Recipe - Sweet Potato and Almond Butter Gratin

What you'll need:

Sharp knife
Cheese/vegetable grater
Large mixing bowl
Small mixing bowl (or large cup)
Large casserole dish
Stiff whisk (or even a fork if you can't find your whisk)

About 2 sweet potatoes - 2 if normal or 1 if very large
2 tbsp sesame oil
A small amount of vegetable shortening - to grease the dish
1 tsp dried chille flakes or 1 red chili, finely chopped
3 garlic cloves finely chopped
1 cup of heavy whipping cream (unsweetened)
3/8 cup almond butter
1 lime's worth of finely grated zest
Juice from that lime
1/2 tsp each of salt and pepper
1/2 cup loosely packed mozzarella
2 tbsp grated parmesan

Heat the oven to 375F and place the rack just above middle in the oven.

Use the vegetable shortening to grease the casserole dish.

Peal and slice the sweet potatoes into roughly 1/8 sections.

Toss the sweet potatoes, 1 tbsp of oil, chili, garlic, cream, salt and pepper in the mixing bowl until each piece is coated and all of the ingredients are mixed throughout.

Place half of the slices into the casserole dish, arranging them so that they cover the bottom of the dish and are more or less evenly distributed.

Beat the almond butter, the rest of the oil, the lime juice and the lime zest until they make a paste.

Place small spoon-fulls of this paste atop the layer of sweet potatoes in the baking dish.  No need to be neat, because it will all spread out in baking.

Top this with the final layer of sweet potatoes and pour whatever cream is left from them on top.

Spread the mozzarella evenly over the top, and scatter the parmesan on top of that.

Cover the casserole with foil and bake for 20 minutes.

Remove the foil and bake for another 20 minutes.  Don't discard the foil.

Check the cheese on top.  If it's already looking golden brown, replace the foil.

Bake for another 10 minutes.  The goal is to cook the dish thoroughly inside and to have the cheese nice and browned.

Vegan variation - No need for cheese, and substitute a blend of silken tofu with plain soy milk for the heavy cream.

Welcome to Walter World

by Corrin Green

for JAVA Magazine

January, 2011

All is not as it seems with Walter, billed with only a slight wink as "The World's Largest VW Bus". Already gaining local fame as a show-stopper at parades and festivals, the status of this four-wheeled colossus as a rolling entertainment venue, minor engineering marvel and art piece is immediately evident.

And yet, even when housed out of public sight and with his engine off, Walter is always busy. For a small but growing number of people, this road-worthy piece of heavy equipment is ardently at work as a metaphor, a social experiment and, unlikely as it may sound, a spiritual leader.

Yes, really.

No one from Walter's previous incarnation could have guessed he'd someday reach such an exalted place. Long before people around Walter began addressing him in personal terms, as they do now, the 1963 Walter CF model crash truck was a definite it. Essentially a 10-ton fire truck, it first served at Luke Air Force base, where it sat at the ready in case of a plane crash.

In time, the Air Force sold the truck to the New River Fire Department, who used it until it became unreliable and they could presumably afford a more modern fire truck. New River sold it, cheap, to a man named Don, who had a collection of old, cool, vehicles sitting overlooking the town of Jerome.

And for five years, Jerome is where the 1963 Walter CF model crash truck, with a broken fly wheel and numerous other decrepitudes, sat, waiting for time and the elements to bring eventual ruin. People who spied it and the other vehicles sitting on the hill above the Gold King mine were free to climb on and in it. Barring an earthquake, almost no one could imagine the truck actually moving again.

The fateful exception to this was Dr. Kirk Strawn, a Valley doctor and entrepreneur. Kirk and some friends had driven his own customized Volkswagen bus to the Jerome Jamboree, an annual event held by the Arizona Bus Club.

"We'd gone up the mountain to see some of the old relics, most of whom were just junk and would never move...and there was Walter sitting there...and we said, 'this is the biggest (bleep)ing Volkswagen bus', cause he had these huge tires, short wheel base, and he looked like a bus, basically, but on a 2-1 scale", recalls Strawn.

Kirk's vision for the vehicle didn't stop there. During his and his friends' time at the Jerome Jamboree, the group imagined not only Walter's new look, but also his next mission. "I'd just learned about Burning Man and how they have these mutant vehicles. I'd never been there, but I wanted to go. He was a fire truck, so we knew he had water tanks with him...and we got the idea that if we misted at Burning Man, maybe it would attract the naked people."

Ah sex, creator of life and ten ton mutant party vehicles.

