That day, they told Thomas around 1pm to be ready for the party.

The day of the party, no one had informed anyone of the plan. I think it was being developed as it occurred. I spoke with my friend, the child’s mother and she said we should come around 4, however our other friend who could translate was not available. So I drove to Thomas’ to inform him of the plan. The children had been prepared as soon as they arrived home from school. They were so excited. They had been waiting already an hour. I told Thomas that she told me 4pm and he expressed that the children had been waiting since 1pm. I apologized and promised to be back in an hour and a half, asking however how many passengers. He said 7.

I have a small SUV and it seems that we were still cramped, with babies on laps, and older kids in the cargo area with the cooler. They brought to my friend the most beautiful basket of harvested vegetables and flowers I have ever seen. As we drove down the mountain, Margarita and the children were completely silent and the conversation was only between Thomas and myself. It was clear that they should not speak unless spoken to. However weak I think my Spanish is, we spoke about environmental issues, current political topics regarding it and how the plants, ocean and earth are the most important topics of the day.

We arrived at the beach and the children were enamored with the entire experience. Thomas said he had not been to the ocean in two years and he immediately went for a swim.

The party was a success, as the children played, obtained party prizes, beat the crap out of a piñata and had a great time. It was dark, and the red-headed French baby Margarita nannies for, Egon, was past his time to go to his parents, so we had to leave. Antonio, a daily surfer, friend and artisan caught a ride with us too. This was truly a special event in their lives and I don’t know when they will get to experience the ocean again. I was happy to be able to participate, give and experience with them in such a way.

little earthquakes
persist
as though invoked
never knowing whether my temple
will fall
recently killing the pigeon with shovelbacks
and domestic wildlife watching
the shudder of its last breath
surging through the instrument
to my hands
twice in one week
blood on my hands
blankets are not warm enough
in this tropical thunder
quiet, jellied love
quivers inside
rolling concrete
a raft
on soil seas
reaching for grounding

Here in Panama, the litter and trash problem is unreal. Rivers, mountainsides and any roadside ditch is filled with plastic bottles, juice boxes and millions of these colored plastic bags. Every time you buy anything at a store they double bag your item in these very inexpensive, blue, red or yellow baggies. I have been thinking of different ways to re-use these bags, and create a piece of art with them. My original idea was to attach millions of them together and make a Christo-esque installation piece. Instead I thought it would be a fun idea to make a kite with it. Here they don’t sell wooden dowels (except for in Panama City), so I thought I could use bamboo instead. I drove up the mountain looking for a good grove that had some slender bamboos. I found a dilapidated turqouise house with huge bamboo groves behind it. I stood outside for a long time, and an old man yelled down ‘buenas’ as he looked to find himself a shirt to wear. After dressing, he walked down to meet me and I explained to him that I was looking for bamboo. He had the boy get him a machete and we went hiking into the groves, asking me to tell him exactly what size I wanted. I showed him the slender 1/2″ dia reeds. He told me to wait in the shade and he went through and cut me several bamboos. He talked and talked to me telling me all about his life living there and working the chicken farm. As I sat there, I realized that I would never go up to anyone in the US and ask them if I could have some of their bamboo. People are incredibly inviting and welcoming here. I took my bamboo home and started making the material for the kite. I ironed together plastic bags to make the sails. In all it took about 5 hours to complete, looking fairly sad. The bamboo supports are not perfectly straight, so it gives the structure a little curve, and the sails look like garbage, because that’s what they are. In my first flight attempt, the sail tore down the side. I guess maybe I should go back to the christo idea.

