Author: punchwpadmin

Words by Johanna Harlow

Look—now look again. The art of unseeing the supposed-to’s is imperative for artists… and something plein air painter Ellen Howard knows well. “I think as an artist, one of the biggest things to learn is how to correctly see,” says the San Mateo artist, who dedicates herself to capturing ever-changing landscapes as they unfold in real time.

Unlearn those “lollipop trees,” she advises, “Really quiet your mind down to actually see the exact shape of the tree, the exact outline. Nature is pretty irregular in a lot of ways. And that’s the beauty of it. You don’t always want something that’s symmetrical and perfectly done.” It’s a value reflected on her website: “I favor the irregularity of nature,” Ellen writes, “ragged rocks, knotty tree trunks, peeling bark and muddy waters of the marshlands.”

Ellen’s passion for painting “plein air” (French for “in the open air”) draws her to idyllic stretches of sand along Pescadero, shady sections of aspens in the Sierra and flurries of flowers at the Half Moon Bay Nursery—though today she’s ensconced in her cozy Art Bias studio in San Carlos surrounded by the painted memories of past excursions. “Usually, I go out to the field to get a composition and study the colors.” Ellen twirls her brush as she eyes her latest scene on the easel. “Then I come back to the studio and, if I like what I’ve done, I see if I want to size it up or change something from my photos.” Under her touch, a palatte awash with inky ocean blue, cerulean and sea surf white is becoming a Carmel coastline.

That artistic eye runs in the family. Ellen’s mom dabbled in watercolors. Her grandfather was a cartoonist. “He got offered a job at Walt Disney, but he ended up working for the airlines,” she says. Even so, he found ways to channel his inner creative. Ellen recalls marveling at his illustrations of people from around the world in traditional garb, sketches he made while traveling as a steward. He also did advertising. “He would draw a big jumbo airplane with a man sitting on top of it with a TWA hat,” she describes.

When Ellen joined the workforce, she didn’t start as a full-time artist either. Actually, her first career was in finance. But when her kids were older, she became the gallery coordinator at Notre Dame de Namur University in Belmont. After that, she moved to the role of assistant curator at the Peninsula Art Museum. “So I kind of always had my hands in art, but I wasn’t exactly doing it myself, you know?” she shares, smoothing her black apron, speckled with paint.

That changed after she joined her friend for a painting class in 2007. Enchanted by the artform, she signed up for more. After a while, she began applying to shows. And receiving acceptances. And winning awards. Soon, Ellen’s work was getting featured in Plein Air Magazine and Fine Art Connoisseur. Today, her landscape paintings can be bought at the Holton Studio Gallery in Berkeley and Rieser Fine Art in Carmel. For the past five years, she’s also been included in the California Art Club’s Annual Gold Medal Exhibition (an organization she has recently joined as Vice President of Programming as well as co-chair for the SF chapter). “I wouldn’t have foreseen from my first art class that I would be in galleries and teaching and doing workshops,” Ellen smiles.

In addition to providing in-studio instruction (with offerings at Burlingame’s Art Attack! and an upcoming still life class at the new Burlingame Community Center), Ellen regularly invites students to join her in the field. Locations range from Filoli to Carmel to the Mendocino Coast. “I think art is very uplifting and it gets you out of your own way. It’s very meditative and I like sharing that,” she notes. “It’s also gratifying to see a student get a concept and progress in their skill level.”

Even now, Ellen continues to curate. She finds that two essentials of a strong show are finding a good theme and including a range of styles. “I’m thinking about artists that would have a different twist,” she explains. “You don’t want your exhibition to be the same. So an oil painter, a pastelist, a watercolorist. Architecture, figurative, landscape. I want a blend.” For a Pleasanton exhibition that’s currently underway, all works revolve around differing interpretations of life’s transitions—from the time of day to the shifting of the seasons to the stages of life.

Ellen’s own style has shifted recently. She describes one of her latest pieces, Vibrant Hues, as more impressionistic. “It was a marshland scene, but the trees were kind of blues and purples and it was more orangey and pink with the sunset. I kind of pushed the color a little bit more. So I’m trying to think of more innovative ways to represent nature.”

As for favorite environments? Ellen finds herself drawn time and time again to marshlands and ocean coasts. “I love painting with my shoes off and my feet in the sand,” she reflects, adding that she enjoys capturing “the energy of the waves.” Like her paintings Restless Waters and Winter Surge, which both capture a wave as it breaks on the rocks in a spectacular spray of sea foam.

And then, of course, there’s the light. “Seeing the light move across the land,” she describes on her website, “cascading off a mountain range, streaming through the leaves, dancing on the top of the waves and creating a beautiful ray of warmth in the sky and clouds is pure serenity.”

Capturing a moment in time isn’t easy, Ellen notes. Clouds shift. Shadows move. “You can be overwhelmed by the amount of information in the scene,” she points out. “You need to pick and choose the elements that will create a cohesive painting.” It’s also important not to chase the light, to keep your values consistent. “I like to take a photo of the scene, especially if I am painting clouds and they are moving quickly across the sky. Sticking to your original plan when you paint is important.”

It’s well worth the challenge, Ellen assures. “There’s just something about being outside, being in the fresh air,” she muses. “A photo is great to work with as a reference in your studio, but it makes a huge difference to actually go out and see what you’re looking at. The colors are truer when you’re out there in person. You can see the shadow colors better—how the light’s hitting an object.”

There are also fun interactions with the passersby her art attracts. “There’s so many times when I’m painting and I look down and there’s a seal watching me,” Ellen laughs. Nothing like an audience of otters and seagulls routinely checking in on your progress to keep you accountable.

Words by Johanna Harlow

From the outside, PlaceMakers might pass as your run-of-the-mill San Carlos warehouse—albeit a welcoming one with a cheery coat of barn-red paint. But step inside and the first thing you’ll notice are the vintage chandeliers. Victorian brass with glass bells. Wrought iron wagon wheels with candles. Dangly tiers of teardrops. Crystal beaded domes. They collectively shimmer below the corrugated metal roof in all their stately grandeur like grand ladies at court.

When you manage to pry your eyes from the ceiling, you’ll find an entire treasure trove of salvaged building materials and artifacts (many of them antique) filling the space. Clawfoot bathtubs and stained glass windows. Boxes of keys and boxes of doorknobs. A turn-of-the-20th-century wrought iron Juliet balcony. A Victorian roll-top secretary desk. Enough doors to inspire a symphony of knocking. Together, these reclaimed relics rival the collections of many a history museum.

The visionary and mastermind here is Palo Alto native James Dawes. Founding PlaceMakers in 1995, James began offering a full range of general contracting services, spanning demolition to ground-up development. Inspired by the one-of-a-kind items he found on sites, James also decided to start selling salvaged materials and artifacts. Like hulking mahogany column pillars from a bank demolition. “I never know what I’m gonna find,” James chuckles. “It’s an adventure.”

Greatly influenced by his environmental studies at UC Santa Cruz, James was impacted by assigned reading like Martin Pawley’s Building for Tomorrow: Putting Waste to Work. He dedicated his thesis to building a house out of repurposed materials in Jamaica. “Everything is super expensive there because they have to import it,” James explains. “Everything comes in on the boat. So for people to build anything there, it’s really challenging.”

The PlaceMakers name actually maps back to his college years. “There was a lot of talk even then about not just making buildings, but making places, and the idea that place kind of incorporated stories,” he says. In other words, it’s never just a window or a door. It’s the feelings you attach to them. “Things are new for a day. And after that, the story starts,” he observes.

Over the years, James’ salvaging skills have elevated to an artform. When out in the field, his experienced eye seeks out specific qualities. “There’s the artistry and the craft with which it’s made,” James muses as he walks past retro sinks and wall sconces, ship lanterns and portholes, vintage coat hooks and numerous other artifacts weighty with the significance of their past lives. “Did the maker know what they were doing?” he asks himself. “Is it well done?”

