photo - r. whittaker





After a long hiatus, it’s a joy to be sending out issue #54 of the conversations.org newsletter. We hope this one marks the beginning of a more regular schedule. There’s no shortage of material we want to share.
     Each piece here stands in its own circle of riches. Steve Georgiou’s story, "Mana," starts with a drive he and his mother took regularly along San Francisco’s Ocean Beach. Before heading home, they would routinely stop at a nearby Trader Joe’s. But this time, as Steve was making his way back to his car, a $20 bill came gently blowing across the shopping mall pavement right up to his feet. Looking around, he saw that no one noticed. So he picked it up. It turned out that something uncanny had only begun.
     In James Manteith’s archetypal story from his youth, the support and guidance of an admired older poet set him on a path to claiming his own creative gifts. Its telling sparked memories for me, as I suspect it will for many who read it.
     Our third feature came about from my encounter with a mysterious 87-year-old Egyptian-born woman, Bouthina (Bebe) Barrett. It happened one day when I was walking in Kensington CA, in a neighborhood unfamiliar to me. If our first story is a reminiscence of passage from adolescence and adulthood, this one belongs at the other end of the spectrum. For me, it was a vivid reminder not only that things one couldn’t have made up can happen at any time, but that the deepening journey of life can continue through old age.
     It's a happy coincidence that when I interviewed artist Mary King, she was 89. And still working. For many years she'd been a subscriber to works & conversations and I’d seen photos of her work. But I'd never met her in person until, by chance, my wife and I were about to head home from a visit with a friend in San Rafael, California. Just then, I recalled a note Mary had sent me. She’d put together an exhibit of her late husband’s paintings at San Rafael’s Falkirk Cultural Center. Wasn’t it close by?
     It was. And everything lined up. Twenty minutes later, Mary herself was leading my wife and I around a large old Victorian mansion to see a selection of Kendall King’s work. I'd often thought about making a studio visit and perhaps asking Mary for an interview, but somehow it never quite materialized. Now the moment had come. Life can be like that.
     Three weeks later, we met at her apartment and, after a little tour of her own work, we sat down to talk. Interviewing Mary was a special pleasure, and by the time I delivered copies of w&c #42 to her, she’d just turned 90.
     I hope you enjoy our much delayed issue.  – R.W.