Golden Gate Park

Tree Portraits, Golden Gate Park

Love trees? Love parks? Love Golden Gate Park? Love fresh interpretations of all of the above? Then I think you’ll enjoy “Tree Portraits, Golden Gate Park,” an exhibit of pastels by Heath Massey, currently on show (through April) at the San Francisco Botanical Garden. Thanks to Heath for the show, and for this blog share! More info is also available on the website of the SFBG: https://www.sfbg.org/art-exhibit

golden gate park: views from the thicket

IMG_0005 postcard “Windswept at the Beach” pastel by Heath Massey

Please stop by the Helen Crocker Russell Library of Horticulture at the San Francisco Botanical Garden to see the current exhibit of pastel portraits that I have painted over the past few years of various trees throughout Golden Gate Park.  The show will be on view through April 29.  Library Hours:  10 am – 4 pm (closed Tues. and most holidays).

My aim in these portraits is to capture the distinctive charm, beauty and character of individual trees, as well as to convey a range of landscapes in the park.  The trees are identified by both common and botanical name and the location of each pastel is shown on a map of the park.  So you can “tour” the entire park from the dry, warm interior of this charming library.  Let it rain!

This is also an excellent time to visit…

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Fog Walk: A True Story

As I entered Golden Gate Park, it appeared that the first fog of autumn would be short-lived. It was already dissolving in wonderfully filtered sunlight when I reached a favorite stand of trees on the outskirts of the ballfields.

But by the time I reached the Music Concourse, twenty minutes later, the fog was as heavy as ever, even laced with sprinkles. Goethe and Schiller huddled, thrown off kilter, wondering if this was perhaps a fake news event.

The Roman Gladiator, always a man of action, was determined to resist. There was a vaguely quixotic feel to his battle with the elements.

On the other hand, Francis Scott Key sat back in contemplative resignation. Or maybe he was just preocuupied with thoughts of his most famous poem and what had become of it in recent days. Below him, fog or no fog, the blackbirds made their daily rounds.