He also looks for items with “energy” to them. “Like a piece of old-growth lumber that took a hundred years to grow, rather than the stuff at Home Depot,” he clarifies. “There’s actual, real energy there. That took a long time!” Just outside his showroom, James stores a fort’s worth of reclaimed lumber. Piled on towering racks, these include beams from an old copper mine, redwood from the historic Tunnel 13 railroad structure at the Oregon-California border and (rumor has it) timber from ballistic missile silos. “All that redwood that was once a beautiful forest is still out there but it’s got paint on it,” he notes. “It’s in walls. It’s bridges. You just have to know how to look for it. It’s there.”

“History is part of it too,” James adds of his search criteria. He motions to a door from the Hayes Mansion, the residence of the family that founded the San Jose Mercury News. He’s also salvaged finds from glamorous historical landmarks like San Francisco’s Le Petit Trianon and Hillsborough’s Carolands Chateau—as well as spookier spots like Santa Clara’s Agnews Development Center (formerly known as “The Great Asylum for the Insane”). One of his prized possessions (not for sale) is a hulking wraparound desk built from the cedar of a pipe organ’s swell box.

Unrivaled is James’ fondness for tile. Extracting them takes the right tools, a lot of coaxing and plenty of patience. “It’s very tempting to just try and pry or chisel them off,” he notes. “Anybody can take a light fixture off the wall or take a door off. But to get tile out is tricky.” In fact, he credits the material as playing a hand in his career path. After trying to sell vintage tile to a salvage yard from an early demolition job—and being offered a paltry 75 cents per piece—James decided to hold on to them. “That wouldn’t have even paid my gas and bridge toll to take them over,” he recalls. Later, at a tile lecture, the presenter informed him that his find was actually worth $20 to $40 a tile.

James is always on the lookout for ceramic gold by “the Greats” of the Arts and Crafts era. “Beginning in England in the late 19th century, there was a revival of hand-craftsmanship in direct contrast to what was considered ‘soulless’ machine-generated productions that were a product of The Industrial Revolution,” he writes on the PlaceMakers blog. Later, California tile makers followed suit. “We had a couple of top-notch tile manufacturers in the Bay Area, S&S being one,” remarks James as he picks up a yellow and turquoise tile and flips it over to reveal the S&S logo. “I actually bought this at a garage sale.”

He’s also a huge Pedro Joseph de Lemos fan. De Lemos not only handcrafted tile and designed the facades of many local buildings (including the Allied Arts Guild in Menlo Park), he also served as museum and art gallery director at Stanford University for nearly 30 years. What’s more, his Palo Alto home incorporated reclaimed materials from the college campus after the earthquake. “It’s an amazing story of salvaged materials,” James notes.

As he wraps up his walk-through of PlaceMakers’ carefully curated collection, James pauses in the shadow of a hulking 10-foot mahogany door from an 1800s mansion and brushes his hand across the wood. “The most incredible thing is, it never got painted in 140 years,” he marvels of this untarnished treasure. “People painted everything. I mean, at some point in a hundred years, somebody’s usually going to paint it white. But it made it.”

Words by Jennifer Jory

With experience in welding steel, sculpting, oil painting and drawing, designer Dawn Mitchell’s creative bent came full circle when she married her Aragon High School sweetheart, builder and craftsman Will Mitchell. Together, they make up a one-stop design-build team in San Mateo. As the Peninsula’s own home renovation couple, the Mitchells seem straight out of central casting; however, unlike trendy TV celebrity remodelers, they have been solving real problems for sophisticated local clients for decades.

When Dawn and Will sit down for dinner, the conversation often shifts into a brainstorming session about space planning or lighting ideas. They possess a tool kit of creative talents and ease of communication unique to married people in business. “She calls me several times a day,” says Will, without a hint of exasperation. “She can always get a hold of me. The first 50 jobs, she proposed a color palette that I would question. Now I just listen. Her choice always works.”

Born and raised in San Mateo, Will honed his carpentry skills while attending college. Meanwhile, Dawn pursued a fine arts degree at UCLA. As Will started to grow his business, WMM Construction, Inc. he began to lean on Dawn’s expertise. Soon, she launched Dawn Leslie Interiors. “I had so much creative energy! I had to put it somewhere,” Dawn recounts. “I was painting everything I could get my hands on and sewing draperies for clients.”

After their first of four daughters was born, Dawn began drawing plans for Will’s projects. “When we started working together, she introduced woven metal cabinet doors,” Will recalls. “The types of metal and applied mixed mediums she used in interior spaces were so unique.”

As Will and Dawn partnered to transform homes on the Peninsula for their clients, their household of four young girls in San Mateo’s Highlands neighborhood evolved quickly as well. Creative juices constantly flowed, and the kitchen table was full of sewing and crafts, in addition to school volunteer projects. “Everything was over the top,’’ remarks Will. “We built floats for Highlands community parades with butterflies waving 14-foot moveable wings.” They also constructed stage sets for San Mateo schools and 8’ x 10’ birdhouses draped with tenting for school fundraisers. All the while, Dawn sewed costumes for Borel Middle School and Aragon plays late into the night.

In their spare time, the Mitchells volunteer their professional skills, with Dawn designing rooms for the SolMateo Kitchen Tour and Will giving local churches a hand on mission trips. They recently enjoyed updating their own house, adding a deck and guest room that expanded and improved their use of space. “It was definitely a collaboration,” stresses Will. “We needed to go under the canopy of the oak trees and drop the deck down the hillside.” Even with a new granddaughter and another grandchild on the way, the busy pair enjoy talking shop over dinner. “We discuss projects at home and because we live together, there are no time constraints,” shares Will. “I tell Dawn, ‘Describe what you want and I will make it happen.’”

Hillsborough Team-Up

Dawn and Will recently completed a kitchen and master bath remodel for a Spanish Revival home in Hillsborough. In partnership with general contractor Loerke & Cresci, Dawn also designed the interior of the home’s new modern pool house.

pool house

Dawn chose neutral color furniture and bronze window trim, which effectively highlight the pool and landscape view from the inside. Folding doors open seamlessly to enhance the indoor/outdoor flow. The guest house offers a master bedroom and bunk room for four with drawers that pull out in between the bunk ladder rungs to maximize storage.

pool house bathroom

Playing off an aqua color theme, Dawn selected a Victoria + Albert tub in a vibrant turquoise for the master bath accented by an Ellen Gunn painting. “I found beautiful tiles and thought it would be fun to create a striped beach towel look on the fireplace and shower walls,” she says. “I combined marble limestone and turquoise glazed basalt.”

MAIN HOUSE

Will applied his carpentry expertise to combine an original kitchen, laundry and butler’s pantry into an expanded butler’s pantry and kitchen. To refresh the heart of the home, the custom cabinets by Village were painted in a high-gloss, off-white finish with walnut details and a laser-cut application. Will added an island, finished with the same Dolce Vita quartzite countertops used throughout the kitchen and accented by a long, traditional fixture with built-in task lighting overhead. The kitchen features walnut open shelves and herringbone tumbled smoke limestone flooring. Tabarka Studio supplied the terracotta tile with a textured Arabesque pattern behind the Crosswater London range. “It was a big transformation,” notes Dawn. “I wanted it to have a modern Mediterranean feel.”

“One of the favorite walks I take with my friend, Randy, is at Wunderlich Park in Woodside. We always do the Meadows Loop,” shares Menlo Park’s Robb Most. On a recent outing, Randy pointed out the interesting waves of grass, fog and hills, which inspired Robb to capture this Perfect Shot. “They say the best camera is the one you have and so I took it with my iPhone,” adds Robb. “It made me realize that I should look for photos even when I don’t have a camera in my hands.”

Image by Robb Most

Words by Johanna Harlow / Photos Courtesy of Karmalink, Miguel Jeronimo

When director and Peninsula native Jake Wachtel tells people he filmed his breakout movie in Cambodia, many ask if it’s a documentary. Not even close. Try Buddhist sci-fi mystery.

Now before your mind jumps straight to space sagas and CGI aliens, you should know that Jake’s film Karmalink is set in the not-so-distant future on planet Earth—a lower-income neighborhood in Phnom Penh, to be precise. And it’s a whole new flavor of sci-fi. While glossy-sleek, ultra-urban cityscapes can feel like a fever dream, Karmalink’s world seems much more plausible—and right around the corner. There’s something grounding in its depictions of drones, augmented reality and biotechnology alongside dirt streets, abandoned train cars and a community facing forced evictions.