Burning Man is a gathering of thousands of like-minded people on a dry lake bed in Nevada, held annually on the week leading up to Labor Day. During the event, participants party heartily, share and share alike (outright commerce is nearly non-existent) and learn to live with their fellow revelers. The tenets of the event are radical self-expression, radical self-reliance, communal effort and immediacy. The idea is to slough off the shackles of the outside world for a week, have fun and get along with as few rules as possible.

A fundamental part of the Burning Man experience is randomness. With no agenda, the party goes where the party goes.

Kirk eventually traded his VW camper for the crash truck, which was trailered and transported to the Valley. Over the next few years, he attracted a cadre of artists and technicians to the project and Walter as we now know him took shape. Those involved refer to themselves as members of "Tribe Walter."

In 2009, Kirk's original plan to take Walter to Burning Man was finally realized, to his own delight and that of the sweaty, dust-encrusted celebrants. Walter arrived with new water tanks hooked to an array of spray nozzles to mist the crowd below, a bamboo dance floor on his upper deck, a 15,000 watt sound system driving fifty speakers, a laser array, and over 50k led lights.

The least discerning of readers will doubtless have noticed that Walter has no real connection to the Volkswagen Company, and yet Kirk insists that Walter is truly a VW bus in every way except origin. "When the VW bus came to the U.S., what it stood for was freedom. For the first time, it was easy for people without a lot of money to be anywhere in the country they wanted...you could sleep wherever you wanted and be freaky. Walter has that same spirit."

Back in the Valley, Walter spends his down time at the Walter Dome. Located at the Ponderosa Lumber facility on Thomas Road in Scottsdale, the Walter Dome has space for Walter and a couple hundred of his closest friends, and features a zen garden, performance stage, and wet bar. Future plans may include renting the Dome out for special events, though for now it's for tribal use only.

As Walter was being transformed, so, too, was Kirk's understanding of who Walter was and what he could achieve. The creativity and enthusiasm brought to the project by the tribe of electricians, artists, mechanics, and fabricators demonstrated the power of a diverse community who shared a common goal. Although Kirk was essentially bankrolling the endeavor, he felt he wasn't the one in the driver's seat. "The inertia of creation has just not stopped since day one", he reflects, enthusiastically. "I have no idea how the ideas have come to get us where we are now... about 100 people have had some significant role in the creation of this vehicle and every single person who's been involved has directed it in some way. There's no question it's taken on a life of its own".

As James Vito Palazzolo, tribe member and spokesman puts it, "Randomness is a big generator of the energy around here, and we just focus it." Very Burning Man, man. Ken Lemoine, who is bringing his decades of down-to-Earth business prowess to the project lifts the conversation to a still higher plane when he explains, "Walter's really the one in charge. We go where Walter wants to go." Everyone agrees.

And Walter is a very ambitious fellow. In addition to his slate of appearances, which the past month alone has included the Electric Light Parade and the Fiesta Bowl Parade, Walter has directed his tribe of followers to run a machine shop, and convert another part of the Ponderosa facility into a co-op micro-brewery. Yet another endeavor, the Walter Oil Company, will involve the collection of vegetable oil and its conversion to bio-fuel.

The trajectory of the Walter project has echoed that of Burning man in that both have found the need to somewhat temper their respective exercises in randomness and collective will with some practicalities of the outside world. In the case of Burning Man, this has meant the formulation of a small bureaucracy to handle logistics and finances, as well as a growing list of rules and regulations for attendees. For Walter, who has expensive appetites, this has meant finding ways to manage liability issues and generate revenue - not exactly the warm fuzzy part of anyone's utopian pipe dream.

"We're actually developing more structure just to make sure it's sustainable. We formed Walter LLC", says Kirk. "We're following an atypical business model in that the idea is really a NOT-for-profit business. We need to generate revenue to make the things the Walter project wants to do possible. None of us want to get rich off of Walter, but we want to provide a good place to work, where people can earn a fair wage and do good things - that's the general idea."

Kirk dismisses the notion that Walter's cache as a marketable curiosity will ever wane. "I'm not ready to accept that," he says. "The novelty will wear off unless you go with the personification thing, and everybody who meets Walter refers to him as 'Walter.' He has the ability to reinvent himself and not to fall into that trap of being just an object...he is a living, breathing thing."

"That's very much been a theme of the entire project, too, taking something that seemed old and worn out and giving it a new life. Not only Walter himself, but also the Walter Dome, which was kind of in disrepair before we converted it… recycling vegetable oil for use as fuel…all of it."

As for the scope of Walter's future reinvention, there is no hedging Kirk's sense of enthusiasm and earnestness on the topic. Changing Walter's propulsion system to a virtually emissions-free hydrogen power-plant is being researched, and Tribe Walter (and Kirk Strawn) has no lack of other ideas.

"In Europe, the way they're transporting very large things these days isn't on the roads, but by using a really OLD technology - blimps."

