012 - ruth asawa
part 1

I don’t have an internet connection this week, so I’ll write today’s post from memory as I ride a bus from one major European city to one you wouldn’t typically visit.

The Getty in Los Angeles is one of my favorite places. When I say The Getty, I’m referring to the one in the hills and not the one on the coast. I know there are two Gettys, Place and Villa, but like red and white wine to me, a non-drinker, I’m unable to decipher a difference beyond physical qualities. I know people enjoy both and some prefer one more than the other. Which you choose also depends on the time of day and the company you are with.

On this occasion, I opted for the Getty in the hills and I was alone. I’ve been to this museum several times and still get lost in the layout. You park your car a minimum of three levels underground and then take an elevator back to the check-in. There, you show your free ticket reservation and wait in line for a miniature spacecraft looking shuttle to transport you to a new world, perched above Los Angeles: a dark, flat ocean to your right, Hollywood and downtown skylines to your left, a crowded web of people, streets and infrastructure woven between.

The Getty is I think three levels consisting of multiple wings, all surrounded by one fabulous, pebble-pathed garden they close when it rains. There are other areas, perfect lawns and flat slabs of concrete lined with tables and chairs used for visiting, resting and eating. The mixture of it all makes it a challenging property to navigate. Each time I go, I take a map from the info desk at the entrance. This helps but my sense of direction remains unclear. Feeling lost leads to new discoveries, so I was especially pleased at what I found on this particular visit.

I descended an unfamiliar staircase and found an Imogen Cunningham photography exhibit. She’s an artist who spent her days in San Francisco, taking photographs of people and plants into her nineties. We will talk about her another day. Towards the end of her exhibit, a photo of hers captured my attention. I read the accompanying text.

I introduce to you: Ruth Asawa

This past weekend, I was in San Francisco for a wedding. The bride and groom asked me to do a Bible reading without making it too religious. I was up for the challenge, honored to be included in their ceremony, but felt the pressure to be on time. Something that always troubles me.

I enjoyed my Saturday in San Francisco and of course the day got away from me. With less than three hours to the wedding, I made a questionable decision to catch a bus to a bookstore in the Richmond District, Green Apple Books. I was on the hunt for a particular book, wanted to buy it used and wanted to support this specific bookstore. When I arrived, I smiled at a message stenciled on the rack outside. As big as the world is, we are lucky to find the places we belong.

Entering the store, the first book I saw on display was Ruth Asawa — Citizen of the Universe. I remembered her name, a great name (I don’t know any Ruths) and connected the cover to what I saw at Imogen Cunningham’s Getty exhibit. I didn’t have time to look at the book, so took a picture. I would come back to Ruth another day.

I found the book I was looking for on the shelf farthest from the entrance. After buying it, I checked the time. I had 90 minutes to pick up my dry cleaning, get back to my room to get ready, and walk surely up a hill to the wedding venue. My phone told me the next bus was coming in 14 minutes or a city bike was docked a block up on the right. The bike ride was 30 minutes. I went for the bike.

It was a terrible decision but the right decision. My entire bike ride was up a San Francisco hill. East on California Street towards Chinatown. I kept looking for the bus over my shoulder, ready to tap-out from my climb, praying I could catch a ride the rest of the way, but the bus never came.

I arrived at my room completely dead and full of sticky, summer sweat. I took a cold shower, got ready and then rushed to make the wedding on time. Somewhere along the way, I made an involuntary donation to the streets; I lost my tie. It was a fancy wedding but cool comes in confidence and class in a well-fitting suit. I had both, but no tie.

The wedding was a success. I Bible-blessed the couple without being too religious and here I sit a few days later on a different bus, looking at the photos on my phone, stopping at the one of Ruth Asawa. Both times I have seen tributes to her, I have seen well made photographs of the artist with the artwork and this makes me think. Why is the artist portrayed with the artwork? Does a cool artist make the artwork cooler? Am I interested in the artwork, the artist or both? Am I writing about the artists or the artworks? What is the purpose of my writing?

I’m interested in both and my purpose is to follow my curiosity to bring attention to it all. Maybe today is the first time you’ve heard the name Ruth Asawa. She sure is capable of evoking a mood when photographed and her work looks majestic and multifaceted like the Getty in the hills. I’ve now seen her on two occasions and it’s time I learn about Ruth. I’ll write more about her another time. To do so properly, I need an internet connection. — Phillip Dillon

The main image at the top of this post is Ruth Asawa. Untitled, 1965.