Beyond the masterful juxtaposition, Jake’s story of a young treasure seeker and his adventurous friends reveals the cultural differences between Cambodia and Silicon Valley (Jake was born and raised in Menlo Park) as well as marvels at our shared humanity. “I really love near-future and plausible sci-fi as a way to expand our minds of what’s possible and point us to what’s going on in the present,” he shares. “And I think that there’s a great capacity in sci-fi to talk about socio-political issues.”

Photography: Courtesy of Miguel Jeronimo

Touted as Cambodia’s very first science-fiction film, Jake’s movie questions our preconceptions of where a sci-fi should be set. “Cambodia’s hurling headlong into the future,” asserts Jake, explaining that the country’s native digital fluency is exceptional. “There’s this idea of technological leapfrogging where people who aren’t beholden to older forms of technology can more readily embrace new technologies.”

After its world premiere in 2021 at Venice Critics’ Week, Karmalink made the film festival run and was released last month to streaming services. Heralding U.S. filmmaker Jake Wachtel’s “striking feature debut,” Variety describes Karmalink as a “magical spiritual mystery tour” that “takes viewers on a fascinating and frequently wondrous expedition to a place where science and metaphysics intersect.”

For Jake, filmmaking has always been about building bridges. As a young teen, he recalls bringing his new MiniDV camcorder on a trip to the rainforests of Ecuador with his grandmother. “The goal was to document what was going on,” Jake says, “but it also served as a means of connection with the kids in the village.” He recalls a group of Ecuadorians clustering around him to check out his camera—then getting invested in pointing out all the things he should film. “I guess I see in this moment the seeds for later explorations,” he reflects.

By his early 20s, Jake had become a citizen of the world, filming documentaries for NGOs and nonprofits in various countries. When an opportunity to teach film in Cambodia for a year with Filmmakers Without Borders presented itself, he jumped. “I was finding myself really hungry to dive deeper with a single community,” he shares.

Karmalink’s future stars—Srey Leak Chhith and Leng Heng Prak—signed up for Jake’s 2014 class and acted as the leads in the course’s final project: a superhero movie where Student Girl must defeat Dropout Boy and his diabolical plan to cancel school. Both were naturals on camera. And Leng Heng not only played the villain but also served as director. “I have this fun photo of him dressed in full Dropout Boy costume directing the other kids,” he laughs.

Fittingly, Jake also fell for cinema at a young age. At 13, right before attending Menlo-Atherton High School, he encountered the magic of Hitchcock’s psychological thrillers at the Stanford Theatre. “I just remember being so captivated,” he recalls. The vintage design of the venue—in addition to the organ player, lifting out of the floorboards like a rabbit from a hat—also left an impression. “I felt so transported and brought into these worlds,” he notes.

It wouldn’t be until the end of his first year in Cambodia, during a meditation retreat, that the idea for Karmalink first entered Jake’s mind. As the story began to take shape, the filmmaker found himself telling the tale of a young boy who recalls his past lives through dreams, then determines to hunt down the gold artifact he believes he hid long ago.

It would take several more years before production began in earnest. But Jake says he wouldn’t have it any other way. “It doesn’t really feel right to me to fly to a new foreign place and make a movie there,” he explains. “This connection to Cambodia arose organically. And it’s become a very deep and special place in my heart.”

Jake fondly recalls those early days of steeping in the local culture, of “getting used to the rhythms of the monks coming through in the morning asking for alms, and the giant pots of steaming corn that the ladies load on their bicycles to go sell in the market.” More than anything, he admired the beautiful sense of community. “Everyone knows each other,” he says. “Everyone’s looking out for each other.”

Even after deep immersion, Jack knew his perspective would be limited. However, with a roughly 90% Cambodian cast and crew, he had help navigating those nuances. “I tried to make clear to everyone, ‘Please, at any moment, if anything’s going on that doesn’t feel right or you have some ideas, let’s talk about it. Because I want this to really feel like your story, like this makes sense from your perspective.’” And even though Jake is proficient in Khmer, he had Cambodians translate the script in order to capture the subtleties of the country’s official language.

Although major changes were made to his screenplay after Jake recruited the help of Christopher Larsen (an experienced American screenwriter living in Lao), Jake found that the most significant changes weren’t plot points. “I think that, in a lot of ways, where the collaboration is most meaningful is all of the small details,” he explains. Like “how the family sits around dinner together; how they sleep together, curled up on the mattress. It’s a lot of stuff around how families relate to each other.” In one scene of the film, Leng Heng consoles his grandmother by taking her arm and massaging it. “I didn’t write that in the script,” Jake reveals. “I didn’t even know that that’s a very intimate moment in Cambodian family life.”

The film also explores Buddhism (Cambodia’s leading religion and beliefs Jake holds), and there’s a fascinating undercurrent on whether technology progresses or hinders the search for enlightenment. Intriguingly, in Karmalink’s future world, people can only access and view augmented reality by placing a dot-sized piece of tech in the middle of their foreheads—recalling the third eye or “eye of consciousness” said to reveal the world beyond one’s physical sight. “Buddhism saturates the fabric of daily life in Cambodia,” Jake shares. “It’s very common for people to remember their past lives. It’s not out of the ordinary at all.”

But like every story, this one carries universal themes as well. The strength of a tight-knit community, the bravery of big-hearted kids and the power of friendship are topics that transcend time and borders. So is the coming-of-age scenario. “It’s such a common and important story in cultures around the world: demarcating this passing from childhood to adulthood,” Jake notes. “It just so happens to be around the time when our brains really start to crystallize a lot more. We start being open to so many possibilities.”

The topic of memory and brain development is near and dear to Jake’s heart. At Stanford, he majored in psychology while minoring in film studies, delving into neuroscience and film theory, cultural psychology and the history of global cinema. He also worked in a lab for a season, researching the cognitive differences between monolingual and bilingual children: “I was manning an eye-tracking device that’s following the baby’s gaze, as they watch these videos and look around. We’re sponges from the get-go!” Needless to say, you should expect Karmalink to mess with your brain a little bit. But in a good way.

It would be at the intersection of these two studies that Jake came to a life-pivoting realization: “What makes us human is our empathy.” For the filmmaker, cinema is the ultimate empathy generator. “It can literally bring us into the lives of other people who live seemingly so differently from how we live.”

And it’s this mindset that makes Karmalink so powerfully collaborative. “I think a lot of people talk about the director needing to have the vision and telling people, ‘This is how it’s going to be.’ That’s not how I operate,” he chuckles. “I love that it’s this team project!” He smiles when he adds, “They say it takes a village to make a movie.”

Words by Jennifer Jory

From an early age, Heidi Lancaster always had a camera in hand—and today, this San Mateo photographer and mother of four is staying true to form. Heidi’s mission to freeze-frame the current styles in interior design and preserve this cultural moment keeps her behind the camera constantly. “The variety of architecture on the Peninsula makes design photography really fun,” she says. “I never know what I am going to shoot until I get there. The home has become so important right now and people are changing things up.”

Heidi looks at the craft of photography with an artistic eye and brings that sensibility to every shoot. “The interior designers in my view are kind of like artists,” she explains. “I am trying to capture their art in a moment of time.” She credits local designers with making rooms feel liveable and interesting by adding distinctive elements. “This is a very sophisticated area and people are wanting that extra touch of wallpaper that no one has seen,” she adds.

Photography: Courtesy of Bridget Lancaster

Although always drawn to photography, Heidi directly traces her vocation back to her children. Forgoing the portrait studios, she dusted off her Canon, propped her kids up on a blanket and began taking her own photos. Heidi’s friends took notice and started asking her to take pictures of their children and shoot their family Christmas cards. Soon, Heidi Lancaster Photography was born. But balancing work and family had her burning the candle at both ends. “I was editing into the wee hours of the night,” she recalls. Eventually, she started shooting a variety of subjects from products to events, and then one day a designer friend asked her to photograph a San Francisco apartment.

“I love design and using my tripod and it just clicked for me,” she remembers. As Heidi’s client roster of interior designers grew through referrals, her photos started gracing the pages of lifestyle and design publications. Popular home furnishing retailers like Serena & Lily and Pottery Barn began featuring Heidi’s images as well.

