Green Art News: Plastic

     My love affair with the ocean began as a  child on the beaches of Puntarenas, Costa Rica.  In 2004  I suffered head trauma that effects my short-term memory to this day, but I do remember riding horseback with my older cousins along the shore.   The sounds of hooves splashing in the water, along with waves crashing along the rocks, and the smell of  the ocean air were the things I looked forward to the most.  Playing in the sand, and bringing  home seashells that would become my most treasured toys as a young child.

     My father tall, and lean his eyes the lagoon blue of the ocean; would place conches against my small ear at bedtime so that I could hear the sounds I fell in love with. My father was an American, a POW from WWII, upon returning home to the states he traveled and spent much time in Central and South America.  He met my mother, a dark and exotic server at a local restaurant in Costa Rica and fell in love.  After they exchanged their vows, he spent the next five years in various locals in Costa Rica before returning with his wife and daughter to Southern California.  Where I was raised and my love for the ocean continued.  The beaches much more crowded than what I had been introduced to.  The feel of  crisp ocean air, and the warmth of the sun on my  skin were less frequent;  but nonetheless were what I looked forward to.

     Today those beaches in Puntarenas are a far cry from what I remember as a child.  The fishing industry and tourism has taken its toll.  I have included some informative material about the effects of plastic on  our coastline in Ecology of Marine Debris.  I also have included links to Artists who have devoted their work in the recycling of this debris in creating whimsical works of Art.

May peace and prosperity greet you at every corner.


Cherokee Landing Retrospective: Deertracks

Cherokee Landing Retrospective

Cherokee Landing Retrospective

A Poem for my Mother

Its early, the sun is beating down on the leaves

And they hold up

The sun has barely made its entrance to a new day

Bringing with it an Imperial heat

The sidewalk emits a heatwave

its the only time it moves

I imagine steam as the sprinklers reluctantly

spit drops that miss the yellowing grass

and land with a hiss

leaving a wetspot

A mirage really it lasts just seconds

the sidewalk glares back

Dry and solitary taunting my sanity.


I close the blinds and stand on the cool tile under my feet

I hear the voices in the other room,

She cheers on todays winner

Bob Barker should be a distant memory,

It’s not his voice I hear though,

but a New Robust

Fella now

Some famous man I don’t know.

My mother she is faithful

When it comes to her shows.


I play the harmonica something sad

Something lonesome

And my Emmillee howls

Right along with me

We play a duet

This makes me laugh so

My giggles float along

Bounce off walls and

Visit every room

She closes her eyes

A penny for her thoughts

I close my eyes and try hard not to think


Waves of empty thoughts come crashing

Instead of white foam and the smell of the ocean

A menagerie of colors

The colors of painted rooms

The sound of pots clanging

And lonesome ‘rancheros’

Stories of unfaithfulness.

The smell of beans and garlic,

and spilt beer.

Green, broad, long, waxy leaves

Reminders of “la selva”

I pinch the dark soil

And smell deep and long

Time to clean up

Time to play a new song.


The sun is low

In the horizon

I shake myself

And look hard and long

My brush in hand is dry

My paper calls out to me

For color

I feel the cool tile under my feet.

I open the blinds

I admire the pretty shades of pink

In the distance

And wet my brush.

I listen to a new song.


Sushistrummin at the Fairgrounds






Recycling Paper: The Making of Nostalgia


Artist:  Alexander Korzer-Robinson – sculptor

korzo1906This artist creates narrative scenarios in small format by using antiquarian books, it makes the work simultaneously an “exploration and a deconstruction of nostalgia.”  His statement, “We create our own past from fragments of reality in a process that combines the willful aspects of remembering and forgetting with the coincidental and unconscious” speaks to me on so many different levels, but especially because I am not able to make and file away memories like most people.  The visual memory card that most people take for granted, what you use to recall what your children did, or looked like at a certain age, or when you close your eyes and remember the day your husband proposed …the sunset, what you wore, the room you were in; these visual images we call memories I don’t have.  I close my eyes and its well…blank.

korzer1930Having suffered brain trauma, memory as its understood by most people isn’t something I am able make, collect and file away in the recesses of my mind to enjoy on another day.  In fact, it’s likely that I will forget I have written this by the end of next week.  Of course, it helps to have a record of what I’ve written to call to mind although it doesn’t necessarily mean Ill remember having written it.  I’m grateful that I wasn’t totally swiped clean I have pieces to my own personal puzzle about thirty percent of my longterm memory is in tact more-or-less.  So I can say that I do experience nostalgia from time to time and most times its when Im listening to music.  It’s a specific feeling more than a visual image in relation to what I’m listening too.   For example, Pink Floyds’ “Wish you were here” or “Money” will be playing and I’ll remember the feel of the wind on my skin and call to mind having been on a  long drive with my husband decades ago-no details just that “i know” I went on a drive.   My husband Baba:  may he rest in peace;  I haven’t seen him in two decades and I couldn’t tell you what he looked like; I “know” certain things about him that are associated with feelings but I have no visual images I can pull up and reflect on.

bookart4So when I look at the work of Alexander Korzo-Robinson I lose myself in the detail of his work.  It’s kinda I guess like loosing oneself in memories gone by, or being lost in thought.  You’ve actually gone somewhere; left the present…wandering off into landscapes unknown.  I get the same feeling when I’ve gone to a Salvador Dali show.  Its surreal and you can spend an innumerable amount of time exploring his book sculptures.  Who can just walk up to one and glance at it and walk away?  They’re captivating and imaginative and I just want to turn into a paper doll and step into one of his works to see whats behind, in-between and look at the unseen.

kor1908Being an advocate of recycling paper, and just about anything else that can find a new purpose in life I had to share  his whimsical worlds with you.  They are beautiful and even more so there is something profound and reverential in that they’re carved out of books.  What is that saying?…”a picture is worth a thousand words” well he most certainly carved through thousands of words to give new life and meaning to the pictures within these books.   I cannot help but feel a deep respect and sense of wonder when I look at his carved worlds.  My father raised me to have a profound respect and appreciation for books.  So when the digital age came and brought with it the digital book I thought to myself,  “oh no! is this the beginning of the end for books?  Well I’m so glad that I am not the only one who loves the feel of a real book, flipping the pages, the smell, the odd little rituals, bookmarkers, book signing events that bring us little nerds together.  I can’t imagine what my father would say if I took a razor to my books, but then he didn’t have the opportunity to see what wonderful things that can come of it.




Check out all his work at



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