I have yet to take the bus here in Panama and I recently got my chance. I went down the mountain to visit my friend at the beach and decided to stay over and come home the next day via the bus. I stayed nearly all day, and decided to leave around dusk. I got to the stop, crowded with school kids, I stood waiting amongst them. A somewhat drunk fellow asked me where I was going and I said ‘El Valle’. He laughed a sarcastic laugh and said something to the effect that there was only one or two buses. The normal buses are called ‘coasters’ and probably seat up to 50 people. There is a smaller bus that is more like a van. All of the other city destination buses pulled in and were the coaster size, gaining only two or three passengers each. When the ‘van-like’ El Valle bus appeared, the entire crowd of school kids ran, pushed and shoved their way into the bus. I just stood there watching the whole scene. They packed themselves in, one on top of the other to the point that the sliding door could barely shut. Me, with my backpack, and a lady with her bags full of crafts to sell at the market just stood there. At one point I asked one of the boys when another one would come, and he just shrugged and said ‘PANAMA!’ Like he and I both knew that it was entirely unpredictable. The bus took off and she and I just stood there watching it go, me thinking of how I might flag a gringo down to give me a ride. Just then they stopped and the money-taker guy jumped out and said are you going to El Valle? And we both looked at each other then at him and said ‘SI’. He said “We’ve got room!!” I helped her with her bags, and we walked toward it. They made the school girls that sat in front, sit on each others laps, straddling the gear shifter (so she had to lift herself up everytime he shifted) and sat the lady down first, while I sat between her legs. I tried to count how many people were in there, but it was hard to see, being dark and so totally packed. This was not safe. However, as we went up the mountain people slowly started to get out and gained a little reprieve where I was able to sit in the back. The interesting thing, is that there was another El Valle bus that had stopped to get a soda with no passengers. From the reaction of the students and response from the kid I spoke to, this must be a daily occurance. And no one seems to question the safety or recklessness of the event. ITS PANAMA! Oh well, it was a pretty harmless and funny adventure.

(Design) I am working on a renovation design and the clients are down to earth, yet somewhat spiritual people. They are attracted to Asian design and want that tropical asian influence represented in the design. They also want a swimming pool and garden space off the back terrace, and as I played with shapes and designs I started thinking about how geometry is not only shapes but a visual code.  Originally I wanted the design to be super simple and stream line, so it was simply a square shaped pool. But the ideas of the reason for the pool kept talking to me. The water represents relaxation and serenity. There are languages that use graphic symbols to represent ideas, and I think that as we move more and more into a graphic-inundated world through the internet, the idea of graphic-based explanation of ideas is more present than ever. I looked on-line to find a ‘graphic or geometric symbol’ that represents this idea. I didn’t find any that really could work as an elegant shape for a swimming pool. But this is my design challenge. To create a geometric combination of shapes that represents one single idea.

(Architecture) I had a construction manager tell me once that I needed to make my architectural details so totally clear that the notations calling out materials are irrelevant. His point was that many of the builders either could not read English or would not take the time to read them. Being young and impassioned, I felt that he was being racist and not giving the workers any credit. The more construction experience I gained the more I understood what he meant.  It is true that the detail needs to be as straightforward visually as possible, because it becomes the representation, visual information of how the detail will actually get constructed. Many times we drafters assume that the builders read the detail with as much care as we take to draw them. Not the case. They give the detail a quick walk through and if it is missing information or one little line that could represent a material ‘beyond’ or ‘in-between’ is a critical mistake on the drafters part. I learned the concept better as I built my house in Panama, where I did not share the native languauge of my builder (Spanish) and so I used sketches to communicate my ideas and wishes.

(Art) I think in the matter of Art, the artist is visualizing information and processing with visual matter and at the same time creating a new language. But here, the language is much more complex and rich, because with graphic information, it is a straight translation of a word or maybe a phrase. With works of art, we have novellas of ideas being expressed through color, line-work and form.  Often the idea is not reflective of the world or society, but that of the individual creating it. This is why Art is so subjective and hard for people to understand. The ‘meaning’ is stitched into the creation using a language either to be deciphered or not.

I have been told that Panamanians are leery and rarely invite people into their homes.  Distrust is endemic.  During the high winds our mandarina tree blew over and left a huge gap in the focal point behind the pond garden. We also have the exposed chain-link fence and are trying to coax our little plants to grow faster to create a screen. We wanted to add some banana trees there, because the foliage is full and it has the right structure for the space. Now bananas grow everywhere here, but no one really sells them as garden plants. I asked the nurseries and they just sort of laughed at us. So I asked our gardener, where I might buy one. He said, we have them…So in this way of figuring out how he was going to bring me banana trees on his bicycle, I offered to come get him in the car.

I first asked him to draw me a map of where he lives. He just looked at me blankly like he simply could not. I sometimes wonder if he can’t read. So he suggested that his next work day I would take him home so that I could learn the way. After leaving El Valle a litte inconspicous road that looks like the entrance to someone’s estate, a road leads beyond and over another mountain ridge through a rocky and steep road. Definitely 4×4 terrain. We drove for 20 minutes or so and after a point he told me where to stop. He said that he lived down in the valley. The road is on the dry ridge and his house is by the lush-lined river at the bottom. A narrow and steep hiking path has been made by forming the clay soil into steps. He put his bicycle on his shoulders and we hiked down.