While she likens interior designers to artists, Heidi also dabbles in creating art with photography. She sells her outdoor art series—beach scenes from Positano to Malibu and a mountain sequence highlighting images of the Sierra—in boutiques and online. She also plans to release a selection of interior design art photography, such as the large unconventional photo of a colorful, modern boutique interior that hangs over her kitchen table. When she asked her family to vote on wall art for the kitchen, they unanimously chose this image. “I can stare at it and find something new every day,” observes Heidi.

When it comes to photographing a home, Heidi identifies three distinguishing elements of design. A room’s color saturation is the first, and she’s not surprised to see more color being added to homes. Next, Heidi points to the layering of patterns in fabric and wallpaper. “When the mix is done well and layered with a piece of art, it really stuns you and you want to take it all in,” she notes. Finally, balance creates a room that is pleasing to the eye, whether it is through repetition of items such as matching chairs or a color that carries through. “It is also important to have a place for the eye to rest in a photo,” she emphasizes.

In terms of design trends, Heidi sees a transition from minimalism to maximalism, a style that promotes “more is more” when it comes to colors, textures and layers. She appreciates both contemporary approaches as well as classic antiques that ground a room. “Mixing styles makes it feel like a home versus a staged house,” she imparts. “Antique furniture is like a coat from decades ago that you can throw on over a modern dress. You can put a modern vase on a desk from the 1800s and update it.”

Heidi emphasizes that homeowners want to put their own personality stamp on their interiors. “One of my clients is scouring the world for unique objects,” relays the photographer. “She is searching for light fixtures and elevated one-of-a-kind pieces. Reusing vintage pieces with a fun history is a sustainable practice showing up in design.” Heidi also underscores that with all of the layering and adding in of maximalism, people are still drawn to the relaxed, clean look in kitchens.

Raised in Marin, Heidi traces the influence of the outdoors as a thread running through her work today. Her father’s love for photography inspired her to pick up his high-end cameras and shoot everything she could. “I had such a passion for it,” she reflects. She took art classes throughout her education and spent time in the darkroom; however, landing a job with a wedding photographer elevated her skills to a new level. “I basically learned the business and ran it, working on lighting and shooting for three years,” she recalls. “The experience was irreplaceable.”

After college, Heidi worked at Citibank in San Francisco, where she met her husband Dave. Reflecting on what tipped her ultimate career choice, she says, “I liked the business world but when push came to shove, photography didn’t seem like work to me.”

Now, with a teenage son, two daughters still in college and one just graduated and embarking on a career in construction and design, Heidi relishes the immersive stimulation she encounters every day. “Someone asked me what my end goal was with my work,” she shares. “There is no end goal—it’s a passion. It’s the excitement of creativity and what comes next.”

Words by Johanna Harlow

To Dan Lythcott-Haims, time is an artist.

After rediscovering photography in his late 40s, Dan began capturing shots of corrosion around scrapyards, forklift and heavy machinery rentals and auto salvage yards. “With the camera, I started to see the art in the world—and what I saw was the textures and colors and patterns and forms of decay,” shares the Palo Alto resident. “It sort of spoke to me as the art that nature and time have created.”

Dan appreciates that when elements interact on the microscopic level, they are capable of creating something exceptional on a larger scale. Rust deserves recognition because something miraculous happens when atoms on a piece of iron combine with water and oxygen to create something… more. “It’s grown into something kind of random and beautiful,” he marvels.

Similar to the transformation of a bronze patina, Dan has also developed with age. One of his big milestones was moving to his first studio at Art Bias (known as The Art Center of Redwood City back then)—because it meant recognizing himself as a professional artist. As the former creative director of Pandora’s design department, Dan’s mind has always been innovative, and yet… “I was always creative; I came from an artistic family, but I didn’t feel like I had whatever artists had,” he reflects about his early insecurities. Moving to a studio also meant invaluable mentorship opportunities. “I think my professionalism increased quite a bit while I was there. I was able to really talk to people about some of the business aspects of being an artist and selling art.”

Dan’s current studio resides at The Alameda Artworks in San Jose, and his work can be found at open studio events, exhibits and online. Previous solo shows include Schultz Cultural Arts Hall, Pacific Art League and the International Art Museum of America. In addition to being held in private collections, his creations grace the walls of local cafes.

It was through exploration at his first studio that Dan began branching out to three-dimensional art. After many photoshoot outings, he’d collected quite the assortment of bric-a-brac ranging from chains and barbed wire to washers and saw blades. “I had to do something with them,” he says. “I couldn’t just leave them. I wanted the work to come off of the flat plane of the photograph. I wanted to display them somehow.”

Soon, he started mounting his rusted gems on maple wood frames, “almost like I was presenting a jeweled object to the world,” describes Dan. “I would take a rusty nail or a rusted piece of metal and make it special by the way I was presenting it.” He allowed his pieces to evolve by intentionally leaving the wood unfinished, the color of the rust transferring to the frames over time. “Everything ages,” he observes.

One man’s trash truly is another man’s treasure—and over the years, Dan has found a gold mine in places like Alan Steel & Supply Co, a Redwood City supplier bountiful with pipes, i-beams, rolls of wire, gears and casters. “You can buy stuff by the pound, which is fun,” he grins.

One project of note is Dan’s Alchemy series. By weaving wire through perforations, he fashioned a kind of metallic textile. As he experimented with different kinds of wires and thicknesses to find the right look, Dan found a therapeutic trial and error element to the project. Old materials were too brittle for assemblage, so he found a copper wire that met his needs, then oxidized it with a vinegar spray, leaving it to soak for different lengths of time to create varied textures and shades of green. “Every piece is unique, even though the chemical reaction is the same,” he notes. “Technically, as my scientist mother-in-law would tell me, it isn’t alchemy, it’s chemistry. But the change that comes over the metals to me is magical.”

The Alchemy series was Dan’s first time using new materials. “I felt a little bit uncomfortable sort of ‘faking’ the rust, but I have met some artists and that’s what they do. They patina metal in different ways with different chemicals. So I realized it’s not fake—it’s just a different process.”

Despite all these assemblage and sculpture projects, Dan still makes time for photography. Like his Collections series, which features objects from flea markets around the Bay Area. “One of the things that I like about repetition—when I take similar or identical objects and repeat them—is that overall, there’s this emergent, organic quality.” He compares it to the ocean. “Every coral reef is unique, even though each polyp is identical.”

One of Dan’s favorite projects to date is a series of cages and keys from 2020—the largest of which holds 400 or so keys and stands at almost human-height. “I love the scale, the scope,” he says with a smile. “And it has some unexpected characteristics. It makes a beautiful noise when it’s bumped, all the little keys tinkling against each other. The visual of all the movement is wonderful and unexpected.”

Many have told Dan that the project has spoken to their feelings of isolation during the shelter-in-place. “Each viewer can find in it what they want to find in it,” he invites. But as for him… “The meaning is in the making,” says the guy who finds wonder in the junkyard.

At the end of Marsh Road in Menlo Park, Bedwell Bayfront Park attracts many after-work walkers and runners as well as a varied assortment of sea birds. It’s also a favorite destination for Menlo Park photographer Jennifer Fraser, who captured this Perfect Shot of the post-sunset blues reflected in the water and sky.

Image by Jennifer Fraser / jenniferfraser.zenfolio.com

Calling all shutterbugs: If you’ve captured a unique perspective of the Peninsula, we’d love to see your Perfect Shot. Email us at
hello@punchmonthly.com to be considered for publication.

After experiencing an amazing fog layer during an evening hike at Purisima Creek Redwoods Preserve, Palo Alto photographer Brian Krippendorf clearly didn’t get enough of the breathtaking vistas. “The next morning my cat woke me up early,” he says, “so I decided to go back.” From a ridgeline trail just before 6AM, Brian captured this Perfect Shot of towering coast redwoods peeking through a dense sea of clouds.

Image by Brian Krippendorf / @briankrippendorf

Calling all shutterbugs: If you’ve captured a unique perspective of the Peninsula, we’d love to see your Perfect Shot. Email us at
hello@punchmonthly.com to be considered for publication.

Words by Sheri Baer

Visit Redwood City-based SDG Architecture’s website, and a quote from renowned Mexican architect Luis Barragán is the first thing that greets you. It speaks to serenity—making your home a calm, peaceful and untroubled haven.

