Love Story: In The Cloud

by Ken Renshaw

  It was a beautiful day in Altadena. A late spring cold front had passed through during the night, clearing out the LA haze and smog, making the sky sparkling blue, dotting the mountains with a procession of small puffy clouds. I observed that this would not have been much of a soaring day on the desert, it was a good day to be doing something else, particularly with Tina.

  As we drove through Altadena on the way to Candice and Tom's, Tina was admiring and commenting on the variety and architecture of homes, Victorians from the early days of Altadena, old bungalows from the depression era, some of which might have been the prefab kits sold from catalogs by companies such as Sears and Roebuck. Small tracts of thirties houses were in a stucco Mediterranean or Spanish style. We seemed to agree on what was ugly, and what was well done. I was having fun.

  When we got to Candice and Tom's, Tina said, "Oh isn't that darling, so well done, with river stones covering the foundation and pillar bases. I'd bet they came from a nearby creek. I see what you meant when you described it as a home that somebody loves. Look at the detail, those stained glass panels; the old–fashioned windows with the three sections at the top; the way the beams and eaves are notched and fitted together.

  When we walked up to the front door, I saw a note taped to the glass. It said, "Dave, I am with another client. Go on into the living room and make yourself at home. Coffee, tea, and a bowl of fruit are in the kitchen."

  As we walked in, Tina exclaimed, "Oh, this is just perfect. Pasadena and this area have Craftsman homes. Local artists make Mission Style furniture and ceramics in the Craftsman tradition. Notice the dark hammered copper light fixtures! Look at the green ceramic vases, the finely–crafted bookcases, couch, rocking chairs. The door and window trim are without ornamentation, made of only flat boards, precisely fitted together! The light–green color of the walls, sets off their dark natural stain. The facing on the fireplace is made from custom tiles. Oh, this is really wonderful!"

  "And," I added, "that picture is by a California Impressionist."

  Tina went over to the picture, examined it carefully and said, "This could be a Payne because it looks as if it could have been painted of the view from the back yard. Those mountains look the same. Payne liked to paint around here. Look at the detail in the wildflowers."

  I was puzzled and asked, "How did you get to be such an expert on California Impressionist paintings?"

  Then, we heard Tom saying goodbye to his client, a well–dressed lady, at the front door. Tom came into the living room and greeted us with a hearty welcome."

  I introduced Tina as Tom looked at her intently.

  Tina said, "I brought along lots to read. I'll sit right here as quiet as a mouse while you go away."

  Tom grinned and said, "Make yourself at home, and use the kitchen to make coffee or tea. There is a big bowl of fresh fruit that needs to be eaten. You can sit on the back patio if you wish and enjoy this beautiful day. The bathroom is right down the hall. We will probably be a couple of hours. There is a trail that leaves the back yard and goes up the hill to a viewpoint. Watch out for snakes."

  Tina replied, "Thanks, I think I will do all those things. I know how to look out for snakes. Dave told me about Mr. Spider. I think I'll visit him. I'll be careful not to disturb him."

  "He is behind the avocado tree at the end of the yard."

  We went into Tom's office.

  Two hours and fifteen minutes later we emerged. I looked around and found Tina taking a nap on a chaise lounge in the shade on the back patio. As she heard the screen door open, she sat up and smiled.

  "Back from space-time travels?'

  "Yes, it was really amazing."

  "It looks like it. You are really radiating that amazing energy." Tina exclaimed.

  I thanked Tom, we chatted a bit and then said our goodbyes. As we walked to the car I said to Tina, "Why don't you drive. I am still a bit distracted, not totally back in present time."

  "Still feel like going to the Norton Simon?" She asked.

  "Yes, I think that would be perfect. How about something simple for lunch?"

  She thought a minute and then said, "There is a little latte and snack bar in the courtyard at the museum. They have sandwiches there. How about that?"

  "Great."

  After we drove away Tina asked, "Do you want to talk about what happened in your session?"

  "Yes, that would probably be a good idea. I am still trying to assimilate what I experienced in visiting that space-time.

  "It was some time at the beginning if World War I and we were in Germany. My brother, he was about 20, and I, about 22, were fascinated with learning to fly a biplane that a local man flew. He sold rides and gave flying lessons. My recall skipped until when my brother was killed in a crash of that biplane, when a wheel came off in landing and the plane flipped over. I experienced intense grief. I got back to that space-time because Tom ran me back on a grief thread that started from the time when our family dog died in this lifetime.

  "Then, I followed the thread of 'crashing airplanes' and skipped to when I was flying in a German biplane squadron. The other pilots were a scary, brutal bunch of guys, fiercely and ruthlessly competing for some award or prize for shooting down enemy airplanes. I could feel their vibrations of anger. I was caught up in the game and shot down many airplanes. Everyone thought it was a noble endeavor; we were like knights jousting for honor. I re-experienced several dogfight scenes, machine-gunning other airplanes, following them down to the ground to make sure they crashed and burned. I could hear the sound of the biplane motors, smell the engines, and feel how the airplane responded to controls. I feel as though I could get into one today and know how to fly it.