"I fully expect Walter to fly one day."

First Friday Firsts

The first Friday of September, 2010, saw the downtown Phoenix launch of two entities which hope to become Valley staples.

The re-introduction of A-1 Beer, after a twenty-plus year absence, occurred early in the evening in a combined tasting and photo exhibit at Icehouse Gallery. Later on, The Firehouse Gallery debuted it's First Friday Night Live showcase of local comedy and music.

First Friday Night Live

The far more ambitious first of the evening, which you should catch the follow-ups to on the first Friday of every month through March, was the ensemble sketch-comedy effort First Friday Night Live. Some forgivable opening-night hiccups aside, this event was impressive both for the attendance it drew and for how close it came to the high mark it set for itself.

The idea of a semi-topical but local take on Saturday Night Live has been tried before in the Valley (Citrus Valley Playhouse most recently, and The Gits in the 80's), but FFNL is more true to spirit than the former and has more resources than the latter.

It was also able to attract a standing room only crowd for its very first outing. This must have been a major boost to the cadre of talented writers, actors and producers who are basically devoting a great amount of their spare time to making the show a success, with little hope of compensation beyond the satisfaction of practicing their craft. As one of the principle writers, Alia Souissi, puts it, they are all "doing it for love." That certainly showed on opening night.

Held on the outdoor stage at The Firehouse Gallery, FFNL has been a long-time ambition of Firehouse proprietor Micheal23, who watched the proceedings from the wings with evident delight. As was the Hate House, The Hub and the House Studios before it, the Firehouse has become a nexus for local artists, writers and craftspeople. Unlike its predecessors, though, the Firehouse is going a step further with FFNL and providing not only a haven but an outlet for the talent in its sphere.

Just like Saturday Night Live, not all of the skits worked entirely; but none failed for lack of effort, and that's where the show is to be particularly commended. All comedic bases were covered, from broad slapstick to high-concept, but the show never condescended to the audience. Nor did it put ideology above humor. The opening skit was a case in point, featuring parodies of not only Jan Brewer's hysteria, but also Obama's deadpan and the news media's heard mentality. Funny reigned, and all else took a back seat.

Where the show could have been heavy-handed in its reliance on current topics, FFNL threw plenty of timeless themes and a couple of curve-balls into the mix. One skit imaged a hot and heavy encounter between an oh-so-ready girl and the radio voice of "Smooth Jazz," with the voice pointing out that, while the girl's boyfriend needed to use his penis to satisfy her, the voice only needed his "dic(k)...tionary" to achieve the same effect. Base, true, but clever and funny.

One particularly high-concept piece involved not only illegal immigration, but also the pitfalls of inept communication to produce a punchline of immigrant domestic workers protesting against "ethnic cleaning" and carrying signs denouncing filthy white people.

Another skit, which has the earmarks of a recurring motif, was that of a girl's school teacher whose lessons about haiku invariably careened toward inappropriate sexual disclosure until ALMOST all of the class had finally walked out in disgust.

Though somewhat unpolished due to budget constraints, FFNL is not amateurish. These are not writers trying to be comedic, but comedy writers in the truest sense, trying to connect to an audience.

Each FFNL will feature a special guest personality of local note; the first one having been Peter Petrisko, who seemed to be involved in the vast majority of vignettes. October's guest is New Times writer Leslie Barton, and local windsurfer-cum-painter (or is it the other way around?) Mike Little will fill the bill in November.

Musical guests will rotate through as well, with the debut having featured Underground Cities (who did a fantastic job, btw), Travis James on tap for October and The Haymarket Squares in November.

Those who can't catch the performances in-person can still watch them live via a stream on strivedreams.com. Mark your calendars!

As writer Souissi puts it, "This is our chance to show the world that Phoenix has some intelligence."

A-1 Beer

In the the mid-Twentieth-Century United States, having a beer almost invariably meant a domestic, U.S. brew. Imports, where available, were not yet in fashion. Then as now, Budweiser, Coors, Pabst and Miller were major players among the several nationals responsible for roughly half of all U.S. beer production.

The OTHER half was produced by regional breweries, most of which would eventually be swallowed up by the majors. New York had Reingold, Cincinnati had Hudepohll, the midwest with its high concentration of German immigrants had Point and many others.

Arizona had A-1 Beer, with its pop-western custom artwork and almost industrial-looking "A-1" logo topped by the American Eagle. From shortly after its emergence in the early 1940's, the local popularity of A-1 increased until it rivaled that of any of the individual nationals. When the Phoenix Suns would score, spokesman Al McCoy would announce that it was "good like A-1 beer!"

