Charles Ray

I wonder what Charles Ray is up to these days?

I wonder because Treyvion, 2, pulled a book about Charles Ray down from the bookshelf yesterday, a big, tall book almost as big as Trayvion who's a big boy for being so little.

Treyvion was looking for something to color, having a whole sandwich bag full of crayons and being of an age when making art is a big part of who he is and what he does.

I hadn't looked at the Charles Ray book for years, though I admire his work and followed his career for some time. The last time I heard, Charles Ray was teaching at at UCLA.

I sat on the floor and looked through the Charles Ray book with Treyvion, turning the pages slowly, trying to make a story out of a book filled with pictures of Charles Ray's art works and art world text.

Treyvion was right there with me, quiet, absorbed in the words and pictures.

When we came to the colassel fire truck Charles Ray made in the early 1990's, Treyvion said "fie truth" or "fife twooth" or something like that. I couldn't quite understand what he was saying--he's only 2 and while he speaks quite well for his age my hearing isn't what it used to be and it's been a long time since I had kids. He kept saying the words over and over until his mom, Tasha, in the next room said, he's saying 'fire truck.'

Of course. I should have known. It was so obvious. The picture was right in front of me as were the words for the picture.

Later, when Treyvion, Tasha and Spencer left San Francisco to drive home to Utah, I sat for awhile in the backyard of my nice little brick home in The Presidio. Everything looked like a Charles Ray--the garden hose curled up like a snake asleep, the empty chaise lounge, the book of poems by Fernando Pessoa. Even the north-facing side of the house itself with its tall chimney looked like a Charles Ray, though I was pretty sure Lea Ann and I  lived inside and that it was a real house.