“It resonated with me,” says SDG founder and principal architect Steve Simpson about the premise originally expressed by Barragán over 40 years ago. “It’s an elusive goal and it’s hard to get enough of any kind of serenity—more so now than ever.”

Although Steve believes that serenity is ultimately an internal pursuit, he embraces the idea that your environment and surroundings can play a role. As he frames it, architecture has the ability to provide a conducive backdrop. He cites his own home as an example. When he leaves the office after a frequently overstimulating day of problem-solving and navigating a maze of zoning ordinances, Steve can feel the tension slipping away as he pulls into Belmont. “When I go home, where I live is serene,” he notes, “and I think one of the biggest luxuries that anybody can have is just the ability to slow down, relax and enjoy life.”

When it comes to designing serenity-inducing settings, Steve relies on basic, centering principles. “In architecture, it’s about balance and flow and connecting the inside with the outside, particularly around here where we have beautiful properties and landscapes,” he says. “A lot of it is just keeping things simple. Often, that’s something that’s overlooked. When you can, just simplify, which is probably true in life too.”

Since SDG’s establishment in 1988, Steve’s firm has completed over 500 residential projects, with about 90% on the Peninsula—including Woodside, Atherton, Los Altos, Los Altos Hills, Menlo Park and Palo Alto. Specializing in new construction, with a smattering of remodels, SDG’s work ranges from estate-sized properties to smaller, suburban sites. For every client, the goal is to strike a balance in terms of design and flow while still optimizing for desired features and function. Understanding a client’s priorities—which includes how they define serenity—guides the design process.

A comfy reading nook. The perfect setting for a piano. A view out of the house to something that makes you reflect. “Sometimes,” Steve says, “it’s just a little surprise that you can add to a house.” As an example, he cites a property in Woodside where he situated a small private garden outside the master bathroom: “You wouldn’t expect it, but we’ve hidden this little almost-Balinese outdoor shower there and that can be just a moment of serenity.”

In the case of a Portola Valley project, an empty-nester couple felt a disconnect in the home where they had raised their children. “They wanted a house that was more in line with the next phase in their life,” Steve explains, “and it wasn’t going to be an older two-story house with the master bedroom on the second floor.” Rather, on their piece of property with expansive views of Windy Hill Open Space Preserve, they envisioned a new one-story house tuned to the outdoors, with an emphasis on energy efficiency and sustainability—and nods to serenity throughout.

“We rearranged the house and now every room opens up to the outside,” Steve relays. “The views of Windy Hill were facing the front, so in this case, which is unusual, we placed the master bedroom in the front.” Clean interiors that offset the client’s vibrant collection of Aboriginal art. A little music room. Italian-crafted kitchen cabinet doors that appear and disappear to hide any counter clutter. “We end up spending a lot of time integrating details into the design—like hardware and window coverings—that you don’t see until you need them.”

SDG partnered with landscape architect Cristin Franklin to transform the property’s thirsty lawns into stunning drought-resistant landscaping and a new pool area that delivers its own transportive experience. “Although it’s just a few steps from the house,” Steve points out, “it has this resort feel to it and becomes its own little destination.”

Steve takes immense pride in each completed project but says he gets the most satisfaction in the construction phase, watching the house take shape. That’s not surprising given his roots. Born in San Francisco, Steve grew up in Fremont in a family of builders—his father was a general contractor with his brother following suit. Although Steve’s studies initially took him in a different direction, he rediscovered his passion for architecture and ultimately opened his own firm.

Steve was living in San Francisco at the time but got some timely advice from a friend on the Peninsula. “He said, ‘Why would you try to set up business in San Francisco?’” Steve recounts. “‘There are tons of architects up there and not a lot of work [at the time], and down here, there’s a lot of work and not a lot of architects.’”

In 1988, Steve launched SDG Architecture in Redwood City, which was followed by his own move to Belmont. More than three decades later, working with a team of six, he’s appreciative of the evolution he’s seeing in Peninsula architectural projects. “The expectations have gotten higher, which drives everybody, so I think the quality across the board has gotten better,” he says.

At the same time, Steve acknowledges that building custom homes has never been an easy process, and recent supply chain issues have only made it harder. Not exactly serenity-inducing conditions for clients. His approach? “It’s a lot about setting reasonable expectations for how long it’s going to take and how much it’s going to cost,” he says. “There’s a lot of balance involved both in the house and how you approach it.”

And while Steve aims to create peaceful havens for all of his clients, he’s also pragmatic about how much he can achieve. “We can provide a backdrop,” he emphasizes, “but ultimately, serenity is kind of like happiness: You have to help yourself to get there.”

Words by Sheryl Nonnenberg

Sandy Ostrau says she did not set out to become an artist. A visit to her Palo Alto studio, where she has been preparing for a solo exhibition at Dolby Chadwick Gallery in San Francisco, would indicate otherwise. Sandy has enjoyed notable success for several decades, with gallery representation and sales of her work to both national and international collectors. But it all started with the humble crayon.

“I was the kid who would go home to color,” she laughs. “And I was good at it!”

Sandy relates that her parents encouraged her artistic bent and, as a result, “I was always making art.” As a child she took classes at the Palo Alto Cultural Center but when it came time for the Palo Alto High School grad to declare a major at UC Santa Barbara, she opted for art history. During her undergraduate days she took numerous figure drawing classes (“just because I liked to draw”) but steered clear of the painting studio.

Fast-forward to adulthood, marriage and children and Sandy was still doing art projects: “I painted furniture and textiles and, for a while, had a business selling silk-screen and hand-painted clothing to retailers like Nordstrom.” The business did well, but when she was ready to really expand, she decided to redirect her focus.

Throughout this time, Sandy took oil painting classes at both the Cultural Center and the Pacific Art League, where she had the good fortune to study under Jim Smyth and Brigitte Curt. “They were beautiful artists, great teachers and an exceptional find for a local art center,” Sandy says. She credits their teaching as providing the basis for her work with the figure and landscape, especially working in plein air.

“I really loved outdoor painting. You learn so much about how to distill a scene and it’s a great way to learn aspects of art making, especially materials management and how to mix colors.”

Sandy continued her studies with Smyth and Curt, even as she began to show her work in small group shows both here and in the Sea Ranch area, where her family has a second home. But she feels her evolution as an artist really took a turning point when she began to participate in Open Studios, which she did for seven years. It’s something that she strongly recommends to every artist. “Open Studios is a great way to get work out there and it’s a learning curve,” she says. While opening one’s home to a stream of strangers may not be everyone’s cup of tea, Sandy found it worthwhile. “I did really well and sold a lot of paintings,” she shares. “I have a great group of friends who were clients first.”

Although those early plein air landscapes found an eager market, Sandy was ready to evolve in her style and technique. She has always admired the work of Bay Area Figurative Movement painters (David Park, Nathan Oliveira, Paul Wonner and Richard Diebenkorn) who bucked the prevailing trend of Abstract Expressionism in order to return to the figure and representational art. Using a limited range of colors, brushes and palette knives, and a wet-on-wet painting technique, Sandy focused her efforts on work that integrated the figure into the landscape, but not in a literal way. “I am interested in getting to the essence in landscape and figure,” she explains.

Looking at the paintings that she has prepared for the Dolby Chadwick show, it is clear that the Bay Area figurative painters have been a major influence for Sandy. Does she mind if people see that reference? “Not at all,” she says. “All of those artists integrated the figure into the landscape in a way that is expressionistic, gestural but representational. They did it masterfully.”

In Sandy’s paintings, which are often large in scale and very textural, thanks to layers and layers of paint that have been added and removed, the figure (or figures) is generalized with no specific gender. She explains that she “doesn’t want to give too much information” and they are often placed in a location like a beach or pier, which serves as “a metaphor for the connection of land and sea.” In Simple Pleasures, a figure at the far left of the canvas looks out to sea but instead of a line demarcating the horizon line, there are rectangular blocks of purple, red, yellow and turquoise. It is a good example of one of the questions she asks herself, “How do you integrate a figure into blocks of color?”

