The lines of my drawings have meaning. Every line I make has a story behind it. Those stories come from the past three decades of my life and my current and ongoing adventures. Those stories are a tapestry of people, things, places, and memories. One of these stories is from my first day at the Academy of Art College (now the Academy of Art University) in San Francisco in 1986.
Like any new student, I felt excitement and trepidation as I stepped through the doors of 540 Powell Street. It was the start of an all-new adventure for me, and I was slowly adapting to a new school environment and the wonders of San Francisco. A year before, I had been in Los Angeles, attending Otis-Parsons. Sadly, my stay in LA was brief, barely a semester. After I left Los Angeles, I found myself at a crossroads. One day, I talked with my old pal Kevin, with whom I’d gone to high school. He was already in San Francisco attending the Academy, and when I told him about my experience in LA, he looked me in the eye and said, “Apply to the Academy. If Otis-Parsons accepted you, the Academy would take you, no problem.” I will be forever grateful to Kevin for his advice. The time I spent in San Francisco had an indelible impact on my work and my general outlook on life.
Thirty-five years later, most of my memories of that first day at the Academy are a bit of a blur, but I will never forget what I witnessed after my first day of classes that September day. As I stepped out into the cool afternoon breeze, I encountered a chaotic scene of people, police cars, fire engines, and an ambulance. It looked like a scene from a movie, but it was all too real. I had no idea what was happening, but I knew it all centered around the Hyatt on Union Square (now The Grand Hyatt), located next to The Academy. I slowly descended the hill towards Sutter Street, trying to interpret the situation. I remember asking a random person, “What happened?”
“Someone jumped from the top floor!” they answered.
The Hyatt on Union Square is a 36-story hotel. I was stunned by what they said and even more impacted when I saw a lifeless body smashed into the roof of someone’s car parked o the street. It was one of the grimmest sights I’ve ever seen. Even now, I still vividly remember seeing that poor man’s body. Mental health issues are no fucking joke. I wouldn’t wish them on my worst enemy.
Life in a city like San Francisco is a mix of wonder and horror. Its beauty and culture lie parallel to a world of desperation and sadness. This is true worldwide, wherever humanity gathers en masse to strive and create together. As an artist, all these experiences make their way into my work subtly.
It’s these types of experiences that give an artist’s worldview and work depth and gravitas. When you study in a significant cosmopolitan area like San Francisco, your education happens just as much outside the classroom as it does inside the classroom. The time I spent in late-eighties San Francisco is a period that has marked me forever. Thankfully, most of my stories and memories are less grim than this one. Living in San Francisco during that era was a singular experience, and I have many more stories from that period of my life that I will share in future blog posts.
Indeed, you can never go home again. Today’s overly gentrified San Francisco is a far cry from the San Francisco I knew. The vibes and flavors I experienced in those halcyon days are mostly gone. There are still patches strewn throughout the City, but it doesn’t come close to what I saw as an art student at the Academy of Art College. San Francisco’s golden age that people talk about and wish for is when my friends and I were running around the City, living our best college lives. San Francisco’s vast cultural landscape engulfed us, expanded our worldviews, and changed us forever. For that, I am forever grateful.
Photo used in this post:
This space is where it all happens. Day after day, this room, my petit atelier, is where my plans, projects, and future are pondered and put to paper. This space is vital to me. I snapped this shot last night after finishing my afternoon’s work. My setup hasn’t changed in decades. I have everything I need here – all my tools, supplies, and books. It’s home.