Although it lingered for some 40 years, its real heyday was brief; and by the late 1950's changes in brewery ownership and increasingly aggressive competitive practices on the part of the better-funded nationals were dealing the label blows from which it would never fully recover. By the late 70's, the once proud lager whose label boasted it to have been "judged the finest by the world's beer experts" was by all accounts a watery vestige of its former self and was being sold at bargain prices. The brewery closed in the early 1980's and the A-1 brand became inactive.

Until now, that is. Nimbus Brewery of Tucson (they have the bottles with that chimp on the label - yeah? No?) purchased the rights to the brand and relaunched it with a new label and a new recipe. Distributed by Alliance Beverage, A-1 can already be found in bottles at Whole Foods, and Tops, and on tap at (appropriately) Yucca Tap Room, Roosevelt Bar and Time Out Lounge. According to Nimbus, other outlets will be announced in October and MAY include BevMo, Total Wine, Sprouts and Sunflower Market.

The "launch" event at Icehouse Arts and Entertainment received the desired publicity, but was curiously lackluster otherwise; giving the overall impression that it was either thrown together in haste or otherwise not taken seriously. The cavernous aspect of the outer gallery hall was not assuaged in the least by the presentation from Nimbus, as there were virtually no props or decorations, with the exception of a large banner featuring a carrousel of old A-1 cans. There was no beer for sale, and attendees had to stand in a long line to finally receive a 2oz (not kidding) sample from the lone brewery representative, who was manning the keg. A second sample meant a second period en queue.

Across the floor and against the opposite wall from the overburdened keg table, looking exactly like the crusty old cowboys they more or less are, brothers Herman and Marvin Dickson sat with a small display of reproductions of original A-1 promotional artwork. Herman had been such a fan of the original commissioned pieces, paintings by artist Lon Megargee III, that he had secured the reproduction rights, unaware that they would come in handy so soon. Brother "Big" Marv, himself a notable local who has been head cook at Pinnacle Peak Patio for the last 48 years, was apparently along for the night out.

Both men were amiable in an authentically old western way that juxtaposed humorously with the crowd of late-twenties to mid-fifties hipsters. When asked if he remembered what the old A-1 had tasted like, Herman replied, "Eh...like beer, I guess. I dunno. Beer is beer, right?" Refreshing.

Photographer William Legoullon occupied the inner art space with his "A-1 Country" photo exhibit. Consisting of straightforward shots of old A-1 cans as well as macro-shots of old beer caps and promo items, as photography it was competent. The real value was in seeing how some of the labeling had changed over time which, with the total lack of promotional collateral from the brewer, provided the only hint of context surrounding the brand re-launch.

The beer itself was certainly tasty - undoubtedly more so than its prior iteration had been. Perhaps the strategy was to leave one unsatisfied and wanting more. In this, the event was an unqualified success.

What genius!

The Natural - Natalie Vie

(excerpted in JAVA Magazine, September, 2010)

Inside the dank helmet, moist with breath and sweat, the sound of your own respiration is as audible as the sounds in the hall around you. Thus insulated, your world narrows until there is only you and your opponent and the yard-long steel blade you each possess. Final salutes given, you now adopt the traditional stance. Knees bent, lead leg to the fore, trailing arm behind with elbow bent at 90 degrees and open hand pointing casually at the ceiling, sword forward with wrist up, elbow bent close to your body, ready to strike.

Ready to kill.

The stiff steel mesh an inch in front of your eyes all but disappears as your focus zeroes through to your opponent, six feet away and just as ready to kill YOU. Not so tough. Keep your confidence or they'll know it and smell blood. Then you're dead. Take an easy breath - the last one for a while - and release it slowly. Focus now. Look at nothing in particular, the better to see everything...

"En guarde!"

An involuntary but welcome adrenaline surge doubles your heart-rate and halves your perception time. You're prepared for action and you can barely wait. The record shows that six matches out of seven, your opponent has been the first to strike - usually at the face. Always in the upper area. When they do, you'll deflect that and stab their torso with the same lunge. Should they deflect that strike, you know exactly how you'll set yourself up for the next one. What are they waiting for?

Damn. Fine! Advance. Advance. They also advance. You're within striking distance now. Your blades meet almost casually in several small, swirling feints, each of you trying to draw the other out. Watching… watching…

Their shoulder drops and you instinctively move to block the lunge that will invariably follow. Except that this time it doesn't. This time the true attack happens just as you've become off-balance and un-guarded. You FOOL! Your blade scrapes theirs and jabs ineffectually at the air while the tip of your opponent's blade, with their full weight and power behind it, slams into your mid section. Were this not a game, the contents of your spleen would now be fouling your shoes.

Ask Olympic hopeful and four-time women's collegiate fencing champion Natalie Vie why she chose a sport derived from mortal combat and her initial answer is deceptively superficial. "I was reading a book, and the main character worked on the fencing team and...that just put the idea in my head…"

What she doesn't say, although true, is that she and championship fencing were made for one another.