And color is certainly a hallmark in Sandy’s approach. She explains that she really likes to examine how color contrasts work, citing the “push-pull” theory of Hans Hoffman. She is not afraid of adding or removing color and credits all those years of working outside for her ability to mix colors successfully, never working “out of the tube.” This is obvious in Fog Rolling Across the Pier, where squares and rectangles of both bright and muted colors are stacked along the horizon line, creating unexpected contrasts and juxtapositions. The three figures are so well integrated you might miss them, if you don’t look closely enough. That would be okay with Sandy, who says she wants people to bring their own references and experiences to the paintings.

Although she works mainly in the studio these days (and never from photographs), Sandy speaks with great fondness for her early days as a plein air painter. One of her favorite locations was Baylands Park, where she was a regular for years. “It has water, trees, horizon, distant hills and beautiful color changes,” she notes. She would paint quickly and the resulting plethora of canvases were stored in pizza boxes. Her son, she recounts laughingly, would exclaim, “Not another swamp painting, Mom!”
In addition to gallery representation, Sandy has also garnered interest in her work via social media, specifically Instagram. Clients as far away as New York City, Italy and Norway have found and purchased her paintings. Pre-pandemic, she also gave private lessons and taught in workshop settings. “Teaching allows you to isolate and define your process,”
she observes.

Sandy is clearly pleased, grateful and maybe a bit surprised at her success. “My original goal was just to pay for my paint supplies,” she adds. And what advice does she give to aspiring artists? “Affiliate with a local art center or school to keep honing skills and have a regular schedule to keep making art. You need to put in the time—miles of paint on canvas!”

Words by Sheryl Nonnenberg

It has been described as a “hidden gem” and an “oasis of calm in the midst of Silicon Valley.” It is The Foster, a 14,000-square-foot former industrial warehouse in Palo Alto that houses the work of just one artist, Tony Foster. But far from being a monographic museum, The Foster has a broader and very timely mission: “to inspire connection to art and the natural world.”
How the museum’s creator and staff have undertaken to achieve this lofty goal is a unique story and one that could only happen on the Peninsula, in the cradle of innovation. It is also a case study in how a nonprofit institution learned to pivot and adapt to the unexpected disruption caused by a worldwide pandemic.

The Foster is the brainchild of Jane Woodward, a lifelong Palo Alto resident and adjunct professor at Stanford University. Jane, a geologist, is also a founder of MAP Energy, an energy investment firm. During a visit to the Natural History Museum at the Smithsonian in the late 1980s, Jane first encountered a Tony Foster watercolor wilderness Journey—John Muir’s High Sierra. This led to her meeting Tony and she began to collect Foster’s artworks. Deciding that each of Foster’s Journeys, a series of artworks based on a wilderness theme, makes a more forceful statement when seen in its entirety, she embarked upon a plan to create a nonprofit museum to hold them intact and share them.

After acquiring Sacred Places: Watercolor Diaries from the American Southwest, Jane began to form The Foster in 2013, and the museum opened its doors to the public in 2016.

CAPTION: The Sacred Places gallery at The Foster in Palo Alto, CA. Photo by Eileen Howard. Courtesy of The Foster

Soon, school groups, senior groups, artists and naturalists were making appointments to visit and enjoy Tony Foster’s depictions of such far-flung places as Mount Everest, Costa Rica, Guyana, the Grand Canyon and the Andes. Educational programming that included lectures, art lessons and tours were in full swing, only to be curtailed by COVID in March of 2020. “Approximately 20,000 visitors came to the museum during the first four years,” notes co-director Anne Baxter. “We were rolling and building, so it was frustrating to have a seizure of all that programming.”

It was also a drastic change for the 75-year-old Tony Foster who, for 40 years, has been traveling the globe in order to create his watercolor diaries. A native of Cornwall, England, Foster started out as an art educator and Pop artist but soon discovered that his love of travel, passion for the environment and skills as a watercolorist could be combined. One of his first expeditions was to follow in the footsteps of Henry David Thoreau by walking and canoeing around the remote parts of New England. Interest in the resulting watercolors inspired him to continue his passion as an artist-explorer, and soon Foster had developed a network of fellow travelers, scientists and art collectors who wanted to help and sometimes join along. “Tony is charismatic and gregarious but also humble and kind,” observes Anne. “He has always attracted people who believe in him and support him.”

Fellow adventurers, whom Foster refers to as “companions,” do everything from arranging for equipment to setting up tents to making food for the group. Some are collectors who want to see and experience the landscapes Foster captures. Others are naturalists who just enjoy the challenge of living in the wild. For Foster, the objective is clear: “I have drawn my inspiration from the sublime beauty of the wilderness.”

Once Foster has found the desired setting, he sets up his work space and paints for hours at a time. Watercolor, because it is quick-drying and very portable, is his medium of choice. He has worked in some of the most adverse conditions—rain, wind, snow and sleet, and has even sketched underwater (he is a longtime scuba diver). Foster often completes his work back in Cornwall but never refers to photographs. Instead, he relies upon his detailed diary entries and the various souvenirs that he might paint, be gifted or gather onsite. These could be leaves, rocks, feathers or pieces of bone. Oftentimes, these small objects will be placed at the bottom of his framed work. They serve as talismans and reminders of the fragile nature of these locations.

Told by a New York City gallerist that his work was unacceptable because it was “just too beautiful,” Foster has embraced his role as chronicler of places that are awe-inspiring and worthy of saving for future generations. A look at the catalog, Exploring Beauty, reveals the extraordinary range of his representational skills. The Atacama Desert in Chile is a study of brown and ochre hues, a rugged landscape devoid of human interaction. In France, Mont Blanc takes center stage, snow-covered and remote, while the foreground is dotted with spring flowers and green hills. Even the frigid landscape of Greenland is lovingly portrayed in pastel hues, while Foster’s diary explains, “worked from 8:00am to 11:30pm, frozen and exhausted.”

CAPTION: Tony Foster with painting in situ at Point Sublime, Grand Canyon. September 30, 2004. Photo by John Frazier. Courtesy of Foster Art & Wilderness Foundation.

“His art is really a story, from the time he tears off the first piece of paper to the final brushstroke,” notes co-director Eileen Howard. She shares that a trip to Green River as part of his next Journey had to be postponed due to the pandemic but that Foster has found inspiration close to home. “He reconnected with beauty in his own backyard,” she says, “creating a series of Lockdown Diaries.” Another earlier project, entitled A Year in the Life of a Cornish Hedge, captures the seasonal changes of a spot he passes by each day.

The Foster staff has kept busy since the museum’s closure. Anne explains that Jane suggested pivoting to online programming, continuing many of their art lessons and lectures. “Tony was resistant to Zoom at first,” she recalls, but soon he was participating in a series of interviews (“Conversations with Tony Foster”) that can be seen on the museum’s website. In addition, Eileen shares that the museum is overseeing a Journey Exhibition Archival Project, in which every aspect of Tony’s 17 Journeys is being documented. They work from the art and artifacts collected during each trip, interviews, maps and Tony’s diary notes. Consultation with Tony allows them to record the ‘where, how, who and why,’ along with the effects of each one. Says Anne, “People love Tony and we also share his mission of protecting wilderness areas. That is the bigger mission.”

The museum is currently accessible by appointment, and The Foster staff is in the process of planning how to more broadly reopen the museum to the public and to ramp up its programming. They are also open to renting the facility to organizations aligned with their environmental mission. But first, the public needs to find their way to this industrial district in south Palo Alto.

Museum manager Deb Waltimire, who recently joined the staff after a stint at the Disney Family Museum, acknowledges, “We are a hidden gem in a commercial area.” Anne agrees, adding, “So much thought has been given to the experience here, the colors, the lighting, the displays. It’s a lovely, engaging mood.”

The staff has considered other potential sites but ended up feeling that they are right where they belong. “You don’t have to travel the world, but if you want to, come to The Foster,” encourages Eileen.

And what will the long-term future hold for this art museum with a mission? Anne speaks with assurance that The Foster will continue to protect and share Tony Foster’s Journeys and message. “We are really committed to that,” she asserts.

As for Jane, whose passion for the environment and conservation converged with the peripatetic Journeys of a watercolorist from Cornwall to create a truly unique institution? She hopes, “That we become better known as a hidden jewel museum here in Palo Alto—a place of beautiful art and peaceful reflection.”