  "I'll have to read up on the era. There was confusing stuff I don't understand. I have a sense that there is more of that story to be recalled from that space-time."

  Tina's eyes were wide as she asked, "Do you really want to follow all that by looking a Monet's Water Lilies?"

  "Yes, I need a change of space-time."

  The Norton Simon Museum sits on Colorado, the main street of Pasadena, on the path of the New Year's Day Rose Parade. As we walked up to the unassuming grey–tiled building, we passed several bigger-than-life Rodin bronze sculptures in a courtyard. We could see through the glass lobby into the garden with a large pond, hundreds of trees and shrubs, and many pieces of sculpture worked into the landscape. Two exhibition wings connected to the lobby. We went directly into the garden to have lunch.

  As we sat at one of the garden's wrought iron tables, enjoying a simple lunch, Tina said, "I love this place, where we can sit and look over the pond and see works by Rodin, Laurens, Henry Moore, Hepworth and Maillol and others. What a visual feast!"

  "I'm impressed by your knowledge about art," I commented.

  "My course work for my masters degree has included quite a few art history and art criticism courses. As I have really learned to look at art, I have found a different level of appreciation. With some artists' works, after I look at them a while I start to feel the emotion of what the artist was experiencing when they painted the picture. For instance, one of my favorite pictures, Sous Bois, by Cezanne, in the LA County Museum, shows a scene in a wood. As I study the picture I can smell the leaves, feel the humidity, feel the love of the scene, and marvel at the shapes of the trees. It is as though I am getting into Cezanne's head.

  "Another time, I visited the Rothko Chapel in Houston, a chapel that features big panels, almost black, painted a short time before Rothko committed suicide. The chapel was supposed to be a place of meditation for people of all faiths. All I experienced was Rothko's utter despair, a sense of total failure, one of the lowest vibrations I have ever experienced. When I left there, I almost felt suicidal. Even now, when I think about the visit, I can feel Rothko's despair. Aargh! I have to keep my mind out of there.

  "Maybe that is a feature of great art: it takes you into the artist's head."

  I observed, "You know, a couple of months ago
, I would have thought you were being irrational, talking about experiencing dead artist's emotions by looking at their paintings. Now, it all seems perfectly reasonable to me."

  Tina leaned over and squeezed my hand, and gave me a look that I shall never forget. It was as though we were suddenly bound together.

  Then, she looked a little embarrassed and said, "Lets go into the galleries."

  We spent about an hour looking at the Impressionist and Post–impressionist paintings by Manet, van Gogh, Matisse, Monet, etc. without saying much. I did notice that the vibration I sensed from her changed significantly when she looked at some paintings.

  After a while, Tina said, "Let's walk in the garden, I am getting visually saturated."

  As we walked into the garden, I said, "Maybe that's one of the features of great art, it is a ticket to travel in space-time to be perceptually with an artist, or a person, in another place in space-time."

  Tina didn't respond; she simply gave me another version of the look she gave me at lunch.

  The garden is surrounded by high brown tile surfaced walls, the same height and color as the as the museum. In the center there is a long pond, covered with patches of water lilies and edged with a variety of rushes and reeds. A wide variety of trees, some in bloom, filled the garden and shaded a path that meanders around the pond. Bronze and granite statues are placed around the pond and under the trees. The late afternoon sun reflected off the pond and projected a soft ripple of light on many statues.

  As we walked from statue to statue, we didn't talk much. We looked at each statue for a minute or more, sometimes walking over to read the nameplate, and looking at the surrounding plants or trees. We came to a large dark metal statue of a nude woman, maybe double life-size, who appeared to be tumbling sideways into the patch of lavender surrounding the base, her arms stretched out in the air, her feet flailing with only her hip touching the base.

  I went over to the nameplate and read aloud, "Air."

  Tina said, "By Aristide Maillol, right?"

  I nodded yes.

  "Tina, I kind of feel like this when I am around you, at times like today, like I’m about to tumble."

  "Me, too," she answered. "Into a bed of lavender isn't all that bad."

  I took her hand and said, "I think we should live together. I want to be around you as much as possible."

  She turned and put her hands on my cheeks, gave me that look again, smiled her mischievous smile, said, "I would like that. Your place or mine?" and gave me a long kiss.

  "We will work that out," I said with a big smile.

  "Is this only until you go off to war next Wednesday?"

  "No," I said looking directly into her eyes, "I'm glad you are such a careful listener. I plan for this to be for much longer and..."

  She cut me off and said, "I must warn you I'll have to redecorate your place a little bit, definitely adding some art work."

  "No Rothko's, I hope."

  With a sly grin she said, "We'll see."