Natalie Julia Vie was born in Los Angeles and raised in Phoenix, the eldest of four children. She credits the family responsibilities she undertook after her parents divorced and her mom began full-time work with keeping her on the straight and narrow; but it doesn't seem to have slowed her down much. A confirmed polymath, she can alternately and credibly describe herself as a writer, sculptor, fencer and coach. Active in sports from first grade on, Natalie competed in three prior to college: Swimming, track and...cheerleading.

"I was really into competitive cheerleading my whole life growing up and I know that sounds dorky, but I loved performing and challenging myself and the physicality of it." Fun as it was, though, Natalie was increasingly drawn to the more individual sports in which she was also involved. "I'd done cheer since first grade and it's just part of my personality that I stuck with it… but it ended up not being as fun for me as the swim team or the track team… the individual sports."

All sports went on the back-burner during her senior year in high school, when Natalie focused on academics and her role as editor of the school newspaper. It was also when she read Catcher In The Rye and, even though its depiction in the novel is decidedly lackluster, became curious to know more about fencing. She looked up local fencing clubs and, along with a friend, checked one out.

"My friends thought it was hilarious! 'Fencing? Who's ever heard of fencing?!' but at the same time they were super curious." Still, Natalie doesn't think they were too surprised. "I don't think they expected anything less from me because they knew I kind of go with my passions, and if I get an idea I just go after it."

Fencing was the right thing at the right time for Natalie. "Graduating high school left a huge void, especially in time, before college started." She also found that it satisfied her in ways that her previous activities hadn't. "It involved a mental aspect that I'd never found in the other sports I'd done, with the physicality and the fact that it was an individual rather than a team sport...so it was the perfect combination for me."

Of the three weapons used in Olympic competition, Natalie competes with the eppe' - the heaviest and most rigid, and the one whose rules allow the most freedom of form.

Though she began fencing at a relatively late age for a future champ, Natalie realized she'd actually been in training for years. "The competitive cheer I did outside of school was closely tied to a gymnastics program...and through that I really learned about rhythm and dancing and mastering my own body in terms of coordination - all the physical things that fencing requires. So it's almost as if I'd been leading up to this my whole life. When I came to fencing, it just felt natural."

Another natural thing may help explain Natalie's success. One of her great uncles, Julio de Caro, is considered by many to have been a prime progenitor of modern Tango; and for Natalie, who enjoys Latin dance herself, the footwork which carries her comparatively slight frame into battle exhibits an apparently effortless facility. An example of this can be seen on YouTube.com, in a video of highlights from Natalie's title-winning Duel in the Desert bout this past January in Las Vegas. Her opponent, also a world-class fencer, always searches out a solid footing. Natalie, in contrast, seems to be continuously moving to an inner rhythm; pivoting her hips as she shifts her weight back and forth. Her steps are more frequent, more evenly measured and more fluid. The more intense the action, the more Natalie seems to be dancing.

According to Natalie, a fencer's style is as unique as her finger print. "Even if I didn't know who was out there, I could tell who they were as soon as they started fencing." This is why several seasons ago she began taking notes on every fencer she might be matched against. She noted their strengths and vulnerabilities, patterns of behavior, and individual peculiarities. Natalie knows she can only take this so far, though. "Obviously, you try to avoid their strengths and exploit their weaknesses. But you can't rely on it," she says, "because as soon as you do, then they do something totally unpredictable and you're not ready for it. More than that, the whole process of taking the notes helps me keep my focus the entire time while I'm waiting for a bout."

In the few short years since she began fencing, included four years on ASU's Salle Diablo Fencing Club, Natalie has earned bachelors degrees in both Political Science and Sculpture (graduating magna cum laude), and competed in fencing championships in five different countries, some multiple times.

Despite her relatively brief time at the sport, she has racked up an enviable ratio of wins, including four U.S. championship titles. In fact, her win/loss ratio suggests she would be evenly matched in the highest echelon of women fencers in the U.S., the top four of which will automatically earn a spot on the 2012 U.S. Olympic team.

If only it was that easy. Due to the way fencing rankings are calculated, (cumulatively and with the lowest three scores discarded) a dominant fencer's ranking will generally improve the more bouts they are able to compete in. In countries which sponsor their athletes, this isn't a problem, and rankings are likely to have a direct correlation to raw talent. U.S. fencers, on the other hand, must pay their own way to every event. Here, talent is necessary for a high ranking, but not sufficient. A fencer also needs funds.