Words by Johanna Harlow

“Has anyone ever told you, you’re a little like Bob Ross?” Yep, Morgan Bricca has heard this line before. More than a shared crop of curls, the commonality between her and the iconic PBS art instructor likely lies in her artistic philosophy that painting should be a joyful act. Comparisons aside, Morgan’s canvases tend to be tens to hundreds of times larger.

As a Los Altos-based muralist, Morgan pours oceans of tropical fish onto bedroom walls and captures cranes mid-flight on restaurant interiors. Besides bringing vibrant murals to homes and businesses, she has completed a number of public art initiatives in the community. Her artwork can also be found at a couple dozen schools, 11 of which are located on the Peninsula. “Murals unlock a space,” Morgan believes.

With a career change as bold as her color palette, Morgan left IT at the age of 26, skipped the fine arts degree entirely and dove right into professional painting. Nearly 600 murals later, her work can be spotted on countless surfaces around the greater Bay Area and beyond, including China, The Azores and Guatemala. Though many of her projects are large-scale undertakings, she’s not above painting pink piggies in a little girl’s room. “I never thought, ‘I’m so above painting fairies in a bathroom,’” she shrugs. “Instead, I was like, ‘Be chained to a desk for a 40-hour week or paint fairies in a bathroom?’”

Unlike many in her field, Morgan prefers brushes to spray cans in order to achieve “that sort of painterly expressiveness.” She has a penchant for designing wildlife and landscape scenes. “Images of nature pull us out of the everyday business of our domestic lives and invite us to slow down,” she explains. “They transcend tribe or personal identity and help us appreciate a broader perspective of life and the place we live.”

Morgan is also fond of designs that defy boundaries with details flowing around corners or spilling off the wall entirely. “Murals aren’t contained, that’s the point, you know?” Her consideration of the space shows in other ways too. “You’re working with how the light is hitting, how people see it when they walk in the room, which way to slant the flower,” she observes. “Where is balance needed?”

When Morgan visits a pristine, white-walled home, she’s already putting a paintbrush to its rooms in her mind’s eye. “If they just put up a painting, it would still be so predictable. But if they had a mural, it would change the whole energy—finish it off in a way,” she notes. “It needs a little bit of chaos in it to make it interesting.”

“A little bit of chaos” is true of Morgan in the best possible way. Approach her on a job site and you’ll find paint splattering her clothes and car, a smudge of purple on her cheek, a streak of orange in her hair. And she likes to bring a touch of spontaneity to her projects when she gets to the detailing work. “I can’t always come up with my best ideas in my studio on my little iPad. The space inspires,” she explains.

Morgan is also an embodiment of the Bob Ross mantra: “We don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents.” When challenges come her way, she tries to go with the flow. “It’s that attitude that makes life more fun: to just roll with it.” During one school project, Morgan recalls trying to load a gallon of paint into her car—only to spill cheery yellow across the parking lot. After a moment of stunned silence, Morgan hatched a plan. “I extended it out and I made it into a beautiful sun,” she recollects. This unexpected feature became a favorite among the teachers. “They thought it was art—like an add-on,” she chuckles.

With all her murals—be they public or private, commercial or communal—Morgan hopes to heighten the value of the space. “A mural is an identity statement that becomes part of the fabric of the environment,” she shares.

Applying this kind of “space-making” to public art, for example, gives people a greater pride in place (at the same time deterring tagging). “How is this place different from everywhere else that has a Starbucks on the corner and an Old Navy next door and then a Safeway on the other corner?”

Morgan asks. “Sometimes art can be that distinguishing thing. Many times it’s also the natural environment, but then sometimes art plays into that. So it’s giving a place a hook for humans.” Expanding on this, she adds, “I kind of like the thought that somehow mural art gives a space a soul … It’s the jewelry on the perfect black dress.”

Her largest mural to-date is a testament to this. Last summer, Morgan was hired to beautify a 140-foot-long retaining wall on the corner of Midfield and Havana Roads in a San Jose neighborhood. “It was a complete dead zone before,” Morgan notes, describing the area as an unofficial dumping zone. “Trash was piled two-thirds of the way up that wall!” After the mural’s creation, the area became a playful, safe hangout for kids, with drivers slowing down as they turned the corner to look.

When she isn’t up to her elbows in paint, Morgan serves as a resource for budding artists. Her podcast If These Walls Could Talk demystifies successful mural projects and explores the nuts and bolts of the process by interviewing fellow artists, art advocates and public art planners as well as sharing her own observations.

In a similar vein, Morgan published a book called The Mural Artist’s Handbook. Available on Amazon, it acts as an exceedingly practical guide to navigating the muralist profession—everything from how to protect paint from sun damage and finding funding to establishing a fair and competitive price metric with clients and investing time in promotional strategies.

A firm believer that creative careers can also be lucrative ones, Morgan doesn’t buy into the assumption that market-savvy artists are sellouts. “If you believe that what you’re doing is creating really beautiful, dramatic transformations, then helping people find you is a nice thing to do,” Morgan remarks. “I’m excited about what I do and I’m going to share that.” Plus, she’s pretty tired of the starving artist trope. “Who says artists have to be broke? That they have to be tortured? Let’s get some healthy artists going!”

Another piece of advice for young artists? “Start to place your art in the world,” Morgan encourages. “Start making art for people.” Creating in a vacuum limits your perspective, while feedback serves as an invaluable teacher. “It needs to resonate with other people besides you to have wings,” she points out.

As Morgan’s murals continue to sweep across the Peninsula, one never knows what delightful discovery lies around the next bend.

Scavenger Hunt: How many murals can you spot?

+ Adventure under the sea in the California
Avenue pedestrian underpass (Palo Alto)
+ Crack a vault outside San Mateo Lock Works
(San Mateo)
+ Dine on ceviche de pescado beside a fisher boy
in La Viga restaurant (Redwood City)
+ Meet a soccer girl outside Cranberry Scoop
(Los Altos)
+ Travel to China at the Crouching Tiger
Restaurant (Redwood City)
+ Hang with a Yosemite rock climber in Arrillaga
Outdoor Education & Recreation Center
(Stanford University)

Words by Jennifer Jory

Dramatic twig sculptures dance throughout Paul Schick’s backyard workshop where he brings new life to foraged manzanita and redwood branches. To most, the large piles of sticks strewn about the garden might seem like a spring cleaning project, but to Paul they serve as his muse. “Look at this,” he exclaims, picking up a weathered branch. “It’s like a work of art in itself. It’s so sculptural with its various circles. I go nuts!” Paul’s passion for twig art has garnered demand from Hollywood and top designers for decades.

Paul greets me in a canary yellow shirt after work at his part-time job at Pine Cone Lumber. “A coincidence?” I question. He smiles, “Maybe not.” At 60, he enjoys working with his hands and often envisions artistic projects made of wood, while stacking lumber at the seven-acre lumberyard in Sunnyvale. After work, he performs more delicate tasks with his hands, sculpting massive wall compositions: redwood twigs forming waves, manzanita woven into webs. Not only is his raw material affordable, it also creates the ultimate sustainable art. While paints contain plastics and toxins, twig art completely decomposes.

A Los Altos native, Paul grew up spending time in the open spaces of the Peninsula where manzanita and redwood trees thrive. He describes his childhood in Los Altos as laid-back, frequently exploring the outdoors after school at Los Altos High. As a Boy Scout, Paul also enjoyed camping in the coastal forest of the Presidio in San Francisco. “I have so many good memories of going out in nature growing up,” he observes, “and my work is just a continuation of that.”

Paul pursued his artistic interests in Los Angeles, drawing inspiration from talented teachers and students at Otis School of Art and Design, where he earned a degree in illustration and communication design. As for early influences, he cites sculptors Deborah Butterfield, Andy Goldworthy as well as abstract painter and sculptor Charles Arnoldi, whose work can be viewed at the Anderson Collection at Stanford. “Arnoldi was painting twigs and creating twig sculptures,” he shares. “I fell in love with it—it just resonated with me.”

