dearkimlow.com

Artwork and letters by hand, documenting simple pleasures, elusive moods, and humble stories.

(03.09.2024)

The Fort By the Bay

Dimensions

5″ × 3″

Materials

Cover-weight paper stock; colored pencil; gray thread; acid-free paper adhesive

A blue paper scene of rocks, water, and distant hills is punctuated by red paper knobs of driftwood and thin paper clouds. The artwork balances on a polished stone mantle that casts a textured reflection. A hand places the artwork in a shaft of strong sunlight, revealing layers of paper. A detailed crop shows the threadwork of water lines, expressive paper bits of clouds, and the tiny details of the scene.
I.

The southern shores of the San Francisco Bay are a quiet place. Water murmurs over pebbles and silt. In the past, rocks were piled into levees and trails to conquer the landscape; more recently, driftwood was stacked in strange formations. For what purpose, I don’t know. There are little treasures peeking out from the cracks. Someone’s flag sways nearby.

II.

I try to imagine who built this place.

Out on this quiet expanse, hidden from freeways and suburbs, an explorer could imagine themselves in a new frontier. It seems like a suitable location for building a camp. To the east are unobstructed views of marshes and low lying hills, where any approaching guests are easy to spot. To the west, water glimmers under hazy skies and laps at distant hills. Large stones provide convenient perches for dreaming about the next day’s journey. There is no shortage of wood to build shelter for the night.

A wistful soul could reminisce over bygone days when this path was a summer escape. Once upon a time, the rocks would have been suitable for clambering and jumping, the paths an invitation for foot races, and the sticks ideal for mock swordfights. If I listen closely enough, I can almost hear youthful shouts rising into a warm twilight. But no one can do that now because the park closes at sunset. Perhaps one of those youths, now long grown up, left behind a glass to honor those past adventures.

An artist like me can’t help but get swept away by the romance of this place. Maybe someone with a bigger imagination than me looked at the scattered materials and saw a canvas. A few hours spent dragging wood, stitching together strands of kelp from the ocean, balancing them all into sculptures—and maybe that was just the start. They say one person’s trash is another person’s treasure. Another passerby could take a discarded bottle and elevate it to a twinkling jewel like a beacon. A collector of smooth pebbles could be moved to add a particularly well-worn stone from their collection.

Perhaps by tomorrow, this little scene will change with the addition of a new contribution. And there will be a new story to tell.