Natalie has a job coaching up-and-coming athletes at Phoenix Falcons fencing club, which is one of the few employers able to understand and work with her unique scheduling requirements. Up until final Olympians are selected in April of 2012, she will have the opportunity to travel to as many as twelve competition per year worldwide. That's a lot of time off, and a lot of airfare, lodging and fees to pay for.

And of course Natalie's not alone. The roster of U.S. fencers tends to be younger than their international counterparts - a competitive disadvantage in a sport where experience is an asset - due to the fact that there is no living to be made from it. Also, unlike many other countries, the U.S. does not subsidize their Olympic athletes. "We have an incredibly young team...once you leave college there's no support system. It's sad, but that's the truth."

That's not to say that U.S. fencers aren't competitive, all things being equal. Far from it. In fact, in the last two olympics, of the six medalists in the sabre category, FIVE were Americans. What leveled the playing field somewhat for sabre was that it was a new olympic adoption, and so all of the competitors were new to the sport on the Olympic level. The oldest forms of Olympic fencing, which use either the epee' of foil, however, are still dominated by Europeans.

French fencers are rock stars in their home country, where champs can be certain not only of sponsorship, but also career-spanning endorsement deals, paid guest spots and the like. In many ways the sport perpetuates itself through personality in Europe much the way that U.S. basketball does here, where the public is always looking to the next Larry Bird, Michael Jordan, LeBron James, etc.

"If you think of any popular sport, one of the biggest factors is the individual athletes and whether you care about their story or not," Natalie reflects, "and so I think if we start to put our athletes forward that will only be good for U.S. fencing."

There is a long way to go before the sport gets mainstream recognition here (and pro soccer looms as a prescient example of the difficulty of an internationally adored sport to usurp any of the attention we give to the big 5 of baseball, basketball, football, golf and NASCAR); but if anyone can turn some heads to it, it's probably Natalie Vie. She has not only the captivating mix of sex appeal, athleticism and ambition necessary to gain attention, but also the intellect and grounding to maintain it.

Would SHE like to become the popular figurehead of U.S. fencing? "I have a lot of support here in Phoenix and a lot excitement from people at my club and I love it when some of the kids at the club look up to me, but... the most important thing to me is that I get my tournaments paid for. I'm not looking to get famous - I want to be an international player and get as good as I can get."

Tempe Town Lake Mishap July, 2010

I'd never taken many pictures of Tempe Town Lake, because I knew other people would shoot it just fine. The only ones I had taken were to show the light rail line when it was new...

...or the Tempe Center for the Performing arts when IT was new...

...and it was sort of a backdrop for that photo-play I did last year with my friend, Ana; but not the most prominent feature in that one, either:

I remember as far back as high school in the '80's, reading in the New Times about plans to make the dry bed of the Salt River into a lake, with a sort of boardwalk area, water sports like rowing and fishing available, as well as shopping and dining. The idea always seemed too progressive for the voters, though, who kept shooting down bond proposals, one after the other. A funding method was finally approved in 1989, though, and the lake filled in July of 1999. Gradually, the area around Tempe Town Lake has become the focal point for city fetes such as fairs and holiday celebrations. A family can have a nice evening there for free, and it's a clean, casual, safe place in the city for just chilling out alone or with friends. There are boat and bicycle concessions along the shore, and the lake is stocked with fish.

Historically, the Salt River (or Rio Salado) had been a normally dry river bed that cut a broad swath through the south central portion of the valley and provided a natural boundary between Phoenix and Scottsdale on the north shore and Tempe and Mesa on the south. The only time it ever had water in it was on the infrequent occasions when water shed from snow and rain in north central Arizona would overwhelm the reservoirs further upstream. At those times, not only would the Salt have water, but it would often flood. Most bridges would wash out, save always the 1937 structure carrying Mill Avenue traffic, and its 1912 railroad counterpart, just a few hundred yards to its west.

With the exception of flooded periods, car traffic on the Mill Avenue bridge was north-bound only, and south-bound traffic actually took two paved lanes down into the river bottom and back up the other side. If unobserved, semi-athletic people could climb up under the bridge from the middle of the river bed and spend unmolested time in the archways just below the road surface. I did this on more than one occasion and became familiar with the clack-clack-clacking of the boards on the underside of the roadway as cars passed overhead. (I assume the boards must have formed the roadway floor during the bridge's construction phase and had since been loosened by decades of traffic and seismic vibration.)

Prior to the existence of the lake, walking out and dangling off of the train bridge was actually potentially lethal, because a careless move could easily result in a 25ft fall onto jagged rocks. In current times, the potential 9ft fall into a 16ft lake could almost be taken as sport. Even if you didn't know how to swim, you were probably out with a friend who did and could rescue you.

The state of affairs took a temporary but swift turn back toward the pre-lake days on July 20th, 2010, when the western dam of the lake failed, and most of the lake's approximately 1billion gallons of water made an abrupt exit downstream.