Paul recognized a clear creative path forward. After graduation, he followed his passion for fine art full-time and began crafting twig compositions and sculptures. Soon, he was selling out of a showroom in Los Angeles, and then his work started appearing on television shows such as Will & Grace. One day, Farrah Fawcett saw his work at Rodney Dangerfield’s home and gave him a call. “Farrah wanted a sculpture for Ryan O’Neal,” Paul recounts, “so I made a special one for him.” Paul’s installation sites range from the walls of Wilkes Bashford and Neiman Marcus to a Four Seasons Resort in Arizona. Several of his large sculptures grace restaurants and hotels in Las Vegas, including a 16-foot free-standing column at Wynn Las Vegas and another on display at one of Wolfgang Puck’s restaurants.

The creative process for Paul requires a good cup of coffee and a curated selection of twigs for the piece he envisions. After fumigating the wood with a non-toxic product to remove bugs, he begins sculpting and notching the twigs, tying them together with sturdy string. “I get a lot of manzanita from the Woodside hills,” Paul relays. “I am always looking for white birch, and if I see a dead branch or tree, I leave a note for the owners and sometimes people write back.” Paul also works with driftwood and took on the challenge of sculpting lanterns along with a perfectly-balanced and engineered five-foot driftwood seahorse for the Newport Beach Country Club.

Locally, Emily Joubert in Woodside showcases Paul’s sculptures as well as many of the Bay Clubs throughout the Bay Area and California. His art also decorates the walls at Fremont Hills Country Club in Los Altos and Foothill Tennis and Swim Club in Palo Alto. For one of Paul’s most unique projects, renowned SF designer Ken Fulk commissioned him to help sculpt part of a hobbit kingdom for a $10 million wedding in Big Sur. Paul often works on commission, and his sculpture and wall compositions range in wood colors from red to gray to brown. “It’s also fun to make pieces that aren’t commissioned,” he emphasizes. “Then I have absolute freedom to create whatever size and shape I want.”

As he wrangles and weaves his twig creations, Paul gleans inspiration from many sources including Palo Alto’s Gamble Gardens, architecture and music. He credits his wife Wanda for encouraging his work and lending a hand during installations. But he emphasizes that the twigs themselves are his ultimate muse. “I see the twigs as a creation from God,” he explains. “I fell in love with twigs and their 3D quality and it’s always rewarding when I finish a sculpture.”

Words by Johanna Harlow

Real estate agents Alex and Lily Wang see their fair share of homes. But the atrium at one particular Los Altos Eichler-style house grabbed their attention, inspiring them to buy the property and build their dream house around it.

Today, the remodel’s windows overlook a tranquil Japanese garden from all directions, making it the unmistakable epicenter of the property. Featuring a small stream (an enduring symbol for the flow of life and the passage of time) along with a striking cypress tree, the space appropriately resides at the very heart of this thoughtfully designed family home.

To actualize their vision, the couple turned to Ogawa Fisher Architects, a Palo Alto firm with a knack for California-centric design. “California is meant for indoor-outdoor living, lots of natural light, good flow and circulation within spaces,” notes Hiromi Ogawa, who heads the firm alongside Lynn Fisher.

When Hiromi and Lynn first met with Alex and Lily to discuss the project, a few expectations became clear. Beyond seamless indoor-outdoor integration, the couple desired an eco-friendly, functional design that maximized their space. They also wanted an open layout, which would lend itself to comfortable flow for gatherings. “We really believe in hospitality,” Lily emphasizes, adding that they also requested that the property’s garage be converted into an ADU with the intention of housing extended family. “In our culture and our upbringing, we believe in honoring and taking care of our parents when they’re older,” she shares.

Then there was the Japanese meets mid-century modern aesthetic to consider. “Mid-century modern actually has a history of crossover with Japanese design and an appreciation starting way back from Frank Lloyd Wright,” states Hiromi, who spent time living both in Japan and the U.S. as a child. She explains that many mid-century designers have taken trips to Japan for inspiration or referenced Japanese architecture and design as one of their influences. “So to us, the blend of those two are actually fairly straightforward.”

Two crossover features include big sliding doors as well as an intentional use of natural materials. “We really tried to bring some of these warmer wood elements throughout the house,” Hiromi says. “The wood ceiling actually doubles as a light shelf and even extends beyond where the roofs are so that it can provide this warm glow of light in other spaces as well.”

The indoor-outdoor flow is complemented by the overhang of the eaves themselves. Not only does it frame the views to the outdoors, notes Lynn, but “it also shades the glass from glare and heat and extends the room out into that outer zone.” Hiromi adds, “We strive to carefully compose the rooms, roof overhangs and space layouts to optimize the sun’s best attributes.” Yet one more facet in that house-to-garden transition ties in with the building’s nickname: Engawa House. Engawa refers to open-air walkways or porches found in traditional Japanese houses.

To optimize the view, the atrium can be appreciated not only from the living room, but also from the kitchen and the ADU. Each vantage point allows for a unique experience, Alex explains, mentioning how he and his wife hired a Hakone Gardens docent as their garden consultant. “He talked about looking at gardens from different views,” Alex recalls. “What kind of view do you want from each perspective? So you have three different perspectives—almost like three different gardens in a way.”

In retrospect, Alex and Lily express gratitude at the attentive guidance of the team at Ogawa Fisher Architects. With a barrage of decisions to be made and a budget to consider, remodeling can understandably be a source for tension among couples, Alex points out. But Haromi and Lynn escorted them gracefully through the process. “I don’t want to say marriage counselors, but they’re sherpas,” he describes, systemically guiding them section by section. “It was very well organized, very methodical—and yet at the same time, giving us the space to have our control, our input … our brushstroke on the project. So it was a really good match.”

The Ogawa Fisher team wholeheartedly agrees. “They really put their trust in us to do the right thing, to find the successful solution,” recognizes Hiromi. Lynn chimes in: “The magic happens in a project when those two pieces of expertise—them (the experts in the family) and us (the experts in architecture)—come together with a shared vision.”

Lily brings up another benefit of close collaboration: the chance to learn. “I really think it’s worth the experience and worth the investment,” she shares. “I feel like we’re paying for tuition almost.” As real estate agents, the couple are no strangers to fixing up homes for market, collaborating with handymen and contractors along the way. “But I would say this experience gave Alex and me more tools to serve our clients even better,” she affirms. As the couple dialogued with the team about the “why” behind each decision, they gained insights into design, art and problem-solving. “These people have been through schools, have been through real life experiences building homes, and they’re giving you the gold nuggets,” enthuses Lily, adding that it’s impacted how she regards other structures. “Now I can tell if it’s a custom-built home—whether it’s the texture of the wall or the height of a door.”

Alex and Lily have lived in their home for two years now. Their ADU has already been put to good use with both Alex and Lily’s parents coming for stays. They’ve also accommodated friends who had to evacuate during a fire in the Los Gatos hills. When they aren’t playing host, Alex rolls out a 12 x 12 mat to, as he puts it, “toss people around.” “I’m a big Brazilian jujitsu fanatic,” he grins. The ADU has also served as a home office and a hangout for their three kids. “So it’s a very, very versatile space,” Alex says.

As expected, the couple’s favorite moments involve their magical central garden. “I like the sounds of water flowing in the creek in the atrium,” muses Lily. Ogawa Fisher Architects also included a special spot in the kitchen so she can savor both her morning cup of coffee and the view.

Alex shares Lily’s sentiments and considers gardening a therapeutic ritual after a tiring day. “One of the things I noticed waking up the very first few days that we moved into the house was that I heard birds chirping that I hadn’t heard before,” he recollects. “I actually thought it was a Spotify playlist or something playing in the background. It’s the kind of thing that you don’t really notice until you have it.”

Built in 1871 to safeguard ships on the Pacific, Pescadero’s Pigeon Point Lighthouse is the tallest lighthouse on the West Coast. With the structures at its base converted into Hostelling International vacation rentals, it’s also a popular coastal escape. Photographer Gino De Grandis enjoys capturing the lighthouse in different seasons and times of day and snapped this Perfect Shot in “the magic, mirrored light as dusk fell.”

Image by Gino De Grandis / luiphotography.com

Calling all shutterbugs: If you’ve captured a unique perspective of the Peninsula, we’d love to see your Perfect Shot. Email us at
hello@punchmonthly.com to be considered for publication.