Last Thursday, local artists and art lovers gathered at Rare Device in Duboce Triangle to celebrate the publication of The Exquisite Book: 100 Artists Play a Collaborative Game (Chronicle Books). In it—as its name implies—a hundred artists play the legendary Exquisite Corpse game, in which they each make a picture in sequence, based only on the prior artist's rendering. Kind of like a cross between Telephone and Pictionary for pros, though the game was actually invented by the Surrealists, that cheerful French lot who valued pure expression above reason, morals and even aesthetics. The resulting book shows—in satisfyingly thick, fold-out pages—the results of this collective stream of consciousness.
During the fog-entrenched days of July and August, I kind of—to my own surprise as a diehard adopted San Franciscan—fell in love with L.A. (I know, right?!) Its funky neighborhoods, its huge sprawling diversity, even its smog-tinged sky framing those impossibly tall, thin palm trees all beckoned me southward more weekend than one.
The must-do itinerary for a weekend in the inimitable coastal enclave.
You won’t be in Big Sur long before someone mentions the fire of 2008. The Santa Lucia Mountains, rising straight up from the ocean, are as magnificent as ever, emerald-green swaths of new growth the only reminders of the flames that ravaged 130,000 acres and evacuated the town for two weeks in July of that year. But the close call has made this nearly mythical outpost—where artists, hippies, healers and now luxury seekers unite—feel all the more precious.
I live in Potrero, where Jocelyn Buelow reigns and tacos are hard to find. So the entire neighborhood's been abuzz about Papito, Buelow's little "organic Mexican bistro" on Connecticut, just around the corner from his Chez Maman and Chez Papa on 18th. Its cute windowfront and cheery signage appeared way back in spring, but it remained closed due to permit issues until a few weeks ago and, true to form, last night there were people waiting to sit down at one of only two dozen seats.
Matthew Zapruder, 43
Poet and 2011 Guggenheim fellow
Photographed by Robyn Twomey in Chinatown
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