I was alerted by a friend on FaceBook that SOMETHING had happened, and I scooped up my camera bag and tripod and went to see what I could see. The path from where I could park a car, to my eventual perch about 100yrds downstream of the actual rupture was sufficiently strenuous and circuitous as to cause me to be slightly muddied and bloodied by the time I was finally able to get a shot. Although there was no signage saying I COULDN'T be in the area, the police were quickly erecting barricades all around, and policing (!) the area with both a patrol car driving along the river's northern pedestrian footpath, and helicopter. I was counting on eventually being kicked out, but wanted to delay that event as long as possible. Luckily for me, a portion of land adjoining the river bank has a fenced off area of construction, with a crane on it. I climbed the fence into this area and was able to wait unnoticed until the coast was briefly clear and then slide down the riverbank.

By then, an hour had passed since the initial flood and, although the bank was saturated to about the 6ft level, I was easily able to find a stable place to set up the camera. The current was lazy at this point, and didn't seem to be more than 2ft deep.

I could get a fair idea of what had happened with my naked eye; but it wasn't until I set the E-P1 to a long exposure that I could actually see any details.

The picture above, taken from the downstream river bank, shows the failed center section of the lake's western levee. More than an hour after the initial breach had sent the contents of the lake careening down the normally dry riverbed, water was still gushing through the opening with visible force.

The picture below is grainier, but I upped the iso to 6400 and was better able to capture the splashing water.

By the next evening, the dwindling pools were teaming with the remaining fish, all huddling together trying not to be noticed by the increasingly corpulent herons.

To anyone who grew up here, the dry(ish) river bed doesn't look so foreign or jarring.

Unfortunately the remaining fish won't be saved alive. Instead, there's a report today that they'll be saved freshly dead, and given to a local man who owns an alligator named "Tuesday." I can't make this stuff up.

The plan is to have all of the rubber bladders which comprise the western levee replaced, and for the lake to be full and operational (as it were) by November, 2010. Ironically, the refurbishment of the western levee had been scheduled to begin on July 21 - the day AFTER the big spill. The plan was for a temporary structure to be put in place during the work, which would then not require the lake to have been drained. Closed-circuit tv footage of the instant the dam burst showed a spontaneous rupture at the seem of one of the bladders; meaning no foul-play is suspected. It is sheer good luck that it didn't rupture a day later than it did. Had that happened, lives definitely could have been lost.

Although I've seen homeless people sleep basically right below the dam in the past, the authorities report having found no inadvertent victims.

Heidi Abrahamson

For JAVA Magazine, July-August, 2010

A scene in the middle of the film The Lion In Winter depicts captive 12th century English Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine at her dressing table, surrounded by the various and sundry baubles befitting a female monarch of the Middle Ages. She chooses a ring with which to bribe her guard. Like the stones which built the surrounding castle, her jewelry seems roughly-hewn and elemental - ostentatious for its boldness rather than the intricacy of its detail. Size certainly mattered, with large jewels held fast by large metal bands. She was, after all, Queen.

Flash forward to the 20^th century and "modern" design. The very term (and its derivatives) has different connotations, depending on the specific field of endeavor, be it architecture, painting, jewelry, etc., but can probably best be defined in terms of what it is not. It is expressly not anything that preceded it. Not Victorian, not Baroque, not able to be defined on any terms but its own. By equal measure both carefree and highly self-conscious, "modernist" jewelry could have extremes of form with zero function, or it could have extremes of function and minimal form. It can make ones head spin to try and nail down the term, which is largely the point.

Seemingly at the union of these two design worlds has emerged the jewelry of local artist Heidi Abrahamson, who conjures her wares, item by item, in a small studio within the former warehouse space in which also resides Phoenix Metro Retro, a showcase of mid-century modern furniture on Hazelwood, just west of Seventh Avenue in Phoenix.

Heidi's parents immigrated from Germany in the 1950's, looking to restart their life in the States where, out from under the cloud of Nazi defeat and ruin, all things still seemed possible. Settling in Indiana, the couple took stable jobs and started their family.

Family lore has it that that the course of their lives changed one day when Heidi's mother made an impetuous purchase. "She'd seen this interesting vase at the Salvation Army shop and just had to have it. My father thought it was really kind of silly to spend so much money on a second-hand vase, when money was so tight for us, but mom really thought the vase was special." It turns out Heidi's mother had an excellent eye. The vase was an Amphora, designed by a popular designer of the avant guard. Before long, a buyer for the vase had been found and the family had made a tidy profit.

