Philippe Petit. Source unknown.

On the last day of January I took a stroll around Alameda Point, a vast wasteland of decrepit structures abandoned by the Navy and now studded by the ventures of brave entrepreneurs, from wineries to an athletic club. You never know what you’ll find going on at the Point or, as we Alamedans still call it, the Naval Air Station: A fugitive hiding from the FBI. A massive study of new technology by the Department of Transportation. Maybe even a tightrope walker.

In 1974 Philippe Petit famously (and illegally) stretched a tightrope between New York’s Twin Towers and negotiated the 200-foot gap eight times before surrendering to police. This has been called “the artistic crime of the century,” and was immortalized in Colum McCann’s “Let the Great World Spin,” a novel which earned him the National Book Award in 2009.

… the tightrope walker was such a stroke of genius. A monument in himself. He had made himself into a statue, but a perfect New York one, a temporary one, up in the air, high above the city. A statue that had no regard for the past…. So brash. So glassy. So forward looking.

Philippe Petit. Source unknown.

And then there was the tightrope walker at Alameda Point. A young woman winched a cable perhaps 6 feet long between two pipes outside the business from which, most likely, she was on her lunch break. I did a double-take, and by the time I looked back, she was already perched atop it, balancing about four feet off the ground. The cable swung violently side-to-side for a moment, but the walker’s head remained perfectly still, the pivot of a pendulum, and she regained her balance. She glanced up at me as I passed across the street. I smiled and kept walking, not wanting to distract her or intrude on this moment.

But what was that moment exactly? Why was she on that wire? I wondered if she was a performer in a local nouveau cirque troupe, another artist with a day job. Was she preparing for the next great artistic “crime,” or was this all the performance she ever hoped to give, though no one witnessed it but me?

A journalist in a flat white hat shouted, “Why?” But the word didn’t come into it for him. He didn’t like the idea of why. The towers were there. That was enough.

Whatever her motivation, whatever that moment was, it was magical. It was a thing of beauty in the most humble surroundings, a flower breaking through concrete. She was a living and breathing metaphor for walking the tightrope to find balance in our lives. She ran away and joined the circus, if only for an hour.

Michael Singman-Aste
Postdiluvian Photo

Parish, who resides in the artsy Jingletown neighborhood of Oakland, assembles her abstract wooden sculptures from “this and that I have laying around.” In “My Best Friend in Grade School,” clothespins are affixed to twin pieces of wood, like pigtails, and “The Dancer” is comprised of barrel staves.

Along with her sculptures, Parish exhibits her two-dimensional work, resembling a collection of airbrushed paintings, woodblock prints, and graphite sketches. In fact, they are all “digital drawings” created entirely using Photoshop. Monochromatic and sparse or packed with opaque blocks of color, they are abstract, but reminiscent of Picasso’s “Les Demoiselles d’Avignon” to 80s New Wave album art.

A trio of drawings

She is often told that her drawings reflect her sculptures, but insists this is not something she sets out to do. “I just sit down and go, hmmm…. what color do I want today, and what brush shall I use? Or do I want to do lines? And I’ll just pick one, and I’ll start with something. And the end product won’t necessarily look like that because I don’t have a destination in mind other than to make whatever I’m doing look good to me.”

Parish prints her drawings herself on 13″x19″ paper, and they are taped together somewhat conspicuously. She admits that she is not good with “fussy little details”—gesturing to a particularly boisterous drawing, she declares “I’m more explosive”—but would be the first to agree that this presentation is less than ideal. “I would love to be printing big,” she said. She is hoping for a residency at the Kala Art Institute in Berkeley, which provides access to state-of-the-art printers.

Parish said that it was a lot of work putting “Chaos or Order” together but, rather than resting on her laurels, “I’m already starting to work on some other stuff,” she said. “Because I’m happy working.”

The show runs through March 11. Autobody Fine Art is located at 1517 Park Street in Alameda. They are open Saturdays and Sundays from noon until 6 p.m., and by appointment. Their phone number is (510) 881-6974.

Michael Singman-Aste
Postdiluvian Photo

Note: Contrary to the article’s subtitle this is not, in fact, an exhibit exclusively by women artists.

Artists Jan Erion and Cheryl Hayward, from left, with friend at their opening reception on Jan. 13 for K Gallery's "The Magic Book," a group show featuring handmade and altered books and other book-related art.

Michael Singman-Aste
Postdiluvian Photo

Patti Heimburger, Colorful Ribbons. Oil plus fabric and yarn on canvas.

Ellen Dreibelbis, Sunset. Pastel.

Michael Singman-Aste
Postdiluvian Photo

Arianna Kordestani, Sugarcane, 2011. Acrylic.

Michael Singman-Aste
Postdiluvian Photo

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Sayra Reyes, Her Mermaids, 2009. Acrylic and marker on canvas.

Michael Singman-Aste
Postdiluvian Photo

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Michael Singman-Aste
Postdiluvian Photo

Andrew Fitzgerald, Harvesting Parts to Keep the Jimmy Carter Humanoid Looking Fresh in 1978. Altered found painting.

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Michael Singman-Aste
Postdiluvian Photo

Chuck DiGuida, Made in U.S.A., 2000. Photo.

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Ed Homes, Ayahuasca' D Landscape. Photo on canvas.

Michael Singman-Aste
Postdiluvian Photo

Ed Cassel, Wonderland (detail). Acrylic.

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Michael Singman-Aste
Postdiluvian Photo