The trees and the river created shade and a noticeable (probably 10 degrees) temperature difference. His house is the first one, surrounded by little gardens of roses, “lilis” (ammaryllis) and other plants he has obviously nursed from cuttings. The house was made of mud walls and a zinc roof. The design is a square with a notch for outdoor space where he had a rocking chair and a neat row of cactus plants. A deep trench was dug in line with the overhang of the roof to drain the water. The corners and walls were incredibly straight and flat, considering I imagine they had very little tools to make the homes. He gave me a very proud tour of his gardens and we walked across the bridge made of different sized rocks to the other side where his sister, brother and father live. There she too had a rose garden of many varieties and orchids. She stood on her front porch, curious to have me visit. It is clear they live alone there and rarely have visitors, let a lone gringa visitors.  We toured behind her house where there was a grove of banana trees of every variety. Sloping up the hill, the vegetable garden was tucked behind the ornamentals. A caged rabbit sat in front of her house and the chicken pen was to the opposite side. I got to choose my bananas and we sauntered back. He gave his sister the protruted pursed lip look that here is something guys do as a machismo thing to girls or other guys, sometimes as a joke but other times as a ‘woman do as I say’ kindof thing…She ran inside and came out with a huge plastic sack full of fat tomatoes. She gave them to me.  Sharing food is also a sort of tradition here. I always try to reciprocate.

I didn’t have a lot of time to really look at the houses. But I was amazed at the cleanliness, simplicity and ingenuity they had developed out of completely living with nature. I imagine it takes him 2 hours to get to our town every morning, and with such a narrow steep trail, it would be difficult to carry many materials there. We gave him some cyclone fencing, it was a huge roll, and we could barely move it to scootch it on the ground. I wonder how they got it home.  Perhaps one day he will let me visit again and I can describe in more detail the design and construction of the homes. I can say that it was clear they function very well for them, these solid little mud houses.

During the laborious construction of the roof structure for the vegetable garden, we realized that our plants will have a better built home than some people around here…. I guess we can’t get too guilt ridden about it, but it puts things in perspective for sure. Finally, this weekend we completed the structure and can now….PLANT PLANTS!! The rainy season is nearly upon us, so it will be a good test to see how able we are to grow things full year. My artichokes sprouted, but not much else, an asparagus did too, but one day with out multiple waterings it dried out. I was trying real hard to be recyclie and used old egg cartons for seed starters containters. They just dried up too fast, no matter if we watered them every hour…. The main staples we want to grow are just tomatoes, zucchinis, beans, lettuce, spinach and the like.

Americans have taken a heightened interest in vegetable gardening due to the recession and the price of organics. We didn’t call it whole paycheck for nothing. The cool take away, is that these veggie gardeners are hip on this idea of getting the whole country into it, and with our leadership (the Obamas) too. Similar to what Elenor Roosevelt did, starting victory garden to inspire the country. You can sign the petition to let the Obamas know you think its a cool idea here : kitchengardeners.org.

4\’33

I stumbled upon this the other day and was really intrigued by it. Its sort of ridiculous…..but it shows that we can be totally convinced that even nothing is really something.

Before the trip to Boulder at Christmas, I had been hunting for ‘COOL” coasters to buy stateside to bring back. However, without spending a fortune. The only thing that was sort of cool were these stainless steel coasters. I guess not quite cool enough, so I held off. A must stop for me in Boulder is my favorite bead shop Nomad Design on the East Pearl St. Mall. It was there that I found my cool coaster.

They had a basket full of them and a little sign that explained the artist and background. Made by a volunteer doctor who spent a lot of time in the tropics. By his experience there he understood the great need for a coaster (I’m telling you!!) and came up with this design of beading a coaster. I bought one thinking I could easily mimick the design and make a set for the house.

I wanted to modify the design so that it would be a free-floating design without being bound to the leather. After trying peyote stitch circle designs with both seed beads and big beads, and failing that attempt, I decided to give in and string a string of beads and stitch it to a backing. So far, the raw technique is working pretty well, it just needs some elegance and refinement now. With the design being so simple, the patterns, colors and shapes are sort of endless. I heart crafts…