Thus began a decades-long immersion into the world of resale which over the years would grow from a hobby to a way of life. Long before eBay made the practice all but obsolete, Heidi's family would scour estate sales, auctions and the like, for objects whose value was underestimated by sellers who didn't really know what they had. They would then bring those finds to gathering places throughout the midwest, and resell them to people who valued them more greatly. "They don't do it like that these days, but my mother used to put up curtains and really decorate the selling space at these shows we were selling at. It was really pretty cool," recalls Heidi.

Although the family was living in a large Victorian-era house in Columbus, Indiana, Heidi's parents were gung-ho for modernism. "My parents used to drive the us through town and point out all the cool buildings with modern design influences. Especially being from Germany, they'd get really excited when they'd find something like a Bauhaus influence or something," she says.

Unlike the average child, Heidi soaked it all up; both the elements of style, which were such a departure from her Victorian surroundings at home, and even the names of architects and designers her parents enthusiastically imparted to her. "We'd drive into Chicago and they'd say, 'look - there's a Frank Lloyd Wright' or 'there's a Mied van der Rohe!'"

It was in high school that Heidi became drawn to the possibilities of silver as a medium for jewelry and art. She was particularly attracted to works of such contemporary silversmiths as N.E. From, Georg Jensen, Andreas Mikkelson, Esther Lewittes, Ed Levin.

Heidi studied fine arts and interior design at Indiana University and eventually moved to Seattle, Washington, where she began a career in visual merchandising. She planned and executed in-store decorations for some of the elite retailers in the city, including I. Magnin, Burberry's and the Bon Marche'.

It was in Seattle that Heidi met and married Douglas Abrahamson, who shared her eclectic tastes. After briefly returning to Indiana, Heidi and Doug moved their young family to Phoenix in the summer of 1995.

During her time in the Valley, Heidi began to pursue outside interests, such as desert landscaping (she has a degree in it from Desert Botanical Gardens) and beaded jewelry. Following a desire to have more creative possibilities than she felt were allowed her by stringing beads, Heidi eventually re-acquainted herself with silver. Although she still describes herself as "primarily self-taught," she has taken courses in casting, smithing and stone-setting.

What "self-taught" usually means is lots of experimentation, and Heidi's body of work reflects that. While certain themes recur (the juxtaposition of circles with spheres, for example), overall there is an unbridled crossing of genres and styles.

One stylistic trait evident in many of her rings is that of semi-precious stones encased in broad bands of silver, where the sides of the band actually extend beyond the apex of the stone. Tending toward a muted color palate, many of Heidi's pieces feature stones of dull amber (such as yellow quartz) side by side with stones of complimentary red and/or blue hues.

Pearls are a favorite feature, says Heidi, because of the possibilities for quirky or ironic mountings. One pendant features a shallow dish of silver, with a pearl placed off-center inside the dish. A silver and gold ring features a perfectly flat top, upon which is mounted several pearls in tight alignment. One silver ring features a pool of dark onyx atop which a white pearl seams to float.

There is both motion and tension in Heidi's designs.

Another successful and eye-catching theme is that of large quartz crystals placed within, instead of atop, vertical straps of silver. Some of these rings must be placed on the finger of the wearer horizontally until past the wearer's knuckle.

Tall and with the fair complexion and flaxen hair characteristic of her German lineage, Heidi Abrahamson has a broad, unguarded smile, and an infectious laugh. Though clearly serious about her work and her art, she also displays a healthy sense of humor. When asked if any of her design concepts have ever proved plain unwearable, she spontaneously guffaws, "Oh GOD yes!"

To say that Heidi is still learning her craft would be accurate but misleading. Each finished piece is a cohesive work which

achieves the goals Heidi had for it; but as her technical skills grow, so too do her expectations of herself and her work.

Last September, Heidi was invited to attend the "Ormania" trade show, an annual "selling exhibition" held in Paris, France. Heidi was surprised and honored at her inclusion in the exhibition, which seeks out the best of unique jewelry making the world over. "I didn't apply or lobby for it," she explains. "It was members of a silver forum I belong to who put my name forward."

Heidi is visibly moved when she reflects on the recognition she's received from peers and others with influence in the jewelry world. Her creations have already been displayed as jewelry as well as art at venues such as the Herberger Theater, Red Door Gallery, SMoCA and the Phoenix Modern Expo '09.

Although popular among those in the know, Heidi Abrahmson is still approachable - probably even more so if you happen to catch her at Bikini Lounge, one of her and Doug's favorite hangouts. Her "brand" is also not yet so big that she wouldn't consider commission work, and has designed custom wedding bands for clients in the past.

You can visit Heidi in her studio at Phoenix Metro Retro (which she and her husband own) at 708 West Hazlewood in Phoenix. They're open Wednesday to Sunday, 11am to 6pm. Her website is www.heidiabrahamson.com.